Wehadchosenatimewhenthelightwasdoubtfulinorderthatwemightavoidthetourists，butasweapproachthefuneraldwellingofSultanBarkuk，theassassin，wesee，issuingfromit，awholeband，sometwentyinaline，whoemergefromthedarknessoftheabandonedwalls，eachtrottingonhislittledonkeyandeachfollowedbytheinevitableBedouindriver，whotapswithhisstickupontherumpofthebeast.TheyarereturningtoCairo，theirvisitended，andexchangeinaloudvoice，fromoneasstoanother，moreorlessineptimpressionsinvariousEuropeanlanguagesAndlook！Thereisevenamongstthemthealmostproverbialbelateddamewho，forprivatereasonsofherown，followsatarespectabledistancebehind.Sheisalittlematureperhaps，sofarascanbejudgedinthemoonlight，butneverthelessstillsympathetictoherdriver，who，withbothhands，supportsherfrombehindonhersaddle，withatouchingsolicitudethatispeculiartothecountry.Ah！theselittledonkeysofEgypt，soobservant，sophilosophicalandsly，whycannottheywritetheirmemoirs！WhatanumberofdrollthingstheymusthaveseenatnightintheoutskirtsofCairo！
Thisgoodladyevidentlybelongstothatextensivecategoryofhardyexplorerswho，despitetheirhighrespectabilityathome，donothesitate，oncetheyarelandedonthebanksoftheNile，tosupplementtheirtreatmentbythesunandthedrywindswithalittleofthe"Bedouincure."
CHAPTERVIII
ARCHAICCHRISTIANITY
Dimlylightedbytheflamesofafewpoorslendertaperswhichflickeragainstthewallsinstonearches，adensecrowdofhumanfiguresveiledinblack，inaplaceoverpoweringandsuffocating——underground，nodoubt——whichisfilledwiththeperfumeoftheincenseofArabia;
andanoiseofalmostwickedmovement，whichsirsustoalarmandevenhorror：bleatingsofnew—bornbabies，criesofdistressoftinymiteswhosevoicesaredrowned，asifonpurpose，byaclinkingofcymbals.
Whatcanitbe？Whyhavetheydescendedintothisdarkhole，theselittleones，whohowlinthemidstofthesmoke，heldbythesephantomsinmourning？Hadweentereditunawareswemighthavethoughtitadenofwickedsorcery，anundergroundcavernfortheblackmass.
Butno.ItisthecryptofthebasilicaofSt.SergiusduringtheCopticmassofEastermorning.Andwhen，afterthefirstsurprise，weexaminethesephantoms，wefindthat，forthemostpart，theyareyoungmothers，withtherefinedandgentlefacesofMadonnas，whoholdtheplaintivelittleonesbeneaththeirblackveilsandseektocomfortthem.Andthesorcerer，whoplaysthecymbals，isakindoldpriest，orsacristan，whosmilespaternally.Ifhemakesallthisnoise，inarhythmwhichinitselfisfullofjoy，itistomarkthegladnessofEastermorn，tocelebratetheresurrectionofChrist——andalittle，too，nodoubt，todistractthelittleones，someofwhomarewoefullyputout.Buttheirmammasdonotprolongtheproof——ameremomentaryvisittothisvenerableplace，whichistobringthemhappiness，andtheycarrytheirbabesaway：andothersareledinbythedark，narrowstaircase，solowthatonecannotstanduprightinit.Andthusthecryptisnotemptied.Andmeanwhilemassisbeingsaidinthechurchoverhead.
Butwhatanumberofpeople，ofblackveils，areinthishovel，wheretheaircanscarcelybebreathed，andwherethebarbarousmusic，mingledwithwailingsandcries，deafensyou！Andwhatanairofantiquitymarksallthingshere！Thedefacedwalls，thelowroofthatonecaneasilytouch，thegranitepillarswhichsustaintheshapelessarchesareallblackenedbythesmokeofthewaxcandles，andscarredandwornbythefrictionofhumanhands.
Attheendofthecryptthereisaverysacredrecessroundwhichacrowdpresses：acoarseniche，alittlelargerthanthosecutinthewalltoreceivethetapers，anichewhichcoverstheancientstoneonwhich，accordingtotradition，theVirginMaryrested，withthechildJesus，inthecourseoftheflightintoEgypt.Thisholystoneissadlywornto—dayandpolishedsmoothbythetouchofmanypioushands，andtheByzantinecrosswhichoncewascarvedonitisalmosteffaced.
ButeveniftheVirginhadneverrestedthere，thehumblecryptofSt.
SergiuswouldremainnolessoneoftheoldestChristiansanctuariesintheworld.AndtheCoptswhostillassembletherewithvenerationhaveprecededbymanyyearsthegreaterpartofourWesternnationsinthereligionoftheBible.
AlthoughthehistoryofEgyptenvelopsitselfinasortofnightatthemomentoftheappearanceofChristianity，weknowthatthegrowthofthenewfaiththerewasasrapidandimpetuousasthegerminationofplantsundertheoverflowoftheNile.TheoldPharaoniccults，amalgamatedatthattimewiththoseofGreece，weresoobscuredunderamassofritesandformulae，thattheyhadceasedtohaveanymeaning.Andneverthelesshere，asinimperialRome，therebroodedthefermentofapassionatemysticism.Moreover，thisEgyptianpeople，morethananyother，washauntedbytheterrorofdeath，asisprovedbythefollyofitsembalmments.WithwhataviditythereforemustithavereceivedtheWordoffraternalloveandimmediateresurrection？
InanycaseChristianitywassofirmlyimplantedinthisEgyptthatcenturiesofpersecutiondidnotsucceedindestroyingit.AsonegoesuptheNile，manylittlehumansettlementsaretobeseen，littlegroupsofhousesofdriedmud，wherethewhiteneddomeofthemodesthouseofprayerissurmountedbyacrossandnotacrescent.TheyarethevillagesofthoseCopts，thoseEgyptians，whohavepreservedtheChristianfaithfromfathertosonsincethenebuloustimesofthefirstmartyrs.
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ThesimpleChurchofSt.Sergiusisarelichiddenawayandalmostburiedinthemidstofalabyrinthofruins.Withoutaguideitisalmostimpossibletofindyourwaythither.ThequarterinwhichitissituatedisenclosedwithinthewallsofwhatwasonceaRomanfortress，andthisfortressinitsturnissurroundedbythetranquilruinsof"OldCairo"——whichistotheCairooftheMamelukesandtheKhedives，inasmalldegree，whatVersaillesistoParis.
