CHAPTERI
　　AWINTERMIDNIGHTBEFORETHEGREATSPHINX
　　Anightwondrouslyclearandofacolourunknowntoourclimate;aplaceofdreamlikeaspect，fraughtwithmystery.Themoonofabrightsilver，whichdazzlesbyitsshining，illuminesaworldwhichsurelyisnolongerours;foritresemblesinnothingwhatmaybeseeninotherlands.Aworldinwhicheverythingissuffusedwithrosycolorbeneaththestarsofmidnight，andwheregranitesymbolsriseup，ghostlikeandmotionless.
　　Isthatahillofsandthatrisesyonder？Onecanscarcelytell，forithasasitwerenoshape，nooutline;ratheritseemslikeagreatrosycloud，orsomehuge，tremblingbillow，whichonceperhapsraiseditselfthere，forthwithtobecomemotionlessforeverAndfromoutthiskindofmummifiedwaveacolossalhumaneffigyemerges，rose—
　　colouredtoo，anameless，elusiverose;emerges，andstareswithfixedeyesandsmiles.Itissohugeitseemsunreal，asifitwereareflectioncastbysomemirrorhiddeninthemoonAndbehindthismonsterface，farawayintherear，onthetopofthoseundefinedandgentlyundulatingsandhills，threeapocalypticsignsriseupagainstthesky，thoserose—colouredtriangles，regularasthefiguresofgeometry，butsovastinthedistancethattheyinspireyouwithfear.Theyseemtobeluminousofthemselves，sovividlydotheystandoutintheirclearroseagainstthedeepblueofthestar—spangledvault.Andthisapparentradiationfromwithin，byitslackoflikelihood，makesthemseemmoreawful.
　　Andallaroundisthedesert;acornerofthemournfulkingdomofsand.Nothingelseistobeseenanywheresavethosethreeawfulthingsthatstandthereuprightandstill——thehumanlikenessmagnifiedbeyondallmeasurement，andthethreegeometricmountains;
　　thingsatfirstsightlikeexhalations，visionarythings，withneverthelesshereandthere，andmostofallinthefeaturesofthevastmuteface，subtletiesofshadowwhichshowthat/it/atleastexists，rigidandimmovable，fashionedoutofimperishablestone.
　　Evenhadwenotknown，wemustsoonhaveguessed，forthesethingsareuniqueintheworld，andpicturesofeveryagehavemadetheknowledgeofthemcommonplace：theSphinxandthePyramids！ButwhatisstrangeisthattheyshouldbesodisquietingAndthispervadingcolourofrose，whencecomesit，seeingthatusuallythemoontintswithbluethethingsitillumines？Onewouldnotexpectthiscoloureither，which，nevertheless，isthatofallthesandsandallthegranitesofEgyptandArabia.Andthentoo，theeyesofthestatue，howoftenhavewenotseenthem？Anddidwenotknowthattheywerecapableonlyoftheironefixedstare？Whyisitthenthattheirmotionlessregardsurprisesandchillsus，evenwhileweareobsessedbythesmileofthesealedlipsthatseemtoholdbacktheanswertothesupremeenigma？
　　Itiscold，butcoldasinourcountryarethefinenightsofJanuary，andawintrymistriseslowdowninthelittlevalleysofthesand.
　　Andthatagainwewerenotexpecting;beyondquestionthelatestinvadersofthiscountry，bychangingthecourseoftheoldNile，soastowatertheearthandmakeitmoreproductive，havebroughthitherthehumidityoftheirownmistyisle.Andthisstrangecold，thismist，lightasitstillis，seemtopresagetheendofages，giveanaddedremotenessandfinalitytoallthisdeadpast，whichliesherebeneathusinsubterraneanlabyrinthshauntedbyathousandmummies.
　　Andthemist，which，asthenightadvances，thickensinthevalleys，hesitatestomounttothegreatdauntingfaceoftheSphinx;andcoversitwiththemerestandmosttransparentgauze;and，likeeverythingelsehereto—night，thisgauze，too，isrose—colored.AndmeanwhiletheSphinx，whichhasseentheunrollingofallthehistoryoftheworld，attendsimpassivelythechangeinEgypt’sclimate，plungedinprofoundandmysticcontemplationofthemoon，itsfriendforthelast5000years.
　　Hereandthereonthesoftpathwayofthesandhillsarepigmyfiguresofmenthatmoveaboutorsitsquattingasifonthewatch;andsmallastheyare，lowdowninthehollowsandfaraway，thiswonderfulsilvermoonrevealseventheirslightestgestures;fortheirwhiterobesandblackcloaksstandsharplyoutagainstthemonotonousroseofthedesert.Attimestheycalltooneanotherinaharsh，aspiratetongue，andthengooffatarun，noiselessly，barefooted，withburnousflying，likemothsinthenight.Theylieinwaitforthepartiesoftouristswhoarrivefromtimetotime.Forthegreatsymbols，duringthehundredsandthousandsofyearsthathaveelapsedsincemenceasedtoveneratethem，haveneverthelessscarcelyeverbeenalone，especiallyonnightswithafullmoon.Menofallraces，ofalltimes，havecometowanderroundthem，vaguelyattractedbytheirimmensityandmystery.InthedaysoftheRomanstheyhadalreadybecomesymbolsofalostsignificance，legaciesofafabulousantiquity，butpeoplecamecuriouslytocontemplatethem，andtouristsintogaandinpepluscarvedtheirnamesonthegraniteoftheirbasesforthesakeofremembrance.
　　Thetouristswhohavecometo—night，anduponwhomhavepouncedtheblack—cloakedBedouinguides，wearcapandulsterorfurredgreatcoat;
　　theirintrusionhereseemsalmostanoffence;but，alas，suchvisitorsbecomemorenumerousineachsucceedingyear.Thegreattownhardby——
　　whichsweatsgoldnowthatmenhavestartedtobuyfromititsdignityanditssoul——isbecomeaplaceofrendezvousandholidayfortheidlersandupstartsofthewholeworld.ThemodernspiritencompassestheolddesertoftheSphinxoneveryside.Itistruethatuptothepresentnoonehasdaredtoprofaneitbybuildingintheimmediateneighbourhoodofthegreatstatue.Itsfixityandcalmdisdainstillholdsomesway，perhaps.Butlittlemorethanamileawaythereendsaroadtravelledbyhackneycarriagesandtramwaycars，andnoisywiththedelectablehootingsofsmartmotorcars;andbehindthepyramidofCheopssquatsavasthoteltowhichswarmmenandwomenoffashion，thelatterabsurdlyfeathered，likeRedskinsatascalpdance;andsickpeople，insearchofpurerair;andconsumptiveEnglishmaidens;
　　andancientEnglishdames，alittletheworseforwear，whobringtheirrheumatismsforthetreatmentofthedrywinds.
