Inthatcoffin——thelastbutoneoftherowontheleft——itisthegreatSesostrishimselfwhoawaitsus.Weknowofoldthatfaceofninetyyears，withitsnosehookedlikethebeakofafalcon;andthegapsbetweenthoseoldman’steeth;themeagre，birdlikeneck，andthehandraisedinagestureofmenace.Twentyyearshaveelapsedsincehewasbroughtbacktothelight，thismasteroftheworld.Hewaswrapped/thousandsoftimes/inamarvellouswinding—sheet，wovenofaloefibres，finerthanthemuslinofIndia，whichmusthavetakenyearsinthemakingandmeasuredmorethan400yardsinlength.Theunswathing，doneinthepresenceoftheKhediveTewfikandthegreatpersonagesofEgypt，lastedtwohours，andafterthelastturn，whentheillustriousfigureappeared，theemotionamongsttheassistantswassuchthattheystampededlikeaherdofcattle，andthePharaohwasoverturned.Hehas，moreover，givenmuchcauseforconversation，thisgreatSesostris，sincehisinstallationinthemuseum.Suddenlyonedaywithabrusquegesture，inthepresenceoftheattendants，whofledhowlingwithfear，heraisedthathandwhichisstillintheair，andwhichhehasnotdeignedsincetolower.[*]Andsubsequentlytheresupervened，beginningintheoldyellowish—whitehair，andthenswarmingoverthewholebody，ahatchingofcadavericfauna，whichnecessitatedacompletebathinmercury.Healsohashispaperticket，pastedontheendofhisbox，andonemayreadthere，writteninacarelesshand，thatnamewhichoncecausedthewholeworldtotremble——"RamsesII.（Sesostris）"！ItneednotbesaidthathehasgreatlyfallenawayandblackenedeveninthefifteenyeasthatIhaveknownhim.Heisaphantomthatisabouttodisappear;inspiteofallthecarelavisheduponhim，apoorphantomabouttofalltopieces，tosinkintonothingness.Wemoveourlanternabouthishookednose，thebettertodecipher，intheplayofshadow，hisexpression，thatstillremainsauthoritativeTothinkthatoncethedestiniesoftheworldwereruled，withoutappeal，bythenodofthishead，whichlooksnowsomewhatnarrow，underthedryskinandthehorriblewhitishhair.
Whatforceofwill，ofpassionandcolossalpridemustoncehavedwelttherein！Nottomentiontheanxiety，whichtousnowisscarcelyconceivable，butwhichinhistimeovermasteredallothers——theanxiety，thatistosay，ofassuringthemagnificenceandinviolabilityofsepulture！Andthishorriblescarecrow，toothlessandsenile，lyinghereinitsfilthyrags，withthehandraisedinanimpotentmenace，wasoncethebrilliantSesostris，themasterofkings，andbyvirtueofhisstrengthandbeautythedemigodalso，whosemuscularlimbsanddeepathleticchestmanycolossalstatuesatMemphis，atThebes，atLuxor，reproduceandtrytomakeeternal
[*]Thismovementisexplainedbytheactionofthesun，which，fallingontheunclothedarm，issupposedtohaveexpandedtheboneoftheelbow.
Inthenextcoffinlieshisfather，SetiI.，whoreignedforamuchshorterperiod，anddiedmuchyoungerthanhe.Thisyouthfulnessisapparentstillinthefeaturesofthemummy，whichareimpressedbesideswithapersistentbeauty.IndeedthisgoodKingSetilooksthepictureofcalmandserenereverie.Thereisnothingshockinginhisdeadface，withitslongclosedeyes，itsdelicatelips，itsnoblechinandunblemishedprofile.Itissoothingandpleasanteventoseehimsleepingtherewithhishandscrosseduponhisbreast.Anditseemsstrange，thathe，wholookssoyoung，shouldhaveforsontheoldman，almostacentenarian，wholiesbesidehim.
Inourpassagewehavegazedonmanyotherroyalmummies，sometranquilandsomegrimacing.But，tofinish，thereisoneofthem（thethirdcoffinthere，intherowinfrontofus），acertainQueenNsitanebashru，whomIapproachwithfear，albeititismainlyonheraccountthatIhaveventuredtomakethisfantasticalround.Eveninthedaytimesheattainstothemaximumofhorrorthataspectralfigurecanevoke.Whatwillshebeliketo—nightintheuncertainlightofourlittlelantern？
Theresheisindeed，thedishevelledvampireinherplacerightenough，stretchedatfulllength，butlookingalwaysasifshewereabouttoleapup;andstraightwayImeetthesidelongglanceofherenamelledpupils，shiningoutofhalf—closedeyelids，withlashesthatarestillalmostperfect.Oh！theterrifyingperson！Notthatsheisugly，onthecontrarywecanseethatshewasratherprettyandwasmummiedyoung.Whatdistinguishesherfromtheothersisherairofthwartedanger，offury，asitwere，atbeingdead.Theembalmershavecolouredherveryreligiously，butthepink，undertheactionofthesaltsoftheskin，hasbecomedecomposedhereandthereandgivenplacetoanumberofgreenspots.Hernakedshoulders，theheightofthearmsabovetheragswhichwereoncehersplendidshroud，havestillacertainsleekroundness，butthey，too，arestainedwithgreenishandblacksplotches，suchasmaybeseenontheskinsofsnakes.Assuredlynocorpse，eitherhereorelsewhere，haseverpreservedsuchanexpressionofintenselife，ofironical，implacableferocity.Hermouthistwistedinalittlesmileofdefiance;hernostrilspinchedlikethoseofaghoulonthescentofblood，andhereyesseemtosaytoeachonewhoapproaches："Yes，Iamlaidinmycoffin;butyouwillverysoonseeIcangetoutofit."Thereissomethingconfusinginthethoughtthatthemenaceofthisterribleexpression，andthisappearanceofill—restrainedferocityhadenduredforsomehundredsofyearsbeforethecommencementofourera，andenduredtonopurposeinthesecretdarknessofaclosedcoffinatthebottomofsomedoorlessvault.
