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burning sun。 We pass through fields of corn and lucerne； whose
wonderful green is piqued with little flowers； such as may be seen in
our climate。 Hundreds of little birds sing to us distractedly of the
joy of life； the sun shines radiantly； magnificently； the impetuous
corn is already in the ear； it might be some gay pageant of our days
of May。 One forgets that it is February； that we are still in the
winterthe luminous winter of Egypt。
Here and there amongst the outspread fields are villages buried under
the thick foliage of treesunder acacias which； in the distance；
resemble ours at home； beyond indeed the mountain chain of Libya； like
a wall confining the fertile fields； looks strange perhaps in its
rose…colour； and too desolate； but； nevertheless amidst this glad
music of the fields； these songs of larks and twitterings of sparrows；
you scarcely realise that you are in a foreign land。
Abydos！ What magic there is in the name！ 〃Abydos is at hand； and in
another moment we shall be there。〃 The mere words seem somehow to
transform the aspect of the homely green fields； and make this
pastoral region almost imposing。 The buzzing of the flies increases in
the overheated air and the song of the birds subsides until at last it
dies away in the approach of noon。
We have been journeying a little more than an hour amongst the verdure
of the growing corn that lies upon the fields like a carpet； when
suddenly； beyond the little houses and tress of a village； quite a
different world is disclosedthe familiar world of glare and death
which presses so closely upon inhabited Egypt： the desert！ The desert
of Libya； and now as ever when we come upon it suddenly from the banks
of the old river it rises up before us； beginning at once； without
transition； absolute and terrible； as soon as we leave the thick
velvet of the last field； the cool shade of the last acacia。 Its sands
seem to slope towards us； in a prodigious incline； from the strange
mountains that we saw from the happy plain； and which now appear；
enthroned beyond； like the monarchs of all this nothingness。
The town of Abydos； which has vanished and left no wrack behind； rose
once in this spot where we now stand； on the very threshold of the
solitudes； but its necropoles； more venerated even than those of
Memphis； and its thrice…holy temples； are a little farther on； in the
marvellously conserving sand； which has buried them under its tireless
waves and preserved them almost intact up till the present day。
The desert！ As soon as we put foot upon its shifting soil； which
smothers the sound of our steps； the atmosphere too seems suddenly to
change； it burns with a strange new heat； as if great fires had been
lighted in the neighbourhood。
And this whole domain of light and drought； right away into the
distance； is shaded and streaked with the familiar brown； red and
yellow colours。 The mournful reflection of adjacent things augments to
excess the heat and light。 The horizon trembles under the little
vapours of mirage like water ruffled by the wind。 The background；
which mounts gradually to the foot of the Libyan mountains； is strewn
with the debris of bricks and stonesshapeless ruins which； though
they scarcely rise above the sand； abound nevertheless in great
numbers； and serve to remind us that here indeed is a very ancient
soil； where men laboured in centuries that have drifted out of
knowledge。 One divines instinctively and at once the catacombs； the
hypogea and the mummies that lie beneath！
These necropoles of Abydos onceand for thousands of yearsexercised
an extraordinary fascination over this peoplethe precursor of
peopleswho dwelt in the valley of the Nile。 According to one of the
most ancient of human traditions； the head of Osiris； the lord of the
/other world/； reposed in the depths of one of the temples which
to…day are buried in the sands。 And men； as soon as their thought
commenced to issue from the primeval night； were haunted by the idea
that there were localities helpful； as if were； to the poor corpses
that lay beneath the earth； that there were certain holy places where
it behoved them to be buried if they wished to be ready when the
signal of awakening was given。 And in old Egypt； therefore； each one；
at the hour of death； turned his thoughts to these stones and sands；
in the ardent hope that he might be able to sleep near the remains of
his god。 And when the place was becoming crowded with sleepers； those
who could obtain no place there conceived the idea of having humble
obelisks planted on the holy ground； which at least should tell their
names； or even recommended that their mummies might be there for some
weeks； even if they were afterwards removed。 And thus； funeral
processions passed to and fro without ceasing through the cornfields
that separate the Nile from the desert。 Abydos！ In the sad human dream
dominated by the thought of dissolution； Abydos preceded by many
centuries the Valley of Jehosophat of the Hebrews； the cemeteries
around Mecca of the Moslems； and the holy tombs beneath our oldest
cathedrals！ 。 。 。 Abydos！ It behoves us to walk here pensively and
silently out of respect for all those thousands of souls who formerly
turned towards this place； with outstretched hands； in the hour of
death。
The first great templethat which King Seti raised to the mysterious
Prince of the Other World； who in those days was called Osirisis
quite closea distance of little more than 200 yards in the glare of
the desert。 We come upon it suddenly； so that it almost startles us；
for nothing warns us of its proximity。 The sand from which it has been
exhumed； and which buried it for 2000 years； still rises almost to its
roof。 Through an iron gate； guarded by two tall Bedouin guards in
black robes； we plunge at once into the shadow of enormous stones。 We
are in the house of the god； in a forest of heavy Osiridean columns；
surrounded by a world of people in high coiffures； carved in bas…
relief on the pillars and wallspeople who seem to be signalling one
to another and exchanging amongst themselves mysterious signs；
silently and for ever。
But what is this noise in the sanctuary？ It seems to be full of
people。 There； sure enough； beyond a second row of columns； is quite a
little crowd talking loudly in English。 I fancy that I can hear the
clinking of glasses and the tapping of knives and forks。
Oh！ poor； poor temple； to what strange uses are you come。 。 。 。 This
excess of grotesqueness in profanation is more insulting surely than
to be sacked by barbarians！ Behold a table set for some thirty guests；
and the guests themselvesof both sexesmerry and lighthearted；
belong to that special type of humanity which patronises Thomas Cook &
Son （Egypt Ltd。）。 They wear cork helmets； and the classic green
spectacles； drink whisky and soda； and eat voraciously sandwiches and
other viands out of greasy paper； which now litters the floor。 And the