egypt-第2部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！



iconoclasts；　so　dilapidated；　broken　and　diminished；　that　it　is　as

inexpressive　as　the　crumbling　mummies　found　in　the　sarcophagi；　which

no　longer　even　ape　humanity。　But　after　the　manner　of　all　phantoms　it

comes　to　life　again　at　night；　beneath　the　enchantments　of　the　moon。



For　the　men　of　its　time　whom　did　it　represent？　King　Amenemhat？　The　Sun

God？　Who　can　rightly　tell？　Of　all　hieroglyphic　images　it　remains　the

one　least　understood。　The　unfathomable　thinkers　of　Egypt　symbolised

everything　for　the　benefit　of　the　uninitiated　under　the　form　of　awe…

inspiring　figures　of　the　gods；　and　it　may　be；　perhaps；　that；　after

having　meditated　so　deeply　in　the　shadow　of　their　temples；　and　sought

so　long　the　everlasting　wherefore　of　life　and　death；　they　wished

simply　to　sum　up　in　the　smile　of　these　closed　lips　the　vanity　of　the

most　profound　of　our　human　speculations。　。　。　。　It　is　said　that　the

Sphinx　was　once　of　striking　beauty；　when　harmonious　contour　and

colouring　animated　the　face；　and　it　was　enthroned　at　its　full　height

on　a　kind　of　esplanade　paved　with　long　slabs　of　stone。　But　was　it　then

more　sovereign　than　it　is　to…night　in　its　last　decrepitude？　Almost

buried　beneath　the　sand　of　the　Libyan　desert；　which　now　quite　hides

its　base；　it　rises　at　this　hour　like　a　phantom　which　nothing　solid

sustains　in　the　air。



*****



It　has　gone　midnight。　In　little　groups　the　tourists　of　the　evening

have　disappeared；　to　regain　perhaps　the　neighbouring　hotel；　where　the

orchestra　doubtless　has　not　ceased　to　rage；　or　may　be；　remounting

their　cars；　to　join；　in　some　club　of　Cairo；　one　of　those　bridge

parties；　in　which　the　really　superior　intellects　of　our　time　delight；

somethe　stouthearted　onesdeparted　talking　loudly　and　with　cigar　in

mouth；　others；　however；　daunted　in　spite　of　themselves；　lowered　their

voices　as　people　instinctively　do　in　church。　And　the　Bedouin　guides；

who　a　moment　ago　seemed　to　flutter　about　the　giant　monument　like　so

many　black　mothsthey　too　have　gone；　made　restless　by　the　cold　air；

which　erstwhile　they　had　not　known。　The　show　for　to…night　is　over；　and

everywhere　silence　reigns。



The　rosy　tint　fades　on　the　Sphinx　and　the　pyramids；　all　things　in　the

ghostly　scene　grow　visibly　paler；　for　the　moon　as　it　rises　becomes

more　silvery　in　the　increasing　chilliness　of　midnight。　The　winter

mist；　exhaled　from　the　artificially　watered　fields　below；　continues　to

rise；　takes　heart　and　envelops　the　great　mute　face　itself。　And　the

latter　persists　in　its　regard　of　the　dead　moon；　preserving　still　the

old　disconcerting　smile。　It　becomes　more　and　more　difficult　to　believe

that　here　before　us　is　a　real　colossus；　so　surely　does　it　seem　nothing

other　than　a　dilated　reflection　of　a　thing　which　exists　/elsewhere/；

in　some　other　world。　And　behind　in　the　distance　are　the　three

triangular　mountains。　Them；　too；　the　fog　envelops；　till　they　also

cease　to　exist；　and　become　pure　visions　of　the　Apocalypse。



Now　it　is　that　little　by　little　an　intolerable　sadness　is　expressed　in

those　large　eyes　with　their　empty　socketsfor；　at　this　moment；　the

ultimate　secret；　that　which　the　Sphinx　seems　to　have　known　for　so　many

centuries；　but　to　have　withheld　in　melancholy　irony；　is　this：　that　all

these　dead　men　and　women　who　sleep　in　the　vast　necropolis　below　have

been　fooled；　and　the　awakening　signal　has　not　sounded　for　a　single　one

of　them；　and　that　the　creation　of　mankindmankind　that　thinks　and

suffershas　had　no　rational　explanation；　and　that　our　poor

aspirations　are　vain；　but　so　vain　as　to　awaken　pity。







CHAPTER　II



THE　PASSING　OF　CAIRO



Ragged；　threatening　clouds；　like　those　that　bring　the　showers　of　our

early　spring；　hurry　across　a　pale　evening　sky；　whose　mere　aspect　makes

you　cold。　A　wintry　wind；　raw　and　bitter；　blows　without　ceasing；　and

brings　with　it　every　now　and　then　some　furtive　spots　of　rain。



A　carriage　takes　me　towards　what　was　once　the　residence　of　the　great

Mehemet　Ali：　by　a　steep　incline　it　ascends　into　the　midst　of　rocks　and

sandand　already；　and　almost　in　a　moment；　we　seem　to　be　in　the

desert；　though　we　have　scarcely　left　behind　the　last　houses　of　an　Arab

quarter；　where　long…robed　folk；　who　looked　half　frozen；　were　muffled

up　to　the　eyes　to…day。　。　。　。　Was　there　formerly　such　weather　as　this

in　this　country　noted　for　its　unchanging　mildness？



This　residence　of　the　great　sovereign　of　Egypt；　the　citadel　and　the

mosque　which　he　had　made　for　his　last　repose；　are　perched　like　eagles'

