"The thinking-place of Rameses the Great!"
"Suttinly."
"You must leave me alone here, Ibrahim."
I watched his gold-colored robe vanish into the gold of the sun
through the copper color of the columns. And I was quite alone in the
"thinking-place" of Rameses. It was a brilliant day, the sky dark
sapphire blue, without even the spectre of a cloud, or any airy,
vaporous veil; the heat already intense in the full sunshine, but
delicious if one slid into a shadow. I slid into a shadow, and sat
down on a warm block of stone. And the silence flowed upon me - the
silence of the Ramesseum.
Was /Horbehutet/, the winged disk, with crowned /uroei/, ever set up
above this temple's principal door to keep it from destruction? I do
not know. But, if he was, he failed perfectly to fulfil his mission.
And I am glad he failed. I am glad of the ruin that is here, glad that
walls have crumbled or been overthrown, that columns have been cast
down, and ceilings torn off from the pillars that supported them,
letting in the sky. I would have nothing different in the thinking-
place of Rameses.
Like a cloud, a great golden cloud, a glory impending that will not,
cannot, be dissolved into the ether, he loomed over the Egypt that is
dead, he looms over the Egypt of to-day. Everywhere you meet his
traces, everywhere you hear his name. You say to a tall young
Egyptian: "How big you are growing, Hassan!"
He answers, "Come back next year, my gentleman, and I shall be like
Rameses the Great."
Or you ask of the boatman who rows you, "How can you pull all day
against the current of the Nile?" And he smiles, and lifting his brown
arm, he says to you: "Look! I am strong as Rameses the great."
This familiar fame comes down through some twenty years. Carved upon
limestone and granite, now it seems engraven also on every Egyptian
heart that beats not only with the movement of shadoof, or is not
buried in the black soil fertilized by Hapi. Thus can inordinate
vanity prolong the true triumph of genius, and impress its own view of
itself upon the minds of millions. This Rameses is believed to be the
Pharaoh who oppressed the children of Israel.
As I sat in the Ramesseum that morning, I recalled his face - the face
of an artist and a dreamer rather than that of a warrior and
oppressor; Asiatic, handsome, not insensitive, not cruel, but subtle,
aristocratic, and refined. I could imagine it bending above the little
serpents of the sistrum as they lifted their melodious voices to bid
Typhon depart, or watching the dancing women's rhythmic movements, or
smiling half kindly, half with irony, upon the lovelorn maiden who
made her plaint:
