And then I like to go once more to the little temple, to enter through its defaced gateway, to stand alone in its silence between the rows of statues with their arms folded upon their quiet breasts, to gaze into the tender darkness beyond—­the darkness that looks consecrated—­to feel that peace is more wonderful than triumph, that the end of things is peace.

Triumph and deathless peace, the bugle-call and silence—­these are the notes of Karnak.

VIII

LUXOR

Upon the wall of the great court of Amenhotep III. in the temple of Luxor there is a delicious dancing procession in honor of Rameses II.  It is very funny and very happy; full of the joy of life—­a sort of radiant cake-walk of old Egyptian days.  How supple are these dancers!  They seem to have no bones.  One after another they come in line upon the mighty wall, and each one bends backward to the knees of the one who follows.  As I stood and looked at them for the first time, almost I heard the twitter of flutes, the rustic wail of the African hautboy, the monotonous boom of the derabukkeh, cries of a far-off gaiety such as one often hears from the Nile by night.  But these cries came down the long avenues of the centuries; this gaiety was distant in the vasty halls of the long-dead years.  Never can I think of Luxor without thinking of those happy dancers, without thinking of the life that goes in the sun on dancing feet.

There are a few places in the world that one associates with happiness, that one remembers always with a smile, a little thrill at the heart that whispers “There joy is.”  Of these few places Luxor is one—­Luxor the home of sunshine, the suave abode of light, of warmth, of the sweet days of gold and sheeny, golden sunsets, of silver, shimmering nights through which the songs of the boatmen of the Nile go floating to the courts and the tombs of Thebes.  The roses bloom in Luxor under the mighty palms.  Always surely beneath the palms there are the roses.  And the lateen-sails come up the Nile, looking like white-winged promises of future golden days.  And at dawn one wakes with hope and hears the songs of the dawn; and at noon one dreams of the happiness to come; and at sunset one is swept away on the gold into the heart of the golden world; and at night one looks at the stars, and each star is a twinkling hope.  Soft are the airs of Luxor; there is no harshness in the wind that stirs the leaves of the palms.  And the land is steeped in light.  From Luxor one goes with regret.  One returns to it with joy on dancing feet.