nests　on　a　spur　of　the　mountain　chain　of　Arabia；　the　Mokattam；　which

stretches　out　like　a　promontory　towards　the　basin　of　the　Nile；　and

brings　quite　close　to　Cairo；　so　as　almost　to　overhang　it；　a　little　of

the　desert　solitude。　And　so　the　eye　can　see　from　far　off　and　from　all

sides　the　mosque　of　Mehemet　Ali；　with　the　flattened　domes　of　its

cupolas；　its　pointed　minarets；　the　general　aspect　so　entirely　Turkish；

perched　high　up；　with　a　certain　unexpectedness；　above　the　Arab　town

which　it　dominates。　The　prince　who　sleeps　there　wished　that　it　should

resemble　the　mosques　of　his　fatherland；　and　it　looks　as　if　it　had　been

transported　bodily　from　Stamboul。



A　short　trot　brings　us　up　to　the　lower　gate　of　the　old　fortress；　and；

by　a　natural　effect；　as　we　ascend；　all　Cairo　which　is　near　there；

seems　to　rise　with　us：　not　yet　indeed　the　endless　multitude　of　its

houses；　but　at　first　only　the　thousands　of　its　minarets；　which　in　a

few　seconds　point　their　high　towers　into　the　mournful　sky；　and　suggest

at　once　that　an　immense　town　is　about　to　unfold　itself　under　our　eyes。



Continuing　to　ascendpast　the　double　rampart；　the　double　or　triple

gates；　which　all　these　old　fortresses　possess；　we　penetrate　at　length

into　a　large　fortified　courtyard；　the　crenellated　walls　of　which　shut

out　our　further　view。　Soldiers　are　on　guard　thereand　how　unexpected

are　such　soldiers　in　this　holy　place　of　Egypt！　The　red　uniforms　and

the　white　faces　of　the　north：　Englishmen；　billeted　in　the　palace　of

Mehemet　Ali！



The　mosque　first　meets　the　eye；　preceding　the　palace。　And　as　we

approach；　it　is　Stamboul　indeedfor　me　dear　old　Stamboulwhich　is

called　to　mind；　there　is　nothing；　whether　in　the　lines　of　its

architecture　or　in　the　details　of　its　ornamentation；　to　suggest　the

art　of　the　Arabsa　purer　art　it　may　be　than　this　and　of　which　many

excellent　examples　may　be　seen　in　Cairo。　No；　it　is　a　corner　of　Turkey

into　which　we　are　suddenly　come。



Beyond　a　courtyard　paved　with　marble；　silent　and　enclosed；　which

serves　as　a　vast　parvis；　the　sanctuary　recalls　those　of　Mehemet　Fatih

or　the　Chah　Zade：　the　same　sanctified　gloom；　into　which　the　stained

glass　of　the　narrow　windows　casts　a　splendour　as　of　precious　stones；

the　same　extreme　distance　between　the　enormous　pillars；　leaving　more

clear　space　than　in　our　churches；　and　giving　to　the　domes　the

appearance　of　being　held　up　by　enchantment。



The　walls　are　of　a　strange　white　marble　streaked　with　yellow。　The

ground　is　completely　covered　with　carpets　of　a　sombre　red。　In　the

vaults；　very　elaborately　wrought；　nothing　but　blacks　and　gold：　a

background　of　black　bestrewn　with　golden　roses；　and　bordered　with

arabesques　like　gold　lace。　And　from　above　hang　thousands　of　gold