OnthisEastermorning，havingsetoutfromtheCairoofto—daytobepresentatthismass，wehavefirsttotraverseasuburbincourseoftransformation，uponwhoseancientsoilwillshortlyappearnumbersofthesemodernhorrors，inmudandmetal——factoriesorlargehotels——
whichmultiplyinthispoorlandwithastupefyingrapidity.Thencomesamileorsoofuncultivatedground，mixedwithstretchesofsand，andalreadyalittledesertlike.AndthenthewallsofOldCairo;afterwhichbeginsthepeaceofthedesertedhouses，oflittlegardensandorchardsamongtheruins.Thewindandthedustbesetusthewholeway，thealmosteternalwindandtheeternaldustofthisland，bywhich，sincethebeginningoftheages，somanyhumaneyeshavebeenburntbeyondrecovery.Theykeepusnowinblindingwhirlwinds，whichswarmwithflies.The"season"indeedisalreadyover，andtheforeigninvadershavefleduntilnextautumn.EgyptisnowmoreEgyptian，beneathamoreburningsky.ThesunofthisEasterSundayisashotasoursofJuly，andthegroundseemsasifitwouldperishofdrought.Butitisalwaysthusinthespringtimeofthisrainlesscountry;thetrees，whichhavekepttheirleavesthroughoutthewinter，shedtheminAprilasoursdoinNovember.Thereisnoshadeanywhereandeverythingsuffers.Everythinggrowsyellowontheyellowsands.Butthereisnocauseforuneasiness：theinundationisathand，whichhasneverfailedsincethecommencementofourgeologicalperiod.Inanotherfewweekstheprodigiousriverwillspreadalongitsbanks，justasinthetimesoftheGodAmen，aprecociousandimpetuouslife.Andmeanwhiletheorange—trees，thejasmineandthehoneysuckle，whichmenhavetakencaretowaterwithwaterfromtheNile，arefullofriotousbloom.AswepassthegardensofOldCairo，whichalternatewiththetumblinghouses，thiscontinualcloudofwhitedustthatenvelopsuscomessuddenlyladenwiththeirsweetfragrance;sothat，despitethedroughtandthebarenessofthetrees，thescentsofasuddenandfeverishspringtimearealreadyintheair.
WhenwearriveatthewallsofwhatusedtobetheRomancitadelwehavetodescendfromourcarriage，andpassingthroughalowdoorwaypenetrateonfootintothelabyrinthofaCopticquarterwhichisdyingofdustandoldage.Desertedhousesthathavebecometherefugesofoutcasts;mushrabiyas，worm—eatenanddecayed;littlemousetrapalleysthatleadusunderarchesoftheMiddleAges，andsometimescloseoverourheadsbyreasonofthefantasticbendingoftheruins.Evenbysucharouteasthisareweconductedtoafamousbasilica！WereitnotforthesegroupsofCopts，dressedintheirSundaygarb，whomaketheirwaylikeusthroughtheruinstotheEastermass，weshouldthinkthatwehadlostourway.
Andhowprettytheylook，thesewomendrapedlikephantomsintheirblacksilks.Theirlongveilsdonotcompletelyhidethem，asdothoseoftheMoslems.Theyaresimplyplacedovertheirhairandleaveuncoveredthedelicatefeatures，thegoldenneckletandthehalf—baredarmsthatcarryontheirwriststhicktwistedbraceletsofvirgingold.PureEgyptiansastheyare，theyhavepreservedthesamedelicateprofile，thesameelongatedeyes，asmarktheoldgoddessescarvedinbas—reliefonthePharaonicwalls.Butsome，alas，amongsttheyoungoneshavediscardedtheirtraditionalcostume，andarearrayed/alafranque/，ingownsandhats.Andsuchgowns，suchhats，suchflowers！Theverypeasantsofourmeanestvillageswoulddisdainthem.Oh！whycannotsomeonetellthesepoorlittlewomen，whohaveitintheirpowertobesoadorable，thatthebeautifulfoldsoftheirblackveilsgivetothemanexquisiteandcharacteristicdistinction，whilethispoortinsel，whichrecallsthemid—Lentcarnivals，makesofthemobjectsthatexciteourpity！
Inoneofthewallswhichnowsurroundusthereisalowandshrinkingdoorway.Canthisbetheentrancetothebasilica？Theideaseemsabsurd.Andyetsomeoftheprettycreaturesintheblackveilsandbraceletsofgold，whowereinfrontofus，havedisappearedthroughit，andalreadytheperfumeofthecensersiswaftedtowardsus.A
kindofcorridor，astonishinglypoorandold，twistsitselfsuspiciously，andthenissuesintoanarrowcourt，morethanathousandyearsold，whereoffertoryboxes，fixedonOrientalbrackets，inviteouralms.Theodouroftheincensebecomesmorepronounced，andatlastadoor，hiddeninshadowattheendofthisretreat，givesaccesstothevenerablechurchitself.
Thechurch！ItisamixtureofByzantinebasilica，mosqueanddeserthut.Enteringthere，itisasifwewereintroducedsuddenlytothena？veinfancyofChristianity，asifwesurprisedit，asitwere，initscradle——whichwasindeedOriental.Thetriplenaveisfulloflittlechildren（herealso，thatiswhatstrikesusfirst），oflittlemiteswhocryorelselaughandplay;andtherearemotherssucklingtheirnew—bornbabes——andallthetimetheinvisiblemassisbeingcelebratedbeyond，behindtheiconostasis.Ontheground，onmats，wholefamiliesareseatedincircle，asiftheywereintheirhomes.A
thickdepositofwhitechalkonthedefaced，shrunkenwallsbearswitnesstogreatage.Andoverallthisisastrangeoldceilingofcedarwood，traversedbylargebarbaricbeams.
Inthenave，supportedbycolumnsofmarble，broughtindaysgonebyfromPagantemples，thereare，asinalltheseoldCopticchurches，hightransversewoodenpartitions，elaboratelywroughtintheArabfashion，whichdivideitintothreesections：thefirst，intowhichonecomesonenteringthechurch，isallottedtothewomen，thesecondisforthebaptistery，andthethird，attheendadjoiningtheiconostasis，isreservedforthemen.
Thesewomenwhoaregatheredthismorningintheirapportionedspace——
somuchathometherewiththeirsucklinglittleones——wear，almostallofthem，thelongblacksilkveilsofformerdays.Intheirharmoniousandendlesslyrestlessgroups，thegowns/alafranque/andthepoorhatsofcarnivalarestilltheexception.Thecongregation，asawhole，preservesalmostintactitsna？ve，old—timeflavour.
