Egypt -- History -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
He sat down on one of the marble seats by the parapet of this hanging
garden and looked westward. He knew the scene well, it was the
playground of his childhood and youth; hundreds of times the picture had
spread before him, and yet it affected him to-day as it had never done
before. Was there on earth--he asked himself--a more fertile and
luxuriant land? Had not even the Greek poets sung of the Nile as the
most venerable of rivers? Had not great Caesar himself been so
fascinated by the idea of discovering its source that to that end--
so he had declared--he would have thought the dominion of the world well
lost? On the produce of those wide fields the weal and woe of the
mightiest cities of the earth had been dependent for centuries; nay,
imperial Rome and sovereign Constantinople had quaked with fears of
famine, when a bad harvest here had disappointed the hopes of the
husbandman.
And was there anywhere a more industrious nation of laborers, had there
ever been, before them, a thriftier or a more skilful race? When he
looked back on the fate and deeds of nations, on the remotest horizon
where the thread of history was scarcely perceptible, that same gigantic
Sphinx was there--the first and earliest monument of human joy in
creative art--those Pyramids which still proudly stood in undiminished
and inaccessible majesty beyond the Nile, beyond the ruined capital of
his forefathers, at the foot of the Libyan range. He was the son of the
men who had raised these imperishable works, and in his veins perchance
there still might flow a drop of the blood of those Pharaohs who had
sought eternal rest in these vast tombs, and whose greater progeny, had
overrun half the world with their armies, and had exacted tribute and
submission. He, who had often felt flattered at being praised for the
purity of his Greek--pure not merely for his time: an age of bastard
tongues--and for the engaging Hellenism of his person, here and now had
an impulse of pride of his Egyptian origin. He drew a deep breath, as he
gazed at the sinking sun; it seemed to lend intentional significance to
the rich beauty of his home as its magical glory transmuted the fields,
the stream, and the palm-groves, the roofs of the city, and even the
barren desert-range and the Pyramids to burning gold. It was fast going
to rest behind the Libyan chain. The bare, colorless limestone sparkled
like translucent crystal; the glowing sphere looked as though it were
melting into the very heart of the mountains behind which it was
vanishing, while its rays, shooting upwards like millions of gold
threads, bound his native valley to heaven--the dwelling of the
Divine Power who had blessed it above all other lands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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