chains　supporting　the　vigil　lamps　for　the　evening　prayers。　Here　and

there　are　people　on　their　knees；　little　groups　in　robe　and　turban；

scattered　fortuitously　upon　the　red　of　the　carpets；　and　almost　lost　in

the　midst　of　the　sumptuous　solitude。



In　an　obscure　corner　lies　Mehemet　Ali；　the　prince　adventurous　and

chivalrous　as　some　legendary　hero；　and　withal　one　of　the　greatest

sovereigns　of　modern　history。　There　he　lies　behind　a　grating　of　gold；

of　complicated　design；　in　that　Turkish　style；　already　decadent；　but

still　so　beautiful；　which　was　that　of　his　epoch。



Through　the　golden　bars　may　be　seen　in　the　shadow　the　catafalque　of

state；　in　three　tiers；　covered　with　blue　brocades；　exquisitely　faded；

and　profusely　embroidered　with　dull　gold。　Two　long　green　palms　freshly

cut　from　some　date…tree　in　the　neighbourhood　are　crossed　before　the

door　of　this　sort　of　funeral　enclosure。　And　it　seems　that　around　us　is

an　inviolable　religious　peace。　。　。　。



But　all　at　once　there　comes　a　noisy　chattering　in　a　Teutonic　tongue

and　shouts　and　laughs！　。　。　。　How　is　it　possible；　so　near　to　the　great

dead？　。　。　。　And　there　enters　a　group　of　tourists；　dressed　more　or　less

in　the　approved　〃smart〃　style。　A　guide；　with　a　droll　countenance；

recites　to　them　the　beauties　of　the　place；　bellowing　at　the　top　of　his

voice　like　a　showman　at　a　fair。　And　one　of　the　travellers；　stumbling

in　the　sandals　which　are　too　large　for　her　small　feet；　laughs　a

prolonged；　silly　little　laugh　like　the　clucking　of　a　turkey。　。　。　。



Is　there　then　no　keeper；　no　guardian　of　this　holy　mosque？　And　amongst

the　faithful　prostrate　here　in　prayer；　none　who　will　rise　and　make

indignant　protest？　Who　after　this　will　speak　to　us　of　the　fanaticism

of　the　Egyptians？　。　。　。　Too　meek；　rather；　they　seem　to　me　everywhere。

Take　any　church　you　please　in　Europe　where　men　go　down　on　their　knees

in　prayer；　and　I　should　like　to　see　what　kind　of　a　welcome　would　be

accorded　to　a　party　of　Moslem　tourists　whoto　suppose　the　impossible

behaved　so　badly　as　these　savages　here。



Behind　the　mosque　is　an　esplanade；　and　beyond　that　the　palace。　The

palace；　as　such；　can　scarcely　be　said　to　exist　any　longer；　for　it　has

been　turned　into　a　barrack　for　the　army　of　occupation。　English

soldiers；　indeed；　meet　us　at　every　turn；　smoking　their　pipes　in　the

idleness　of　the　evening。　One　of　them　who　does　not　smoke　is　trying　to

carve　his　name　with　a　knife　on　one　of　the　layers　of　marble　at　the　base

of　the　sanctuary。



At　the　end　of　this　esplanade　there　is　a　kind　of　balcony　from　which　one

may　see　the　whole　of　the　town；　and　an　unlimited　extent　of　verdant

plains　and　yellow　desert。　It　is　a　favourite　view　of　the　tourists　of

the　agencies；　and　we　meet　again　our　friends　of　th