　　Passingonourwayhither，wehadseenthisroadandthishotelandthesepeopleintheglareoftheelectriclights，andfromanorchestrathatwasplayingtherewecaughtthetrivialairofapopularrefrainofthemusichalls;butwheninadipofthegroundallthishaddisappeared，whatasenseofdeliverancepossessedus，howfaroffthisturmoilseemed！Assoonaswecommencedtotreaduponthesandofcenturies，whereallatonceourfootstepsmadenosound，nothingseemedtohaveexistence，saveonlythegreatcalmandthereligiousaweofthisworldintowhichwewerecome，ofthisworldwithitssocrushingcommentaryuponourown，whereallseemedsilent，undefined，giganticandsuffusedwithrose—colour.
　　AndfirstthereisthepyramidofCheops，whoseimmutablebasewehadtoskirtonourwayhither.Inthemoonlightwecouldseetheseparateblocks，soenormous，soregular，soevenintheirlayers，whichlieoneabovetheothertoinfinity，gettingeversmallerandsmaller，andmounting，mountingindiminishingperspective，untilatlasthighuptheyformtheapexofthisgiddytriangle.Andthepyramidseemedtobeilluminedbysomesaddawnoftheendoftheworld，adawnwhichmaderuddyonlythesandsandthegranitesofearth，andlefttheheavens，prickedwiththeirmyriadstars，moreawfulintheirdarkness.Howimpossibleitisforustoconceivethementalattitudeofthatkingwho，duringsomehalf—century，spentthelivesofthousandsandthousandsofhisslavesintheconstructionofthistomb，inthefondandfoolishhopeofprolongingtoinfinitytheexistenceofhismummy.
　　ThepyramidoncepassedtherewasstillashortwaytogobeforeweconfrontedtheSphinx，inthemiddleofwhatourcontemporarieshavelefthimofhisdesert.Wehadtodescendtheslopeofthatsandhillwhichlookedlikeacloud，andseemedasifcoveredwithfelt，inordertopreserveinsuchaplaceamorecompletesilence.Andhereandtherewepassedagapingblackhole——anairhole，asitseemed，oftheprofoundandinextricablekingdomofmummies，verypopulousstill，inspiteofthezealoftheexhumers.
　　AswedescendedthesandypathwaywewerenotslowtoperceivetheSphinxitself，halfhill，halfcouchantbeast，turningitsbackuponusintheattitudeofagiganticdog，thatthoughttobaythemoon;
　　itsheadstoodoutindarksilhouette，likeascreenbeforethelightitseemedtoberegarding，andthelappetsofitsheadgearshowedlikedownhangingears.Andthengradually，aswewalkedon，wesawitinprofile，shornofitsnose——flat—nosedlikeadeath’shead——buthavingalreadyanexpressionevenwhenseenafaroffandfromtheside;
　　alreadydisdainfulwiththrust—outchinandbaffling，mysterioussmile.Andwhenatlengthwearrivedbeforethecolossalvisage，facetofacewithit——withouthoweverencounteringitsgaze，whichpassedhighaboveourheads——therecameoverusatoncethesentimentofallthesecretthoughtwhichthesemenofoldcontrivedtoincorporateandmakeeternalbehindthismutilatedmask.
　　ButinfulldaylighttheirgreatSphinxisnomore.Ithasceasedasitweretoexist.Itissoscarredbytime，andbythehandsoficonoclasts;sodilapidated，brokenanddiminished，thatitisasinexpressiveasthecrumblingmummiesfoundinthesarcophagi，whichnolongerevenapehumanity.Butafterthemannerofallphantomsitcomestolifeagainatnight，beneaththeenchantmentsofthemoon.
　　Forthemenofitstimewhomdiditrepresent？KingAmenemhat？TheSunGod？Whocanrightlytell？Ofallhieroglyphicimagesitremainstheoneleastunderstood.TheunfathomablethinkersofEgyptsymbolisedeverythingforthebenefitoftheuninitiatedundertheformofawe—
　　inspiringfiguresofthegods;anditmaybe，perhaps，that，afterhavingmeditatedsodeeplyintheshadowoftheirtemples，andsoughtsolongtheeverlastingwhereforeoflifeanddeath，theywishedsimplytosumupinthesmileoftheseclosedlipsthevanityofthemostprofoundofourhumanspeculationsItissaidthattheSphinxwasonceofstrikingbeauty，whenharmoniouscontourandcolouringanimatedtheface，anditwasenthronedatitsfullheightonakindofesplanadepavedwithlongslabsofstone.Butwasitthenmoresovereignthanitisto—nightinitslastdecrepitude？AlmostburiedbeneaththesandoftheLibyandesert，whichnowquitehidesitsbase，itrisesatthishourlikeaphantomwhichnothingsolidsustainsintheair.
　　*****
　　Ithasgonemidnight.Inlittlegroupsthetouristsoftheeveninghavedisappeared;toregainperhapstheneighbouringhotel，wheretheorchestradoubtlesshasnotceasedtorage;ormaybe，remountingtheircars，tojoin，insomeclubofCairo，oneofthosebridgeparties，inwhichthereallysuperiorintellectsofourtimedelight;
　　some——thestoutheartedones——departedtalkingloudlyandwithcigarinmouth;others，however，dauntedinspiteofthemselves，loweredtheirvoicesaspeopleinstinctivelydoinchurch.AndtheBedouinguides，whoamomentagoseemedtoflutteraboutthegiantmonumentlikesomanyblackmoths——theytoohavegone，maderestlessbythecoldair，whicherstwhiletheyhadnotknown.Theshowforto—nightisover，andeverywheresilencereigns.
　　TherosytintfadesontheSphinxandthepyramids;allthingsintheghostlyscenegrowvisiblypaler;forthemoonasitrisesbecomesmoresilveryintheincreasingchillinessofmidnight.Thewintermist，exhaledfromtheartificiallywateredfieldsbelow，continuestorise，takesheartandenvelopsthegreatmutefaceitself.Andthelatterpersistsinitsregardofthedeadmoon，preservingstilltheolddisconcertingsmile.Itbecomesmoreandmoredifficulttobelievethatherebeforeusisarealcolossus，sosurelydoesitseemnothingotherthanadilatedreflectionofathingwhichexists/elsewhere/，insomeotherworld.Andbehindinthedistancearethethreetriangularmountains.Them，too，thefogenvelops，tilltheyalsoceasetoexist，andbecomepurevisionsoftheApocalypse.
　　Nowitisthatlittlebylittleanintolerablesadnessisexpressedinthoselargeeyeswiththeiremptysockets——for，atthismoment，theultimatesecret，thatwhichtheSphinxseemstohaveknownforsomanycenturies，buttohavewithheldinmelancholyirony，isthis：thatallthesedeadmenandwomenwhosleepinthevastnecropolisbelowhavebeenfooled，andtheawakeningsignalhasnotsoundedforasingleoneofthem;andthatthecreationofmankind——mankindthatthinksandsuffers——hashadnorationalexplanation，andthatourpooraspirationsarevain，butsovainastoawakenpity.