Andthereismovementtoo，beyond，inthecompartmentofthemen，whichisboundedatthefartherendbytheiconostasis——athousand—
year—oldwalldecoratedwithinlaidcedarwoodandivoryofpreciousantiqueworkmanship，andadornedwithstrangeoldicons，blackenedbytime.Itisbehindthiswall——piercedbyseveraldoorways——thatmassisnowbeingsaid.Fromthislastsanctuaryshutoffthusfromthepeoplecomesthevaguesoundofsinging;fromtimetotimeapriestraisesafadedsilkcurtainandfromthethresholdmakesthesignofblessing.Hisvestmentsareofgold，andhewearsagoldencrown，butthehumblefaithfulspeaktohimfreely，andeventouchhisgorgeousgarments，thatmightbethoseofoneoftheWiseKings.Hesmiles，andlettingfallthecurtain，whichcoverstheentrancetothetabernacle，disappearsagainintothisinnocentmystery.
Eventheleastthingsheretellofdecay.Theflagstones，troddenbythefeetofnumberlessdeadgenerations，arebecomeuneventhroughthesettlingofthesoil.Everythingisaskew，bent，dustyandworn—out.
Thedaylightcomesfromabove，throughnarrowbarredwindows.Thereisalackofair，sothatonealmoststifles.Butthoughthesundoesnotenter，acertainindefinablereflectionfromthewhitenedwallsremindsusthatoutsidethereisaflaming，resplendentEasternspring.
Inthis，theoldgrandfather，asitwere，ofchurches，fillednowwithacloudofodoroussmoke，whatonehears，moreeventhanthechantingofthemass，istheceaselessmovement，thepiousagitationofthefaithful;andmoreeventhanthat，thestartlingnoisethatrisesfromtheholycryptbelow——thesharpclashingofcymbalsandthosemultitudinouslittlewailings，thatsoundlikethemewingsofkittens.
Butletmenotharbourthoughtsofirony！Surelynot.If，inourWesternlands，certainceremoniesseemtomeanti—Christian——as，forexample，oneofthosespectacularhighmassesintheover—pompousCathedralofCologne，wherehalberdiersoverawethecrowd——here，onthecontrary，thesimplicityofthisprimitivecultistouchingandrespectableintheextreme.TheseCoptswhoinstallthemselvesintheirchurch，asroundtheirfiresides，whomaketheirhomethereandencumbertheplacewiththeirfretfullittleones，have，intheirownway，wellunderstoodthewordofHimwhosaid："SufferthelittlechildrentocomeuntoMe，anddonotforbidthem，forofsuchisthekingdomofGod."
CHAPTERIX
THERACEOFBRONZE
Amonotonouschantonthreenotes，whichmustdatefromthefirstPharaohs，maystillbeheardinourdaysonthebanksoftheNile，fromtheDeltaasfarasNubia.Atdifferentplacesalongtheriver，half—mademen，withtorsosofbronzeandvoicesallalike，intoneitinthemorningwhentheycommencetheirendlesslaboursandcontinueitthroughouttheday，untiltheeveningbringsrepose.
Whoeverhasjourneyedinadahabiyauptheoldriverwillrememberthissongofthewater—drawers，withitsaccompaniment，inslowcadence，ofcreakingsofwetwood.
Itisthesongofthe"shaduf，"andthe"shaduf"isaprimitiverigging，whichhasremainedunchangedsincetimesbeyondallreckoning.Itiscomposedofalongantenna，liketheyardofatartan，whichissupportedinsee—sawfashiononanuprightbeam，andcarriesatitsextremityawoodenbucket.Aman，withmovementsofsingularbeauty，worksitwhilehesings，lowerstheantenna，drawsthewaterfromtheriver，andraisesthefilledbucket，whichanothermancatchesinitsascentandemptiesintoabasinmadeoutofthemudoftheriverbank.Whentheriverislowtherearethreesuchbasins，placedoneabovetheother，asiftheywerestagesbywhichthepreciouswatermountstothefieldsofcornandlucerne.Andthenthree"shadufs，"oneabovetheother，creaktogether，loweringandraisingtheirgreatscarabaeus’hornstotherhythmofthesamesong.
AllalongthebanksoftheNilethismovementoftheantennaeoftheshadufsistobeseen.Ithaditsbeginningintheearliestagesandisstillthecharacteristicmanifestationofhumanlifealongtheriverbanks.Itceasesonlyinthesummer，whentheriver，swollenbytherainsofequatorialAfrica，overflowsthislandofEgypt，whichititselfhasmadeinthemidstoftheSaharansands.Butinthewinter，whichishereatimeofluminousdroughtandchangelessblueskies，itisinfullswing.Theneveryday，fromdawnuntiltheeveningprayer，themenarebusyattheirwater—drawing，transformedforthetimeintotirelessmachines，withmusclesthatworklikemetalbands.Theactionneverchanges，anymorethanthesong，andoftentheirthoughtsmustwanderfromtheirautomatictoil，andlosethemselvesinsomedream，akintothatoftheirancestorswhowereyokedtothesameriggingfourorfivethousandsyearsago.Theirtorsos，delugedateachrisingoftheoverflowingbucket，streamconstantlywithcoldwater;andsometimesthewindisicy，evenwhilethesunburns;buttheseperpetualworkersare，aswehavesaid，ofbronze，andtheirhardenedbodiestakenoharm.
Thesemenarethefellahs，thepeasantsofthevalleyoftheNile——
pureEgyptians，whosetypehasnotchangedinthecourseofcenturies.
Intheoldestofthebas—reliefsofThebesorMemphisyoumayseemanysuch，withthesamenobleprofileandthickishlips，thesameelongatedeyesshadowedbyheavyeyelids，thesameslenderfigure，surmountedbybroadshoulders.
Thewomenwhofromtimetotimedescendtotheriver，todrawwateralso，butintheircaseinthevasesofpotters’claywhichtheycarry——thisfetchingandcarryingofthelife—givingwateristheoneprimordialoccupationinthisEgypt，whichhasnorain，noranylivingspring，andsubsistsonlybyitsriver——thesewomenwalkandposturewithaninimitablegrace，drapedinblackveils，whicheventhepoorestallowtotrailbehindthem，likethetrainofacourtdress.
Inthisbrightland，withitsrose—coloureddistances，itisstrangetoseethem，allsosombrelyclothed，spotsofmourning，asitwere，inthegayfieldsandtheflaringdesert.Machine—likecreatures，alluntaught，theyyetpossessbyinstinct，asdidoncethedaughtersofHellas，asenseofnobilityinattitudeandcarriage.NoneofthewomenofEuropecouldwearthesecoarseblackstuffswithsuchamajesticharmony，andnonesurelycouldsoraisetheirbarearmstoplaceontheirheadstheheavyjarsfilledwithNilewater，andthen，departing，carrythemselvessoproudly，souprightandresilientundertheirburden.
