they shall speak not to the intellectual, but only to the
emotions and the soul."

And presently I went down, and yielding a complete and happy obedience
to Khuns, I wandered along through the stupendous vestiges of past eras,
dead ambitions, vanished glory, and long-outworn belief, and I ignored
eras, ambitions, glory, and belief, and thought only of form, and
height, of the miracle of blackness against silver, and of the pathos
of statues whose ever-open eyes at night, when one is near them, suggest
the working of some evil spell, perpetual watchfulness, combined with
eternal inactivity, the unslumbering mind caged in the body that is
paralysed.

There is a temple at Karnak that I love, and I scarcely know why I care
for it so much. It is on the right of the solitary lotus column before
you come to the terrific hall of Seti. Some people pass it by, having
but little time, and being hypnotized, it seems, by the more astounding
ruin that lies beyond it. And perhaps it would be well, on a first
visit, to enter it last; to let its influence be the final one to rest
upon your spirit. This is the temple of Rameses III., a brown place of
calm and retirement, an ineffable place of peace. Yes, though the birds
love it and fill it often with their voices, it is a sanctuary of
peace. Upon the floor the soft sand lies, placing silence beneath your
footsteps. The pale brown of walls and columns, almost yellow in the
sunshine, is delicate and soothing, and inclines the heart to calm.
Delicious, suggestive of a beautiful tapestry, rich and ornate, yet
always quiet, are the brown reliefs upon the stone. What are they? Does
it matter? They soften the walls, make them more personal, more tender.
That surely is their mission. This temple holds for me a spell. As soon
as I enter it, I feel the touch of the lotus, as if an invisible and
kindly hand swept a blossom lightly across my face and downward to my
heart. This courtyard, these small chambers beyond it, that last doorway
framing a lovely darkness, soothe me even more than the terra-cotta
hermitages of the Certosa of Pavia. And all the statues here are calm
with an irrevocable calmness, faithful through passing years with a
very sober faithfulness to the temple they adorn. In no other place, one
feels it, could they be thus at peace, with hands crossed for ever upon
their breasts, which are torn by no anxieties, thrilled by no joys. As
one stands among them or sitting on the base of