So said Ibrahim Ayyad to me one morning - Ibrahim, who is almost as
prolific in the abrupt creation of peers as if he were a democratic
government.
I looked about me. We stood in a ruined hall with columns, architraves
covered with inscriptions, segments of flat roof. Here and there
traces of painting, dull-red, pale, ethereal blue - the "love-color" of
Egypt, as the Egyptians often call it - still adhered to the stone.
This hall, dignified, grand, but happy, was open on all sides to the
sun and air. From it I could see tamarisk- and acacia-trees, and far-
off shadowy mountains beyond the eastern verge of the Nile. And the
trees were still as carven things in an atmosphere that was a miracle
of clearness and of purity. Behind me, and near, the hard Libyan
mountains gleamed in the sun. Somewhere a boy was singing; and
suddenly his singing died away. And I thought of the "Lay of the
Harper" which is inscribed upon the tombs of Thebes - those tombs under
those gleaming mountains:
"For no one carries away his goods with him;
Yea, no one returns again who has gone thither."
It took the place of the song that had died as I thought of the great
king's glory; that he had been here, and had long since passed away.
"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.