Nowthatweareabouttoretire，whatwillhappenhere，withthecomplicityofsilence，inthedarkesthoursofthenight？Willtheyremaininertandrigid，alltheseembalmedbodies，oncelefttothemselves，whopretendedtobesoquietbecausewewerethere？Whatexchangesofoldhumanfluidwillrecommence，aswhocandoubttheydoeachnightbetweenonecoffinandanother.Formerlythesekingsandqueens，intheiranxietyastothefutureoftheirmummy，hadforeseenviolation，pillageandscatteringamongstthesandsofthedesert，butneverthis：thattheywouldbereunitedoneday，almostallunveiled，soneartooneanotherunderpanesofglass.ThosewhogovernedEgyptinthelostcenturiesandwereneverknownexceptbyhistory，bythepapyriinscribedwithhieroglyphics，broughtthustogether，howmanythingswilltheyhavetosaytooneanother，howmanyardentquestionstoaskabouttheirloves，abouttheircrimes！Assoonasweshallhavedeparted，nay，assoonasourlantern，attheendofthelonggalleries，shallseemnomorethanafoolish，vanishingspotoffire，willnotthe"forms"ofwhomtheattendantsaresoafraid，willtheynotstarttheirnightlyrumblingsandintheirhollowmummyvoices，whisper，withdifficulty，words？
Heavens！Howdarkitis！Yetourlanternhasnotgoneout.Butitseemstogrowdarkeranddarker.Andatnight，whenallisshutup，howonesmellstheodouroftheoilsinwhichtheshroudsaresaturated，and，moreintolerablestill，thesicklystealthystench，almost，ofallthesedeadbodies！
AsItraversetheobscurityoftheseendlesshalls，avagueinstinctofself—preservationinducesmetoturnbackagain，andlookbehind.
Anditseemstomethatalreadythewomanwiththebabyisslowlyraisingherself，withathousandprecautionsandstratagems，herheadstillcompletelycovered.Whilefartherdown，thatdishevelledhairOh！Icanseeherwell，sittingupwithasuddenjerk，theghoulwiththeenameleyes，theladyNsitanebashru！
CHAPTERV
ACENTREOFISLAM
"TolearnisthedutyofeveryMoslem."
VersefromtheHadithorWordsoftheProphet.
Inanarrowstreet，hiddeninthemidstofthemostancientArabquartersofCairo，intheveryheatofacloselabyrinthmysteriouslyshady，anexquisitedoorwayopensintoawidespacebathedinsunshine;adoorwayformedoftwoelaboratearches，andsurmountedbyahighfrontalonwhichintertwinedarabesquesformwonderfulrosework，andholywritingsareenscrolledwiththemostingeniouscomplications.
ItistheentrancetoEl—Azhar，avenerableplaceinIslam，whencehaveissuedfornearlyathousandyearsthegenerationsofpriestsanddoctorschargedwiththepropagationofthewordoftheProphetamongstthenations，fromtheMohrebtotheArabianSea，passingthroughthegreatdeserts.AbouttheendofourtenthcenturythegloriousFatimeeCaliphsbuiltthisimmenseassemblageofarchesandcolumns，whichbecametheseatofthemostrenownedMoslemuniversityintheworld.AndsincethensuccessivesovereignsofEgypthaveviedwithoneanotherinperfectingandenlargingit，addingnewhalls，newgalleries，newminarets，tilltheyhavemadeofEl—Azharalmostatownwithinatown.
*****
"HewhoseeksinstructionismorelovedofGodthanhewhofightsinaholywar."
AversefromtheHadith.
Eleveno’clockonadayofburningsunshineanddazzlinglight.El—
Azharstillvibrateswiththemurmurofmanyvoices，althoughthelessonsofthemorningarenearlyfinished.
Oncepastthethresholdofthedoubleornamenteddoorweenterthecourtyard，atthismomentemptyasthedesertanddazzlingwithsunshine.Beyond，quiteopen，themosquespreadsoutitsendlessarcades，whicharecontinuedandrepeatedtilltheyarelostinthegloomofthefarinterior，andinthisdimplace，withitsperplexingdepths，innumerablepeopleinturbans，sittinginaclosecrowd，aresinging，orratherchanting，inalowvoice，andmarkingtimeasitweretotheirdeclamationbyaslightrhythmicswayingfromthehips.
TheyarethetenthousandstudentscomefromallpartsoftheworldtoabsorbthechangelessdoctrineofEl—Azhar.
Atthefirstviewitisdifficulttodistinguishthem，fortheyarefardownintheshadow，andoutherewearealmostblindedbythesun.
Inlittleattentivegroupsoffromtentotwenty，seatedonmatsaroundagraveprofessor，theydocilelyrepeattheirlessons，whichinthecourseofcenturieshavegrownoldwithoutchanginglikeIslamitself.Andwewonderhowthoseinthecirclesdownthere，intheaislesatthebottomwherethedaylightscarcelypenetrates，canseetoreadtheolddifficultwritingsinthepagesoftheirbooks.
Inanycase，letusnottroublethem——assomanytouristsnowadaysdonothesitatetodo;wewillenteralittlelater，whenthestudiesofthemorningareover.
Thiscourt，uponwhichthesunoftheforenoonnowpoursitswhitefire，isanenclosureseverelyandmagnificentlyArab;ithasisolatedussuddenlyfromtimeandthings;itmustlendtotheMoslemprayerwhatformerlyourGothicchurcheslenttotheChristian.Itisvastasatournamentlist;confinedononesidebythemosqueitself，andontheothersbyahighwallwhicheffectivelyseparatesitfromtheouterworld.Thewallsareofareddishhue，burntbycenturiesofsunintothecolourofrawsiennaorofbloodstone.Atthebottomtheyarestraight，simple，alittleforbiddingintheirausterity，buttheirsummitsareelaboratelyornamentedandcrownedwithbattlements，whichshowinprofileagainsttheskyalongseriesofdenticulatedstonework.Andoverthissortofreddishfretworkofthetop，whichseemsasifitwerethereasaframetothedeepbluevaultaboveus，weseerisingupdistractedlyalltheminaretsoftheneighbourhood;
andtheseminaretsarered—colouredtoo，reddereventhanthejealouswalls，andaredecoratedwitharabesques，piercedbythedaylightandcomplicatedwithaerialgalleries.Someofthemarealittledistanceaway;others，startlinglyclose，seemtoscalethezenith;andallareravishingandstrange，withtheirshiningcrescentsandoutstretchedshaftsofwoodthatcalltothegreatbirdsofspace.Spiteofourselvesweraiseourheads，fascinatedbyallthebeautythatisintheair;butthereisonlythissquareofmarvelloussky，asortoflimpidsapphire，setinthebattlementsofEl—Azharandfringedbythoseaudaciousslendertowers.WeareinthereligiousEastofoldendaysandwefeelhowthemysteryofthismagnificentcourt——whosearchitecturalornamentconsistsmerelyingeometricaldesignsrepeatedtoinfinity，anddoesnotcommencetillquitehighuponthebattlements，wheretheminaretspointintotheeternalblue——mustcastitsspellupontheimaginationoftheyoungpriestswhoarebeingtrainedhere.
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"Hewhoinstructstheignorantislikealivingmanamongstthedead."