　　CHAPTERII
　　THEPASSINGOFCAIRO
　　Ragged，threateningclouds，likethosethatbringtheshowersofourearlyspring，hurryacrossapaleeveningsky，whosemereaspectmakesyoucold.Awintrywind，rawandbitter，blowswithoutceasing，andbringswithiteverynowandthensomefurtivespotsofrain.
　　AcarriagetakesmetowardswhatwasoncetheresidenceofthegreatMehemetAli：byasteepinclineitascendsintothemidstofrocksandsand——andalready，andalmostinamoment，weseemtobeinthedesert;thoughwehavescarcelyleftbehindthelasthousesofanArabquarter，wherelong—robedfolk，wholookedhalffrozen，weremuffleduptotheeyesto—dayWasthereformerlysuchweatherasthisinthiscountrynotedforitsunchangingmildness？
　　ThisresidenceofthegreatsovereignofEgypt，thecitadelandthemosquewhichhehadmadeforhislastrepose，areperchedlikeeagles’
　　nestsonaspurofthemountainchainofArabia，theMokattam，whichstretchesoutlikeapromontorytowardsthebasinoftheNile，andbringsquiteclosetoCairo，soasalmosttooverhangit，alittleofthedesertsolitude.AndsotheeyecanseefromfaroffandfromallsidesthemosqueofMehemetAli，withtheflatteneddomesofitscupolas，itspointedminarets，thegeneralaspectsoentirelyTurkish，perchedhighup，withacertainunexpectedness，abovetheArabtownwhichitdominates.Theprincewhosleepstherewishedthatitshouldresemblethemosquesofhisfatherland，anditlooksasifithadbeentransportedbodilyfromStamboul.
　　Ashorttrotbringsusuptothelowergateoftheoldfortress;and，byanaturaleffect，asweascend，allCairowhichisnearthere，seemstorisewithus：notyetindeedtheendlessmultitudeofitshouses;butatfirstonlythethousandsofitsminarets，whichinafewsecondspointtheirhightowersintothemournfulsky，andsuggestatoncethatanimmensetownisabouttounfolditselfunderoureyes.
　　Continuingtoascend——pastthedoublerampart，thedoubleortriplegates，whichalltheseoldfortressespossess，wepenetrateatlengthintoalargefortifiedcourtyard，thecrenellatedwallsofwhichshutoutourfurtherview.Soldiersareonguardthere——andhowunexpectedaresuchsoldiersinthisholyplaceofEgypt！Thereduniformsandthewhitefacesofthenorth：Englishmen，billetedinthepalaceofMehemetAli！
　　Themosquefirstmeetstheeye，precedingthepalace.Andasweapproach，itisStamboulindeed——formedearoldStamboul——whichiscalledtomind;thereisnothing，whetherinthelinesofitsarchitectureorinthedetailsofitsornamentation，tosuggesttheartoftheArabs——apurerartitmaybethanthisandofwhichmanyexcellentexamplesmaybeseeninCairo.No;itisacornerofTurkeyintowhichwearesuddenlycome.
　　Beyondacourtyardpavedwithmarble，silentandenclosed，whichservesasavastparvis，thesanctuaryrecallsthoseofMehemetFatihortheChahZade：thesamesanctifiedgloom，intowhichthestainedglassofthenarrowwindowscastsasplendourasofpreciousstones;
　　thesameextremedistancebetweentheenormouspillars，leavingmoreclearspacethaninourchurches，andgivingtothedomestheappearanceofbeingheldupbyenchantment.
　　Thewallsareofastrangewhitemarblestreakedwithyellow.Thegroundiscompletelycoveredwithcarpetsofasombrered.Inthevaults，veryelaboratelywrought，nothingbutblacksandgold：abackgroundofblackbestrewnwithgoldenroses，andborderedwitharabesqueslikegoldlace.Andfromabovehangthousandsofgoldchainssupportingthevigillampsfortheeveningprayers.Hereandtherearepeopleontheirknees，littlegroupsinrobeandturban，scatteredfortuitouslyupontheredofthecarpets，andalmostlostinthemidstofthesumptuoussolitude.
　　InanobscurecornerliesMehemetAli，theprinceadventurousandchivalrousassomelegendaryhero，andwithaloneofthegreatestsovereignsofmodernhistory.Thereheliesbehindagratingofgold，ofcomplicateddesign，inthatTurkishstyle，alreadydecadent，butstillsobeautiful，whichwasthatofhisepoch.
　　Throughthegoldenbarsmaybeseenintheshadowthecatafalqueofstate，inthreetiers，coveredwithbluebrocades，exquisitelyfaded，andprofuselyembroideredwithdullgold.Twolonggreenpalmsfreshlycutfromsomedate—treeintheneighbourhoodarecrossedbeforethedoorofthissortoffuneralenclosure.Anditseemsthataroundusisaninviolablereligiouspeace
　　ButallatoncetherecomesanoisychatteringinaTeutonictongue——
　　andshoutsandlaughs！Howisitpossible，soneartothegreatdead？Andthereentersagroupoftourists，dressedmoreorlessintheapproved"smart"style.Aguide，withadrollcountenance，recitestothemthebeautiesoftheplace，bellowingatthetopofhisvoicelikeashowmanatafair.Andoneofthetravellers，stumblinginthesandalswhicharetoolargeforhersmallfeet，laughsaprolonged，sillylittlelaughlikethecluckingofaturkey
　　Istherethennokeeper，noguardianofthisholymosque？Andamongstthefaithfulprostratehereinprayer，nonewhowillriseandmakeindignantprotest？WhoafterthiswillspeaktousofthefanaticismoftheEgyptians？Toomeek，rather，theyseemtomeeverywhere.
　　TakeanychurchyoupleaseinEuropewheremengodownontheirkneesinprayer，andIshouldliketoseewhatkindofawelcomewouldbeaccordedtoapartyofMoslemtouristswho——tosupposetheimpossible——behavedsobadlyasthesesavageshere.
　　Behindthemosqueisanesplanade，andbeyondthatthepalace.Thepalace，assuch，canscarcelybesaidtoexistanylonger，forithasbeenturnedintoabarrackforthearmyofoccupation.Englishsoldiers，indeed，meetusateveryturn，smokingtheirpipesintheidlenessoftheevening.Oneofthemwhodoesnotsmokeistryingtocarvehisnamewithaknifeononeofthelayersofmarbleatthebaseofthesanctuary.
