Hathor herself!  The siren who could tempt an emperor to forsake his empire or a general to renounce fame and honor more easily than a modern woman could persuade a man to break an engagement to dine with her rival!  Queen of the Lotus!  Empress of the Pyramids!  What grace, what charm I anticipated!  I wondered if she would be portrayed floating down to meet Antony, with her purple and perfumed sails, her cloth of gold garments, her peacocks, her ibex, her lotus-blooms, and if all her mysterious fascinations would be spread before the delighted gaze of her humble worshipper.

What I found is shown in the frontispiece to this volume.  Beauty unadorned with a vengeance!  From this time on I shall question the taste of Antony.  I only wish he could have lived to see some American girls I know.

We saw Karnak and Philae by moonlight, and we lunched in the tombs of the kings, with hieroglyphics thousands of years old looking down upon our pickled onions and cold fowl, and we ploughed through the sands at Assouan and saw the naked Nubians, with a silver ear-ring in the top of their left ear, shoot the rapids of the first cataract.  We stood, too, in the temple of Luxor, before the altar of Hathor, with the sunset on one side and the moonrise on the other, and heard what her votaries say to the Goddess of Beauty.  It was so mystical that we almost joined in the worship of the Egyptian Venus Aphrodite.  It was so still, so majestic, so aloof from everything modern and new.

The Nile is essentially a river of silence and mystery.  The ibis is always to be seen, standing alone, seemingly absorbed in meditation.  The camels turn their beautiful soft eyes upon you as if you were intruding upon their silence and reserve.  Never were the eyes in a human head so beautiful as a camel’s.  There is a limpid softness, an appealing plaintiveness in their expression which drags at your sympathies like the look in the eyes of a hunchback.  It means that, with your opportunities, you might have done more with your life.  Your mother looks at you that way sometimes in church, when the sermon touches a particularly raw nerve in your spiritual make-up.  I always feel like apologizing when a camel looks at me.

One moonlight night was so bright that our boat started about three o’clock instead of waiting for daylight, and the start swung my state-room door open.  It was so warm that I let it remain, and lay there hearing the gentle swish of the water curling against the side of the steamer, and seeing the soft moonlight form a silver pathway from the yellow bank across the river to my cabin door.  The machinery made no noise.  There was no more vibration than on a sail-boat.  And there was the whole panorama of the Nile spread before my eyes, with all its romance and all its mystery bathed in an enchanting radiance.  Occasionally a raven croaked.  Sometimes a jackal howled.  An obelisk made an exclamation-point against the sky, or the ruins of a temple fretted the horizon.  It was the land of Ptolemy, of Rameses, of Hathor, of Horus, of Isis and Osiris, of Herodotus and Cleopatra, of Pharaoh’s daughter and Moses.  It was the silence of the ages which fell upon me, and then and there, in that hour of absolute stillness and solitude and beauty unspeakable, all my dreams of the Nile came true.