I am no antiquarian, and, as a mere lover of beauty, I do
not feel this "spuriousness." I can see neither two quarrelling
strengths nor any weakness caused by division.
I suppose I see only
the beauty, as I might see only the beauty of a women bred of a
handsome father and mother of different races, and who, not typical of
either, combined in her features and figure distinguishing merits of
both. It is true that there is a particular pleasure which is roused
in us only by the absolutely typical - the completely thoroughbred
person or thing. It may be a pleasure not caused by beauty, and it may
be very keen, nevertheless. When it is combined with the joy roused in
us by all beauty, it is a very pure emotion of exceptional delight.
Philae does not, perhaps, give this emotion. But it certainly has a
lovableness that attaches the heart in a quite singular degree. The
Philae-lover is the most faithful of lovers. The hold of his mistress
upon him, once it has been felt, is never relaxed. And in his
affection for Philae there is, I think, nearly always a rainbow strain
of romance.
When we love anything, we love to be able to say of the object of our
devotion, "There is nothing like it." Now, in all Egypt, and I suppose
in all the world there is nothing just like Philae. There are temples,
yes; but where else is there a bouquet of gracious buildings such as
these gathered in such a holder as this tiny, raft-like isle? And
where else are just such delicate and, as I have said, light and
almost feminine elegance and charm set in the midst of such severe
sterility? Once, beyond Philae, the great Cataract roared down from
the wastes of Nubia into the green fertility of Upper Egypt. It roars
no longer. But still the masses of the rocks, and still the amber and
the yellow sands, and still the iron-colored hills, keep guard round
Philae. And still, despite the vulgar desecration that has turned
Shellal into a workmen's suburb and dowered it with a railway-station,
there is a mystery in Philae, and the sense of isolation that only an
island gives. Even now one can forget in Philae - forget, after a
while, and in certain parts of its buildings, the presence of the grey
disease; forget the threatening of the altruists, who desire to
benefit humanity by clearing as much beauty out of humanity's abiding-
place as possible; forget the fact of the railway, except when the
shriek of the engine floats over the water to one's ears; forget
economic problems, and the destruction that their solving brings upon
the silent world of things whose "use," denied, unrecognized, or
laughed at, to man is in their holy beauty, whose mission lies not
upon the broad highways where tramps the hungry body, but upon the
secret, shadowy byways where glides the hungry soul.
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