"IfadaypasseswithoutmyhavinglearntsomethingwhichbringsmenearertoGod，letnotthedawnofthatdaybeblessed."
VersesfromtheHadith.
Hewhohasbroughtmetothisplaceto—dayismyfriend，MustaphaKamelPacha，thetribuneofEgypt，andIowetohispresencethefactthatIamnottreatedlikeacasualvisitor.OurnamesaretakenatoncetothegreatmasterofEl—Azhar，ahighpersonageinIslam，whosepupilMustaphaformerlywas，andwhonodoubtwillreceiveusinperson.
ItisinahallveryArabinitscharacter，furnishedonlywithdivans，thatthegreatmasterwelcomesus，withthesimplicityofanasceticandtheelegantmannersofaprelate.Hislook，andindeedhiswholeface，tellhowonerousisthesacredofficewhichheexercises：
topreside，namely，attheinstructionofthesethousandsofyoungpriests，whoafterwardsaretocarryfaithandpeaceandimmobilitytomorethanthreehundredmillionsofmen.
AndinafewmomentsMustaphaandhearebusydiscussing——asifitwereamatterofactualinterest——acontroversialquestionconcerningtheeventswhichfollowedthedeathoftheProphet，andthepartplayedbyAliInthatmomenthowmygoodfriendMustapha，whomIhadseensoFrenchinFrance，appearedallatonceaMoslemtothebottomofhissoul！ThesamethingistrueindeedofthegreaternumberoftheseOrientals，who，ifwemeettheminourowncountry，seemtobequiteparisianised;theirmodernityisonlyonthesurface：
intheirinmostsoulsIslamremainsintact.Anditisnotdifficulttounderstand，perhaps，howthespectacleofourtroubles，ourdespairs，ourmiseries，inthesenewwaysinwhichourlotiscast，shouldmakethemreflectandturnagaintothetranquildreamoftheirancestors
Whilewaitingfortheconclusionofthemorningstudies，weareconductedthroughsomeofthedependenciesofEl—Azhar.Hallsofeveryepoch，addedonetoanother，gotoformalittlelabyrinth;manycontain/Mihrabs/，which，asweknowalready，areakindofportico，festoonedanddenticulatedtilltheylookasifcoveredwithrime.Andlibraryafterlibrary，withceilingsofcedarwood，carvedintimeswhenmenhadmoreleisureandmorepatience.Thousandsofpreciousmanuscripts，datingbacksomehundredsofyears，butwhichhereinEl—
Azhararenowhitoutofdate.Open，inglasscases，arenumerousinestimableKorans，whichinoldentimeshadbeenwrittenfairandilluminatedonparchmentbypiouskhedives.And，inaplaceofhonour，alargeastronomicalglass，throughwhichmenwatchtherisingofthemoonofRamadanAllthissavoursofthepast.Andwhatisbeingtaughtto—daytothetenthousandstudentsofEl—AzharscarcelydiffersfromwhatwastaughttotheirpredecessorsinthegloriousreignoftheFatimites——andwhichwasthentranscendentandevennew：
theKoranandallitscommentaries;thesubtletiesofsyntaxandofpronunciation;jurisprudence;calligraphy，whichstillisdeartotheheartofOrientals;versification;and，lastofall，mathematics，ofwhichtheArabsweretheinventors.
Yes，allthissavoursofthepast，ofthedustofremoteages.Andthough，assuredly，theprieststrainedinthisthousand—year—olduniversitymaygrowtomenofrarestsoul，theywillremain，thesecalmandnobledreamers，merelylaggards，safeintheirshelterfromthewhirlwindwhichcarriesusalong.
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"Itisasacrilegetoprohibitknowledge.ToseekknowledgeistoperformanactofadorationtowardsGod;toinstructistodoanactofcharity."
"KnowledgeisthelifeofIslam，thecolumnoffaith."
VersesfromtheHadith.
Thelessonofthemorningisnowfinishedandweareable，withoutdisturbinganybody，tovisitthemosque.
Whenwereturntothegreatcourtyard，withitsbattlementedwalls，itisthehourofrecreationforthiscrowdofyoungmeninrobesandturbans，whonowemergefromtheshadowofthesanctuary.
Sincetheearlymorningtheyhaveremainedseatedontheirmats，immersedinstudyandprayer，amidtheconfusedbuzzingoftheirthousandsofvoices;andnowtheyscatterthemselvesaboutthecontiguousArabquartersuntilsuchtimeastheeveninglessonscommence.Theywalkalonginlittlegroups，sometimesholdingoneanother’shandslikechildren;mostofthemcarrytheirheadshighandraisetheireyestotheheavens，althoughthesunwhichgreetsthemoutsidedazzlesthemalittlewithitsrays.Theyseeminnumerable，andastheypassshowusfacesofthemostdiversetypes.Theycomefromallquartersoftheworld;somefromBaghdad，othersfromBassorah，fromMossulandevenfromtheinteriorofHedjaz.Thosefromthenorthhaveeyesthatarebrightandclear;andamongstthosefromMoghreb，fromMoroccoandtheSahara，aremanywhoseskinsarealmostblack.Buttheexpressionofallthefacesisalike：somethingofecstasyandofaloofnessmarksthemall;thesamedetachment，apreoccupationwiththeself—samedream.Andinthesky，towhichtheyraisetheireyes，theheavens——framedalwaysbythebattlementsofEl—
Azhar——arealmostwhitefromtheexcessoflight，withaborderoftall，redminarets，whichseemtobeaglowwiththerefectionofsomegreatfire.And，watchingthempass，alltheseyoungpriestsorjurists，atoncesodifferentandsoalike，weunderstandbetterthanbeforehowIslam，theold，oldIslam，keepsstillitscohesionanditspower.
Themosqueinwhichtheypursuetheirstudiesisnowalmostempty.Initsrestfultwilightthereissilence，andtheunexpectedmusicoflittlebirds;itisthebroodingseasonandtheceilingsofcarvedwoodarefullofnests，whichnobodydisturbs.
Aworld，thismosque，inwhichthousandsofpeoplecouldeasilyfindroom.Somehundredandfiftymarblecolumns，broughtfromancienttemples，supportthearchesofthesevenparallelaisles.Thereisnolightsavethatwhichcomesthroughthearcadeopeningintothecourtyard，anditissodarkintheaislesatthefarendthatwewonderagainhowthefaithfulcanseetoreadwhenthesunofEgypthappenstobeveiled.
Somescoreofstudents，whoseemalmostlostinthevastsolitude，stillremainduringthehourofrest，andarebusysweepingthefloorwithlongpalmsmadeintoakindofbroom.Thesearethepoorstudents，whoseonlymealisofdrybread，andwhoatnightstretchthemselvestosleeponthesamematonwhichtheyhavesatstudyingduringtheday.
