During the /tete-a-tete/, one thinks involuntarily of the
surroundings, of these ruins in the desert, of the prevailing
nothingness, of the cold beneath the stars. And, now, that summation
of doubt and despair and terror, which such an assemblage of things
inspires in you, is confirmed, if one may say so, by the meeting with
this divinity-symbol, which awaits you at the end of the journey, to
receive ironically all human prayer; a rigid horror of granite, with
an implacable smile and a devouring jaw.
CHAPTER XIX
A TOWN PROMPTLY EMBELLISHED
Eight years and a line of railway have sufficed to accomplish its
metamorphosis. Once in Upper Egypt, on the borders of Nubia, there was
a little humble town, rarely visited, and wanting, it must be owned,
in elegance and even in comfort.
Not that it was without picturesqueness and historical interest. Quite
the contrary. The Nile, charged with the waters of equatorial Africa,
flung itself close by from the height of a mass of black granite, in a
majestic cataract; and then, before the little Arab houses, became
suddenly calm again, and flowed between islets of fresh verdure where
clusters of palm-trees swayed their plumes in the wind.
And around were a number of temples, of hypogea, of Roman ruins, of
ruins of churches dating from the first centuries of Christianity. The
ground was full of souvenirs of the great primitive civilisations. For
the place, abandoned for ages and lulled in the folds of Islam under
the guardianship of its white mosque, was once one of the centres of
the life of the world.
And, moreover, in the adjoining desert, some three or four thousand
years ago, the ancient history of the world had been written by the
Pharaohs in immortal hieroglyphics - well-nigh everywhere, on the
polished sides of the strange blocks of blue and red granite that lie
scattered about the sands and look now like the forms of antediluvian
monsters.
*****
Yes, but it was necessary that all this should be co-ordinated,
focused as it were, and above all rendered accessible to the delicate
travellers of the Agencies. And to-day we have the pleasure of
announcing that, from December to March, Assouan (for that is the name
of the fortunate locality) has a "season" as fashionable as those of
Ostend or Spa.
In approaching it, the huge hotels erected on all sides - even on the
islets of the old river - charm the eye of the traveller, greeting him
with their welcoming signs, which can be seen a league away. True,
they have been somewhat hastily constructed, of mud and plaster, but
they recall none the less those gracious palaces with which the
Compagnie des Wagon-Lits has dowered the world. And how negligible
now, how dwarfed by the height of their facades, is the poor little
town of olden times, with its little houses, whitened with chalk, and
its baby minaret.
The cataract, on the other hand, has disappeared from Assouan. The
tutelary Albion wisely considered that it would be better to sacrifice
that futile spectacle and, in order to increase the yield of the soil,
to dam the waters of the Nile by an artificial barrage: a work of
solid masonry which (in the words of the Programme of Pleasure Trips)
"affords an interest of a very different nature and degree" (sic).
But nevertheless Cook & Son - a business concern glossed with poetry,
as all the world knows - have endeavoured to perpetuate the memory of
the cataract by giving its name to a hotel of 500 rooms, which as a
result of their labours has been established opposite to those rocks -
now reduced to silence - over which the old Nile used to seethe for so
many centuries. "Cataract Hotel!" - that gives the illusion still, does
it not? - and looks remarkably well at the head of a sheet of
notepaper.
Cook & Son (Egypt Ltd.) have even gone so far as to conceive the idea
that it would be original to give to their establishment a certain
/cachet/ of Islam. And the dining-room reproduces (in imitation, of
course - but then you must not expect the impossible) the interior of
one of the mosques of Stamboul. At the luncheon hour it is one of the
prettiest sights in the world to see, under this imitation holy
cupola, all the little tables crowded with Cook's tourists of both
sexes, the while a concealed orchestra strikes up the "Mattchiche."
The dam, it is true, in suppressing the cataract has raised some
thirty feet or so the level of the water upstream, and by so doing has
submerged a certain Isle of Philae, which passed, absurdly enough, for
one of the marvels of the world by reason of its great temple of Isis,
surrounded by palm-trees. But between ourselves, one may say that the
beautiful goddess was a little old-fashioned for our times. She and
her mysteries had had their day. Besides, if there should be any
chagrined soul who might regret the disappearance of the island, care
has been taken to perpetuate the memory of it, in the same way as that
of the cataract. Charming coloured postcards, taken before the
submerging of the island and the sanctuary, are on sale in all the
bookshops along the quay.
Oh! this quay of Assouan, already so British in its orderliness, its
method! Nothing better cared for, nothing more altogether charming
could be conceived. First of all there is the railway, which, passing
between balustrades painted a grass-green, gives out its fascinating
noise and joyous smoke.
