He appeared, in a totally undistinguished way, however, to be a person of some culture, and since being en poste at Cairo, had interested himself mainly in Egyptology. He told Paul that he had recently spent much time and money on excavations, and had been rewarded, just before he had left, by finding the tomb of some early and unknown (he did not use the word ‘bogus’) Shepherd King, the unearthing of which had caused a certain stir amongst Egyptologists.
‘Isn’t it supposed to be unlucky to dig up tombs?’ asked Philadelphia, who had languidly been listening to Michael’s conversation.
‘Who was it said that “only shallow men believe in luck”?’ he replied, smiling sadly. ‘Emerson, I think. In any case, it is certain that if luck exists I have had a very small share of it in my life, either before digging up poor old Papuachnas or since. Besides, I haven’t kept any of the things I found for myself, not a single scarab, and I think that might make a difference, don’t you?’
Paul, who had a practical side to his nature, thought that he himself would easily be able to endure the kind of lucklessness that brought with it a marquisate, a superb Adam house and fifteen thousand pounds a year. He felt sure that Michael Lewes still believed that he was in love with Mrs Fortescue; he evidently considered himself to be an unhappy person, hardly used by Fate.
‘It is curious,’ went on Lord Lewes, ‘to consider the hold that Egyptology takes on people. Nearly everyone seems to be more or less interested in it, more so, I believe, than in any other ancient history, not excepting even that of Greece herself. The most unlikely people used to ask if they could come and see my little collection in Cairo; débutantes from London, for instance, and their mothers, people you would think had no feeling for such things.’
‘It is the human interest,’ said Paul. ‘(And I don’t mean only in the case of the débutantes.) I believe most people have felt it at one time or another. Of course, it is very romantic to think of those tombs, found exactly as they were left at the beginning of the world, full of art treasures and jewels, the pill of historical research is gilded with the primitive and universal excitement of a treasure hunt. Personally, I have always thought that as a rule it is people of more imagination than intellect who feel drawn towards Egypt. Whereas the Philhellene, for instance, is less concerned with how the Greek lived than with how he thought, the average Egyptologist always seems to be rather too much fascinated by the little objects of everyday life which he has found, and rather too busy reconstructing the exact uses to which they were put, to look below the surface for spiritual manifestations of the age in which they were made.’
‘Perhaps on the whole you may be right,’ said Lord Lewes. ‘One does not, however, have to look very far for such manifestations; they are all around one in that country. The Egyptian was a superb artist.’
‘Ah! But for such a short time when measured by the length of his civilization. While the art was strictly formalized, I admit that it was good, almost great. Under Aknahton – correct me if I am wrong – the representational school came into being. After that, to my way of thinking, there was no more art in Egypt.’
‘There, I am afraid, I cannot possibly agree with you,’ said Lord Lewes with his charming smile. ‘I must regard Aknahton and his artists as very wonderful reformers, and their art as some of the greatest that can be found anywhere in the world.’
‘Yes, you see we have a different point of view. I cannot possibly admire purely representational art,’ said Paul, thinking how few people there were so tolerant and easy to get on with. For the first time since his arrival at Compton Bobbin he found himself wishing that he had been there under slightly more creditable circumstances. It occurred to him that if Michael Lewes knew the truth he might easily regard him as quite an ordinary thief, since he was evidently a person rather lacking in humour. Lord Lewes broke in upon this train of thought by saying, after considering the matter for some moments, ‘I think, you know, that the Egyptians themselves were more human than the Greeks, who always appear to have been so coldly perfect, like their own statuary, that it is difficult to credit them with the flesh and blood of ordinary human beings. “Fair Greece, sad relic of departed worth,”’ he added mournfully, ‘“Immortal though no more, though fallen, great.”’
Paul looked at him in some amazement. He had never, since his Oxford days, met anybody so fond of quoting.
‘And presumably,’ said Lord Lewes, ‘that is how the Byzantinist must feel, otherwise I see no way to account for him. Attracted beyond words to the Archipelago itself, and repelled, I suppose, by the sheer perfection of the art which he finds there, he is obliged to search the islands for something which he thinks he can honestly admire. He ends, of course, by valuing the Byzantine quite absurdly high, far higher than its actual merit deserves.’
Paul, who was himself an ardent Byzantinist, and, like all such, extremely sensitive on the subject, was disgusted by this speech, which revealed in his opinion an intellectual dishonesty too dreadful to contemplate. He was just about to inform Lord Lewes that he was the author of a small and privately printed monograph entitled The Byzantine Breakaway when he remembered for the second time that evening that his position in the household was not of the most genuine, and that his name was now no longer Fotheringay but Fisher. Too angry to continue the discussion he walked quickly out of the room,