Theresidenceattheuniversityisfreetoallthescholars，thecostoftheireducationandmaintenancebeingprovidedbypiousdonations.
But，inasmuchasthebequestsarerestrictedaccordingtonationality，thereisnecessarilyinequalityinthetreatmentdoledouttothedifferentstudents：thustheyoungmenofagivencountrymaybealmostrich，possessingaroomandagoodbed;whilethoseofaneighbouringcountrymustsleeponthegroundandhavebarelyenoughtokeepbodyandsoultogether.Butnoneofthemcomplain，andtheyknowhowtohelponeanother.[*]
[*]ThedurationofthestudiesatEl—Azharvariesfromthreetosixyears.
Neartous，oneoftheseneedystudentsiseating，withoutanyfalseshame，hismiddaymealofdrybread;andhewelcomeswithasmilethesparrowsandtheotherlittlewingedthieveswhocometodisputewithhimthecrumbsofhisrepast.Andfartherdown，inthedimlylightedvaultsattheend，isonewhodisdainstoeat，orwho，maybe，hasnobread;who，whenhissweepingisdone，reseatshimselfonhismat，and，openinghisKoran，commencestoreadaloudwiththecustomaryintonation.Hisvoice，richandfacile，andmoderatedwithdiscretion，hasacharmthatisirresistibleinthesonorousoldmosque，whereatthishourtheonlyothersoundisthescarcelyperceptibletwitteringofthelittlebroodsabove，amongthedullgoldbeamsoftheceiling.
ThosewhohavebeenfamiliarwiththesanctuariesofIslamknow，aswellasI，thatthereisnobooksoexquisitelyrhythmicalasthatoftheProphet.Evenifthesenseoftheversesescapeyou，thechantedreading，whichformspartofcertainoftheoffices，actsuponyoubythesimplemagicofitssounds，inthesamewayastheoratorioswhichdrawtearsinthechurchesofChrist.Risingandfallinglikesomesadlullaby，thedeclamationofthisyoungpriest，withhisfaceofvisionary，andgarbofdecentpoverty，swellsinvoluntarily，tillgraduallyitseemstofillthesevendesertedaislesofEl—Azhar.
Westopinspiteofourselves，andlisten，inthemidstofthesilenceofmidday.Andinthissovenerableplace，wheredilapidationandtheusuryofcenturiesarerevealedoneveryside——evenonthemarblecolumnswornbytheconstantfrictionofhands——thisvoiceofgoldthatrisesaloneseemsasifitwereintoningthelastlamentoverthedeath—pangofOldIslamandtheendoftime，theelegy，asitwere，oftheuniversaldeathoffaithintheheartofman.
*****
"Scienceisonereligion;prayerisanother.Studyisbetterthanworship.Go;seekknowledgeeverywhere，ifneedsbe，evenintoChina."
VersesfromtheHadith.
AmongstusEuropeansitiscommonlyacceptedasaprovenfactthatIslamismerelyareligionofobscurantism，bringinginitstrainthestagnationofnations，andhamperingtheminthatmarchtotheunknownwhichwecall"progress."ButsuchanattitudeshowsnotonlyanabsoluteignoranceoftheteachingoftheProphet，butablindforgetfulnessoftheevidenceofhistory.TheIslamoftheearliercenturiesevolvedandprogressedwiththenations，andthestimulusitgavetomeninthereignoftheancientcaliphsisbeyondallquestion.ToimputetoitthepresentdecadenceoftheMoslemworldisaltogethertoopuerile.Thetruthisthatnationshavetheirday;andtoaperiodofglorioussplendoursucceedsatimeoflassitudeandslumber.Itisalawofnature.Andthenonedaysomedangerthreatensthem，stirsthemfromtheirtorporandtheyawake.
ThisimmobilityofthecountriesoftheCrescentwasoncedeartome.
Iftheendistopassthroughlifewiththeminimumofsuffering，disdainingallvainstriving，andtodieentrancedbyradianthopes，theOrientalsaretheonlywisemen.Butnowthatgreedynationsbesetthemonallsidestheirdreamingisnolongerpossible.Theymustawake，alas.
Theymustawake;andalreadytheawakeningisathand.Here，inEgypt，wheretheneedisfelttochangesomanythings，itisproposed，too，toreformtheolduniversityofEl—Azhar，oneofthechiefcentresofIslam.Onethinksofitwithakindoffear，knowingwhatdangerthereisinlayinghandsuponinstitutionswhichhavelastedforathousandyears.Reform，however，has，inprinciple，beendecidedupon.Newknowledge，broughtfromtheWest，ispenetratingintothetabernacleoftheFatimites.HasnottheProphetsaid："Go;seekknowledgefarandwide，ifneedsbeevenintoChina"？Whatwillcomeofit？Whocantell？Butthis，atleast，iscertain：thatinthedazzlinghoursofnoon，orinthegoldenhoursofevening，whenthecrowdofthesemodernisedstudentsspreadsitselfoverthevastcourtyard，overlookedbyitscountlessminarets，therewillnolongerbeseenintheireyesthemysticlightofto—day;anditwillnolongerbetheoldunshakablefaith，northeloftyandsereneindifference，northeprofoundpeace，thatthesemessengerswillcarrytotheendsoftheMussulmanearth
CHAPTERVI
INTHETOMBSOFTHEAPIS
Thedwelling—placesoftheApis，inthegrimdarknessbeneaththeMemphitedesert，are，asalltheworldknows，monstercoffinsofblackgraniterangedincatacombs，hotandstiflingaseternalstoves.
ToreachthemfromthebanksoftheNilewehavefirsttotraversethelowregionwhichtheinundationsoftheancientriver，regularlyrepeatedsincethebeginningoftime，haverenderedpropitioustothegrowthofplantsandtothedevelopmentofmen;anhourortwo’sjourney，thiseveningthroughforestsofdate—treeswhosebeautifulpalmstemperthelightoftheMarchsun，whichisnowhalfveiledincloudsandalreadydeclining.Inthedistanceherdsaregrazinginthecoolshade.Andwemeetfellahsleadingbackfromthefieldtowardsthevillageontheriver—banktheirlittledonkeys，ladenwithsheavesofcorn.Theairismildandwholesomeunderthehightuftsoftheseendlessgreenplumes，whichmoveinthewarmwindalmostwithoutnoise.Weseemtobeinsomehappyland，wherethepastorallifeshouldbeeasy，andevenalittleparadisiacal.
