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diff --git a/1603-h/1603-h.htm b/1603-h/1603-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68172a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/1603-h/1603-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6822 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Blue Flower, by Henry Van Dyke + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { text-align:justify} + P { margin:15%; + text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + .foot { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 95%; } + img {border: 0;} + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; } + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 1%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: left; + color: gray; + } /* page numbers */ + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 1%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; + margin: 1em 5%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 5%; margin-bottom: .75em; font-size: 80%;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 5%;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + PRE { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 20%;} + // +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Blue Flower, and Others, by Henry van Dyke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Blue Flower, and Others + +Author: Henry van Dyke + +Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #1603] +Last Updated: October 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLUE FLOWER, AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE BLUE FLOWER + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Henry Van Dyke + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The desire of the moth for the star, + Of the night for the morrow, + The devotion for something afar + From the sphere of our sorrow. + —SHELLEY. + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To + THE DEAR MEMORY OF + BERNARD VAN DYKE + 1887-1897 + AND THE LOVE THAT LIVES + BEYOND THE YEARS + </pre> + <p> + <a name="2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + Sometimes short stories are brought together like parcels in a basket. + Sometimes they grow together like blossoms on a bush. Then, of course, + they really belong to one another, because they have the same life in + them. + </p> + <p> + The stories in this book have been growing together for a long time. It is + at least ten years since the first of them, the story of The Other Wise + Man, came to me; and all the others I knew quite well by heart a good + while before I could find the time, in a hard-worked life, to write them + down and try to make them clear and true to others. It has been a slow + task, because the right word has not always been easy to find, and I + wanted to keep free from conventionality in the thought and close to + nature in the picture. It is enough to cause a man no little shame to see + how small is the fruit of so long labour. + </p> + <p> + And yet, after all, when one wishes to write about life, especially about + that part of it which is inward, the inwrought experience of living may be + of value. And that is a thing which one cannot get in haste, neither can + it be made to order. Patient waiting belongs to it; and rainy days belong + to it; and the best of it sometimes comes in the doing of tasks that seem + not to amount to much. So in the long run, I suppose, while delay and + failure and interruption may keep a piece of work very small, yet in the + end they enter into the quality of it and bring it a little nearer to the + real thing, which is always more or less of a secret. + </p> + <p> + But the strangest part of it all is the way in which a single thought, an + idea, will live with a man while he works, and take new forms from year to + year, and light up the things that he sees and hears, and lead his + imagination by the hand into many wonderful and diverse regions. It seems + to me that there am two ways in which you may give unity to a book of + stories. You may stay in one place and write about different themes, + preserving always the colour of the same locality. Or you may go into + different places and use as many of the colours and shapes of life as you + can really see in the light of the same thought. + </p> + <p> + There is such a thought in this book. It is the idea of the search for + inward happiness, which all men who are really alive are following, along + what various paths, and with what different fortunes! Glimpses of this + idea, traces of this search, I thought that I could see in certain tales + that were in my mind,—tales of times old and new, of lands near and + far away. So I tried to tell them, as best as I could, hoping that other + men, being also seekers, might find some meaning in them. + </p> + <p> + There are only little, broken chapters from the long story of life. None + of them is taken from other books. Only one of them—the story of + Winifried and the Thunder-Oak—has the slightest wisp of a foundation + in fact or legend. Yet I think they are all true. + </p> + <p> + But how to find a name for such a book,—a name that will tell enough + to show the thought and yet not too much to leave it free? I have borrowed + a symbol from the old German poet and philosopher, Novalis, to stand + instead of a name. The Blue Flower which he used in his romance of + Heinrich von Ofterdingen to symbolise Poetry, the object of his young + hero’s quest, I have used here to signify happiness, the satisfaction of + the heart. + </p> + <p> + Reader, will you take the book and see if it belongs to you? Whether it + does or not, my wish is that the Blue Flower may grow in the garden where + you work. + </p> + <p> + AVALON, December 1, 1902. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0002"> THE BLUE FLOWER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0003"> THE SOURCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0004"> THE MILL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0005"> SPY ROCK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0006"> WOOD-MAGIC </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0007"> THE OTHER WISE MAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0008"> A HANDFUL OF CLAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0009"> THE LOST WORD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0010"> THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE BLUE FLOWER + </h2> + <p> + The parents were abed and sleeping. The clock on the wall ticked loudly + and lazily, as if it had time to spare. Outside the rattling windows there + was a restless, whispering wind. The room grew light, and dark, and + wondrous light again, as the moon played hide-and-seek through the clouds. + The boy, wide-awake and quiet in his bed, was thinking of the Stranger and + his stories. + </p> + <p> + “It was not what he told me about the treasures,” he said to himself, + “that was not the thing which filled me with so strange a longing. I am + not greedy for riches. But the Blue Flower is what I long for. I can think + of nothing else. Never have I felt so before. It seems as if I had been + dreaming until now—or as if I had just slept over into a new world. + </p> + <p> + “Who cared for flowers in the old world where I used to live? I never + heard of anyone whose whole heart was set upon finding a flower. But now I + cannot even tell all that I feel—sometimes as happy as if I were + enchanted. But when the flower fades from me, when I cannot see it in my + mind, then it is like being very thirsty and all alone. That is what the + other people could not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Once upon a time, they say, the animals and the trees and the flowers + used to talk to people. It seems to me, every minute, as if they were just + going to begin again. When I look at them I can see what they want to say. + There must be a great many words that I do not know; if I knew more of + them perhaps I could understand things better. I used to love to dance, + but now I like better to think after the music.” + </p> + <p> + Gradually the boy lost himself in sweet fancies, and suddenly he found + himself again, in the charmed land of sleep. He wandered in far countries, + rich and strange; he traversed wild waters with incredible swiftness; + marvellous creatures appeared and vanished; he lived with all sorts of + men, in battles, in whirling crowds, in lonely huts. He was cast into + prison. He fell into dire distress and want. All experiences seemed to be + sharpened to an edge. He felt them keenly, yet they did not harm him. He + died and came alive again; he loved to the height of passion, and then was + parted forever from his beloved. At last, toward morning, as the dawn was + stealing near, his soul grew calm, and the pictures showed more clear and + firm. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as if he were walking alone through the deep woods. Seldom the + daylight shimmered through the green veil. Soon he came to a rocky gorge + in the mountains. Under the mossy stones in the bed of the stream, he + heard the water secretly tinkling downward, ever downward, as he climbed + upward. + </p> + <p> + The forest grew thinner and lighter. He came to a fair meadow on the slope + of the mountain. Beyond the meadow was a high cliff, and in the face of + the cliff an opening like the entrance to a path. Dark was the way, but + smooth, and he followed easily on till he came near to a vast cavern from + which a flood of radiance streamed to meet him. + </p> + <p> + As he entered he beheld a mighty beam of light which sprang from the + ground, shattering itself against the roof in countless sparks, falling + and flowing all together into a great pool in the rock. Brighter was the + light-beam than molten gold, but silent in its rise, and silent in its + fall. The sacred stillness of a shrine, a never-broken hush of joy and + wonder, filled the cavern. Cool was the dripping radiance that softly + trickled down the walls, and the light that rippled from them was pale + blue. + </p> + <p> + But the pool, as the boy drew near and watched it, quivered and glanced + with the ever-changing colours of a liquid opal. He dipped his hands in it + and wet his lips. It seemed as if a lively breeze passed through his + heart. + </p> + <p> + He felt an irresistible desire to bathe in the pool. Slipping off his + clothes he plunged in. It was as if he bathed in a cloud of sunset. A + celestial rapture flowed through him. The waves of the stream were like a + bevy of nymphs taking shape around him, clinging to him with tender + breasts, as he floated onward, lost in delight, yet keenly sensitive to + every impression. Swiftly the current bore him out of the pool, into a + hollow in the cliff. Here a dimness of slumber shadowed his eyes, while he + felt the pressure of the loveliest dreams. + </p> + <p> + When he awoke again, he was aware of a new fulness of light, purer and + steadier than the first radiance. He found himself lying on the green + turf, in the open air, beside a little fountain, which sparkled up and + melted away in silver spray. Dark-blue were the rocks that rose at a + little distance, veined with white as if strange words were written upon + them. Dark-blue was the sky, and cloudless. + </p> + <p> + All passion had dissolved away from him; every sound was music; every + breath was peace; the rocks were like sentinels protecting him; the sky + was like a cup of blessing full of tranquil light. + </p> + <p> + But what charmed him most, and drew him with resistless power, was a tall, + clear-blue flower, growing beside the spring, and almost touching him with + its broad, glistening leaves. Round about were many other flowers, of all + hues. Their odours mingled in a perfect chord of fragrance. He saw nothing + but the Blue Flower. + </p> + <p> + Long and tenderly he gazed at it, with unspeakable love. At last he felt + that he must go a little nearer to it, when suddenly it began to move and + change. The leaves glistened more brightly, and drew themselves up closely + around the swiftly growing stalk. The flower bent itself toward him, and + the petals showed a blue, spreading necklace of sapphires, out of which + the lovely face of a girl smiled softly into his eyes. His sweet + astonishment grew with the wondrous transformation. + </p> + <p> + All at once he heard his mother’s voice calling him, and awoke in his + parents’ room, already flooded with the gold of the morning sun. + </p> + <p> + From the German of Novalis. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SOURCE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + In the middle of the land that is called by its inhabitants Koorma, and by + strangers the Land of the Half-forgotten, I was toiling all day long + through heavy sand and grass as hard as wire. Suddenly, toward evening, I + came upon a place where a gate opened in the wall of mountains, and the + plain ran in through the gate, making a little bay of level country among + the hills. + </p> + <p> + Now this bay was not brown and hard and dry, like the mountains above me, + neither was it covered with tawny billows of sand like the desert along + the edge of which I had wearily coasted. But the surface of it was smooth + and green; and as the winds of twilight breathed across it they were + followed by soft waves of verdure, with silvery turnings of the under + sides of many leaves, like ripples on a quiet harbour. There were fields + of corn, filled with silken rustling, and vineyards with long rows of + trimmed maple-trees standing each one like an emerald goblet wreathed with + vines, and flower-gardens as bright as if the earth had been embroidered + with threads of blue and scarlet and gold, and olive-orchards frosted over + with delicate and fragrant blossoms. Red-roofed cottages were scattered + everywhere through the sea of greenery, and in the centre, like a white + ship surrounded by a flock of little boats, rested a small, fair, shining + city. + </p> + <p> + I wondered greatly how this beauty had come into being on the border of + the desert. Passing through the fields and gardens and orchards, I found + that they were all encircled and lined with channels full of running + water. I followed up one of the smaller channels until it came to a larger + stream, and as I walked on beside it, still going upward, it guided me + into the midst of the city, where I saw a sweet, merry river flowing + through the main street, with abundance of water and a very pleasant + sound. + </p> + <p> + There were houses and shops and lofty palaces and all that makes a city, + but the life and joy of all, and the one thing that I remember best, was + the river. For in the open square at the edge of the city there were + marble pools where the children might bathe and play; at the corners of + the streets and on the sides of the houses there were fountains for the + drawing of water; at every crossing a stream was turned aside to run out + to the vineyards; and the river was the mother of them all. + </p> + <p> + There were but few people in the streets, and none of the older folk from + whom I might ask counsel or a lodging; so I stood and knocked at the door + of a house. It was opened by an old man, who greeted me with kindness and + bade me enter as his guest. After much courteous entertainment, and when + supper was ended, his friendly manner and something of singular + attractiveness in his countenance led me to tell him of my strange + journeyings in the land of Koorma and in other lands where I had been + seeking the Blue Flower, and to inquire of him the name and the story of + his city and the cause of the river which made it glad. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” he answered, “this is the city which was called Ablis, that is + to say, Forsaken. For long ago men lived here, and the river made their + fields fertile, and their dwellings were full of plenty and peace. But + because of many evil things which have been half-forgotten, the river was + turned aside, or else it was dried up at its source in the high place + among the mountains, so that the water flowed down no more. The channels + and the trenches and the marble pools and the basins beside the houses + remained, but they were empty. So the gardens withered; the fields were + barren; the city was desolate; and in the broken cisterns there was scanty + water. + </p> + <p> + “Then there came one from a distant country who was very sorrowful to see + the desolation. He told the people that it was vain to dig new cisterns + and to keep the channels and trenches clean; for the water had come only + from above. The Source must be found again and reopened. The river would + not flow unless they traced it back to the spring, and visited it + continually, and offered prayers and praises beside it without ceasing. + Then the spring would rise to an outpouring, and the water would run down + plentifully to make the gardens blossom and the city rejoice. + </p> + <p> + “So he went forth to open the fountain; but there were few that went with + him, for he was a poor man of lowly aspect, and the path upward was steep + and rough. But his companions saw that as he climbed among the rocks, + little streams of water gushed from the places where he trod, and pools + began to gather in the dry river-bed. He went more swiftly than they could + follow him, and at length he passed out of their sight. A little farther + on they came to the rising of the river and there, beside the overflowing + Source, they found their leader lying dead.” + </p> + <p> + “That was a strange thing,” I cried, “and very pitiful. Tell me how it + came to pass, and what was the meaning of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell the whole of the meaning,” replied the old man, after a + little pause, “for it was many years ago. But this poor man had many + enemies in the city, chiefly among the makers of cisterns, who hated him + for his words. I believe that they went out after him secretly and slew + him. But his followers came back to the city; and as they came the river + began to run down very gently after them. They returned to the Source day + by day, bringing others with them; for they said that their leader was + really alive, though the form of his life had changed, and that he met + them in that high place while they remembered him and prayed and sang + songs of praise. More and more the people learned to go with them, and the + path grew plainer and easier to find. The more the Source was revisited, + the more abundant it became, and the more it filled the river. All the + channels and the basins were supplied with water, and men made new + channels which were also filled. Some of those who were diggers of + trenches and hewers of cisterns said that it was their work which had + wrought the change. But the wisest and best among the people knew that it + all came from the Source, and they taught that if it should ever again be + forgotten and left unvisited the river would fail again and desolation + return. So every day, from the gardens and orchards and the streets of the + city, men and women and children have gone up the mountain-path with + singing, to rejoice beside the spring from which the river flows and to + remember the one who opened it. We call it the River Carita. And the name + of the city is no more Ablis, but Saloma, which is Peace. And the name of + him who died to find the Source for us is so dear that we speak it only + when we pray. + </p> + <p> + “But there are many things yet to learn about our city, and some that seem + dark and cast a shadow on my thoughts. Therefore, my son, I bid you to be + my guest, for there is a room in my house for the stranger; and to-morrow + and on the following days you shall see how life goes with us, and read, + if you can, the secret of the city.” + </p> + <p> + That night I slept well, as one who has heard a pleasant tale, with the + murmur of running water woven through my dreams; and the next day I went + out early into the streets, for I was curious to see the manner of the + visitation of the Source. + </p> + <p> + Already the people were coming forth and turning their steps upward in the + mountain-path beside the river. Some of them went alone, swiftly and in + silence; others were in groups of two or three, talking as they went; + others were in larger companies, and they sang together very gladly and + sweetly. But there were many people who remained working in their fields + or in their houses, or stayed talking on the corners of the streets. + Therefore I joined myself to one of the men who walked alone and asked him + why all the people did not go to the spring, since the life of the city + depended upon it, and whether, perhaps, the way was so long and so hard + that none but the strongest could undertake it. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said he, “I perceive that you are a stranger, for the way is both + short and easy, so that the children are those who most delight in it; and + if a man were in great haste he could go there and return in a little + while. But of those who remain behind, some are the busy ones who must + visit the fountain at another hour; and some are the careless ones who + take life as it comes and never think where it comes from; and some are + those who do not believe in the Source and will hear nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “How can that be?” I said; “do they not drink of the water, and does it + not make their fields green?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” he said; “but these men have made wells close by the river, + and they say that these wells fill themselves; and they have digged + channels through their gardens, and they say that these channels would + always have water in them even though the spring should cease to flow. + Some of them say also that it is an unworthy thing to drink from a source + that another has opened, and that every man ought to find a new spring for + himself; so they spend the hour of the visitation, and many more, in + searching among the mountains where there is no path.” + </p> + <p> + While I wondered over this, we kept on in the way. There was already quite + a throng of people all going in the same direction. And when we came to + the Source, which flowed from an opening in a cliff, almost like a chamber + hewn in the rock, and made a little garden of wild-flowers around it as it + fell, I heard the music of many voices and the beautiful name of him who + had given his life to find the forgotten spring. + </p> + <p> + Then we came down again, singly and in groups, following the river. It + seemed already more bright and full and joyous. As we passed through the + gardens I saw men turning aside to make new channels through fields which + were not yet cultivated. And as we entered the city I saw the wheels of + the mills that ground the corn whirling more swiftly, and the maidens + coming with their pitchers to draw from the brimming basins at the street + corners, and the children laughing because the marble pools were so full + that they could swim in them. There was plenty of water everywhere. + </p> + <p> + For many weeks I stayed in the city of Saloma, going up the mountain-path + in the morning, and returning to the day of work and the evening of play. + I found friends among the people of the city, not only among those who + walked together in the visitation of the Source, but also among those who + remained behind, for many of them were kind and generous, faithful in + their work, and very pleasant in their conversation. + </p> + <p> + Yet there was something lacking between me and them. I came not onto firm + ground with them, for all their warmth of welcome and their pleasant ways. + They were by nature of the race of those who dwell ever in one place; even + in their thoughts they went not far abroad. But I have been ever a seeker, + and the world seems to me made to wander in, rather than to abide in one + corner of it and never see what the rest has in store. Now this was what + the people of Saloma could not understand, and for this reason I seemed to + them always a stranger, an alien, a guest. The fixed circle of their life + was like an invisible wall, and with the best will in the world they knew + not how to draw me within it. And I, for my part, while I understood well + their wish to rest and be at peace, could not quite understand the way in + which it found fulfilment, nor share the repose which seemed to them + all-sufficient and lasting. In their gardens I saw ever the same flowers, + and none perfect. At their feasts I tasted ever the same food, and none + that made an end of hunger. In their talk I heard ever the same words, and + none that went to the depth of thought. The very quietude and fixity of + their being perplexed and estranged me. What to them was permanent, to me + was transient. They were inhabitants: I was a visitor. + </p> + <p> + The one in all the city of Saloma with whom was most at home was Ruamie, + the little granddaughter of the old man with whom I lodged. To her, a girl + of thirteen, fair-eyed and full of joy, the wonted round of life had not + yet grown to be a matter of course. She was quick to feel and answer the + newness of every day that dawned. When a strange bird flew down from the + mountains into the gardens, it was she that saw it and wondered at it. It + was she that walked with me most often in the path to the Source. She went + out with me to the fields in the morning and almost every day found + wild-flowers that were new to me. At sunset she drew me to happy games of + youths and children, where her fancy was never tired of weaving new turns + to the familiar pastimes. In the dusk she would sit beside me in an arbour + of honeysuckle and question me about the flower that I was seeking,—for + to her I had often spoken of my quest. + </p> + <p> + “Is it blue,” she asked, “as blue as the speedwell that grows beside the + brook?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is as much bluer than the speedwell, as the river is deeper than + the brook.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it,” she asked, “as bright as the drops of dew in the moonlight?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is brighter than the drops of dew as the sun is clearer than the + moon.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it sweet,” she asked, “as sweet as the honeysuckle when the day is + warm and still?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is as much sweeter than the honeysuckle as the night is stiller + and more sweet than the day.