Themuslintunicswhichtheywearareinvariablyblackliketheveils，setoffperhapswithsomeredembroideryorsilverspangles.Theyareunfastenedacrossthechest，and，byanarrowopeningwhichdescendstothegirdle，disclosetheamber—colouredflesh，themedianswellofbosomsofpalebronze，which，duringtheirephemeralyouthatleast，areofaperfectcontour.Thefaces，itistrue，whentheyarenothiddenfromyoubyafoldoftheveil，aregenerallydisappointing.
Therudelabours，theearlymaternityandlactations，soonageandwitherthem.Butifbychanceyouseeayoungwomansheisusuallyanapparitionofbeauty，atoncevigorousandslender.
Asforthefellahbabies，whoaboundingreatnumbersandfollow，halfnakedtheirmammasortheirbigsisters，theywouldforthemostpartbeadorablelittlecreatures，wereitnotforthedirtinesswhichinthiscountryisathingalmostprescribedbytradition.RoundtheireyelidsandtheirmoistlipsaregluedlittleclustersofEgyptianflies，whichareconsideredheretobebeneficialtothechildren，andthelatterhavenothoughtofdrivingthemaway，soresignedaretheybecome，byforceofheredity，towhateverannoyancetheytherebysuffer.Anotherexampleindeedofthepassivitywhichtheirfathersshowwhenbroughtfacetofacewiththeinvadingforeigners！
Passivityandmeekenduranceseemtobethecharacteristicsofthisinoffensivepeople，sogracefulintheirrags，somysteriousintheirage—oldimmobility，andsoreadytoacceptwithanequalindifferencewhateveryokemaycome.Poor，beautifulpeople，withmusclesthatnevergrowtired！Whosemeninoldentimesmovedthegreatstonesofthetemples，andknewnoburdenthatwastooheavy;whosewomen，withtheirslender，pale—tawnyarmsanddelicatesmallhands，surpassbyfarinstrengththeburliestofourpeasants！Poorbeautifulraceofbronze！Nodoubtitwastooprecociousandputforthtoosoonitsastonishingflower——intimeswhentheotherpeoplesoftheearthweretillvegetatinginobscurity;nodoubtitspresentresignationcomesfromlassitude，aftersomanycenturiesofeffortandexpansivepower.
Onceitmonopolisedthegloryoftheworld，andhereitisnow——forsometwothousandyears——fallenintoakindoftiredsleep，whichhasleftitaneasypreyaliketotheconquerorsofyesterdayandtotheexploitersofto—day.
Anothertraitwhich，sidebysidewiththeirpatience，prevailsamongstthesetrue—bloodedEgyptiansofthecountrysideistheirattachmenttothesoil，tothesoilwhichnourishesthem，andinwhichlaterontheywillsleep.Topossessland，toforestallatanypricethesmallestportionofit，toreclaimpatchesofitfromtheshiftingdesert，thatisthesoleaim，oralmostso，whichthefellahspursueinthisworld：topossessafield，howeversmallitmaybe——afield，moreover，whichtheytillwiththeoldestploughinventedbyman，theexactdesignofwhichmaybeseencarvedonthewallsofthetombsatMemphis.
Andthissamepeople，whichwasthefirstofanytoconceivemagnificence，whosegodsandkingswereformerlysurroundedwithanover—poweringsplendour，contrives，toliveto—day，pell—mellwithitssheepandgoats，inhumble，low—roofedcabinsmadeoutofsunbakedmud！TheEgyptianvillagesarealloftheneutralcolourofthesoil;
alittlewhitechalkbrightens，perhaps，theminaretorcupolaofthemosque;butexceptforthatlittlerefuge，whitherfolkcometoprayeachevening——fornooneherewouldretireforthenightwithouthavingfirstprostratedhimselfbeforethemajestyofAllah——
everythingisofamournfulgrey.Eventhecostumesofthepeoplearedull—colouredandwretched—looking.ItisanEastgrownpoorandold，althoughtheskyremainsaswonderfulasever.
Butallthispastgrandeurhasleftitsimprintonthefellahs.Theyhavearefinementofappearanceandmanner，allunknownamongstthemajorityofthegoodpeopleofourvillages.Andthoseamongstthemwhobygoodfortunebecomeprosperoushaveforthwithakindofdistinction，andseemtoknow，asifbybirth，howtodispensethegracioushospitalityofanaristocrat.Thehospitalityofeventhehumblestpreservessomethingofcourtesyandease，whichtellsofbreed.Irememberthosecleareveningswhen，afterthepeacefulnavigationoftheday，Iusedtostopanddrawupmydahabiyatothebankoftheriver.（Ispeaknowofout—of—the—wayplaces——freeasyetfromthecankerofthetouristelement——suchasIhabituallychose.）
Itwasinthetwilightatthehourwhenthestarsbegantoshineoutfromthegolden—greensky.AssoonasIputfootupontheshore，andmyarrivalwassignalledbythebarkingofthewatchdogs，thechiefofthenearesthamletalwayscametomeetme.Adignifiedman，inalongrobeofstripedsilkormodestbluecotton，heaccostedmewithformulaeofwelcomequiteinthegrandmanner;insistedonmyfollowinghimtohishouseofdriedmud;andthere，escortingme，aftertheexchangeoffurthercompliments，totheplaceofhonouronthepoordivanofhislodging，forcedmetoacceptthetraditionalcupofArabcoffee.
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Towakethesefellahsfromtheirstrangesleep，toopentheireyesatlast，andtotransformthembyamoderneducation——thatisthetaskwhichnowadaysaselectbandofEgyptianpatriotsisdesirousofattempting.Notlongago，suchanendeavourwouldhaveseemedtomeacrime;forthesestubbornpeasantswerelivingunderconditionsoftheleastsuffering，richinfaithandpoorindesire.Butto—daytheyaresufferingfromaninvasionmoreundermining，moredangerousthanthatoftheconquerorswhokilledbyswordandfire.TheOccidentalsarethere，everywhere，amongstthem，profitingbytheirmeekpassivitytoturnthemintoslavesfortheirbusinessandtheirpleasure.Theworkofdegradationofthesesimpletonsissoeasy：menbringthemnewdesires，newgreeds，newneeds，——androbthemoftheirprayers.
Yet，itistimeperhapstowakethemfromtheirsleepofmorethantwentycenturies，toputthemontheirguard，andtoseewhatyettheymaybecapableof，whatsurprisestheymayhaveinstoreforusafterthatlonglethargy，whichmustsurelyhavebeenrestorative.Inanycasethehumanspecies，incourseofdeteriorationthroughoverstrain，wouldfindamongstthesesingersoftheshadufandtheselabourerswiththeantiquatedplough，brainsuncloudedbyalcohol，andawholereserveoftranquilbeauty，ofwell—balancedphysique，ofvigouruntaintedbybestiality.