Butbeyond，infrontofus，quiteadifferentworldisgraduallyrevealed.Itsaspectassumestheimportanceofamenacefromtheunknown;itawesuslikeanapparitionofchaos，ofuniversaldeath
Itisthedesert，theconqueringdesert，inthemidstofwhichinhabitedEgypt，thegreenvalleysoftheNile，tracemerelyanarrowribbon.Andhere，morethanelsewhere，thesightofthissovereigndesertrisingupbeforeusisstartlingandthrilling，sohighupitseems，andwesolowintheEdenlikevalleyshadedbythepalms.Withitsyellowhues，itslividmarblings，anditssandswhichmakeitlooksomehowasifitlackedconsistency，itrisesonthewholehorizonlikeakindofsoftwalloragreatfearsomecloud——orrather，likealongcataclysmicwave，whichdoesnotmoveindeed，butwhich，ifitdid，wouldoverwhelmandswalloweverything.Itisthe/Memphitedesert/——aplace，thatistosay，suchasdoesnotexistelsewhereonearth;afabulousnecropolis，inwhichmenofearliertimes，heapedupforsomethreethousandyearstheembalmedbodiesoftheirdead，exaggerating，astimewenton，thefoolishgrandeuroftheirtombs.
Now，abovethesandwhichlookslikethefrontofsomegreattidalwavearrestedinitsprogress，weseeonallsides，andfarintothedistance，trianglesofsuperhumanproportionswhichwereoncethetombsofmummies;pyramids，stillupright，allofthem，ontheirsinisterpedestalofsand.Somearecomparativelynear;othersalmostlostinthebackgroundofthesolitudes——andperhapsmoreawesomeinthattheyaremerelyoutlinedingrey，highupamongtheclouds.
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ThelittlecarriagesthathavebroughtustothenecropolisofMemphis，throughtheinterminableforestofpalm—trees，hadtheirwheelsfittedwithlargepattensfortheirjourneyoverthesand.
Now，arrivedatthefootofthefearsomeregion，wecommencetoclimbahillwhereallatoncethetrotofourhorsesceasestobeheard;
themovingfeltingofthesoilestablishesasuddensilencearoundus，asindeedisalwaysthecasewhenwereachthesesands.Itseemsasifitwereasilenceofrespectwhichthedesertitselfimposes.
Thevalleyoflifesinksandfadesbehindus，untilatlastitdisappears，hiddenbyalineofsandhills——thefirstwave，asonemightsay，ofthiswaterlesssea——andwearenowmountedintothekingdomofthedead，sweptatthismomentbyawitheringandalmosticywind，whichfrombelowonewouldnothaveexpected.
ThisdesertofMemphishasnotyetbeenprofanedbyhotelsormotorroads，suchaswehaveseeninthe"littledesert"oftheSphinx——
whosethreepyramidsindeedwecandiscernattheextremelimitoftheview，prolongingalmosttoinfinityforoureyesthisdomainofmummies.Thereisnobodytobeseen，noranyindicationofthepresentday，amongstthesemournfulundulationsofyelloworpalegreysand，inwhichweseemlostasintheswellofanocean.Theskyiscloudy——
suchasyoucanscarcelyimaginetheskyofEgypt.Andinthisimmensenothingnessofsandandstones，whichstandsoutnowmoreclearlyagainstthecloudsonthehorizon，thereisnothinganywheresavethesilhouettesofthoseeternaltriangles;thepyramids，giganticthingswhichrisehereandthereathazard，somehalfinruin，othersalmostintactandpreservingstilltheirsharppoint.To—daytheyaretheonlylandmarksofthisnecropolis，whichisnearlysixmilesinlength，andwasformerlycoveredbytemplesofamagnificenceandavastnessunimaginabletothemindsofourday.Exceptforonewhichisquitenearus（thefantasticgrandfatheroftheothers，thatofKingZoser，whodiednearly5000yearsago），exceptforthisone，whichismadeofsixcolossalsuperposedterraces，theyareallbuiltafterthatsameconceptionofthe/Triangle/，whichisatoncethemostmysteriouslysimplefigureofgeometry，andthestrongestandmostpermanentlystableformofarchitecture.Andnowthatthereremainsnotraceofthefrescoedportraitswhichusedtoadornthem，noroftheirmulticolouredcoatings，nowthattheyhavetakenonthesamedeadcolourasthedesert，theylooklikethehugebonesofgiantfossils，thathavelongoutlastedtheirothercontemporariesonearth.Beneaththeground，however，thecaseisdifferent;there，stillremainthebodiesofmen，andevenofcatsandbirds，whowiththeirowneyessawthesevaststructuresbuilding，andwhosleepintact，swathedinbandages，inthedarknessoftheirtunnels./Weknow/，forwehavepenetratedtherebefore，whatthingsarehiddeninthewombofthisolddesert，onwhichtheyellowshroudofthesandgrowsthickerandthickerasthecenturiespass.Thewholedeeprockhadbeenperforatedpatientlytomakehypogeaandsepulchralchambers，greatandsmall，andveritablepalacesforthedead，adornedwithinnumerablepaintedfigures.Andthoughnow，forsometwothousandyears，menhavesetthemselvesfuriouslytoexhumethesarcophagiandthetreasuresthatareburiedhere，thesubterraneanreservesarenotyetexhausted.
Therestillremain，nodoubt，pleiadsofundisturbedsleepers，whowillneverbediscovered.
Asweadvancethewindgrowsstrongerandcolderbeneathaskythatbecomesincreasinglycloudy，andthesandisflyingonallsides.Thesandistheundisputedsovereignofthenecropolis;ifitdoesnotsurgeandrolllikesomeenormoustidalwave，asitappearstodowhenseenfromthegreenvalleybelow，itneverthelesscoverseverythingwithanobstinatepersistencewhichhascontinuedsincethebeginningoftime.AlreadyatMemphisithasburiedinnumerablestatuesandcolossiandtemplesoftheSphinx.Itcomeswithoutapause，fromLibya，fromthegreatSahara，whichcontainenoughtopowdertheuniverse.Itharmoniseswellwiththetallskeletonsofthepyramids，whichformimmutablerocksonitsalwaysshiftingextent;andifonethinksofit，itgivesamorethrillingsenseofanterioreternitieseventhanalltheseEgyptianruins，which，incomparisonwithit，arethingsofyesterday.Thesand——thesandoftheprimitiveseas——whichrepresentsalabouroferosionofadurationimpossibletoconceive，andbearswitnesstoacontinuityofdestructionwhich，onemightsay，hadnobeginning.