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me again,” she asked, “when you saw it, and why do you seek it?” + </p> + <p> + “Once I saw it when I was a boy, no older than you. Our house looked out + toward the hills, far away and at sunset softly blue against the eastern + sky. It was the day that we laid my father to rest in the little + burying-ground among the cedar-trees. There was his father’s grave, and + his father’s father’s grave, and there were the places for my mother and + for my two brothers and for my sister and for me. I counted them all, when + the others had gone back to the house. I paced up and down alone, + measuring the ground; there was room enough for us all; and in the western + corner where a young elm-tree was growing,—that would be my place, + for I was the youngest. How tall would the elm-tree be then? I had never + thought of it before. It seemed to make me sad and restless,—wishing + for something, I knew not what,—longing to see the world and to + taste happiness before I must sleep beneath the elm-tree. Then I looked + off to the blue hills, shadowy and dream-like, the boundary of the little + world that I knew. And there, in a cleft between the highest peaks I saw a + wondrous thing: for the place at which I was looking seemed to come nearer + and nearer to me; I saw the trees, the rocks, the ferns, the white road + winding before me; the enfolding hills unclosed like leaves, and in the + heart of them I saw a Blue Flower, so bright, so beautiful that my eyes + filled with tears as I looked. It was like a face that smiled at me and + promised something. Then I heard a call, like the note of a trumpet very + far away, calling me to come. And as I listened the flower faded into the + dimness of the hills.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you follow it,” asked Ruamie, “and did you go away from your home? + How could you do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Ruamie, when the time came, as soon as I was free, I set out on my + journey, and my home is at the end of the journey, wherever that may be.” + </p> + <p> + “And the flower,” she asked, “you have seen it again?” + </p> + <p> + “Once again, when I was a youth, I saw it. After a long voyage upon stormy + seas, we came into a quiet haven, and there the friend who was dearest to + me, said good-by, for he was going back to his own country and his + father’s house, but I was still journeying onward. So as I stood at the + bow of the ship, sailing out into the wide blue water, far away among the + sparkling waves I saw a little island, with shores of silver sand and + slopes of fairest green, and in the middle of the island the Blue Flower + was growing, wondrous tall and dazzling, brighter than the sapphire of the + sea. Then the call of the distant trumpet came floating across the water, + and while it was sounding a shimmer of fog swept over the island and I + could see it no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it a real island,” asked Ruamie. “Did you ever find it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never; for the ship sailed another way. But once again I saw the flower; + three days before I came to Saloma. It was on the edge of the desert, + close under the shadow of the great mountains. A vast loneliness was round + about me; it seemed as if I was the only soul living upon earth; and I + longed for the dwellings of men. Then as I woke in the morning I looked up + at the dark ridge of the mountains, and there against the brightening blue + of the sky I saw the Blue Flower standing up clear and brave. It shone so + deep and pure that the sky grew pale around it. Then the echo of the + far-off trumpet drifted down the hillsides, and the sun rose, and the + flower was melted away in light. So I rose and travelled on till I came to + Saloma.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said the child, “you are at home with us. Will you not stay for + a long, long while? You may find the Blue Flower here. There are many + kinds in the fields. I find new ones every day.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay while I can, Ruamie,” I answered, taking her hand in mine as + we walked back to the house at nightfall, “but how long that may be I + cannot tell. For with you I am at home, yet the place where I must abide + is the place where the flower grows, and when the call comes I must follow + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said she, looking at me half in doubt, “I think I understand. But + wherever you go I hope you will find the flower at last.” + </p> + <p> + In truth there were many things in the city that troubled me and made me + restless, in spite of the sweet comfort of Ruamie’s friendship and the + tranquillity of the life in Saloma. I came to see the meaning of what the + old man had said about the shadow that rested upon his thoughts. For there + were some in the city who said that the hours of visitation were wasted, + and that it would be better to employ the time in gathering water from the + pools that formed among the mountains in the rainy season, or in sinking + wells along the edge of the desert. Others had newly come to the city and + were teaching that there was no Source, and that the story of the poor man + who reopened it was a fable, and that the hours of visitation were only + hours of dreaming. There were many who believed them, and many more who + said that it did not matter whether their words were true or false, and + that it was of small moment whether men went to visit the fountain or not, + provided only that they worked in the gardens and kept the marble pools + and basins in repair and opened new canals through the fields, since there + always had been and always would be plenty of water. + </p> + <p> + As I listened to these sayings it seemed to me doubtful what the end of + the city would be. And while this doubt was yet heavy upon me, I heard at + midnight the faint calling of the trumpet, sounding along the crest of the + mountains: and as I went out to look where it came from, I saw, through + the glimmering veil of the milky way, the shape of a blossom of celestial + blue, whose petals seemed to fall and fade as I looked. So I bade farewell + to the old man in whose house I had learned to love the hour of visitation + and the Source and the name of him who opened it; and I kissed the hands + and the brow of the little Ruamie who had entered my heart, and went forth + sadly from the land of Koorma into other lands, to look for the Blue + Flower. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + In the Book of the Voyage without a Harbour is written the record of the + ten years which passed before I came back again to the city of Saloma. + </p> + <p> + It was not easy to find, for I came down through the mountains, and as I + looked from a distant shoulder of the hills for the little bay full of + greenery, it was not to be seen. There was only a white town shining far + off against the brown cliffs, like a flake of mica in a cleft of the + rocks. Then I slept that night, full of care, on the hillside, and rising + before dawn, came down in the early morning toward the city. + </p> + <p> + The fields were lying parched and yellow under the sunrise, and great + cracks gaped in the earth as if it were thirsty. The trenches and channels + were still there, but there was little water in them; and through the + ragged fringes of the rusty vineyards I heard, instead of the cheerful + songs of the vintagers, the creaking of dry windlasses and the hoarse + throb of the pumps in sunken wells. The girdle of gardens had shrunk like + a wreath of withered flowers, and all the bright embroidery, of earth was + faded to a sullen gray. + </p> + <p> + At the foot of an ancient, leafless olive-tree I saw a group of people + kneeling around a newly opened well. I asked a man who was digging beside + the dusty path what this might mean. He straightened himself for a moment, + wiping the sweat from his brow, and answered, sullenly, “They are + worshipping the windlass: how else should they bring water into their + fields?” Then he fell furiously to digging again, and I passed on into the + city. + </p> + <p> + There was no sound of murmuring streams in the streets, and down the main + bed of the river I saw only a few shallow puddles, joined together by a + slowly trickling thread. Even these were fenced and guarded so that no one + might come near to them, and there were men going among to the houses with + water-skins on their shoulders, crying “Water! Water to sell!” + </p> + <p> + The marble pools in the open square were empty; and at one of them there + was a crowd looking at a man who was being beaten with rods. A bystander + told me that the officers of the city had ordered him to be punished + because he had said that the pools and the basins and the channels were + not all of pure marble, without a flaw. “For this,” said he, “is the evil + doctrine that has come in to take away the glory of our city, and because + of this the water has failed.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a sad change,” I answered, “and doubtless they who have caused it + should suffer more than others. But can you tell me at what hour and in + what manner the people now observe the visitation of the Source?” + </p> + <p> + He looked curiously at me and replied: “I do not understand you. There is + no visitation save the inspection of the cisterns and the wells which the + syndics of the city, whom we call the Princes of Water, carry on daily at + every hour. What source is this of which you speak?” + </p> + <p> + So I went on through the street, where all the passers-by seemed in haste + and wore weary countenances, until I came to the house where I had lodged. + There was a little basin here against the wall, with a slender stream of + water still flowing into it, and a group of children standing near with + their pitchers, waiting to fill them. + </p> + <p> + The door of the house was closed; but when I knocked, it opened and a + maiden came forth. She was pale and sad in aspect, but a light of joy + dawned over the snow of her face, and I knew by the youth in her eyes that + it was Ruamie, who had walked with me through the vineyards long ago. + </p> + <p> + With both hands she welcomed me, saying: “You are expected. Have you found + the Blue Flower?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” I answered, “but something drew me back to you. I would know + how it fares with you, and I would go again with you to visit the Source.” + </p> + <p> + At this her face grew bright, but with a tender, half-sad brightness. + </p> + <p> + “The Source!” she said. “Ah, yes, I was sure that you would remember it. + And this is the hour of the visitation. Come, let us go up together.” + </p> + <p> + Then we went alone through the busy and weary multitudes of the city + toward the mountain-path. So forsaken was it and so covered with stones + and overgrown with wire-grass that I could not have found it but for her + guidance. But as we climbed upward the air grew clearer, and more sweet, + and I questioned her of the things that had come to pass in my absence. I + asked her of the kind old man who had taken me into his house when I came + as a stranger. She said, softly, “He is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “And where are the men and women, his friends, who once thronged this + pathway? Are they also dead?” + </p> + <p> + “They also are dead.” + </p> + <p> + “But where are the younger ones who sang here so gladly as they marched + upward? Surely they, are living?” + </p> + <p> + “They have forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Where then are the young children whose fathers taught them this way and + bade them remember it. Have they forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + “They have forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “But why have you alone kept the hour of visitation? Why have you not + turned back with your companions? How have you walked here solitary day + after day?” + </p> + <p> + She turned to me with a divine regard, and laying her hand gently over + mine, she said, “I remember always.” + </p> + <p> + Then I saw a few wild-flowers blossoming beside the path. + </p> + <p> + We drew near to the Source, and entered into the chamber hewn in the rock. + She kneeled and bent over the sleeping spring. She murmured again and + again the beautiful name of him who had died to find it. Her voice + repeated the song that had once been sung by many voices. Her tears fell + softly on the spring, and as they fell it seemed as if the water stirred + and rose to meet her bending face, and when she looked up it was as if the + dew had fallen on a flower. + </p> + <p> + We came very slowly down the path along the river Carita, and rested often + beside it, for surely, I thought, the rising of the spring had sent a + little more water down its dry bed, and some of it must flow on to the + city. So it was almost evening when we came back to the streets. The + people were hurrying to and fro, for it was the day before the choosing of + new Princes of Water; and there was much dispute about them, and strife + over the building of new cisterns to hold the stores of rain which might + fall in the next year. But none cared for us, as we passed by like + strangers, and we came unnoticed to the door of the house. + </p> + <p> + Then a great desire of love and sorrow moved within my breast, and I said + to Ruamie, “You are the life of the city, for you alone remember. Its + secret is in your heart, and your faithful keeping of the hours of + visitation is the only cause why the river has not failed altogether and + the curse of desolation returned. Let me stay with you, sweet soul of all + the flowers that are dead, and I will cherish you forever. Together we + will visit the Source every day; and we shall turn the people, by our + lives and by our words, back to that which they have forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + There was a smile in her eyes so deep that its meaning cannot be spoken, + as she lifted my hand to her lips, and answered, + </p> + <p> + “Not so, dear friend, for who can tell whether life or death will come to + the city, whether its people will remember at last, or whether they will + forget forever. Its lot is mine, for I was born here, and here my life is + rooted. But you are of the Children of the Unquiet Heart, whose feet can + never rest until their task of errors is completed and their lesson of + wandering is learned to the end. Until then go forth, and do not forget + that I shall remember always.” + </p> + <p> + Behind her quiet voice I heard the silent call that compels us, and passed + down the street as one walking in a dream. At the place where the path + turned aside to the ruined vineyards I looked back. The low sunset made a + circle of golden rays about her head and a strange twin blossom of + celestial blue seemed to shine in her tranquil eyes. + </p> + <p> + Since then I know not what has befallen the city, nor whether it is still + called Saloma, or once more Ablis, which is Forsaken. But if it lives at + all, I know that it is because there is one there who remembers, and keeps + the hour of visitation, and treads the steep way, and breathes the + beautiful name over the spring, and sometimes I think that long before my + seeking and journeying brings me to the Blue Flower, it will bloom for + Ruamie beside the still waters of the Source. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MILL + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + How the Young Martimor would Become a Knight and Assay Great Adventure + </p> + <p> + When Sir Lancelot was come out of the Red Launds where he did many deeds + of arms, he rested him long with play and game in a land that is, called + Beausejour. For in that land there are neither castles nor enchantments, + but many fair manors, with orchards and fields lying about them; and the + people that dwell therein have good cheer continually. + </p> + <p> + Of the wars and of the strange quests that are ever afoot in Northgalis + and Lionesse and the Out Isles, they hear nothing; but are well content to + till the earth in summer when the world is green; and when the autumn + changes green to gold they pitch pavilions among the fruit-trees and the + vineyards, making merry with song and dance while they gather harvest of + corn and apples and grapes; and in the white days of winter for pastime + they have music of divers instruments and the playing of pleasant games. + </p> + <p> + But of the telling of tales in that land there is little skill, neither do + men rightly understand the singing of ballads and romaunts. For one year + there is like another, and so their life runs away, and they leave the + world to God. + </p> + <p> + Then Sir Lancelot had great ease for a time in this quiet land, and often + he lay under the apple-trees sleeping, and again he taught the people new + games and feats of skill. For into what place soever he came he was + welcome, though the inhabitants knew not his name and great renown, nor + the famous deeds that he had done in tournament and battle. Yet for his + own sake, because he was a very gentle knight, fair-spoken and full of + courtesy and a good man of his hands withal, they doted upon him. + </p> + <p> + So he began to tell them tales of many things that have been done in the + world by clean knights and faithful squires. Of the wars against the + Saracens and misbelieving men; of the discomfiture of the Romans when they + came to take truage of King Arthur; of the strife with the eleven kings + and the battle that was ended but never finished; of the Questing Beast + and how King Pellinore and then Sir Palamides followed it; of Balin that + gave the dolourous stroke unto King Pellam; of Sir Tor that sought the + lady’s brachet and by the way overcame two knights and smote off the head + of the outrageous caitiff Abelleus,—of these and many like matters + of pith and moment, full of blood and honour, told Sir Lancelot, and the + people had marvel of his words. + </p> + <p> + Now, among them that listened to him gladly, was a youth of good blood and + breeding, very fair in the face and of great stature. His name was + Martimor. Strong of arm was he, and his neck was like a pillar. His legs + were as tough as beams of ash-wood, and in his heart was the hunger of + noble tatches and deeds. So when he heard of Sir Lancelot these + redoubtable histories he was taken with desire to assay his strength. And + he besought the knight that they might joust together. + </p> + <p> + But in the land of Beausejour there were no arms of war save such as Sir + Lancelot had brought with him. Wherefore they made shift to fashion a + harness out of kitchen gear, with a brazen platter for a breast-plate, and + the cover of the greatest of all kettles for a shield, and for a helmet a + round pot of iron, whereof the handle stuck down at Martimor’s back like a + tail. And for spear he got him a stout young fir-tree, the point hardened + in the fire, and Sir Lancelot lent to him the sword that he had taken from + the false knight that distressed all ladies. + </p> + <p> + Thus was Martimor accoutred for the jousting, and when he had climbed upon + his horse, there arose much laughter and mockage. Sir Lancelot laughed a + little, though he was ever a grave man, and said, “Now must we call this + knight, La Queue de Fer, by reason of the tail at his back.” + </p> + <p> + But Martimor was half merry and half wroth, and crying “‘Ware!” he dressed + his spear beneath his arm. Right so he rushed upon Sir Lancelot, and so + marvellously did his harness jangle and smite together as he came, that + the horse of Sir Lancelot was frighted and turned aside. Thus the point of + the fir-tree caught him upon the shoulder and came near to unhorse him. + Then Martimor drew rein and shouted: “Ha! ha! has Iron-Tail done well?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobly hast thou done,” said Lancelot, laughing, the while he amended his + horse, “but let not the first stroke turn thy head, else will the tail of + thy helmet hang down afore thee and mar the second stroke!” + </p> + <p> + So he kept his horse in hand and guided him warily, making feint now on + this side and now on that, until he was aware that the youth grew hot with + the joy of fighting and sought to deal with him roughly and bigly. Then he + cast aside his spear and drew sword, and as Martimor walloped toward him, + he lightly swerved, and with one stroke cut in twain the young fir-tree, + so that not above an ell was left in the youth’s hand. + </p> + <p> + Then was the youth full of fire, and he also drew sword and made at Sir + Lancelot, lashing heavily as, he would hew down a tree. But the knight + guarded and warded without distress, until the other breathed hard and was + blind with sweat. Then Lancelot smote him with a mighty stroke upon the + head, but with the flat of his sword, so that Martimor’s breath went clean + out of him, and the blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell over the + croup of his horse as he were a man slain. + </p> + <p> + Then Sir Lancelot laughed no more, but grieved, for he weened that he had + harmed the youth, and he liked him passing well. So he ran to him and held + him in his arms fast and tended him. And when the breath came again into + his body, Lancelot was glad, and desired the youth that he would pardon + him of that unequal joust and of the stroke too heavy. + </p> + <p> + At this Martimor sat up and took him by the hand. “Pardon?” he cried. “No + talk of pardon between thee and me, my Lord Lancelot! Thou hast given me + such joy of my life as never I had before. It made me glad to feel thy + might. And now am I delibred and fully concluded that I also will become a + knight, and thou shalt instruct me how and in what land I shall seek great + adventure.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + How Martimor was Instructed of Sir Lancelot to Set Forth Upon His Quest + </p> + <p> + So right gladly did Sir Lancelot advise the young Martimor of all the + customs and vows of the noble order of knighthood, and shew how he might + become a well-ruled and a hardy knight to win good fame and renown. For + between these two from the first there was close brotherhood and affiance, + though in years and in breeding they were so far apart, and this + brotherhood endured until the last, as ye shall see, nor was the affiance + broken. + </p> + <p> + Thus willingly learned the youth of his master; being instructed first in + the art and craft to manage and guide a horse; then to handle the shield + and the spear, and both to cut and to foin with the sword; and last of all + in the laws of honour and courtesy, whereby a man may rule his own spirit + and so obtain grace of God, praise of princes, and favour of fair ladies. + </p> + <p> + “For this I tell thee,” said Sir Lancelot, as they sat together under an + apple-tree, “there be many good fighters that are false knights, breaking + faith with man and woman, envious, lustful and orgulous. In them courage + is cruel, and love is lecherous. And in the end they shall come to shame + and shall be overcome by a simpler knight than themselves; or else they + shall win sorrow and despite by the slaying of better men than they be; + and with their paramours they shall have weary dole and distress of soul + and body; for he that is false, to him shall none be true, but all things + shall be unhappy about him.” + </p> + <p> + “But how and if a man be true in heart,” said Martimor, “yet by some + enchantment, or evil fortune, he may do an ill deed and one that is + harmful to his lord or to his friend, even as Balin and his brother Balan + slew each the other unknown?” + </p> + <p> + “That is in God’s hand,” said Lancelot. “Doubtless he may pardon and + assoil all such in their unhappiness, forasmuch as the secret of it is + with him.” + </p> + <p> + “And how if a man be entangled in love,” said Martimor, “Yet his love be + set upon one that is not lawful for him to have? For either he must deny + his love, which is great shame, or else he must do dishonour to the law. + What shall he then do?” + </p> + <p> + At this Sir Lancelot was silent, and heaved a great sigh. Then said he: + “Rest assured that this man shall have sorrow enough. For out of this net + he may not escape, save by falsehood on the one side, or by treachery on + the other. Therefore say I that he shall not assay to escape, but rather + right manfully to bear the bonds with which he is bound, and to do honour + to them.”’ + </p> + <p> + “How may this be?” said Martimor. + </p> + <p> + “By clean living,” said Lancelot, “and by keeping himself from wine which + heats the blood, and by quests and labours and combats wherein the + fierceness of the heart is spent and overcome, and by inward joy in the + pure worship of his lady, whereat none may take offence.” + </p> + <p> + “How then shall a man bear himself in the following of a quest?” said + Martimor. “Shall he set his face ever forward, and turn not to right, or + left, whatever meet him by the way? Or shall he hold himself ready to + answer them that call to him, and to succour them that ask help of him, + and to turn aside from his path for rescue and good service?” + </p> + <p> + “Enough of questions!” said Lancelot. “These are things whereto each man + must answer for himself, and not for other. True knight taketh counsel of + the time. Every day his own deed. And the winning of a quest is not by + haste, nor by hap, but what needs to be done, that must ye do while ye are + in the way.” + </p> + <p> + Then because of the love that Sir Lancelot bore to Martimor he gave him + his own armour, and the good spear wherewith he had unhorsed many knights, + and the sword that he took from Sir Peris de Forest Savage that distressed + all ladies, but his shield he gave not, for therein his own remembrance + was blazoned. So he let make a new shield, and in the corner was painted a + Blue Flower that was nameless, and this he gave to Martimor, saying: “Thou + shalt name it when thou hast found it, and so shalt thou have both crest + and motto.” + </p> + <p> + “Now am I well beseen,” cried Martimor, “and my adventures are before me. + Which way shall I ride, and where shall I find them?” + </p> + <p> + “Ride into the wind,” said Lancelot, “and what chance soever it blows + thee, thereby do thy best, as it were the first and the last. Take not thy + hand from it until it be fulfilled. So shalt thou most quickly and + worthily achieve knighthood.” + </p> + <p> + Then they embraced like brothers; and each bade other keep him well; and + Sir Lancelot in leather jerkin, with naked head, but with his shield and + sword, rode to the south toward Camelot; and Martimor rode into the wind, + westward, over the hill. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + How Martimor Came to the Mill a Stayed in a Delay + </p> + <p> + So by wildsome ways in strange countries and through many waters and + valleys rode Martimor forty days, but adventure met him none, blow the + wind never so fierce or fickle. Neither dragons, nor giants, nor false + knights, nor distressed ladies, nor fays, nor kings imprisoned could he + find. + </p> + <p> + “These are ill times for adventure,” said he, “the world is full of meat + and sleepy. Now must I ride farther afield and undertake some ancient, + famous quest wherein other knights have failed and fallen. Either I shall + follow the Questing Beast with Sir Palamides, or I shall find Merlin at + the great stone whereunder the Lady of the Lake enchanted him and deliver + him from that enchantment, or I shall assay the cleansing of the Forest + Perilous, or I shall win the favour of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, or mayhap + I shall adventure the quest of the Sangreal. One or other of these will I + achieve, or bleed the best blood of my body.” Thus pondering and dreaming + he came by the road down a gentle hill with close woods on either hand; + and so into a valley with a swift river flowing through it; and on the + river a Mill. + </p> + <p> + So white it stood among the trees, and so merrily whirred the wheel as the + water turned it, and so bright blossomed the flowers in the garden, that + Martimor had joy of the sight, for it minded him of his own country. “But + here is no adventure,” thought he, and made to ride by. + </p> + <p> + Even then came a young maid suddenly through the garden crying and + wringing her hands. And when she saw him she cried him help. At this + Martimor alighted quickly and ran into the garden, where the young maid + soon led him to the millpond, which was great and deep, and made him + understand that her little hound was swept away by the water and was near + to perishing. + </p> + <p> + There saw he a red and white brachet, caught by the swift stream that ran + into the race, fast swimming as ever he could swim, yet by no means able + to escape. Then Martimor stripped off his harness and leaped into the + water and did marvellously to rescue the little hound. But the fierce + river dragged his legs, and buffeted him, and hurtled at him, and drew him + down, as it were an enemy wrestling with him, so that he had much ado to + come where the brachet was, and more to win back again, with the brachet + in his arm, to the dry land. + </p> + <p> + Which when he had done he was clean for-spent and fell upon the ground as + a dead man. At this the young maid wept yet more bitterly than she had + wept for her hound, and cried aloud, “Alas, if so goodly a man should + spend his life for my little brachet!” So she took his head upon her knee + and cherished him and beat the palms of his hands, and the hound licked + his face. And when Martimor opened his eyes he saw the face of the maid + that it was fair as any flower. + </p> + <p> + Then was she shamed, and put him gently from her knee, and began to thank + him and to ask with what she might reward him for the saving of the + brachet. + </p> + <p> + “A night’s lodging and a day’s cheer,” quoth Martimor. + </p> + <p> + “As long as thee liketh,” said she, “for my father, the miller, will + return ere sundown, and right gladly will he have a guest so brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Longer might I like,” said he, “but longer may I not stay, for I ride in + a quest and seek great adventures to become a knight.” + </p> + <p> + So they bestowed the horse in the stable, and went into the Mill; and when + the miller was come home they had such good cheer with eating of venison + and pan-cakes, and drinking of hydromel, and singing of pleasant ballads, + that Martimor clean forgot he was in a delay. And going to his bed in a + fair garret he dreamed of the Maid of the Mill, whose name was Lirette. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + How the Mill was in Danger and the Delay Endured + </p> + <p> + In the morning Martimor lay late and thought large thoughts of his quest, + and whither it might lead him, and to what honour it should bring him. As + he dreamed thus, suddenly he heard in the hall below a trampling of feet + and a shouting, with the voice of Lirette crying and shrieking. With that + he sprang out of his bed, and caught up his sword and dagger, leaping + lightly and fiercely down the stair. + </p> + <p> + There he saw three foul churls, whereof two strove with the miller, + beating him with great clubs, while the third would master the Maid and + drag her away to do her shame, but she fought shrewdly. Then Martimor + rushed upon the churls, shouting for joy, and there was a great medley of + breaking chairs and tables and cursing and smiting, and with his sword he + gave horrible strokes. + </p> + <p> + One of the knaves that fought with the miller, he smote upon the shoulder + and clave him to the navel. And at the other he foined fiercely so that + the point of the sword went through his back and stuck fast in the wall. + But the third knave, that was the biggest and the blackest, and strove to + bear away the Maid, left bold of her, and leaped upon Martimor and caught + him by the middle and crushed him so that his ribs cracked. + </p> + <p> + Thus they weltered and wrung together, and now one of them was above and + now the other; and ever as they wallowed Martimor smote him with his + dagger, but there came forth no blood, only water. + </p> + <p> + Then the black churl broke away from him and ran out at the door of the + mill, and Martimor after. So they ran through the garden to the river, and + there the churl sprang into the water, and swept away raging and foaming. + And as he went he shouted, “Yet will I put thee to the worse, and mar the + Mill, and have the Maid!”’ + </p> + <p> + Then Martimor cried, “Never while I live shalt thou mar the Mill or have + the Maid, thou foul, black, misbegotten churl!” So he returned to the + Mill, and there the damsel Lirette made him to understand that these three + churls were long time enemies of the Mill, and sought ever to destroy it + and to do despite to her and her father. One of them was Ignis, and + another was Ventus, and these were the twain that he had smitten. But the + third, that fled down the river (and he was ever the fiercest and the most + outrageous), his name was Flumen, for he dwelt in the caves of the stream, + and was the master of it before the Mill was built. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” wept the Maid, “he must have had his will with me and with the + Mill, but for God’s mercy, thanked be our Lord Jesus!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank me too,” said Mlartimor. + </p> + <p> + “So I do,” said Lirette, and she kissed him. “Yet am I heavy at heart and + fearful, for my father is sorely mishandled and his arm is broken, so that + he cannot tend the Mill nor guard it. And Flumen is escaped; surely he + will harm us again. Now I know not, where I shall look for help.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not here?” said Martimor. + </p> + <p> + Then Lirette looked him in the face, smiling a little sorrily. “But thou + ridest in a quest,” quoth she, “thou mayst not stay from thy adventures.” + </p> + <p> + “A month,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Till my father be well?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “A month,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Till thou hast put Flumen to the worse?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Right willingly would I have to do with that base, slippery knave again,” + said he, “but more than a month I may not stay, for my quest calls me and + I must win worship of men or ever I become a knight.” + </p> + <p> + So they bound up the miller’s wounds and set the Mill in order. But + Martimor had much to do to learn the working of the Mill; and they were + busied with the grinding of wheat and rye and barley and divers kinds of + grain; and the millers hurts were mended every day; and at night there was + merry rest and good cheer; and Martimor talked with the Maid of the great + adventure that he must find; and thus the delay endured in pleasant wise. + </p> + <p> + THE MILL V + </p> + <p> + Yet More of the Mill, and of the Same Delay, also of the Maid + </p> + <p> + Now at the end of the third month, which was November, Martimor made + Lirette to understand that it was high time he should ride farther to + follow his quest. For the miller was now recovered, and it was long that + they had heard and seen naught of Flumen, and doubtless that black knave + was well routed and dismayed that he would not come again. Lirette prayed + him and desired him that he would tarry yet one week. But Martimor said, + No! for his adventures were before him, and that he could not be happy + save in the doing of great deeds and the winning of knightly fame. Then he + showed her the Blue Flower in his shield that was nameless, and told her + how Sir Lancelot had said that he must find it, then should he name it and + have both crest and motto. + </p> + <p> + “Does it grow in my garden?” said Lirette. + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen it,” said he, “and now the flowers are all faded.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps in the month of May?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “In that month I will come again,” said he, “for by that time it may + fortune that I shall achieve my quest, but now forth must I fare.” + </p> + <p> + So there was sad cheer in the Mill that day, and at night there came a + fierce storm with howling wind and plumping rain, and Martimor slept ill. + About the break of day he was wakened by a great roaring and pounding; + then he looked out of window, and saw the river in flood, with black waves + spuming and raving, like wood beasts, and driving before them great logs + and broken trees. Thus the river hurled and hammered at the mill-dam so + that it trembled, and the logs leaped as they would spring over it, and + the voice of Flumen shouted hoarsely and hungrily, “Yet will I mar the + Mill and have the Maid!” + </p> + <p> + Then Martimor ran with the miller out upon the dam, and they laboured at + the gates that held the river back, and thrust away the logs that were + heaped over them, and cut with axes, and fought with the river. So at last + two of the gates were lifted and one was broken, and the flood ran down + ramping and roaring in great raundon, and as it ran the black face of + Flumen sprang above it, crying, “Yet will I mar both Mill and Maid.” + </p> + <p> + “That shalt thou never do,” cried Martimor, “by foul or fair, while the + life beats in my body.” + </p> + <p> + So he came back with the miller into the Mill, and there was meat ready + for them and they ate strongly and with good heart. “Now,” said the + miller, “must I mend the gate. But how it may be done, I know not, for + surely this will be great travail for a man alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Why alone?” said Martimor. + </p> + <p> + “Thou wilt stay, then?” said Lirette. + </p> + <p> + “Yea,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “For another month?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Till the gate be mended,” said he. + </p> + <p> + But when the gate was mended there came another flood and brake the second + gate. And when that was mended there came another flood and brake the + third gate. So when all three were mended firm and fast, being bound with + iron, still the grimly river hurled over the dam, and the voice of Flumen + muttered in the dark of winter nights, “Yet will I mar—mar—mar—yet + will I mar Mill and Maid.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho!” said Martimor, “this is a durable and dogged knave. Art thou feared + of him Lirette?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” said she, “for thou art stronger. But fear have I of the day + when thou ridest forth in thy quest.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as to that,” said he, “when I have overcome this false devil + Flumen, then will we consider and appoint that day.” + </p> + <p> + So the delay continued, and Martimor was both busy and happy at the Mill, + for he liked and loved this damsel well, and was fain of her company. + Moreover the strife with Flumen was great joy to him. + </p> + <p> + VI + </p> + <p> + How the Month of May came to the Mill, and the Delay was Made Longer + </p> + <p> + Now when the month of May came to the Mill it brought a plenty of sweet + flowers, and Lirette wrought in the garden. With her, when the day was + spent and the sun rested upon the edge of the hill, went Martimor, and she + showed him all her flowers that were blue. But none of them was like the + flower on his shield. + </p> + <p> + “Is it this?” she cried, giving him a violet. “Too dark,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Then here it is,” she said, plucking a posy of forget-me-not. + </p> + <p> + “Too light,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Surely this is it,” and she brought him a spray of blue-bells. + </p> + <p> + “Too slender,” said he, “and well I ween that I may not find that flower, + till I ride farther in my quest and achieve great adventure.” + </p> + <p> + Then was the Maid cast down, and Martimor was fain to comfort her. + </p> + <p> + So while they walked thus in the garden, the days were fair and still, and + the river ran lowly and slowly, as it were full of gentleness, and Flumen + had amended him of his evil ways. But full of craft and guile was that + false foe. For now that the gates were firm and strong, he found a way + down through the corner of the dam, where a water-rat had burrowed, and + there the water went seeping and creeping, gnawing ever at the hidden + breach. Presently in the night came a mizzling rain, and far among the + hills a cloud brake open, and the mill-pond flowed over and under, and the + dam crumbled away, and the Mill shook, and the whole river ran roaring + through the garden. + </p> + <p> + Then was Martimor wonderly wroth, because the river had blotted out the + Maid’s flowers. “And one day,” she cried, holding fast to him and + trembling, “one day Flumen will have me, when thou art gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” said he, “by the faith of my body that foul