　　Attheendofthisesplanadethereisakindofbalconyfromwhichonemayseethewholeofthetown，andanunlimitedextentofverdantplainsandyellowdesert.Itisafavouriteviewofthetouristsoftheagencies，andwemeetagainourfriendsofthemosque，whohaveprecededushither——thegentlemenwiththeloudvoices，thebellowingguideandthecacklinglady.Somesoldiersarestandingtheretoo，smokingtheirpipescontemplatively.Butspiteofallthesepeople，inspite，too，ofthewintrysky，thescenewhichpresentsitselfonarrivalthereisravishing.
　　Averyfairyland——butafairylandquitedifferentfromthatofStamboul.ForwhereasthelatterisrangedlikeagreatamphitheatreabovetheBosphorusandtheSeaofMarmora，herethevasttownisspreadoutsimply，inaplainsurroundedbythesolitudeofthedesertanddominatedbychaoticrocks.Thousandsofminaretsriseuponeverysidelikeearsofcorninafield;farawayinthedistanceonecanseetheirinnumerableslenderpoints——butinsteadofbeingsimply，asatStamboul，somanywhitespires，theyareherecomplicatedbyarabesques，bygalleries，clock—towersandlittlecolumns，andseemtohaveborrowedthereddishcolourofthedesert.
　　Theflatrockstellofaregionwhichformerlywaswithoutrain.Theinnumerablepalm—treesofthegardens，abovethisoceanofmosquesandhouses，swaytheirplumesinthewind，bewilderedasitwerebythesecloudsladenwithcoldshowers.Inthesouthandinthewest，attheextremelimitsoftheview，asifuponthemistyhorizonoftheplains，appeartwogigantictriangles.TheyareGizehandMemphis——theeternalpyramids.
　　Atthenorthofthetownthereisacornerofthedesertquitesingularinitscharacter——ofthecolourofbistreandofmummy——whereawholecolonyofhighcupolas，scatteredatrandom，stillstanduprightinthemidstofsandanddesolaterocks.ItistheproudcemeteryoftheMamelukeSultans，whosedaywasdoneintheMiddleAges.
　　Butifonelooksclosely，whatdisorder，whatamassofruinsthereareinthistown——stillalittlefairylike——beatenthiseveningbythesquallsofwinter.Thedomes，theholytombs，theminaretsandterraces，allarecrumbling：thehandofdeathisuponthemall.Butdownthere，inthefardistance，neartothatsilverstreakwhichmeandersthroughtheplains，andwhichistheoldNile，theadventofnewtimesisproclaimedbythechimneysoffactories，impudentlyhigh，thatdisfigureeverything，andspoutforthintothetwilightthickcloudsofblacksmoke.
　　Thenightisfallingaswedescendfromtheesplanadetoreturntoourlodgings.
　　WehavefirsttotraversetheoldtownofCairo，amazeofstreetsstillfullofcharm，whereinthethousandlittlelampsoftheArabshopsalreadyshedtheirquietlight.Passingthroughstreetswhichtwistattheircaprice，beneathoverhangingbalconiescoveredwithwoodentrellisofexquisiteworkmanship，wehavetoslackenspeedinthemidstofadensecrowdofmenandbeasts.Closetouspasswomen，veiledinblack，gentlymysteriousasintheoldentimes，andmenofunmovedgravity，inlongrobesandwhitedraperies;andlittledonkeyspompouslybedeckedincollarsofbluebeads;androwsofleisurelycamels，withtheirloadsoflucerne，whichexhalethepleasantfragranceofthefields.Andwheninthegatheringgloom，whichhidesthesignsofdecay，thereappearsuddenly，abovethelittlehouses，solavishlyornamentedwithmushrabiyasandarabesques，thetallaerialminarets，risingtoaprodigiousheightintothetwilightsky，itisstilltheadorableEast.
　　Butnevertheless，whatruins，whatfilth，whatrubbish！Howpresentisthesenseofimpendingdissolution！Andwhatisthis：largepoolsofwaterinthemiddleoftheroad！Grantedthatthereismorerainherethanformerly，sincethevalleyoftheNilehasbeenartificiallyirrigated，itstillseemsalmostimpossiblethatthereshouldbeallthisblackwater，intowhichourcarriagesinkstotheveryaxles;foritisaclearweeksinceanyseriousquantityofrainfell.Itwouldseemthatthenewmastersofthisland，albeitthecostofannualupkeephasrisenintheirhandstothesumoffifteenmillionpounds，havegivennothoughttodrainage.ButthegoodArabs，patientlyandwithoutmurmuring，gatheruptheirlongrobes，andwithlegsbaretothekneemaketheirwaythroughthisalreadypestilentialwater，whichmustbehatchingforthemfeveranddeath.
　　Furtheron，asthecarriageproceedsonitscourse，thescenechangeslittlebylittle.Thestreetsbecomevulgar：thehousesof"TheArabianNights"giveplacetotastelessLevantinebuildings;electriclampsbegintopiercethedarknesswiththeirwan，fatiguingglare，andatasharpturningthenewCairoisbeforeus.
　　Whatisthis？Wherearewefallen？Savethatitismorevulgar，itmightbeNice，ortheRiviera，orInterkalken，oranyotherofthosetownsofcarnivalwhitherthebadtasteofthewholeworldcomestodisportitselfintheso—calledfashionableseasons.Butinthesequarters，ontheotherhand，whichbelongtotheforeignersandtotheEgyptiansralliedtothecivilisationoftheWest，alliscleananddry，wellcaredforandwellkept.Therearenoruts，norefuse.Thefifteenmillionpoundshavedonetheirworkconscientiously.
　　Everywhereistheblindingglareoftheelectriclight;monstroushotelsparadetheshamsplendouroftheirpaintedfacades;thewholelengthofthestreetsisonelongtriumphofimitation，ofmudwallsplasteredsoastolooklikestone;amedleyofallstyles，rockwork，Roman，Gothic，NewArt，Pharaonic，and，aboveall，thepretentiousandtheabsurd.Innumerablepublic—housesoverflowwithbottles;everyalcoholicdrink，allthepoisonsoftheWest，arehereturnedintoEgyptwithatake—what—you—please.
　　Andtaverns，gamblingdensandhousesofill—fame.Andparadingtheside—walks，numerousLevantinedamsels，whoseekbytheirfinerytoimitatetheirfellowsoftheParisboulevards，butwhobymistake，aswemustsuppose，haveplacedtheirorderswithsomecostumierforperformingdogs.
　　ThisthenistheCairoofthefuture，thiscosmopolitanfair！Goodheavens！WhenwilltheEgyptiansrecollectthemselves，whenwilltheyrealisethattheirforebearshavelefttothemaninalienablepatrimonyofart，ofarchitectureandexquisiterefinement;andthat，bytheirnegligence，oneofthosetownswhichusedtobethemostbeautifulintheworldisfallingintoruinandabouttoperish？
　　AndneverthelessamongsttheyoungMoslemsandCoptsnowleavingtheschoolstherearesomanyofdistinguishedmindandsuperiorintelligence！WhenIseethethingsthatarehere，seethemwiththefresheyesofastranger，landedbutyesterdayuponthissoil，impregnatedwiththegloryofantiquity，Iwanttocryouttothem，withafranknessthatisbrutalperhaps，butwithaprofoundsympathy：
　　"Bestiryourselvesbeforeitistoolate.Defendyourselvesagainstthisdisintegratinginvasion——notbyforce，beitunderstood，notbyinhospitalityorill—humour——butbydisdainingthisOccidentalrubbish，thislastyear’sfripperybywhichyouareinundated.TrytopreservenotonlyyourtraditionsandyouradmirableArablanguage，butalsothegraceandmysterythatusedtocharacteriseyourtown，therefinedluxuryofyourdwelling—houses.Itisnotaquestionnowofapoet’sfancy;yournationaldignityisatstake.Youare/Orientals/——Ipronouncerespectfullythatword，whichimpliesawholepastofearlycivilisation，ofunmingledgreatness——butinafewyears，unlessyouareonyourguard，youwillhavebecomemereLevantinebrokers，exclusivelypreoccupiedwiththepriceoflandandtheriseincotton."
　　CHAPTERIII
　　THEMOSQUESOFCAIRO
　　Theyarealmostinnumerable，morethan3000，andthisgreattown，whichcoverssometwelvemilesofplain，mightwellbecalledacityofmosques.（Ispeak，ofcourse，oftheancientCairo，oftheCairooftheArabs.ThenewCairo，theCairoofshameleganceandof"SemiramisHotels，"doesnotdeservetobementionedexceptwithasmile.）
　　Acityofmosques，then，asIwassaying.Theyfollowoneanotheralongthestreets，sometimestwo，three，fourinarow;leaningoneagainsttheother，sothattheirconfinesbecomemerged.Onallsidestheirminaretsshootupintotheair，thoseminaretsembellishedwitharabesques，carvedandcomplicatedwiththemostchangingfancy.Theyhavetheirlittlebalconies，theirrowsoflittlecolumns;theyaresofashionedthatthedaylightshowsthroughthem.Somearefarawayinthedistance;othersquiteclose，pointingstraightintotheskyaboveourheads.Nomatterwhereonelooks——asfarastheeyecansee——stillthereareothers;allofthesamefamiliarcolour，abrownturningintorose.Themostancientofthem，thoseoftheoldeasy—temperedtimes，bristlewithshaftsofwood，placedthereasresting—placesforthegreatfreebirdsoftheair，andvulturesandravensmayalwaysbeseenperchedthere，contemplatingthehorizonofthesands，thelineoftheyellowsolitudes.
　　Threethousandmosques！Theirgreatstraightwalls，alittlesevereperhaps，andscarcelypiercedbytheirtinyogivewindows，riseabovetheheightoftheneighbouringhouses.Thesewallsareofthesamebrowncolourastheminarets，exceptthattheyarepaintedwithhorizontalstripesofanoldred，whichhasbeenfadedbythesun;andtheyarecrownedinvariablywithaseriesoftrefoils，afterthefashionofbattlements，buttrefoilswhichineverycasearedifferentandsurprising.
　　Beforethemosques，whichareraisedlikealtars，thereisalwaysaflightofstepswithabalustradeofwhitemarble.Fromthedooronegetsaglimpseofthecalminteriorindeepshadow.Onceinsidetherearecorridors，astonishinglylofty，sonorousandenvelopedinakindofhalfgloom;immediatelyonenteringoneexperiencesasenseofcoolnessandpervadingpeace;theyprepareyouasitwere，andyoubegintobefilledwithaspiritofdevotion，andinstinctivelytospeaklow.InthenarrowstreetoutsidetherewastheclamorousuproarofanOrientalcrowd，criesofsellers，andthenoiseofhumbleold—
　　worldtrading;menandbeastsjostledyou;thereseemedascarcityofairbeneaththosesonumerousoverhangingmushrabiyas.Butheresuddenlythereissilence，brokenonlybythevaguemurmurofprayersandthesweetsongsofbirds;thereissilencetoo，andthesenseofopenspace，intheholygardenenclosedwithinhighwalls;andagaininthesanctuary，resplendentinitsquietandrestfulmagnificence.
　　Fewpeopleasarulefrequentthemosques，exceptofcourseatthehoursofthefiveservicesoftheday.Inafewchosencorners，particularlycoolandshady，somegreybeardsisolatethemselvestoreadfrommorningtillnighttheholybooksandtoponderthethoughtofapproachingdeath：theymaybeseenthereintheirwhiteturbans，withtheirwhitebeardsandgravefaces.Andtheremaybe，too，somefewpoorhomelessoutcasts，whoarecometoseekthehospitalityofAllah，andsleep，carelessofthemorrow，stretchedtotheirfulllengthonmats.
　　Thepeculiarcharmofthegardensofthemosques，whichareoftenveryextensive，isthattheyaresojealouslyenclosedwithintheirhighwalls——crownedalwayswithstonetrefoils——whichcompletelyshutoutthehubbuboftheouterworld.Palm—trees，whichhavegrownthereforsomehundredyearsperhaps，risefromtheground，eitherseparatelyorinsuperbclusters，andtemperthelightofthealwayshotsunontherose—treesandthefloweringhibiscus.Thereisnonoiseinthegardens，anymorethaninthecloisters，forpeoplewalkthereinsandalsandwithmeasuredtread.AndthereareEdens，too，forthebirds，wholiveandsingthereinincompletesecurity，evenduringtheservices，attractedbythelittletroughswhichtheimamsfillfortheirbenefiteachmorningwithwaterfromtheNile.
　　AsforthemosqueitselfitisrarelyclosedonallsidesasarethoseinthecountriesofthemoresombreIslamofthenorth.HereinEgypt——sincethereisnorealwinterandscarcelyeveranyrain——oneofthesidesofthemosqueisleftcompletelyopentothegarden;andthesanctuaryisseparatedfromtheverdureandtherosesonlybyasimplecolonnade.Thusthefaithfulgroupedbeneaththepalm—treescanpraythereequallyaswellasintheinteriorofthemosque，sincetheycansee，betweenthearches，theholyMihrab.[*]
　　[*]TheMihrabisakindofporticoindicatingthedirectionofMecca.
　　Itisplacedattheendofeachmosque，asthealtarisinourchurches，andthefaithfularesupposedtofaceitwhentheypray.
　　Oh！thissanctuaryseenfromthesilentgarden，thissanctuaryinwhichthepalegoldgleamsontheoldceilingofcedarwood，andmosaicsofmother—of—pearlshineonthewallsasiftheywereembroideriesofsilverthathadbeenhungthere.