Here，inthemidstofthesesolitudes，isahumblehabitation，oldandhalfburiedinsand，atwhichwehavetostop.ItwasoncethehouseoftheEgyptologistMariette，andstillsheltersthedirectoroftheexcavations，fromwhomwehavetoobtainpermissiontodescendamongsttheApis.Thewhitewashedroominwhichhereceivesusisencumberedwiththeage—olddebriswhichheiscontinuallybringingtolight.Thepartingraysofthesun，whichshineslowdownfrombetweentwoclouds，enterthroughawindowopeningontothesurroundingdesolation;andthelightcomesmournfully，yellowedbythesandandtheevening.
Themasterofthehouse，whilehisBedouinservantsaregonetoopenandlightupforustheundergroundhabitationsoftheApis，showsushislatestastonishingfind，madethismorninginahypogeumofoneofthemostancientdynasties.Itisthereonatable，agroupoflittlepeopleofwood，ofthesizeofthemarionettesofourtheatres.Andsinceitwasthecustomtoputinatombonlythosefiguresorobjectswhichweremostpleasingtohimwhodweltinit，theman—mummytowhomthistoywasofferedintimesanteriortoallprecisechronologymusthavebeenextremelypartialtodancing—girls.Inthemiddleofthegroupthemanhimselfisrepresented，sittinginanarmchair，andonhiskneeheholdshisfavouritedancing—girl.Othergirlsposturebeforehiminadanceoftheperiod;andonthegroundsitmusicianstouchingtambourinesandstrangelyfashionedharps.Allweartheirhairinalongplait，whichfallsbelowtheirshoulderslikethepigtailoftheChinese.Itwasthedistinguishingmarkofthesekindsofcourtesans.AndtheselittlepeoplehadkepttheirposeinthedarknessforsomethreethousandyearsbeforethecommencementoftheChristianeraInordertoshowittousbetterthegroupisbroughttothewindow，andthemournfullightwhichentersfromacrosstheinfinitesolitudesofthedesertcoloursthemyellowandshowsusindetailtheirlittledoll—likeattitudesandtheircomicalandfrightenedappearance——frightenedperhapstofindthemselvessooldandissuingfromsodeepanight.Theyhadnotseenasettingofthesun，suchastheynowregardwiththeirqueereyes，toolongandtoowideoepn，theyhadnotseensuchathingforsomefivethousandyears
ThehabitationoftheApis，thelordsofthenecropolis，islittlemorethantwohundredyardsaway.Wearetoldthattheplaceisnowlightedupandthatwemaybetakeourselvesthither.
Thedescentisbyanarrow，rapidlyslopingpassage，duginthesoil，betweenbanksofsandandbrokenstones.Wearenowcompletelyshelteredfromthebitterwindwhichblowsacrossthedesert，andfromthedarkdoorwaythatopensbeforeuscomesabreathofairasfromanoven.ItisalwaysdryandhotintheundergroundfuneralplacesofEgypt，whichmakeindeedadmirablestovesformummies.Thethresholdoncecrossedweareplungedfirstofallindarknessand，precededbyalantern，makeourway，bydeviousturnings，overlargeflagstones，passingobelisks，fallenblocksofstoneandothergiganticdebris，inaheatthatcontinuallyincreases.
Atlasttheprincipalarteryofthehypogeumappears，athoroughfaremorethanfivehundredyardslong，cutintherock，wheretheBedouinshavepreparedforusthecustomaryfeeblelight.
Itisaplaceoffearfulaspect.Assoonasoneentersoneisseizedbythesenseofamournfulnessbeyondwords，byanoppressionasofsomethingtooheavy，toocrushing，almostsuperhuman.Theimpotentlittleflamesofthecandles，placedinarow，ingroupsoffifty，ontripodsofwoodfromoneendoftheroutetotheother，showontherightandleftoftheimmenseavenuerectangularsepulchralcaverns，containingeachablackcoffin，butacoffinasifforamastodon.Andallthesecoffins，sosombreandsoalike，aresquareshapedtoo，severelysimplelikesomanyboxes;butmadeoutofasingleblockofraregranitethatgleamslikemarble.Theyareentirelywithoutornament.Itisnecessarytolookcloselytodistinguishonthesmoothwallsthehieroglyphicinscriptions，therowsoflittlefigures，littleowls，littlejackals，thattellinalostlanguagethehistoryofancientpeoples.HereisthesignatureofKingAmasis;beyond，thatofKingCambysesWhoweretheTitanswho，centuryaftercentury，wereabletohewthesecoffins（theyareatleasttwelvefeetlongbytenfeethigh），and，havinghewnthem，tocarrythemunderground（theyweighonanaveragebetweensixtyandseventytons），andfinallytorangetheminrowshereinthesestrangechambers，wheretheystandasifinambuscadeoneithersideofusaswepass？
EachinitsturnhascontainedquitecomfortablythemummyofabullApis，armouredinplatesofgold.Butinspiteoftheirweight，inspiteoftheirsoliditywhicheffectivelydefiesdestruction，theyhavebeendespoiled[*]——whenisnotpreciselyknown，probablybythesoldiersoftheKingofPersia.Andthisnotwithstandingthatmerelytoopenthemrepresentsalabourofastonishingstrengthandpatience.
Insomecasesthethieveshavesucceeded，bytheaidoflevers，inmovingafewinchestheformidablelid;inothers，byperseveringwithblowsofpickaxes，theyhavepierced，inthethicknessofthegranite，aholethroughwhichamanhasbeenenabledtocrawllikearat，oraworm，andthen，gropinghisway，toplunderthesacredmummy.
[*]One，however，remainsintactinthewalledcavern，andthuspreservesforustheonlyApiswhichhascomedowntoourdays.
AndonerecallstheemotionofMariette，when，onenteringit，hesawonthesandygroundtheimprintofthenakedfeetofthelastEgyptianwholeftitthirty—sevencenturiesbefore.
Whatstrikesusmostofallinthecolossalhypogeumisthemeetingthere，inthemiddleofthestairwaybywhichweleave，withyetanotherblackcoffin，whichliesacrossourpathasiftobarit.Itisasmonstrousandassimpleastheothers，itsseniors，whichmanycenturiesbefore，asthedeifiedbullsdied，hadcommencedtolinethegreatstraightthoroughfare.Butthisonehasneverreacheditsplaceandneverhelditsmummy.Itwasthelast.Evenwhilemenwereslowlyrollingit，withtensemusclesandpantingcries，towardswhatmightwellhaveseemeditseternalchamber，othersgodswereborn，andthecultoftheApishadcometoanend——suddenly，thenandthere！Suchafatemayhappenindeedtoeachandallofthereligionsandinstitutionsofmen，eventothosemostdeeplyrootedintheirheartsandtheirancestralpastThatperhapsisthemostdisturbingofallourpositivenotions：toknowthattherewillbea/last/ofallthings，notonlyalasttemple，andalastpriest，butalastbirthofahumanchild，alastsunrise，alastday
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Inthesehotcatacombswehadforgottenthecoldwindthatblewoutside，andthephysiognomyoftheMemphitedesert，theaspectsofhorrorthatwereawaitingusabovehadvanishedfromourmind.