fiend shall never + have thee. I will bind him, I will compel him, or die in the deed.” + </p> + <p> + So he went forth, upward along the river, till he came to a strait Place + among the hills. There was a great rock full of caves and hollows, and + there the water whirled and burbled in furious wise. “Here,” thought he, + “is the hold of the knave Flumen, and if I may cut through above this rock + and make a dyke with a gate in it, to let down the water another way when + the floods come, so shall I spoil him of his craft and put him to the + worse.” + </p> + <p> + Then he toiled day and night to make the dyke, and ever by night Flumen + came and strove with him, and did his power to cast him down and strangle + him. But Martimor stood fast and drave him back. + </p> + <p> + And at last, as they wrestled and whapped together, they fell headlong in + the stream. + </p> + <p> + “Ho-o!” shouted Flumen, “now will I drown thee, and mar the Mill and the + Maid.” + </p> + <p> + But Martimor gripped him by the neck and thrust his head betwixt the + leaves of the gate and shut them fast, so that his eyes stood out like + gobbets of foam, and his black tongue hung from his mouth like a + water-weed. + </p> + <p> + “Now shalt thou swear never to mar Mill nor Maid, but meekly to serve + them,” cried Martimor. Then Flumen sware by wind and wave, by storm and + stream, by rain and river, by pond and pool, by flood and fountain, by + dyke and dam. + </p> + <p> + “These be changeable things,” said Martimor, “swear by the Name of God.” + </p> + <p> + So he sware, and even as the Name passed his teeth, the gobbets of foam + floated forth from the gate, and the water-weed writhed away with the + stream, and the river flowed fair and softly, with a sound like singing. + </p> + <p> + Then Martimor came back to the Mill, and told how Flumen was overcome and + made to swear a pact. Thus their hearts waxed light and jolly, and they + kept that day as it were a love-day. + </p> + <p> + VII + </p> + <p> + How Martimor Bled for a Lady and Lived for a Maid, and how His Great + Adventure Ended and Began at the Mill + </p> + <p> + Now leave we of the Mill and Martimor and the Maid, and let us speak of a + certain Lady, passing tall and fair and young. This was the Lady + Beauvivante, that was daughter to King Pellinore. And three false knights + took her by craft from her father’s court and led her away to work their + will on her. But she escaped from them as they slept by a well, and came + riding on a white palfrey, over hill and dale, as fast as ever she could + drive. + </p> + <p> + Thus she came to the Mill, and her palfrey was spent, and there she took + refuge, beseeching Martimor that he would hide her, and defend her from + those caitiff knights that must soon follow. + </p> + <p> + “Of hiding,” said he, “will I hear naught, but of defending am I full + fain. For this have I waited.” + </p> + <p> + Then he made ready his horse and his armour, and took both spear and + sword, and stood forth in the bridge. Now this bridge was strait, so that + none could pass there but singly, and that not till Martimor yielded or + was beaten down. + </p> + <p> + Then came the three knights that followed the Lady, riding fiercely down + the hill. And when they came about ten spear-lengths from the bridge, they + halted, and stood still as it had been a plump of wood. One rode in black, + and one rode in yellow, and the third rode in black and yellow. So they + cried Martimor that he should give them passage, for they followed a + quest. + </p> + <p> + “Passage takes, who passage makes!” cried Martimor. “Right well I know + your quest, and it is a foul one.” + </p> + <p> + Then the knight in black rode at him lightly, but Martimor encountered him + with the spear and smote him backward from his horse, that his head struck + the coping of the bridge and brake his neck. Then came the knight in + yellow, walloping heavily, and him the spear pierced through the midst of + the body and burst in three pieces: so he fell on his back and the life + went out of him, but the spear stuck fast and stood up from his breast as + a stake. + </p> + <p> + Then the knight in black and yellow, that was as big as both his brethren, + gave a terrible shout, and rode at Martimor like a wood lion. But he + fended with his shield that the spear went aside, and they clapped + together like thunder, and both horses were overthrown. And lightly they + avoided their horses and rushed together, tracing, rasing, and foining. + Such strokes they gave that great pieces were clipped away from their + hauberks, and their helms, and they staggered to and fro like drunken men. + Then they hurtled together like rams and each battered other the wind out + of his body. So they sat either on one side of the bridge, to take their + breath, glaring the one at the other as two owls. Then they stepped + together and fought freshly, smiting and thrusting, ramping and reeling, + panting, snorting, and scattering blood, for the space of two hours. So + the knight in black and yellow, because he was heavier, drave Martimor + backward step by step till he came to the crown of the bridge, and there + fell grovelling. At this the Lady Beauvivante shrieked and wailed, but the + damsel Lirette cried loudly, “Up! Martimor, strike again!” + </p> + <p> + Then the courage came into his body, and with a great might he abraid upon + his feet, and smote the black and yellow knight upon the helm by an + overstroke so fierce that the sword sheared away the third part of his + head, as it had been a rotten cheese. So he lay upon the bridge, and the + blood ran out of him. And Martimor smote off the rest of his head quite, + and cast it into the river. Likewise did he with the other twain that lay + dead beyond the bridge. And he cried to Flumen, “Hide me these black eggs + that hatched evil thoughts.” So the river bore them away. + </p> + <p> + Then Martimor came into the Mill, all for-bled; “Now are ye free, lady,” + he cried, and fell down in a swoon. Then the Lady and the Maid wept full + sore and made great dole and unlaced his helm; and Lirette cherished him + tenderly to recover his life. + </p> + <p> + So while they were thus busied and distressed, came Sir Lancelot with a + great company of knights and squires riding for to rescue the princess. + When he came to the bridge all bedashed with blood, and the bodies of the + knights headless, “Now, by my lady’s name,” said he, “here has been good + fighting, and those three caitiffs are slain! By whose hand I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + So he came into the Mill, and there he found Martimor recovered of his + swoon, and had marvellous joy of him, when he heard how he had wrought. + </p> + <p> + “Now are thou proven worthy of the noble order of knighthood,” said + Lancelot, and forthwith he dubbed him knight. + </p> + <p> + Then he said that Sir Martimor should ride with him to the court of King + Pellinore, to receive a castle and a fair lady to wife, for doubtless the + King would deny him nothing to reward the rescue of his daughter. + </p> + <p> + But Martimor stood in a muse; then said he, “May a knight have his free + will and choice of castles, where he will abide?” + </p> + <p> + “Within the law,” said Lancelot, “and by the King’s word he may.” + </p> + <p> + “Then choose I the Mill,” said Martimor, “for here will I dwell.” + </p> + <p> + “Freely spoken,” said Lancelot, laughing, “so art thou Sir Martimor of the + Mill; no doubt the King will confirm it. And now what sayest thou of + ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “May a knight have his free will and choice here also?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “According to his fortune,” said Lancelot, “and by the lady’s favour, he + may.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Sir Martimor, taking Lirette by the hand, “this Maid is + to me liefer to have and to wield as my wife than any dame or princess + that is christened.” + </p> + <p> + “What, brother,” said Sir Lancelot, “is the wind in that quarter? And will + the Maid have thee?” + </p> + <p> + “I will well,” said Lirette. + </p> + <p> + “Now are you well provided,” said Sir Lancelot, “with knighthood, and a + castle, and a lady. Lacks but a motto and a name for the Blue Flower in + thy shield.” + </p> + <p> + “He that names it shall never find it,” said Sir Martimor, “and he that + finds it needs no name.” + </p> + <p> + So Lirette rejoiced Sir Martimor and loved together during their + life-days; and this is the end and the beginning of the Story of the Mill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SPY ROCK + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + It must have been near Sutherland’s Pond that I lost the way. For there + the deserted road which I had been following through the Highlands ran out + upon a meadow all abloom with purple loose-strife and golden Saint-John’s + wort. The declining sun cast a glory over the lonely field, and far in the + corner, nigh to the woods, there was a touch of the celestial colour: blue + of the sky seen between white clouds: blue of the sea shimmering through + faint drifts of silver mist. The hope of finding that hue of distance and + mystery embodied in a living form, the old hope of discovering the Blue + Flower rose again in my heart. But it was only for a moment, for when I + came nearer I saw that the colour which had caught my eye came from a + multitude of closed gentians—the blossoms which never open into + perfection—growing so closely together that their blended promise + had seemed like a single flower. + </p> + <p> + So I harked back again, slanting across the meadow, to find the road. But + it had vanished. Wandering among the alders and clumps of gray birches, + here and there I found a track that looked like it; but as I tried each + one, it grew more faint and uncertain and at last came to nothing in a + thicket or a marsh. While I was thus beating about the bush the sun + dropped below the western rim of hills. It was necessary to make the most + of the lingering light, if I did not wish to be benighted in the woods. + The little village of Canterbury, which was the goal of my day’s march, + must lie about to the north just beyond the edge of the mountain, and in + that direction I turned, pushing forward as rapidly as possible through + the undergrowth. + </p> + <p> + Presently I came into a region where the trees were larger and the + travelling was easier. It was not a primeval forest, but a second growth + of chestnuts and poplars and maples. Through the woods there ran at + intervals long lines of broken rock, covered with moss—the ruins, + evidently, of ancient stone fences. The land must have been, in former + days, a farm, inhabited, cultivated, the home of human hopes and desires + and labours, but now relapsed into solitude and wilderness. What could the + life have been among these rugged and inhospitable Highlands, on this + niggard and reluctant soil? Where was the house that once sheltered the + tillers of this rude corner of the earth? + </p> + <p> + Here, perhaps, in the little clearing into which I now emerged. A couple + of decrepit apple-trees grew on the edge of it, and dropped their scanty + and gnarled fruit to feast the squirrels. A little farther on, a + straggling clump of ancient lilacs, a bewildered old bush of sweetbrier, + the dark-green leaves of a cluster of tiger-lilies, long past blooming, + marked the grave of the garden. And here, above this square hollow in the + earth, with the remains of a crumbling chimney standing sentinel beside + it, here the house must have stood. What joys, what sorrows once centred + around this cold and desolate hearth-stone? What children went forth like + birds from this dismantled nest into the wide world? What guests found + refuge—— + </p> + <p> + “Take care! stand back! There is a rattlesnake in the old cellar.” + </p> + <p> + The voice, even more than the words, startled me. I drew away suddenly, + and saw, behind the ruins of the chimney, a man of an aspect so striking + that to this day his face and figure are as vivid in my memory as if it + were but yesterday that I had met him. + </p> + <p> + He was dressed in black, the coat of a somewhat formal cut, a long cravat + loosely knotted in his rolling collar. His head was bare, and the + coal-black hair, thick and waving, was in some disorder. His face, smooth + and pale, with high forehead, straight nose, and thin, sensitive lips—was + it old or young? Handsome it certainly was, the face of a man of mark, a + man of power. Yet there was something strange and wild about it. His dark + eyes, with the fine wrinkles about them, had a look of unspeakable + remoteness, and at the same time an intensity that seemed to pierce me + through and through. It was as if he saw me in a dream, yet measured me, + weighed me with a scrutiny as exact as it was at bottom indifferent. + </p> + <p> + But his lips were smiling, and there was no fault to be found, at least, + with his manner. He had risen from the broad stone where he had evidently + been sitting with his back against the chimney, and came forward to greet + me. + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon the abruptness of my greeting? I thought you might not + care to make acquaintance with the present tenant of this old house—at + least not without an introduction.