　　ThereisnofaienceasinthemosquesofTurkeyorofIran.Hereitisthetriumphofpatientmosaic.Mother—of—pearlofallcolours，allkindsofmarbleandofporphyry，cutintomyriadsoflittlepieces，preciseandequal，andputtogetheragaintoformtheArabdesigns，which，neverborrowingfromthehumanform，norindeedfromtheformofanyanimal，recallratherthoseinfinitelyvariedcrystalsthatmaybeseenunderthemicroscopeinaflakeofsnow.ItisalwaystheMihrabwhichisdecoratedwiththemostelaboraterichness;generallylittlecolumnsoflapislazuli，intenselyblue，riseinrelieffromit，framingmosaicssodelicatethattheylooklikebrocadesoffinelace.Intheoldceilingsofcedarwood，wherethesingingbirdsoftheneighbourhoodhavetheirnests，thegoldsminglewithsomemostexquisitecolourings，whichtimehastakencaretosoftenandtoblendtogether.Andhereandthereveryfineandlongconsolesofsculpturedwoodseemtofall，asitwere，fromthebeamsandhanguponthewallslikestalactites;andtheseconsoles，too，inpasttimes，havebeencarefullycolouredandgilded.Asforthecolumns，alwaysdissimilar，someofamaranth—colouredmarble，othersofdarkgreen，othersagainofredporphyry，withcapitalsofeveryconceivablestyle，theyarecomefromfar，fromthenightoftheages，fromthereligiousstrugglesofanearliertimeandtestifytotheprodigiouspastwhichthisvalleyoftheNile，narrowasitis，andencompassedbythedesert，hasknown.Theywereformerlyperhapsinthetemplesofthepagans，orhaveknownthestrangefacesofthegodsofEgyptandofancientGreeceandRome;theyhavebeeninthechurchesoftheearlyChristians，orhaveseenthestatuesoftorturedmartyrs，andtheimagesofthetransfiguredChrist，crownedwiththeByzantineaureole.
　　Theyhavebeenpresentatbattles，atthedownfallofkingdoms，athecatombs，atsacrileges;andnowbroughttogetherpromiscuouslyinthesemosques，theybeholdonthewallsofthesanctuarysimplythethousandlittledesigns，ideallypure，ofthatIslamwhichwishesthatmenwhentheyprayshouldconceiveAllahasimmaterial，aSpiritwithoutformandwithoutfeature.
　　Eachoneofthesemosqueshasitssainteddead，whosenameitbears，andwhosleepsbyitsside，inanadjoiningmortuarykiosk;somepriestrenderedadmirablebyhisvirtues，orperhapsakhediveofearliertimes，orasoldier，oramartyr.Andthemausoleum，whichcommunicateswiththesanctuarybymeansofalongpassage，sometimesopen，sometimescoveredwithgratings，issurmountedalwaysbyaspecialkindofcupola，averyhighandcuriouscupola，whichraisesitselfintotheskylikesomegiganticdervishhat.AbovetheArabtown，andeveninthesandoftheneighbouringdesert，thesefuneraldomesmaybeseenoneverysideadjoiningtheoldmosquestowhichtheybelong.Andintheevening，whenthelightisfailing，theysuggesttheoddideathatitisthedeadmanhimself，immenselymagnified，whostandstherebeneathahatthatisbecomeimmense.Onecanpray，ifonewishes，inthisresting—placeofthedeadsaintaswellasinthemosque.Hereindeeditisalwaysmoresecludedandmoreinshadow.Itismoresimple，too，atleastuptotheheightofaman：
　　onaplatformofwhitemarble，moreorlesswornandyellowedbythetouchofpioushands，nothingmorethananausterecatafalqueofsimilarmarble，ornamentedmerelywithaCuficinscription.Butifyouraiseyoureyestolookattheinteriorofthedome——theinside，asitwere，ofthestrangedervishhat——youwillseeshiningbetweentheclustersofpaintedandgildedstalactitesanumberofwindowsofexquisitecolouring，littlewindowsthatseemtobeconstellationsofemeraldsandrubiesandsapphires.Andthebirds，youmaybesure，havetheirnestsalsointhehouseoftheholyone.Theyarewontindeedtosoilthecarpetsandthematsonwhichtheworshipperskneel，andtheirnestsaresomanyblotsupthereamidthegildingsofthecarvedcedarwood;butthentheirsong，thesymphonythatissuesfromthataviary，issosweettothelivingwhoprayandtothedeadwhodream
　　*****
　　Butyet，whenallissaid，thesemosquesseemsomehowtobewanting.
　　Theydonotwhollysatisfyyou.Theaccesstothemperhapsistooeasy，andonefeelstooneartothemodernquartersofthetown，wherethehotelsarefullofvisitors——sothatatanymoment，itseems，thespellmaybebrokenbytheentryofabatchofCook’stourists，armedwiththeinevitable/Baedeker/.Alas！theyarethemosquesofCairo，ofpoorCairo，thatisinvadedandprofaned.ThememoryturnstothoseofMorocco，sojealouslyguarded，tothoseofPersia，eventothoseofOldStamboul，wheretheshroudofIslamenvelopsyouinsilenceandgentlybowsyourshouldersassoonasyoucrosstheirthresholds.
　　Andyetwhatpainsarebeingtakento—daytopreservethesemosques，whichinoldentimesweresuchdelightfulretreats.Neglectedforwholecenturies，neverrepaired，notwithstandingthevenerationoftheirheedlessworshippers，thegreaterpartofthemwerefallenintoruin;thefinewoodworkoftheirinteriorshadbecomeworm—eaten，theircupolaswerecrackedandtheirmosaicscoveredtheflooraswithahailofmother—of—pearl，ofporphyryandmarble.Itseemedthattorepairallthiswasataskincapableoffulfilment;itwassheerfolly，peoplesaid，toconceivetheideaofit.
　　Nevertheless，fornearlytwentyyearsnowanarmyofworkershasbeenatthetask，sculptors，marble—cutters，mosaicists.Alreadycertainofthesanctuaries，themostvenerableofthemindeed，havebeenentirelyrenovated.Afterhavingre—echoedforsomeyearstothesoundsofhammersandchisels，duringthecourseofthesevastrenovations，theyarerestorednowtopeaceandtoprayer，andthebirdshaverecommencedtobuildtheirnestsinthem.
　　Itwillbethegloryofthepresentreignthatithaspreserved，beforeitwastoolate，allthismagnificentlegacyofMoslemart.