Sinisterasitisunderabluesky，thisdesertbecomesabsolutelyintolerabletolookuponifbychancetheskyiscloudywhenthedaylightfails.
Onourreturntoit，fromthesubterraneandarkness，everythinginitsdeadimmensityhasbeguntotakeonthebluetintofthenight.Onthetopofthesandhills，ofwhichtheyellowcolourhasgreatlypaledsincewewentbelow，thewindamusesitselfbyraisinglittlevorticesofsandthatimitatethesprayofanangrysea.Onallsidesdarkcloudsstretchthemselvesasatthemomentofourdescent.Thehorizondetachesitselfmoreandmoreclearlyfromthem，and，farthertowardstheeast，itactuallyseemstobetiltedup;oneofthehighestofthewavesofthiswaterlesssea，amountainofsandwhosesoftcontoursaredeceptiveinthedistance，makesitlookasifitslopedtowardsus，soasalmosttoproduceasensationofvertigo.Thesunitselfhasdeignedtoremainonthesceneafewsecondslonger，heldbeyonditstimebytheeffectofmirage;butitissochangedbehinditsthickveilsthatwewouldpreferthatitshouldnotbethere.Ofthecolourofdyingembers，itseemstoonearandtoolarge;ithasceasedtogiveanylight，andisbecomeamererose—colouredglobe，thatislosingitsshapeandbecomingoval.Nolongerinthefreeheavens，butstrandedthereontheextremeedgeofthedesert，itwatchesthescenelikealargedulleye，abouttocloseitselfindeath.Andthemysterioussuperhumantriangles，theytoo，ofcourse，arethere，waitingforusonourreturnfromunderground，somenear，somefar，postedintheireternalplaces;butsurelytheyhavegrowngraduallymoreblue
Suchanight，insuchaplace，itseemsthe/last/night.
CHAPTERVII
THEOUTSKIRTSOFCAIRO
Night.Alongstraightroad，thearteryofsomecapital，throughwhichourcarriagedrivesatafasttrot，makingadeafeningclatteronthepavement.Electriclighteverywhere.Theshopsareclosing;itmustneedsbelate.
TheroadisLevantineinitsgeneralcharacter;andweshouldhavenoclearnotionoftheplacedidwenotseeinourrapid，noisypassagesignsthatrecallustothelandoftheArabs.PeoplepassdressedinthelongrobeandtarbooshoftheEast;andsomeofthehouses，abovetheEuropeanshops，areornamentedwithmushrabiyas.Butthisblindingelectricitystrikesafalsenote.InourheartsarewequitesureweareintheEast？
Theroadends，openingontodarkness.Suddenly，withoutanywarning，itabutsuponavoidinwhichtheeyesseenothing，andwerolloverayielding，feltedsoil，whereallnoiseabruptlyceases——itisthe/desert/！Notavague，nondescriptstretchofcountrysuchasintheoutskirtsofourtowns，notoneofthesolitudesofEurope，butthethresholdofthevastdesolationsofArabia./Thedesert/;and，evenifwehadnotknownthatitwasawaitingus，weshouldhaverecogniseditbytheindescribablequalityofharshnessanduniquenesswhich，inspiteofthedarkness，cannotbemistaken.
Butthenightafterallisnotsoblack.Itonlyseemedso，atthefirstmoment，bycontrastwiththeglaringilluminationofthestreet.
Inrealityitistransparentandblue.Ahalf—moon，highupintheheavens，andveiledbyadiaphanousmist，shinesgently，andasitisanEgyptianmoon，moresubtlethanours，itleavestothingsalittleoftheircolour.Wecanseenow，aswellasfeel，thisdesert，whichhasopenedandimposeditssilenceuponus.Beforeusisthepalenessofitssandsandthereddish—brownofitsdeadrocks.Verily，innocountrybutEgyptaretheresuchrapidsurprises：toissuefromastreetflankedbyshopsandstallsand，withouttransition，tofindthis！
Ourhorseshave，inevitably，toslackenspeedasthewheelsofourcarriagesinkintothesand.Aroundusstillaresomestrayramblers，whopresentlyassumetheairofghosts，withtheirlongblackorwhitedraperies，andnoiselesstread.Andthen，notasoul;nothingbutthesandandthemoon.
Butnowalmostatonce，aftertheshortinterveningnothingness，wefindourselvesinanewtown;streetswithlittlelowhouses，littlecross—roads，littlesquares，allofthemwhite，onwhitenedsands，beneathawhitemoonButthereisnoelectricityinthistown，nolights，andnobodyisstirring;doorsandwindowsareshut：nomovementofanykind，andthesilence，atfirst，islikethatofthesurroundingdesert.Itisatowninwhichthehalf—lightofthemoon，amongstsomuchvaguewhiteness，isdiffusedinsuchawaythatitseemstocomefromallsidesatonceandthingscastnoshadowswhichmightgivethemdefiniteness;atownwherethesoilissoyieldingthatourprogressisweakenedandretarded，asindreams.Itseemsunreal;and，inpenetratingfartherintoit，asenseoffearcomesoveryouthatcanneitherbedismissednordefined.
ForassuredlythisisnoordinarytownAndyetthehouses，withtheirwindowsbarredlikethoseofaharem，areinnowaysingular——
exceptthattheyareshutandsilent.Itisallthiswhiteness，perhaps，whichfreezesus.Andthen，too，thesilenceisnot，infact，likethatofthedesert，whichdidatleastseemnatural，inasmuchastherewasnothingthere;here，onthecontrary，thereisasenseofinnumerablepresences，whichshrinkawayasyoupassbutneverthelesscontinuetowatchattentivelyWepassmosquesintotaldarknessandtheytooaresilentandwhite，withaslightbluishtintcastonthembythemoon.Andsometimes，betweenthehouses，therearelittleenclosedspaces，likenarrowgardens，butwhichcanhavenopossibleverdure.Andinthesegardensnumbersoflittleobelisksrisefromthesand——whiteobelisks，itisneedlesstosay，forto—nightweareinthekingdomofabsolutewhiteness.Whatcantheybe，thesestrangelittlegardens？Andthesand，meanwhile，whichcoversthestreetswithitsthickcoatings，continuestodeadenthesoundofourprogress，outofcomplimentnodoubttoallthesewatchfulthingsthataresosilentaroundus.