CHAPTERX
ACHARMINGLUNCHEON
WearemakingourwaythroughthefieldsofAbydosinthedazzlingsplendouroftheforenoon，havingcome，likesomanypilgrimsofold，fromthebanksoftheNiletovisitthesanctuariesofOsiris，whichliebeyondthegreenplains，ontheedgeofthedesert.
Itisajourneyofsometenmilesorso，underaclearskyandaburningsun.Wepassthroughfieldsofcornandlucerne，whosewonderfulgreenispiquedwithlittleflowers，suchasmaybeseeninourclimate.Hundredsoflittlebirdssingtousdistractedlyofthejoyoflife;thesunshinesradiantly，magnificently;theimpetuouscornisalreadyintheear;itmightbesomegaypageantofourdaysofMay.OneforgetsthatitisFebruary，thatwearestillinthewinter——theluminouswinterofEgypt.
Hereandthereamongsttheoutspreadfieldsarevillagesburiedunderthethickfoliageoftrees——underacaciaswhich，inthedistance，resembleoursathome;beyondindeedthemountainchainofLibya，likeawallconfiningthefertilefields，looksstrangeperhapsinitsrose—colour，andtoodesolate;but，neverthelessamidstthisgladmusicofthefields，thesesongsoflarksandtwitteringsofsparrows，youscarcelyrealisethatyouareinaforeignland.
Abydos！Whatmagicthereisinthename！"Abydosisathand，andinanothermomentweshallbethere."Themerewordsseemsomehowtotransformtheaspectofthehomelygreenfields，andmakethispastoralregionalmostimposing.Thebuzzingofthefliesincreasesintheoverheatedairandthesongofthebirdssubsidesuntilatlastitdiesawayintheapproachofnoon.
Wehavebeenjourneyingalittlemorethananhouramongsttheverdureofthegrowingcornthatliesuponthefieldslikeacarpet，whensuddenly，beyondthelittlehousesandtressofavillage，quiteadifferentworldisdisclosed——thefamiliarworldofglareanddeathwhichpressessocloselyuponinhabitedEgypt：thedesert！ThedesertofLibya，andnowaseverwhenwecomeuponitsuddenlyfromthebanksoftheoldriveritrisesupbeforeus;beginningatonce，withouttransition，absoluteandterrible，assoonasweleavethethickvelvetofthelastfield，thecoolshadeofthelastacacia.Itssandsseemtoslopetowardsus，inaprodigiousincline，fromthestrangemountainsthatwesawfromthehappyplain，andwhichnowappear，enthronedbeyond，likethemonarchsofallthisnothingness.
ThetownofAbydos，whichhasvanishedandleftnowrackbehind，roseonceinthisspotwherewenowstand，ontheverythresholdofthesolitudes;butitsnecropoles，moreveneratedeventhanthoseofMemphis，anditsthrice—holytemples，arealittlefartheron，inthemarvellouslyconservingsand，whichhasburiedthemunderitstirelesswavesandpreservedthemalmostintactuptillthepresentday.
Thedesert！Assoonasweputfootuponitsshiftingsoil，whichsmothersthesoundofoursteps，theatmospheretooseemssuddenlytochange;itburnswithastrangenewheat，asifgreatfireshadbeenlightedintheneighbourhood.
Andthiswholedomainoflightanddrought，rightawayintothedistance，isshadedandstreakedwiththefamiliarbrown，redandyellowcolours.Themournfulreflectionofadjacentthingsaugmentstoexcesstheheatandlight.Thehorizontremblesunderthelittlevapoursofmiragelikewaterruffledbythewind.Thebackground，whichmountsgraduallytothefootoftheLibyanmountains，isstrewnwiththedebrisofbricksandstones——shapelessruinswhich，thoughtheyscarcelyriseabovethesand，aboundneverthelessingreatnumbers，andservetoremindusthathereindeedisaveryancientsoil，wheremenlabouredincenturiesthathavedriftedoutofknowledge.Onedivinesinstinctivelyandatoncethecatacombs，thehypogeaandthemummiesthatliebeneath！
ThesenecropolesofAbydosonce——andforthousandsofyears——exercisedanextraordinaryfascinationoverthispeople——theprecursorofpeoples——whodweltinthevalleyoftheNile.Accordingtooneofthemostancientofhumantraditions，theheadofOsiris，thelordofthe/otherworld/，reposedinthedepthsofoneofthetempleswhichto—dayareburiedinthesands.Andmen，assoonastheirthoughtcommencedtoissuefromtheprimevalnight，werehauntedbytheideathattherewerelocalitieshelpful，asifwere，tothepoorcorpsesthatlaybeneaththeearth，thattherewerecertainholyplaceswhereitbehovedthemtobeburiediftheywishedtobereadywhenthesignalofawakeningwasgiven.AndinoldEgypt，therefore，eachone，atthehourofdeath，turnedhisthoughtstothesestonesandsands，intheardenthopethathemightbeabletosleepneartheremainsofhisgod.Andwhentheplacewasbecomingcrowdedwithsleepers，thosewhocouldobtainnoplacethereconceivedtheideaofhavinghumbleobelisksplantedontheholyground，whichatleastshouldtelltheirnames;orevenrecommendedthattheirmummiesmightbethereforsomeweeks，eveniftheywereafterwardsremoved.Andthus，funeralprocessionspassedtoandfrowithoutceasingthroughthecornfieldsthatseparatetheNilefromthedesert.Abydos！Inthesadhumandreamdominatedbythethoughtofdissolution，AbydosprecededbymanycenturiestheValleyofJehosophatoftheHebrews，thecemeteriesaroundMeccaoftheMoslems，andtheholytombsbeneathouroldestcathedrals！Abydos！Itbehovesustowalkherepensivelyandsilentlyoutofrespectforallthosethousandsofsoulswhoformerlyturnedtowardsthisplace，withoutstretchedhands，inthehourofdeath.
Thefirstgreattemple——thatwhichKingSetiraisedtothemysteriousPrinceoftheOtherWorld，whointhosedayswascalledOsiris——isquiteclose——adistanceoflittlemorethan200yardsintheglareofthedesert.Wecomeuponitsuddenly，sothatitalmoststartlesus，fornothingwarnsusofitsproximity.Thesandfromwhichithasbeenexhumed，andwhichburieditfor2000years，stillrisesalmosttoitsroof.Throughanirongate，guardedbytwotallBedouinguardsinblackrobes，weplungeatonceintotheshadowofenormousstones.Weareinthehouseofthegod，inaforestofheavyOsirideancolumns，surroundedbyaworldofpeopleinhighcoiffures，carvedinbas—
reliefonthepillarsandwalls——peoplewhoseemtobesignallingonetoanotherandexchangingamongstthemselvesmysterioussigns，silentlyandforever.
