DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27180#0182
PYRAMID AND TEMPLE
flowering bushes, looks very well. Behind it run the irregu-
lar lines of the farther shore, on whose height ancient
Egyptian rock-tombs open their black eyes; and just here
you can make out the rectangular box with the bay in the
centre and the many rows of friendly windows. No ruin,
even of the most sumptuous temple conceivable, can replace
the seductive smartness of modern Europe. Even Cook’s
patent many-decked steamers, white floating boxes, also
with rows of windows, make quite a good appearance.
A rowboat propelled by slaves, on which Pharaoh’s general
accommodated his half-legion, would look absurd. Our
towering boxes turn out to be the best trimming for the river
landscape.
The Nile bends northward and our dark shore skirts the
horizon in a mighty curve. This is the view that the people
at the Cataract have no notion of; Babuschka has been trying
to get it for weeks. It seems as though one must have grey
hair to catch it. The curve surpasses everything in the river
line and might well belong to an inland lake. You can even
imagine a sea beach in the distance. Water and earth unite in
a rare display of colour and forget their usual functions: the
water, that it is a river, and the earth, that it is solid ground.
The sky contributes its share, and man clean forgets himself
and longs to become an arch to span it.
Beyond, the sandy Sahara unfolds itself, like a yellow
infinity. But maybe there lurks behind the waves of sand
the same destroying hand as behind our curve, and only the
facade is formed by the Nile. One ought to have an aero-
plane. Grey heights rise out of the yellow, dotted with the
eyes of the rock-tombs, and the topmost places are black.
The yellow sand slips down into the valley in a smooth flat
slope. There is nothing more delightful than to slide bare-
foot down the soft yellow furrows. Merely on looking down
the slope you imagine the sensation.
The road along our bank, beyond the bend, leads to at
162
flowering bushes, looks very well. Behind it run the irregu-
lar lines of the farther shore, on whose height ancient
Egyptian rock-tombs open their black eyes; and just here
you can make out the rectangular box with the bay in the
centre and the many rows of friendly windows. No ruin,
even of the most sumptuous temple conceivable, can replace
the seductive smartness of modern Europe. Even Cook’s
patent many-decked steamers, white floating boxes, also
with rows of windows, make quite a good appearance.
A rowboat propelled by slaves, on which Pharaoh’s general
accommodated his half-legion, would look absurd. Our
towering boxes turn out to be the best trimming for the river
landscape.
The Nile bends northward and our dark shore skirts the
horizon in a mighty curve. This is the view that the people
at the Cataract have no notion of; Babuschka has been trying
to get it for weeks. It seems as though one must have grey
hair to catch it. The curve surpasses everything in the river
line and might well belong to an inland lake. You can even
imagine a sea beach in the distance. Water and earth unite in
a rare display of colour and forget their usual functions: the
water, that it is a river, and the earth, that it is solid ground.
The sky contributes its share, and man clean forgets himself
and longs to become an arch to span it.
Beyond, the sandy Sahara unfolds itself, like a yellow
infinity. But maybe there lurks behind the waves of sand
the same destroying hand as behind our curve, and only the
facade is formed by the Nile. One ought to have an aero-
plane. Grey heights rise out of the yellow, dotted with the
eyes of the rock-tombs, and the topmost places are black.
The yellow sand slips down into the valley in a smooth flat
slope. There is nothing more delightful than to slide bare-
foot down the soft yellow furrows. Merely on looking down
the slope you imagine the sensation.
The road along our bank, beyond the bend, leads to at
162