Atthecrossingsandinthelittlesquarestheobelisksbecomemorenumerous，erectedalwaysateitherendofaslabofstonethatisaboutthelengthofaman.Theirlittlemotionlessgroups，postedasifonthewatch，seemsolittlerealintheirvaguewhitenessthatwefeeltemptedtoverifythembytouching，and，verily，weshouldnotbeastonishedifourhandpassedthroughthemasthroughaghost.Fartheronthereisawideexpansewithoutanyhousesatall，wheretheseubiquitouslittleobelisksaboundinthesandlikeearsofcorninafield.Thereisnownofurtherroomforillusion.Weareinacemetery，andhavebeenpassinginthemidstofhousesofthedead，andmosquesofthedead，inatownofthedead.
Onceemergedfromthiscemetery，whichintheendatleastdiscloseditselfinitstruecharacter，weareinvolvedagaininthecontinuationofthemysterioustown，whichtakesusbackintoitsnetwork.Littlehousesfollowoneanotherasbefore，onlynowthelittlegardensarereplacedbylittleburialenclosures.Andeverythinggrowsmoreandmoreindistinct，inthegentlelight，whichgraduallygrowsless.Itisasifsomeonewereputtingfrostedglobesoverthemoon，sothatsoon，butforthetransparencyofthisairofEgyptandtheprevailingwhitenessofthings，therewouldbenolightatall.Onceatawindowthelightofalampappears;itisthelanternofgravediggers.Anonwehearthevoicesofmenchantingaprayer;andtheprayerisaprayerforthedead.
Thesetenantlesshouseswereneverbuiltfordwellings.Theyaresimplyplaceswheremenassembleoncertainanniversaries，toprayforthedead.EveryMoslemfamilyofanynotehasitslittletempleofthiskind，neartothefamilygraves.Andtherearesomanyofthemthatnowtheplaceisbecomeatown——andatowninthedesert——thatistosay，inaplaceuselessforanyotherpurpose;asecureplaceindeed，forwemaybesurethatthegroundoccupiedbythesepoortombsrunsnoriskofbeingcoveted——notevenintheirreverenttimesofthefuture.No，itisontheothersideofCairo——ontheotherbankoftheNile，amongsttheverdureofthepalm—trees，thatwemustlookforthesuburbincourseoftransformation，withitsvillasoftheinvadingforeigner，andthemyriadelectriclightsalongitsmotorroads.Onthissidethereisnosuchfear;thepeaceanddesuetudeareeternal;andthewindingsheetoftheArabiansandsisreadyalwaysforitsburialoffice.
Attheendofthistownofthedead，thedesertagainopensbeforeusitsmournfulwhitenedexpanse.Onsuchanightasthis，whenthewindblowscoldandthemistymoonshowslikeasadopal，itlookslikeasteppeundersnow.
Butitisadesertplantedwithruins，withtheghostsofmosques;awholecolonyofhightumblingdomesarescatteredhereathazardontheshiftingextentofthesands.Andwhatstrangeold—fashioneddomestheyare！Thearchaismoftheirsilhouettesstrikesusfromthefirst，asmuchastheirisolationinsuchaplace.Theylooklikebells，orgiganticdervishhatsplacedonpedestals，andthosefarthestawaygivetheimpressionofsquat，large—headedfigurespostedthereassentinels，watchingthevaguehorizonofArabiabeyond.
TheyaretheproudtombsofthefourteenthandfifteenthcenturieswheretheMamelukeSultans，whooppressedEgyptfornearlythreehundredyears，sleepnowincompleteabandonment.Nowadays，itistrue，somevisitsarebeginningtobepaidtothem——onwinternightswhenthemoonisfullandtheythrowonthesandstheirgreatclear—
cutshadows.Atsuchtimesthelightisconsideredfavourable，andtheyrankamongthecuriositiesexploitedbytheagencies.Numbersoftourists（whopersistincallingthemthetombsofthecaliphs）betakethemselvesthitherofanevening——anoisycaravanmountedonlittledonkeys.Butto—nightthemoonistoopaleanduncertain，andweshallnodoubtbealoneintroublingthemintheirghostlycommunion.
To—nightindeedthelightisquiteunusual.Asjustnowinthetownofthedead，itisdiffusedonallsidesandgiveseventothemostmassiveobjectsthetransparentsemblanceofunreality.Butneverthelessitshowstheirdetailandleavesthemsomethingoftheirdaylightcolouring，sothatallthesefuneraldomes，raisedontheruinsofthemosques，whichservethemaspedestals，havepreservedtheirreddishorbrowncolours，althoughthesandwhichseparatesthem，andmakesbetweenthetombsofthedifferentsultanslittledeadsolitudes，remainspaleandwan.
Andmeanwhileourcarriage，proceedingalwayswithoutnoise，tracesonthissamesandlittlefurrowswhichthewindwillhaveeffacedbyto—morrow.Therearenoroadsofanykind;theywouldindeedbeasuselessastheyareimpossibletomake.Youmaypassherewhereyoulike，andfancyyourselffarawayfromanyplaceinhabitedbylivingbeings.Thegreattown，whichweknowtobesoclose，appearsfromtimetotime，thankstotheundulationsoftheground，asamerephosphorescence，areflectionofitsmyriadelectriclights.Weareindeedinthedesertofthedead，inthesolecompanyofthemoon，which，bythefantasyofthiswonderfulEgyptiansky，isto—nightamoonofgreypearl，onemightalmostsayamoonofmother—of—pearl.
Eachofthesefuneralmosquesisathingofsplendour，ifoneexaminesitcloselyinitssolitude.Thesestrangeupraiseddomes，whichfromadistancelooklikethehead—dressesofdervishesormagi，areembroideredwitharabesques，andthewallsarecrownedwithdenticulatedtrefoilsofexquisitefashioning.
ButnobodyveneratesthesetombsoftheMamelukeoppressors，orkeepstheminrepair;andwithinthemtherearenomorechants，noprayerstoAllah.Nightafternighttheypassinaninfinityofsilence.Pietycontentsitselfwithnotdestroyingthem;leavingthemthereatthemercyoftimeandthesunandthewindwhichwithersandcrumblesthem.Andallaroundarethesignsofruin.Totteringcupolasshowusirreparablecracks;thehalvesofbrokenarchesareoutlinedto—nightinshadowagainstthemother—of—pearllightofthesky，anddebrisofsculpturedstonesarestrewnabout.Butneverthelessthesetombs，thatarewell—nighaccursed，stillstirinusavaguesenseofalarm——
particularlythoseinthedistance，whichriseuplikesilhouettesofmisshapengiantsinenormoushats——darkonthewhitesheetofsand——
andstandthereingroups，orscatteredinconfusion，attheentrancetothevastemptyregionsbeyond.