One of the means which the Egyptian architects used to create this sense of approach is very simple, but perfectly effective.  It consisted only in making each hall on a very slightly higher level than the one preceding it, and the sanctuary, which is narrow and mysteriously dark on the highest level of all.  Each time one takes an upward step, or walks up a little incline of stone, the body seems to convey to the soul a deeper message of reverence and awe.  In no other temple is this sense of approach to the heart of a thing so acute as it is when one walks in Edfu.  In no other temple, when the sanctuary is reached, has one such a strong consciousness of being indeed within a sacred heart.

The color of Edfu is a pale and delicate brown, warm in the strong sunshine, but seldom glowing.  Its first doorway is extraordinarily high, and is narrow, but very deep, with a roof showing traces of that delicious clear blue-green which is like a thin cry of joy rising up in the solemn temples of Egypt.  A small sphinx keeps watch on the right, just where the guardian stands; this guardian, the gift of the past, squat, even fat, with a very perfect face of a determined and handsome man.  In the court, upon a pedestal, stands a big bird, and near it is another bird, or rather half of a bird, leaning forward, and very much defaced.  And in this great courtyard there are swarms of living birds, twittering in the sunshine.  Through the doorway between the towers one sees a glimpse of a native village with the cupolas of a mosque.

I stood and looked at the cupolas for a moment.  Then I turned, and forgot for a time the life of the world without—­that men, perhaps, were praying beneath those cupolas, or praising the Moslem’s God.  For when I turned, I felt, as I have said, as if all the worship of the world must be concentrated here.  Standing far down the open court, in the full sunshine, I could see into the first hypostyle hall, but beyond only a darkness—­a darkness which led me on, in which the further chambers of the house divine were hidden.  As I went on slowly, the perfection of the plan of the dead architects was gradually revealed to me, when the darkness gave up its secrets; when I saw not clearly, but dimly, the long way between the columns, the noble columns themselves, the gradual, slight upward slope—­graduated by genius; there is no other word—­which led to the sanctuary, seen at last as a little darkness, in which all the mystery of worship, and of the silent desires of men, was surely concentrated, and kept by the stone for ever.  Even the succession of the darknesses, like shadows growing deeper and deeper, seemed planned by some great artist in the management of light, and so of shadow effects.  The perfection of form is in Edfu, impossible to describe, impossible not to feel.  The tremendous effect it has—­an effect upon the soul—­is created by a combination of shapes, of proportions, of different levels, of different heights, by consummate graduation.  And