luke oppressors, or keeps
them in repair; and within them there are no more chants, no prayers
to Allah. Night after night they pass in an infinity of silence. Piety
contents itself with not destroying them; leaving them there at the
mercy of time and the sun and the wind which withers and crumbles
them. And all around are the signs of ruin. Tottering cupolas show us
irreparable cracks; the halves of broken arches are outlined to-night
in shadow against the mother-of-pearl light of the sky, and debris of
sculptured stones are strewn about. But nevertheless these tombs,
that are well-nigh accursed, still stir in us a vague sense of
alarm--particularly those in the distance, which rise up like
silhouettes of misshapen giants in enormous hats--dark on the white
sheet of sand--and stand there in groups, or scattered in confusion, at
the entrance to the vast empty regions beyond.

*****

We had chosen a time when the light was doubtful in order that we might
avoid the tourists, but as we approach the funeral dwelling of Sultan
Barkuk, the assassin, we see, issuing from it, a whole band, some twenty
in a line, who emerge from the darkness of the abandoned walls, each
trotting on his little donkey and each followed by the inevitable
Bedouin driver, who taps with his stick upon the rump of the beast. They
are returning to Cairo, their visit ended, and exchange in a loud voice,
from one ass to another, more or less inept impressions in various
European languages. . . . And look! There is even amongst them the
almost proverbial belated dame who, for private reasons of her own,
follows at a respectable distance behind. She is a little mature
perhaps, so far as can be judged in the moonlight, but nevertheless
still sympathetic to her driver, who, with both hands, supports her from
behind on her saddle, with a touching solicitude that is peculiar to
the country. Ah! these little donkeys of Egypt, so observant, so
philosophical and sly, why cannot they write their memoirs! What a
number of droll things they must have seen at night in the outskirts of
Cairo!

This good lady evidently belongs to that extensive category of hardy
explorers who, despite their high respectability at home, do not
hesitate, once they are landed on the banks of the Nile, to supplement
their treatment by the sun and the dry winds with a little of the
"Bedouin cure."

CHAPTER VIII

ARCHAIC CHRISTIANITY

Dimly lighted by the flames of a few poor sle