Butwhatisthisnoiseinthesanctuary？Itseemstobefullofpeople.There，sureenough，beyondasecondrowofcolumns，isquitealittlecrowdtalkingloudlyinEnglish.IfancythatIcanheartheclinkingofglassesandthetappingofknivesandforks.
Oh！poor，poortemple，towhatstrangeusesareyoucomeThisexcessofgrotesquenessinprofanationismoreinsultingsurelythantobesackedbybarbarians！Beholdatablesetforsomethirtyguests，andthegueststhemselves——ofbothsexes——merryandlighthearted，belongtothatspecialtypeofhumanitywhichpatronisesThomasCook&
Son（EgyptLtd.）.Theywearcorkhelmets，andtheclassicgreenspectacles;drinkwhiskyandsoda，andeatvoraciouslysandwichesandotherviandsoutofgreasypaper，whichnowlittersthefloor.Andthewomen！Heavens！whatscarecrowstheyare！Andthiskindofthing，sotheblack—robedBedouinguardsinformus，isrepeatedeverydaysolongastheseasonlasts.AluncheoninthetempleofOsirisispartoftheprogrammeofpleasuretrips.Eachdayatnoonanewbandarrives，onheedlessandunfortunatedonkeys.Thetablesandthecrockeryremain，ofcourse，intheoldtemple！
Letusescapequickly，ifpossiblebeforethesightshallhavebecomegravenonourmemory.
Butalas！evenwhenweareoutside，aloneagainontheexpanseofdazzlingsands，wecannolongertakethingsseriously.Abydosandthedeserthaveceasedtoexist.Thefacesofthosewomenremaintohauntus，theirfacesandtheirhats，andthoselookswhichtheyvouchsafedusfromovertheirsolarspectaclesTheuglinessassociatedwiththenameofCookwasonceexplainedtomeinthiswise，andtheexplanationatfirstsightseemedsatisfactory："TheUnitedKingdom，justifiablyjealousofthebeautyofitsdaughters，submitsthemtoajurywhentheyreachtheageofpuberty;andthosewhoareclassedastoouglytoreproducetheirkindareaccordedanunlimitedaccountatThomasCook&Sons，andthusvowedtoacourseofperpetualtravel，whichleavesthemnotimetothinkofcertaintriflesincidentaltolife."Theexplanation，asIsay，seducedmeforthetimebeing.ButamoreattentiveexaminationofthebandswhoinfestthevalleyoftheNileenablesmetoaverthatallthesegoodEnglishladiesareofanagenotoriouslycanonical;andthecatastropheofprocreationtherefore，supposingthatsuchanaccidentcouldeverhavehappenedtothem，mustdatebacktoatimelonganteriortotheirenrolment.AndI
remainperplexed！
Withoutconvictionnow，wemakeourwaytowardsanothertemple，guaranteedsolitary.Indeedthesunblazestherealonelysovereigninthemidstofaprofoundsilence，andEgyptandthepasttakeusagainintotheirfolds.
OncemoretoOsiris，thegodofheavenlyawakeninginthenecropolisofAbydos，thissanctuarywasbuiltbyRamsesII.Butthesandshavecovereditwiththeirwindingsheetinvain，andhavebeenabletopreserveforusonlythelowerandmoredeeplyburiedparts.Menintheirblindgreedhavedestroyedtheupperportions，[*]anditsruins，protectedandclearedastheyareto—day，riseonlysometenortwelvefeetfromtheground.Inthebas—reliefsthemajorityofthefigureshaveonlylegsandaportionofthebody;theirheadsandshouldershavedisappearedwiththeupperpartsofthewalls.Buttheyseemtohavepreservedtheirvitality：thegesticulations，theexaggeratedpantomimeoftheattitudesoftheseheadlessthings，aremorestrange，morestriking，perhaps，thaniftheirfacesstillremained.Andtheyhavepreservedtoo，inanextraordinarydegree，thebrightnessoftheirantiquepaintings，thefreshtintsoftheircostumes，oftheirrobesofturquoiseblue，orlapis，oremerald—green，orgolden—yellow.
Itisanartlesskindoffresco—work，whichneverthelessamazesusbyremainingperfectafterthirty—fivecenturies.Allthatthesepeopledidseemsasifmadeforimmortality.Itistrue，however，thatsuchbrilliantcoloursarenotfoundinanyoftheotherPharaonicmonuments，andthatheretheyareheightenedbythewhitebackground.
For，notwithstandingthebluish，blackandredgraniteoftheporticoes，thewallsareallofafinelimestone，ofexceedingwhiteness，and，intheholyofholies，ofapurealabaster.
[*]Notlongagoamanufacturer，establishedintheneighbourhood，discoveringthatthelimestoneofitswallswasfriable，usedthistempleasaquarry，andforsomeyearsbas—reliefsbeyondpriceservedasalimenttothemillsofthefactory.
Abovethetruncatedwalls，withtheirbrightclearcolours，thedesertappears，andshowsquitebrownbycontrast;oneseesthegreatyellowswellofsandandstonesabovethepicturesofthesedecapitatedpeople.ItriseslikeacolossalwaveandstretchesouttobathethefootoftheLibyanmountainsbeyond.Towardsthenorthandwestofthesolitudes，shapelessruinsoftawny—colouredblocksfollowoneanotherinthesandsuntilthedazzlingdistanceendsinaclear—cutlineagainstthesky.ApartfromthistempleofRamses，wherewenowstand，andthatofSetiinthevicinity，wheretheenterpriseofThomasCook&Sonflourishes，thereisnothingaroundusbutruins，crumbledandpulverisedbeyondallpossibleredemption.Buttheygiveuspause，thesedisappearingruins，fortheyarethedebrisofthatagelesstemple，wheresleepstheheadofthegod，thedebrisofthetombsoftheMiddleandAncientEmpires，andtheyindicatestillthewideextentanddevelopmentofthenecropolesofAbydos，sooldthatitalmostmakesonegiddytothinkoftheirbeginning.
Here，asatThebesandMemphis，thetombsoftheEgyptiansaremetwithonlyamongstthesandsandtheparchedrocks.Thegreatancestralpeople，whowouldhaveshudderedatourblacktrees，andthecorruptionofthedampgraves，likedtoplaceitsembalmeddeadinthemidstofthisluminous，changelesssplendourofdeath，whichmencallthedesert.
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AndwhatisthisnowthatishappeningintheholyneighbourhoodofunhappyOsiris？Atroupeofdonkeys，belabouredbyBedouindrivers，isbeingdriveninthedirectionoftheadjacenttemple，dedicatedtothegodbySeti！Theluncheonnodoubtisoverandthebandabouttodepart，sharptotheappointedhouroftheprogramme.Letuswatchthemfromaprudentdistance.