　　Whenthecityof"TheArabianNights，"whichwasformerlythere，shallhaveentirelydisappeared，togiveplacetoavulgar/entrepot/ofcommerceandofpleasure，towhichtheplutocracyofthewholeworldcomeseverywintertodisportitself，somuchatleastwillremaintobeartestimonytotheloftyandmagnificentthoughtthatinspiredtheearlierArablife.Thesemosqueswillcontinuetoremainintothedistantfuture，evenwhenmenshallhaveceasedtoprayinthem，andthewingedguestsshallhavedeparted，forthewantofthosetroughsofwaterfromtheNile，filledforthembythegoodimams，whosehospitalitytheyrepaybymakingheardinthecourts，beneaththearchedroofs，beneaththeceilingsofcedarwood，thesweet，pipingmusicofbirds.
　　CHAPTERIV
　　THEHALLOFTHEMUMMIES
　　Therearetwoofus，andaswelightourwaybytheaidofalanternthroughthesevasthallswemightbetakenforanightwatchonitsround.Wehavejustshutbehindusanddoublylockedthedoorbywhichweentered，andweknowthatwearealone，rigorouslyalone，althoughthisplaceissovast，withitsendless，communicatinghalls，itshighvestibulesandgreatflightsofstairs;mathematicallyalone，onemightsay，forthispalacethatweareinisonequiteoutoftheordinary，andallitsoutletswereclosedandsealedatnightfall.
　　Everynightindeedthedoorsaresealed，onaccountofthepricelessrelicsthatarecollectedhere.Soweshallnotmeetwithanylivingbeinginthesehallsto—night，inspiteoftheirvastextentandendlessturnings，andinspitetooofallthesemysteriousthingsthatarerangedoneverysideandfilltheplacewithshadowsandhiding—
　　places.
　　Ourroundtakesusfirstalongthegroundflooroverflagstonesthatresoundtoourfootsteps.Itisabouttenoftheclock.Hereandtherethroughsomestraywindowsgleamsasmallpatchofluminousbluesky，litbythestarswhichforthegoodfolkoutsidelendtransparencytothenight;butthere，nonetheless，theplaceisfilledwithasolemngloom，andwelowerourvoices，rememberingperhapsthedeadthatfilltheglasscasesinthehallsabove.
　　Andthesethingswhichlinethewallsoneithersideofusaswepassalsoseemtobeinthenatureofreceptaclesforthedead.Forthemostparttheyaresarcophagiofgranite，proudandindestructible：
　　someofthem，intheshapeofgiganticboxes，arelaidoutinlineonpedestals;others，intheformofmummies，standuprightagainstthewallsanddisplayenormousfaces，surmountedbyequallyenormoushead—
　　dresses.Assembledtheretheylooklikealotofmalformedgiants，withoversizedheadssunkcuriouslyintheirshoulders.Thereare，besides，somethataremerelystatues，colossalfiguresthathaveneverheldacorpseintheirinteriors;theseallwearastrange，scarcelyperceptiblesmile;intheirhugesphinxlikeheadgeartheyreachnearlytotheceilingandtheirsetstarepasseshighaboveourheads.Andthereareothersthatarenotlargerthanourselves，someevenquitelittle，withthestatureofgnomes.And，everynowandthen，atsomesuddenturning，weencounterapairofeyesofenamel，wide—openeyes，thatpiercestraightintothedepthsofours，thatseemtofollowusaswepassandmakeusshiverasifbythecontactofathoughtthatcomesfromtheabysmoftheages.
　　Wepassonrapidly，however，andsomewhatinattentively，forourbusinesshereto—nightisnotwiththesesimulacraonthegroundfloor，butwiththemoreredoubtablehostsabove.Besidesourlanternshedssolittlelightinthesegreathallsthatallthesepeopleofgraniteandsandstoneandmarbleappearonlyattheprecisemomentofourpassage，appearonlytodisappear，and，spreadingtheirfantasticshadowsonthewalls，minglethenextmomentwiththegreatmutecrowd，thatgrowsevermorenumerousbehindus.
　　Placedatintervalsareapparatusforuseincaseoffire，coilsofhoseandstandpipesthatshinewiththewarmglowofburnishedcopper，andIaskmycompanionofthewatch："Whatistherethatcouldburnhere？Arenotthesegoodpeopleallofstone？"Andheanswers："Nothereindeed;butconsiderhowthethingsthatareabovewouldblaze."
　　Ah！yes.The"thingsthatareabove"——whichareindeedtheobjectofmyvisitto—night.Ihadnothoughtoffirecatchingholdinanassemblyofmummies;oftheoldwitheredflesh，thedead，dryhair，thevenerablecarcassesofkingsandqueens，soakedastheyareinnatronandoils，cracklinglikesomanyboxesofmatches.Itischieflyonaccountofthisdangerindeedthatthesealsareputuponthedoorsatnightfall，andthatitneedsaspecialfavourtobeallowedtopenetrateintothisplaceatnightwithalantern.
　　Inthedaytimethis"MuseumofEgyptianAntiquities"isasvulgarathingasyoucanconceive，filledthoughitiswithpricelesstreasures.Itisthemostpompous，themostoutrageousofthosebuildings，ofnostyleatall，bywhicheachyeartheNewCairoisenriched;opentoallwhocaretogazeatclosequarters，inalightthatisalmostbrutal，upontheseaugustdead，whofondlythoughtthattheyhadhiddenthemselvesforever.
　　Butatnight！Ah！atnightwhenallthedoorsareclosed，itisthepalaceofnightmareandoffear.Atnight，sosaytheArabguardians，whowouldnotenteritatthepriceofgold——no，notevenafterofferingupaprayer——atnight，horrible"forms"escape，notonlyfromtheembalmedbodiesthatsleepintheglasscasesabove，butalsofromthegreatstatues，fromthepapyri，andthethousandandonethingsthat，atthebottomofthetombs，havelongbeenimpregnatedwithhumanessence.Andthese"forms"arelikeuntodeadbodies，andsometimestostrangebeasts，eventobeaststhatcrawl.And，afterhavingwanderedaboutthehalls，theyendbyassemblingfortheirnocturnalconferencesontheroofs.
　　Wenextascendastaircaseofmonumentalproportions，emptyinthewholeextent，wherewearedeliveredforalittlewhilefromtheobsessionofthoserigidfigures，fromthestaresandsmilesofthegoodpeopleinwhitestoneandblackgranitewhothrongthegalleriesandvestibulesonthegroundfloor.Noneofthem，tobesure，willfollowus;butallthesametheyguardinforceandperplexwiththeirshadowstheonlywaybywhichwecanretreat，iftheformidablehostsabovehaveinstoreforustoosinisterawelcome.
　　HetowhosecourtesyIowetherelaxationoftheordersofthenightistheillustrioussavanttowhosecarehasbeenentrustedthedirectionoftheexcavationsinEgyptiansoil;heisalsothecomptrollerofthisvastmuseum，anditishehimselfwhohaskindlyconsentedtoactasmyguideto—nightthroughitsmazylabyrinth.
