XIII
THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS
On the way to the tombs of the kings I went to the temple of Kurna,
that lonely cenotaph, with its sand-colored massive facade, its heaps
of fallen stone, its wide and ruined doorway, its thick, almost rough,
columns recalling Medinet-Abu. There is not very much to see, but from
there one has a fine view of other temples--of the Ramesseum, looking
superb, like a grand skeleton; of Medinet-Abu, distant, very pale gold
in the morning sunlight; of little Deir-al-Medinet, the pretty child of
the Ptolemies, with the heads of the seven Hathors. And from Kurna the
Colossi are exceptionally grand and exceptionally personal, so personal
that one imagines one sees the expressions of the faces that they no
longer possess.
Even if you do not go into the tombs--but you will go--you must ride
to the tombs of the kings; and you must, if you care for the finesse of
impressions, ride on a blazing day and toward the hour of noon. Then the
ravine is itself, like the great act that demonstrates a temperament.
It is the narrow home of fire, hemmed in by brilliant colors, nearly
all--perhaps quite all--of which could be found in a glowing furnace.
Every shade of yellow is there--lemon yellow, sulphur yellow, the yellow
of amber, the yellow of orange with its tendency toward red, the yellow
of gold, sand color, sun color. Cannot all these yellows be found in a
fire? And there are the reds--pink of the carnation, pink of the coral,
red of the little rose that grows in certain places of sands, red of
the bright flame's heart.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88