Tobebrief，theyallmountintotheirsaddles，theseCooksandCookesses，andopening，notwithoutaconsciousairofmajesty，theirwhitecottonparasols，takethemselvesoffinthedirectionoftheNile.Theydisappearandtheplacebelongstous.
Whenweventureatlasttoreturntothefirstsanctuary，wheretheyhadlunchedtheirfillintheshade，theguardiansarebusyclearingawaytheleavingsandthedirtypaper.Andtheypackthedubiouscrockery，whichwillberequiredforto—morrow’sluncheon，intolargechestsonwhichmaybereadinlargelettersofglorythenamesoftheveritablesovereignsofmodernEgypt："ThomasCook&Son（EgyptLtd.）."
Allthishappilyendswiththefirsthypostyle.Nothingdishonoursthehallsoftheinterior，wheresilencehasagaindescended，thevastsilenceofthenoonofthedesert.
InthereignoftheEmperorTiberius，menalreadymarvelledatthistemple，asatarelicofthemostdistantandnebulouspast.ThegeographerStrabowroteinthosedays："ItisanadmirablepalacebuiltinthefashionoftheLabyrinthsavethatithasfewergalleries."Therearegalleriesenoughhowever，andonecanreadilyloseoneselfinitsmazyturnings.Sevenchapels，consecratedtoOsirisandtodifferentgodsandgoddessesofhissuite;sevenvaultedchambers;sevendoorsfortheprocessionsofkingsandmultitudes;
and，atthesides，numberlesshalls，corridors，secondarychapels，darkchambersandhiddendoorways.Thatveryprimitivecolumn，suggestiveofreeds，whichiscalledinarchitecturethe"plantcolumn"andresemblesamonstrousstemofpapyrus，riseshereinathickforest，tosupportthestonesoftheblueceilings，whicharestrewnwithstars，inthelikenessoftheskyofthiscountry.Inmanycasesthesestonesaremissingandleavelargeopeningsontotherealskyabove.Theirmassiveness，whichonemighthavethoughtwouldsecurethemanendlessduration，hasavailedthemnothing;thesunofsomanycenturieshascrackedthem，andtheirownweight，then，hasbroughtthemheadlongtotheground.Andfloodsoflightnowenterthroughthegaps，intotheverychapelswherethemenofoldhadthoughttoensureaholygloom.
Despitethedisasterwhichhasovertakentheceilings，thisisneverthelessoneofthemostperfectofthesanctuariesofancientEgypt.Thesands，thosegentlesextons，haveheresucceededmiraculouslyintheirworkofpreservation.Theymighthavebeencarvedyesterday，theseinnumerablepeople，who，everywhere——onthewalls，onthisforestofcolumns——gesticulateand，withtheirarmsandlonghands，continuewithanimationtheireternalmuteconversation.
Thewholetemple，withtheopeningswhichgiveitlight，ismorebeautifulperhapsthaninthetimeofthePharaohs.Inplaceoftheold—timedarkness，atransparentgloomnowalternateswithshaftsofsunlight.Hereandtherethesubjectsofthebas—reliefs，solongburiedinthedarkness，aredelugedwithburningrayswhichdetailtheirattitudes，theirmuscles，theirscarcelyalteredcolours，andendowthemagainwithlifeandyouth.Thereisnopartofthewall，inthisimmenseplace，butiscoveredwithdivinities，withhieroglyphsandemblems.Osirisinhighcoiffure，thebeautifulIsisinthehelmetofabird，jackal—headedAnubis，falcon—headedHorus，andibis—headedThotharerepeatedathousandtimes，welcomingwithstrangegesturesthekingsandpriestswhoarerenderingthemhomage.
Thebodies，almostnude，withbroadshouldersandslimwaist，haveaslenderness，agrace，infinitelychaste，andthefeaturesofthefacesareofanexquisitepurity.Theartistswhocarvedthesecharmingheads，withtheirlongeyes，fulloftheancientdream，werealreadyskilledintheirart;butthroughadeficiency，whichpuzzlesus，theywereonlyabletodrawtheminprofile.Allthelegs，allthefeetareinprofiletoo，althoughthebodies，ontheotherhand，faceusfully.
Menneededyetsomecenturiesofstudybeforetheyunderstoodperspective——whichtousnowseemssosimple——andtheforeshorteningoffigures，andwereabletorendertheimpressionofthemonaplanesurface.
ManyofthepicturesrepresentKingSeti，drawnwithoutdoubtfromlife，fortheyshowusalmosttheveryfeaturesofhismummy，exhibitednowinthemuseumatCairo.Athissideheholdsaffectionatelyhisson，theprince—royal，Ramses（lateronRamsesII.，thegreatSesostrisoftheGreeks）.Theyhavegiventhelatterquiteafrankair，andhewearsacurlonthesideofhishead，aswasthefashiontheninchildhood.He，also，hashismummyinaglasscaseinthemuseum，andanyonewhohasseenthattoothless，sinisterwreck，whohadalreadyattainedtheageofnearlyahundredyearsbeforedeathdeliveredhimtotheembalmersofThebes，willfinditdifficulttobelievethathecouldeverhavebeenyoung，andwornhishaircurledso;thathecouldeverhaveplayedandbeenachild.
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WethoughtwehadfinishedwiththeCooksandCookessesoftheluncheon.Butalas！ourhorses，fasterthantheirdonkeys，overtaketheminthereturnjourneyamongstthegreencornfieldsofAbydos;andinastoppageinthenarrowroadway，causedbyameetingwithanumberofcamelsladenwithlucerne，wearebroughttoahaltintheirmidst.
Almosttouchingmeisadearlittlewhitedonkey，wholooksatmepensivelyandinsuchawaythatweatonceunderstandeachother.A
mutualsympathyunitesus.ACookessinspectaclessurmountshim——themosthideousofthemall，bonyandsevere.Overhertravellingcostume，alreadysufficientlyrepulsive，shewearsatennisjersey，whichaccentuatestheangularityofherfigure，andinherpersonsheseemstheveryincarnationoftherespectabilityoftheBritishIsles.
Itwouldbemoreequitable，too——solongarethoselegsofhers，which，tobesure，havescantinterestforthetourist——ifshecarriedthedonkey.
Thepoorlittlewhitethingregardsmewithmelancholy.Hisearstwitchrestlesslyandhisbeautifuleyes，sofine，soobservantofeverything，saytomeasplainaswords：
"Sheisabeauty，isn’tshe？"
"Sheis，indeed，mypoorlittledonkey.Butthinkofthis：fixedonthybackassheis，thouhastthisadvantageoverme——thouseesthernot！"
Butmyreflection，thoughjudiciousenough，doesnotconsolehim，andhislookanswersmethathewouldbemuchprouderifhecarried，likesomanyofhiscomrades，asimplepackofsugarcanes.