　　AcrossthesilenthallsabovewenowproceedstraighttowardsthoseofwhomIhavedemandedthisnocturnalaudience.
　　To—nightthesuccessionoftheserooms，filledwithglasscases，whichcovermorethanfourhundredyardsalongthefoursidesofthebuilding，seemstobewithoutend.Afterpassing，inturn，thepapyri，theenamels，thevasesthatcontainhumanentrails，wereachthemummiesofthesacredbeasts：cats，ibises，dogs，hawks，allwiththeirmummyclothsandsarcophagi;andmonkeys，too，thatremaingrotesqueevenindeath.Thencommencethehumanmasks，and，uprightinglass—frontedcupboards，themummycasesinwhichthebody，swathedinitsmummycloths，wasmoulded，andwhichreproduced，moreorlessenlarged，thefigureofthedeceased.QuitealotofcourtesansoftheGreco—Romanepoch，mouldedinpasteinthiswiseafterdeathandcrownedwithroses，smileatusprovokinglyfrombehindtheirwindows.
　　Masksofthecolourofdeadfleshalternatewithothersofgoldwhichgleamasthelightofourlanternplaysuponthemmomentarilyinourrapidpassage.Theireyesarealwaystoolarge，theeyelidstoowideopenandthedilatedpupilsseemtostareatuswithalarm.Amongstthesemummycasesandthesecoffinlidsfashionedintheshapeofthehumanfigure，therearesomethatseemtohavebeenmadeforgiants;
　　theheadespecially，beneathitscumbroushead—dress，theheadstuffedasitwerebetweenthehunchbackshoulders，looksenormous，outofallproportiontothebodywhich，towardsthefeet，narrowslikeascabbard.
　　Althoughourlittlelanternmaintainsitslightweseemtoseeherelessandless：thedarknessaroundusinthesevastroomsbecomesalmostoverpowering——andthesearetherooms，too，that，leadingoneintotheother，facilitatethemidnightpromenadeofthosedread"forms"which，everyevening，arereleasedandroamabout
　　Onatableinthemiddleofoneoftheseroomsathingtomakeyoushuddergleamsinaglassbox，afragilethingthatfailedoflifesometwothousandyearsago.Itisthemummyofahumanembryo，andsomeone，toappeasethemaliceofthisborn—deadthing，hadcovereditsfacewithacoatingofgold——for，accordingtothebeliefoftheEgyptians，theselittleabortionsbecametheevilgeniioftheirfamiliesifproperhonourwasnotpaidtothem.Attheendofitsnegligiblebody，thegildedhead，withitsgreatfoetuseyes，isunforgettableforitssufferingugliness，foritsfrustratedandferociousexpression.
　　Inthehallsintowhichwenextpenetratethereareveritabledeadbodiesrangedoneithersideofusaswepass;theircoffinsaredisplayedintiersoneabovetheother;theairisheavywiththesicklyodourofmummies;andontheground，curledalwayslikesomehugeserpent，theleatherhosesareinreadiness，forhereindeedisthedangerspotforfire.
　　Andthemasterofthisstrangehousewhisperstome："Thisistheplace.Look！Theretheyare."
　　IntruthIrecognisetheplace，havingoftencomehereinthedaytime，likeotherpeople.Inspiteofthedarkness，whichcommencesatsometenpacesfromus——sosmallisthecircleoflightcastbyourlantern——Icandistinguishthedoublerowofthegreatroyalcoffins，openwithoutshameintheirglasscases.Andstandingagainstthewalls，upright，likesomanysentinels，arethecoffinlids，fashionedintheshapeofthehumanfigure.
　　Wearethereatlast，admittedatthisunseasonablehourintotheguest—chamberofkingsandqueens，foranaudiencethatisprivateindeed.
　　Andthere，firstofall，isthewomanwiththebaby，uponwhom，withoutstopping，wethrowthelightofourlantern.Awomanwhodiedingivingtotheworldalittledeadprince.SincetheoldembalmersnoonehasseenthefaceofthisQueenMakeri.Inhercoffintheresheissimplyatallfemalefigure，outlinedbeneaththeclose—boundswathingsofbrown—colouredbandages.Atherfeetliesthefatalbaby，grotesquelyshrivelled，andveiledandmysteriousasthemotherherself;asortofdoll，itseems，puttheretokeephereternalcompanyintheslowpassingofendlessyears.
　　Morefearsometoapproachistherowofunswathedmummiesthatfollow.
　　Here，ineachcoffinoverwhichwebend，thereisafacewhichstaresatus——orelseclosesitseyesinorderthatitmaynotseeus;andmeagreshouldersandleanarms，andhandswithovergrownnailsthatprotrudefrommiserablerags.Andeachroyalmummythatourlanternlightsreservesforusafreshsurpriseandtheshudderofadifferentfear——theyresembleoneanothersolittle.Someofthemseemtolaugh，showingtheiryellowteeth;othershaveanexpressionofinfinitesadnessandsuffering.Sometimesthefacesaresmall，refinedandstillbeautifuldespitethepinchingofthenostrils;sometimestheyareexcessivelyenlargedbyputridswelling，withthetipofthenoseeatenaway.Theembalmers，weknow，werenotsureoftheirmeans，andthemummieswerenotalwaysasuccess.Insomecasesputrefactionensued，andcorruptionandevensuddenhatchingsoflarvae，those"companionswithoutearsandwithouteyes，"whichdiedindeedintimebutonlyaftertheyhadperforatedalltheflesh.
　　Hardbyarerankedaccordingtodynasty，andinchronologicalorder，theproudPharaohsinapiteousrow：father，son，grandson，great—
　　grandson.Andcommonpaperticketstelltheirtremendousnames，SetiI.，RamsesII.，SetiII.，RamsesIII.，RamsesIVSoonthemusterwillbecomplete，withsuchenergyhavemendugintheheartoftherockstofindthemall;andtheseglasscaseswillnodoubtbetheirfinalresting—place.Inoldendays，however，theymademanypilgrimagesaftertheirdeath，forinthetroubledtimesofthehistoryofEgyptitwasoneoftheharassingpreoccupationsofthereigningsovereigntohide，tohideatallcosts，themummiesofhisancestors，whichfilledtheearthincreasingly，andwhichtheviolatorsoftombsweresoswifttotrack.Thentheywerecarriedclandestinelyfromonegravetoanother，raisedeachfromhisownpompoussepulchre，tobeburiedatlasttogetherinsomehumbleandlessconspicuousvault.Butitishere，inthismuseumofEgyptianantiquities，thattheyareabouttoaccomplishtheirreturntodust，whichhasbeendeferred，asifbymiracle，forsomanycenturies.Now，strippedoftheirbandages，theirdaysarenumbered，anditbehovesustohastentodrawthesephysiognomiesofthreeorfourthousandyearsago，whichareabouttoperish.