ly give voice to the new cry that has been taught them for the
benefit of the tourists: "Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!" Coming at this
moment, when, with heart oppressed by all the utilitarian vandalism that
surrounds us, we were entering the sanctuary, what an effect of gross
and imbecile profanation this bellowing of English joy produces! The
boatmen know, moreover, that they have been displaced, that their day
has gone for ever; perhaps even, in the depths of their Nubian souls,
they understand us, for all that we have imposed silence on them. The
darkness increases within, although the place is open to the sky, and
the icy wind blows more mournfully than it did outside. A penetrating
humidity--a humidity altogether unknown in this country before the
inundation--chills us to the bone. We are now in that part of the temple
which was left uncovered, the part where the faithful used to kneel. The
sonority of the granites round about exaggerates the noise of the oars
on the enclosed water, and there is something confusing in the thought
that we are rowing and floating between the walls where formerly,
and for centuries, men were used to prostrate themselves with their
foreheads on the stones.

And now it is quite dark; the hour grows late. We have to bring the boat
close to the walls to distinguish the hieroglyphs and rigid gods which
are engraved there as finely as by the burin. These walls, washed for
nearly four years by the inundation, have already taken on at the base
that sad blackish colour which may be seen on the old Venetian palaces.

Halt and silence. It is dark and cold. The oars no longer move, and we
hear only the sighing of the wind and the lapping of the water against
the columns and the bas-reliefs--and then suddenly there comes the noise
of a heavy body falling, followed by endless eddies. A great carved
stone has plunged, at its due hour, to rejoin in the black chaos below
its fellows that have already disappeared, to rejoin the submerged
temples and old Coptic churches, and the town of the first Christian
centuries--all that was once the Isle of Philae, the "pearl of Egypt,"
one of the marvels of the world.

The darkness is now extreme and we can see no longer. Let us go
and shelter, no matter where, to await the moon. At the end of this
uncovered hall there opens a door which gives on to deep night. It is
the holy of holies, heavily roofed with granite, the highest part of the
temple, the only part which