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- Говард Лавкрафт
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- Погребённый с фараонами
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- Стр. 1/13
Buried with the Pharaohs
Mystery
attracts
mystery
.
Ever
since
the
wide
appearance
of
my
name
as
a
performer
of
unexplained
feats
,
I
have
encountered
strange
narratives
and
events
which
my
calling
has
led
people
to
link
with
my
interests
and
activities
.
Some
of
these
have
been
trivial
and
irrelevant
,
some
deeply
dramatic
and
absorbing
,
some
productive
of
weird
and
perilous
experiences
and
some
involving
me
in
extensive
scientific
and
historical
research
.
Many
of
these
matters
I
have
told
and
shall
continue
to
tell
very
freely
;
but
there
is
one
of
which
I
speak
with
great
reluctance
,
and
which
I
am
now
relating
only
after
a
session
of
grilling
persuasion
from
the
publishers
of
this
magazine
,
who
had
heard
vague
rumors
of
it
from
other
members
of
my
family
.
The
hitherto
guarded
subject
pertains
to
my
non-professional
visit
to
Egypt
fourteen
years
ago
,
and
has
been
avoided
by
me
for
several
reasons
.
For
one
thing
,
I
am
averse
to
exploiting
certain
unmistakably
actual
facts
and
conditions
obviously
unknown
to
the
myriad
tourists
who
throng
about
the
pyramids
and
apparently
secreted
with
much
diligence
by
the
authorities
at
Cairo
,
who
can
not
be
wholly
ignorant
of
them
.
For
another
thing
,
I
dislike
to
recount
an
incident
in
which
my
own
fantastic
imagination
must
have
played
so
great
a
part
.
What
I
saw
--
or
thought
I
saw
--
certainly
did
not
take
place
;
but
is
rather
to
be
viewed
as
a
result
of
my
then
recent
readings
in
Egyptology
,
and
of
the
speculations
anent
this
theme
which
my
environment
naturally
prompted
.
These
imaginative
stimuli
,
magnified
by
the
excitement
of
an
actual
event
terrible
enough
in
itself
,
undoubtedly
gave
rise
to
the
culminating
horror
of
that
grotesque
night
so
long
past
.
In
January
,
1910
,
I
had
finished
a
professional
engagement
in
England
and
signed
a
contract
for
a
tour
of
Australian
theatres
.
A
liberal
time
being
allowed
for
the
trip
,
I
determined
to
make
the
most
of
it
in
the
sort
of
travel
which
chiefly
interests
me
;
so
accompanied
by
my
wife
I
drifted
pleasantly
down
the
Continent
and
embarked
at
Marseilles
on
the
P
&
O
Steamer
Malwa
,
bound
for
Port
Said
.
From
that
point
I
proposed
to
visit
the
principal
historical
localities
of
lower
Egypt
before
leaving
finally
for
Australia
.
The
voyage
was
an
agreeable
one
,
and
enlivened
by
many
of
the
amusing
incidents
which
befall
a
magical
performer
apart
from
his
work
.
I
had
intended
,
for
the
sake
of
quiet
travel
,
to
keep
my
name
a
secret
;
but
was
goaded
into
betraying
myself
by
a
fellow-magician
whose
anxiety
to
astound
the
passengers
with
ordinary
tricks
tempted
me
to
duplicate
and
exceed
his
feats
in
a
manner
quite
destructive
of
my
incognito
.
I
mention
this
because
of
its
ultimate
effect
--
an
effect
I
should
have
foreseen
before
unmasking
to
a
shipload
of
tourists
about
to
scatter
throughout
the
Nile
valley
.
What
it
did
was
to
herald
my
identity
wherever
I
subsequently
went
,
and
deprive
my
wife
and
me
of
all
the
placid
inconspicuousness
we
had
sought
.
Traveling
to
seek
curiosities
,
I
was
often
forced
to
stand
inspection
as
a
sort
of
curiosity
myself
!
We
had
come
to
Egypt
in
search
of
the
picturesque
and
the
mystically
impressive
,
but
found
little
enough
when
the
ship
edged
up
to
Port
Said
and
discharged
its
passengers
in
small
boats
.
Low
dunes
of
sand
,
bobbing
buoys
in
shallow
water
,
and
a
drearily
European
small
town
with
nothing
of
interest
save
the
great
De
Lesseps
statue
,
made
us
anxious
to
get
to
something
more
worth
our
while
.
After
some
discussion
we
decided
to
proceed
at
once
to
Cairo
and
the
Pyramids
,
later
going
to
Alexandria
for
the
Australian
boat
and
for
whatever
Greco
--
Roman
sights
that
ancient
metropolis
might
present
.
The
railway
journey
was
tolerable
enough
,
and
consumed
only
four
hours
and
a
half
.
We
saw
much
of
the
Suez
Canal
,
whose
route
we
followed
as
far
as
Ismailiya
and
later
had
a
taste
of
Old
Egypt
in
our
glimpse
of
the
restored
fresh-water
canal
of
the
Middle
Empire
.
Then
at
last
we
saw
Cairo
glimmering
through
the
growing
dusk
;
a
winkling
constellation
which
became
a
blaze
as
we
halted
at
the
great
Gare
Centrale
.
But
once
more
disappointment
awaited
us
,
for
all
that
we
beheld
was
European
save
the
costumes
and
the
crowds
.
A
prosaic
subway
led
to
a
square
teeming
with
carriages
,
taxicabs
,
and
trolley-cars
and
gorgeous
with
electric
lights
shining
on
tall
buildings
;
whilst
the
very
theatre
where
I
was
vainly
requested
to
play
and
which
I
later
attended
as
a
spectator
,
had
recently
been
renamed
the
'
American
Cosmograph
'
.
We
stopped
at
Shepheard
's
Hotel
,
reached
in
a
taxi
that
sped
along
broad
,
smartly
built-up
streets
;
and
amidst
the
perfect
service
of
its
restaurant
,
elevators
and
generally
Anglo
--
American
luxuries
the
mysterious
East
and
immemorial
past
seemed
very
far
away
.