CHAPTERXI
THEDOWNFALLOFTHENILE
Somethousandsofyearsago，atthebeginningofourgeologicalperiod，whenthecontinentshadtaken，inthelastgreatupheaval，almosttheformsbywhichwenowknowthem，andwhentheriversbegantotracetheirhesitatingcourses，ithappenedthattherainsofawholewatershedofAfricawereprecipitatedinoneformidabletorrentacrosstheuninhabitableregionwhichstretchesfromtheAtlantictotheIndianOcean，andiscalledtheregionofthedeserts.Andthisenormouswaterway，lostasitwasinthesands，by—and—byregulateditscourse：itbecametheNile，andwithuntiringpatiencesetitselftothepropertaskofriver，whichinthisaccursedzonemightwellhaveseemedanimpossibleone.FirstithadtoroundalltheblocksofgranitescatteredinitswayinthehighplainsofNubia;andthen，andmoreespecially，todeposit，littlebylittle，successivelayersofmud，toformalivingartery，tocreate，asitwere，alonggreenribboninthemidstofthisinfinitedomainofdeath.
Howlongagoisitsincetheworkofthegreatriverbegan？Thereissomethingfearfulinthethought.Duringthe5000yearsofwhichwehaveanyknowledgetheincessantdepositofmudhasscarcelywidenedthisstripofinhabitedEgypt，whichatthemostancientperiodofhistorywasalmostasitisto—day.AndasforthegraniteblocksontheplainsofNubia，howmanythousandsofyearsdiditneedtorollthemandtopolishthemthus？InthetimesofthePharaohstheyalreadyhadtheirpresentroundedforms，wornsmoothbythefrictionofthewater，andthehieroglyphicinscriptionsontheirsurfacesarenotperceptiblyeffaced，thoughtheyhavesufferedtheperiodicalinundationofthesummerforsomefortyorfiftycenturies！
Itwasanexceptionalcountry，thisvalleyoftheNile;marvellousandunique;fertilewithoutrain，wateredaccordingtoitsneedbythegreatriver，withoutthehelpofanycloud.Itknewnotthedulldaysandthehumidityunderwhichwesuffer，butkeptalwaysthechangelessskyoftheimmensesurroundingdeserts，whichexhalednovapourthatmightdimthehorizon.Itwasthiseternalsplendourofitslight，nodoubt，andthiseasinessoflife，whichbroughtforthherethefirstfruitsofhumanthought.ThissameNile，afterhavingsopatientlycreatedthesoilofEgypt，becamealsothefatherofthatpeople，whichledthewayforallothers——likethoseearlybranchesthatoneseesinspring，whichshootfirstfromthestem，andsometimesdiebeforethesummer.Itnursedthatpeople，whoseleastvestigeswediscoverto—daywithsurpriseandwonder;apeoplewho，intheverydawn，inthemidstoftheoriginalbarbarity，conceivedmagnificentlytheinfiniteandthedivine;whoplacedwithsuchcertaintyandgrandeurthefirstarchitecturallines，fromwhichafterwardsourarchitecturewastobederived;wholaidthebasesofart，ofscience，andofallknowledge.
Lateron，whenthisbeautifulflowerofhumanitywasfaded，theNile，flowingalwaysinthemidstofitsdeserts，seemstohavehadformission，duringnearlytwothousandyears，themaintenanceonitsbanksofakindofimmobilityanddesuetude，whichwasinawayahomageofrespectforthesestupendousrelics.Whilethesandwasburyingtheruinsofthetemplesandthebatteredfacesofthecolossi，nothingchangedunderthisskyofchangelessblue.Thesamecultivationproceededonthebanksasintheoldestages;thesameboats，withthesamesails，wentupanddownthethreadofwater;thesamesongskepttimetotheeternalhumantoil.Theraceoffellahs，theunconsciousguardianofaprodigiouspast，sleptonwithoutdesireofchange，andalmostwithoutsuffering.AndtimepassedforEgyptinagreatpeaceofsunlightandofdeath.
Butto—daytheforeignersaremastershere，andhavewakenedtheoldNile——wakenedtoenslaveit.Inlessthantwentyyearstheyhavedisfigureditsvalley，whichuntilthenhadpreserveditselflikeasanctuary.Theyhavesilenceditscataracts，captureditspreciouswaterbydams，topouritafaroffonplainsthatarebecomelikemarshesandalreadysullywiththeirmiststhecrystalclearnessofthesky.Theancientriggingnolongersufficestowaterthelandundercultivation.Machinesworkedbysteam，whichdrawthewatermorequickly，commencetorisealongthebanks，sidebysidewithnewfactories.Soontherewillscarcelybearivermoredishonouredthanthis，byironchimneysandthick，blacksmoke.Anditishappeningapace，thisexploitationoftheNile——hastily，greedily，asinahuntforspoils.Andthusallitsbeautydisappears，foritsmonotonouscourse，throughregionsendlessalike，wonusonlybyitscalmanditsold—worldmystery.
PoorNileoftheprodigies！Onefeelssometimesstillitsdepartingcharm，straycornersofitremainintact.Therearedaysoftranscendentclearness，incomparableevenings，whenonemaystillforgettheuglinessandthesmoke.Buttheclassicexpeditionbydahabiya，theascentoftheriverfromCairotoNubia，willsoonhaveceasedtobeworthmaking.
Ordinarilythisvoyageismadeinthewinter，sothatthetravellermayfollowthecourseofthesunasitmakesitsescapetowardsthesouthernhemisphere.Thewaterthenislowandthevalleyparched.
LeavingthecosmopolitantownofmodernCairo，theironbridges，andthepretentioushotels，withtheirflauntinginscriptions，itimpartsasenseofsuddenpeacefulnesstopassalongthelargeandrapidwatersofthisriver，betweenthecurtainsofpalm—treesonthebanks，bornebyadahabiyawhereoneismasterand，ifonelikes，maybealone.
Atfirst，foradayortwo，thegreathauntingtrianglesofthepyramidsseemtofollowyou，thoseofDashurandthatofSakkarahsucceedingtothoseofGizeh.Foralongtimethehorizonisdisturbedbytheirgiganticsilhouettes.Aswerecedefromthem，andtheydisengagethemselvesbetterfromneighbouringthings，theyseem，ashappensinthecaseofmountains，togrowhigher.Andwhentheyhavefinallydisappeared，wehavestilltoascendslowlyandbystagessomesixhundredmilesofriverbeforewereachthefirstcataract.Ourwayliesthroughmonotonousdesertregionswherethehoursanddaysaremarkedchieflybythevariationsofthewonderfullight.Exceptforthephantasmagoriaofthemorningsandevenings，thereisnooutstandingfeatureonthesedull—colouredbanks，wheremaybeseen，withneverachangeatall，thehumblepastorallifeofthefellahs.