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” I answered, “you have done me a real kindness, which is + better than the outward form of courtesy. But how is it that you stay at + such close quarters with this unpleasant tenant? Have you no fear of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least in the world,” he answered, laughing. “I know the snakes + too well, better than they know themselves. It is not likely that even an + old serpent with thirteen rattles, like this one, could harm me. I know + his ways. Before he could strike I should be out of reach.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “it is a grim thought, at all events, that this house, + once a cheerful home, no doubt, should have fallen at last to be the + dwelling of such a vile creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Fallen!” he exclaimed. Then he repeated the word with a questioning + accent—“fallen? Are you sure of that? The snake, in his way, may be + quite as honest as the people who lived here before him, and not much more + harmful. The farmer was a miser who robbed his mother, quarrelled with his + brother, and starved his wife. What she lacked in food, she made up in + drink, when she could. One of the children, a girl, was a cripple, lamed + by her mother in a fit of rage. The two boys were ne’er-do-weels who ran + away from home as soon as they were old enough. One of them is serving a + life-sentence in the State prison for manslaughter. When the house burned + down some thirty years ago, the woman escaped. The man’s body was found + with the head crushed in—perhaps by a falling timber. The family of + our friend the rattlesnake could hardly surpass that record, I think. + </p> + <p> + “But why should we blame them—any of them? They were only acting out + their natures. To one who can see and understand, it is all perfectly + simple, and interesting—immensely interesting.” + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to describe the quiet eagerness, the cool glow of fervour + with which he narrated this little history. It was the manner of the + triumphant pathologist who lays bare some hidden seat of disease. It + surprised and repelled me a little; yet it attracted me, too, for I could + see how evidently he counted on my comprehension and sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “it is a pitiful history. Rural life is not all peace and + innocence. But how came you to know the story?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I make it my business to know a little of everything, and as much + as possible of human life, not excepting the petty chronicles of the + rustics around me. It is my chief pleasure. I earn my living by teaching + boys. I find my satisfaction in studying men. But you are on a journey, + sir, and night is falling. I must not detain you. Or perhaps you will + allow me to forward you a little by serving as a guide. Which way were you + going when you turned aside to look at this dismantled shrine?” + </p> + <p> + “To Canterbury,” I answered, “to find a night’s, or a month’s, lodging at + the inn. My journey is a ramble, it has neither terminus nor time-table.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let me commend to you something vastly better than the tender + mercies of the Canterbury Inn. Come with me to the school on Hilltop, + where I am a teacher. It is a thousand feet above the village—purer + air, finer view, and pleasanter company. There is plenty of room in the + house, for it is vacation-time. Master Isaac Ward is always glad to + entertain guests.” + </p> + <p> + There was something so sudden and unconventional about the invitation that + I was reluctant to accept it; but he gave it naturally and pressed it with + earnest courtesy, assuring me that it was in accordance with Master Ward’s + custom, that he would be much disappointed to lose the chance of talking + with an interesting traveller, that he would far rather let me pay him for + my lodging than have me go by, and so on—so that at last I + consented. + </p> + <p> + Three minutes’ walking from the deserted clearing brought us into a + travelled road. It circled the breast of the mountain, and as we stepped + along it in the dusk I learned something of my companion. His name was + Edward Keene; he taught Latin and Greek in the Hilltop School; he had + studied for the ministry, but had given it up, I gathered, on account of a + certain loss of interest, or rather a diversion of interest in another + direction. He spoke of himself with an impersonal candour. + </p> + <p> + “Preachers must be always trying to persuade men,” he said. “But what I + care about is to know men. I don’t care what they do. Certainly I have no + wish to interfere with them in their doings, for I doubt whether anyone + can really change them. Each tree bears its own fruit, you see, and by + their fruits you know them.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say to grafting? That changes the fruit, surely?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but a grafted tree is not really one tree. It is two trees growing + together. There is a double life in it, and the second life, the added + life, dominates the other. The stock becomes a kind of animate soil for + the graft to grow in.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the road dipped into a little valley and rose again, breasting + the slope of a wooded hill which thrust itself out from the steeper flank + of the mountain-range. Down the hill-side a song floated to meet us—that + most noble lyric of old Robert Herrick: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bid me to live, and I will live + Thy Protestant to be; + Or bid me love, and I will give + A loving heart to thee. +</pre> + <p> + It was a girl’s voice, fresh and clear, with a note of tenderness in it + that thrilled me. Keene’s pace quickened. And soon the singer came in + sight, stepping lightly down the road, a shape of slender whiteness on the + background of gathering night. She was beautiful even in that dim light, + with brown eyes and hair, and a face that seemed to breathe purity and + trust. Yet there was a trace of anxiety in it, or so I fancied, that gave + it an appealing charm. + </p> + <p> + “You have come at last, Edward,” she cried, running forward and putting + her hand in his. “It is late. You have been out all day; I began to be + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Not too late,” he answered; “there was no need for fear, Dorothy. I am + not alone, you see.” And keeping her hand, he introduced me to the + daughter of Master Ward. + </p> + <p> + It was easy to guess the relation between these two young people who + walked beside me in the dusk. It needed no words to say that they were + lovers. Yet it would have needed many words to define the sense, that came + to me gradually, of something singular in the tie that bound them + together. On his part there was a certain tone of half-playful + condescension toward her such as one might use to a lovely child, which + seemed to match but ill with her unconscious attitude of watchful care, of + tender solicitude for him—almost like the manner of an elder sister. + Lovers they surely were, and acknowledged lovers, for their frankness of + demeanour sought no concealment; but I felt that there must be + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A little rift within the lute, +</pre> + <p> + though neither of them might know it. Each one’s thought of the other was + different from the other’s thought of self. There could not be a complete + understanding, a perfect accord. What was the secret, of which each knew + half, but not the other half? + </p> + <p> + Thus, with steps that kept time, but with thoughts how wide apart, we came + to the door of the school. A warm flood of light poured out to greet us. + The Master, an elderly, placid, comfortable man, gave me just the welcome + that had been promised in his name. The supper was waiting, and the + evening passed in such happy cheer that the bewilderments and misgivings + of the twilight melted away, and at bedtime I dropped into the nest of + sleep as one who has found a shelter among friends. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The Hilltop School stood on a blessed site. Lifted high above the village, + it held the crest of the last gentle wave of the mountains that filled the + south with crowding billows, ragged and tumultuous. Northward, the great + plain lay at our feet, smiling in the sun; meadows and groves, yellow + fields of harvest and green orchards, white roads and clustering towns, + with here and there a little city on the bank of the mighty river which + curved in a vast line of beauty toward the blue Catskill Range, fifty + miles away. Lines of filmy smoke, like vanishing footprints in the air, + marked the passage of railway trains across the landscape—their + swift flight reduced by distance to a leisurely transition. The bright + surface of the stream was furrowed by a hundred vessels; tiny rowboats + creeping from shore to shore; knots of black barges following the lead of + puffing tugs; sloops with languid motion tacking against the tide; white + steamboats, like huge toy-houses, crowded with pygmy inhabitants, moving + smoothly on their way to the great city, and disappearing suddenly as they + turned into the narrows between Storm-King and the Fishkill Mountains. + Down there was life, incessant, varied, restless, intricate, many-coloured—down + there was history, the highway of ancient voyagers since the days of + Hendrik Hudson, the hunting-ground of Indian tribes, the scenes of + massacre and battle, the last camp of the Army of the Revolution, the + Head-quarters of Washington—down there were the homes of legend and + poetry, the dreamlike hills of Rip van Winkle’s sleep, the cliffs and + caves haunted by the Culprit Fay, the solitudes traversed by the Spy—all + outspread before us, and visible as in a Claude Lorraine glass, in the + tranquil lucidity of distance. And here, on the hilltop, was our own life; + secluded, yet never separated from the other life; looking down upon it, + yet woven of the same stuff; peaceful in circumstance, yet ever busy with + its own tasks, and holding in its quiet heart all the elements of joy and + sorrow and tragic consequence. + </p> + <p> + The Master was a man of most unworldly wisdom. In his youth a great + traveller, he had brought home many observations, a few views, and at + least one theory. To him the school was the most important of human + institutions—more vital even than the home, because it held the + first real experience of social contact, of free intercourse with other + minds and lives coming from different households and embodying different + strains of blood. “My school,” said he, “is the world in miniature. If I + can teach these boys to study and play together freely and with fairness + to one another, I shall make men fit to live and work together in society. + What they learn matters less than how they learn it. The great thing is + the bringing out of individual character so that it will find its place in + social harmony.” + </p> + <p> + Yet never man knew less of character in the concrete than Master Ward. To + him each person represented a type—the scientific, the practical, + the poetic. From each one he expected, and in each one he found, to a + certain degree, the fruit of the marked quality, the obvious, the + characteristic. But of the deeper character, made up of a hundred traits, + coloured and conditioned most vitally by something secret and in itself + apparently of slight importance, he was placidly unconscious. Classes he + knew. Individuals escaped him. Yet he was a most companionable man, a + social solitary, a friendly hermit. + </p> + <p> + His daughter Dorothy seemed to me even more fair and appealing by daylight + than when I first saw her in the dusk. There was a pure brightness in her + brown eyes, a gentle dignity in her look and bearing, a soft cadence of + expectant joy in her voice. She was womanly in every tone and motion, yet + by no means weak or uncertain. Mistress of herself and of the house, she + ruled her kingdom without an effort. Busied with many little cares, she + bore them lightly. Her spirit overflowed into the lives around her with + delicate sympathy and merry cheer. But it was in music that her nature + found its widest outlet. In the lengthening evenings of late August she + would play from Schumann, or Chopin, or Grieg, interpreting the vague + feelings of gladness or grief which lie too deep for words. Ballads she + loved, quaint old English and Scotch airs, folk-songs of Germany, + “Come-all-ye’s” of Ireland, Canadian chansons. She sang—not like an + angel, but like a woman. + </p> + <p> + Of the two under-masters in the school, Edward Keene was the elder. The + younger, John Graham, was his opposite in every respect. Sturdy, + fair-haired, plain in the face, he was essentially an every-day man, + devoted to out-of-door sports, a hard worker, a good player, and a sound + sleeper. He came back to the school, from a fishing-excursion, a few days + after my arrival. I liked the way in which he told of his adventures, with + a little frank boasting, enough to season but not to spoil the story. I + liked the way in which he took hold of his work, helping to get the school + in readiness for the return of the boys in the middle of September. I + liked, more than all, his attitude to Dorothy Ward. He loved her, clearly + enough. When she was in the room the other people were only accidents to + him. Yet there was nothing of the disappointed suitor in his bearing. He + was cheerful, natural, accepting the situation, giving her the best he had + to give, and gladly taking from her the frank reliance, the ready + comradeship which she bestowed upon him. If he envied Keene—and how + could he help it—at least he never showed a touch of jealousy or + rivalry. The engagement was a fact which he took into account as something + not to be changed or questioned. Keene was so much more brilliant, + interesting, attractive. He answered so much more fully to the poetic side + of Dorothy’s nature. How could she help preferring him? + </p> + <p> + Thus the three actors in the drama stood, when I became an inmate of + Hilltop, and accepted the master’s invitation to undertake some of the + minor classes in English, and stay on at the school indefinitely. It was + my wish to see the little play—a pleasant comedy, I hoped—move + forward to a happy ending. And yet—what was it that disturbed me now + and then with forebodings? Something, doubtless, in the character of + Keene, for he was the dominant personality. The key of the situation lay + with him. He was the centre of interest. Yet he was the one who seemed not + perfectly in harmony, not quite at home, as if something beckoned and + urged him away. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you are to stay,” said he, “yet I wonder at it. You will find + the life narrow, after all your travels. Ulysses at Ithaca—you will + surely be restless to see the world again.” + </p> + <p> + “If you find the life broad enough, I ought not to be cramped in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I have compensations.” + </p> + <p> + “One you certainly have,” said I, thinking of Dorothy, “and that one is + enough to make a man happy anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he answered, quickly, “but that is not what I mean. It is not + there that I look for a wider life. Love—do you think that love + broadens a man’s outlook? To me it seems to make him narrower—happier, + perhaps, within his own little circle—but distinctly narrower. + Knowledge is the only thing that broadens life, sets it free from the + tyranny of the parish, fills it with the sense of power. And love is the + opposite of knowledge. Love is a kind of an illusion—a happy + illusion, that is what love is. Don’t you see that?” + </p> + <p> + “See it?” I cried. “I don’t know what you mean. Do you mean that you don’t + really care for Dorothy Ward? Do you mean that what you have won in her is + an illusion? If so, you are as wrong as a man can be.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he answered, eagerly, “you know I don’t mean that. I could not + live without her. But love is not the only reality. There is something + else, something broader, something——” + </p> + <p> + “Come away,” I said, “come away, man! You are talking nonsense, treason. + You are not true to yourself. You’ve been working too hard at your books. + There’s a maggot in your brain. Come out for a long walk.” + </p> + <p> + That indeed was what he liked best. He was a magnificent walker, easy, + steady, unwearying. He knew every road and lane in the valleys, every + footpath and trail among the mountains. But he cared little for walking in + company; one companion was the most that he could abide. And, strange to + say, it was not Dorothy whom he chose for his most frequent comrade. With + her he would saunter down the Black Brook path, or climb slowly to the + first ridge of Storm-King. But with me he pushed out to the farthest + pinnacle that overhangs the river, and down through the Lonely Heart + gorge, and over the pass of the White Horse, and up to the peak of Cro’ + Nest, and across the rugged summit of Black Rock. At every wider outlook a + strange exhilaration seemed to come upon him. His spirit glowed like a + live coal in the wind. He overflowed with brilliant talk and curious + stories of the villages and scattered houses that we could see from our + eyries. + </p> + <p> + But it was not with me that he made his longest expeditions. They were + solitary. Early on Saturday he would leave the rest of us, with some + slight excuse, and start away on the mountain-road, to be gone all day. + Sometimes he would not return till long after dark. Then I could see the + anxious look deepen on Dorothy’s face, and she would slip away down the + road to meet him. But he always came back in good spirits, talkable and + charming. It was the next day that the reaction came. The black fit took + him. He was silent, moody, bitter. Holding himself aloof, yet never giving + utterance to any irritation, he seemed half-unconsciously to resent the + claims of love and friendship, as if they irked him. There was a look in + his eyes as if he measured us, weighed us, analysed us all as strangers. + </p> + <p> + Yes, even Dorothy. I have seen her go to meet him with a flower in her + hand that she had plucked for him, and turn away with her lips trembling, + too proud to say a word, dropping the flower on the grass. John Graham saw + it, too. He waited till she was gone; then he picked up the flower and + kept it. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to take offence at, nothing on which one could lay a + finger; only these singular alternations of mood which made Keene now the + most delightful of friends, now an intimate stranger in the circle. The + change was inexplicable. But certainly it seemed to have some connection, + as cause or consequence, with his long, lonely walks. + </p> + <p> + Once, when he was absent, we spoke of his remarkable fluctuations of + spirit. + </p> + <p> + The master labelled him. “He is an idealist, a dreamer. They are always + uncertain.” + </p> + <p> + I blamed him. “He gives way too much to his moods. He lacks self-control. + He is in danger of spoiling a fine nature.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at Dorothy. She defended him. “Why should he be always the same? + He is too great for that. His thoughts make him restless, and sometimes he + is tired. Surely you wouldn’t have him act what he don’t feel. Why do you + want him to do that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Graham, with a short laugh. “None of us know. But + what we all want just now is music. Dorothy, will you sing a little for + us?” + </p> + <p> + So she sang “The Coulin,” and “The Days o’ the Kerry Dancin’,” and “The + Hawthorn Tree,” and “The Green Woods of Truigha,” and “Flowers o’ the + Forest,” and “A la claire Fontaine,” until the twilight was filled with + peace. + </p> + <p> + The boys came back to the school. The wheels of routine began to turn + again, slowly and with a little friction at first, then smoothly and + swiftly as if they had never stopped. Summer reddened into autumn; autumn + bronzed into fall. The maples and poplars were bare. The oaks alone kept + their rusted crimson glory, and the cloaks of spruce and hemlock on the + shoulders of the hills grew dark with wintry foliage. Keene’s transitions + of mood became more frequent and more extreme. The gulf of isolation that + divided him from us when the black days came seemed wider and more + unfathomable. Dorothy and John Graham were thrown more constantly + together. Keene appeared to encourage their companionship. He watched them + curiously, sometimes, not as if he were jealous, but rather as if he were + interested in some delicate experiment. At other times he would be + singularly indifferent to everything, remote, abstracted, forgetful. + </p> + <p> + Dorothy’s birthday, which fell in mid-October, was kept as a holiday. In + the morning everyone had some little birthday gift for her, except Keene. + He had forgotten the birthday entirely. The shadow of disappointment that + quenched the brightness of her face was pitiful. Even he could not be + blind to it. He flushed as if surprised, and hesitated a moment, evidently + in conflict with himself. Then a look of shame and regret came into his + eyes. He made some excuse for not going with us to the picnic, at the + Black Brook Falls, with which the day was celebrated. In the afternoon, as + we all sat around the camp-fire, he came swinging through the woods with + his long, swift stride, and going at once to Dorothy laid a little brooch + of pearl and opal in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Will you forgive me?” he said. “I hope this is not too late. But I lost + the train back from Newburg and walked home. I pray that you may never + know any tears but pearls, and that there may be nothing changeable about + you but the opal.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Edward!” she cried, “how beautiful! Thank you a thousand times. But I + wish you had been with us all day. We have missed you so much!” + </p> + <p> + For the rest of that day simplicity and clearness and joy came back to us. + Keene was at his best, a leader of friendly merriment, a master of + good-fellowship, a prince of delicate chivalry. Dorothy’s loveliness + unfolded like a flower in the sun. + </p> + <p> + But the Indian summer of peace was brief. It was hardly a week before + Keene’s old moods returned, darker and stranger than ever. The girl’s + unconcealable bewilderment, her sense of wounded loyalty and baffled + anxiety, her still look of hurt and wondering tenderness, increased from + day to day. John Graham’s temper seemed to change, suddenly and + completely. From the best-humoured and most careless fellow in the world, + he became silent, thoughtful, irritable toward everyone except Dorothy. + With Keene he was curt and impatient, avoiding him as much as possible, + and when they were together, evidently struggling to keep down a deep + dislike and rising anger. They had had sharp words when they were alone, I + was sure, but Keene’s coolness seemed to grow with Graham’s heat. There + was no open quarrel. + </p> + <p> + One Saturday evening, Graham came to me. “You have seen what is going on + here?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Something, at least,” I answered, “and I am very sorry for it. But I + don’t quite understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do; and I’m going to put an end to it. I’m going to have it out + with Ned Keene. He is breaking her heart.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you the right one to take the matter up?” + </p> + <p> + “Who else is there to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Her father.” + </p> + <p> + “He sees nothing, comprehends nothing. ‘Practical type—poetic type—misunderstandings + sure to arise—come together after a while each supply the other’s + deficiencies.’ Cursed folly! And the girl so unhappy that she can’t tell + anyone. It shall not go on, I say. Keene is out on the road now, taking + one of his infernal walks. I’m going to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it will make trouble. Let me go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble is made. Come if you like. I’m going now.” + </p> + <p> + The night lay heavy upon the forest. Where the road dipped through the + valley we could hardly see a rod ahead of us. But higher up where the way + curved around the breast of the mountain, the woods were thin on the left, + and on the right a sheer precipice fell away to the gorge of the brook. In + the dim starlight we saw Keene striding toward us. Graham stepped out to + meet him. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, Ned Keene?” he cried. The cry was a challenge. Keene + lifted his head and stood still. Then he laughed and took a step forward. + </p> + <p> + “Taking a long walk, Jack Graham,” he answered. “It was glorious. You + should have been with me. But why this sudden question?” + </p> + <p> + “Because your long walk is a pretence. You are playing false. There is + some woman that you go to see at West Point, at Highland Falls, who knows + where?” + </p> + <p> + Keene laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you don’t know, my dear fellow; and neither do I. Since when + has walking become a vice in your estimation? You seem to be in a fierce + mood. What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you what’s the matter. You have been acting like a brute to + the girl you profess to love.” + </p> + <p> + “Plain words! But between friends frankness is best. Did she ask you to + tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “No! You know too well she would die before she would speak. You are + killing her, that is what you are doing with your devilish moods and + mysteries. You must stop. Do you hear? You must give her up.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear well enough, and it sounds like a word for her and two for + yourself. Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Damn you,” cried the younger man, “let the words go! we’ll settle it this + way”——and he sprang at the other’s throat. + </p> + <p> + Keene, cool and well-braced, met him with a heavy blow in the chest. He + recoiled, and I rushed between them, holding Graham back, and pleading for + self-control. As we stood thus, panting and confused, on the edge of the + cliff, a singing voice floated up to us from the shadows across the + valley. It was Herrick’s song again: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A heart as soft, a heart as kind, + A heart as sound and free + Is in the whole world thou canst find, + That heart I’ll give to thee. +</pre> + <p> + “Come, gentlemen,” I cried, “this is folly, sheer madness. You can never + deal with the matter in this way. Think of the girl who is singing down + yonder. What would happen to her, what would she suffer, from scandal, + from her own feelings, if either of you should be killed, or even + seriously hurt by the other? There must be no quarrel between you.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Keene, whose poise, if shaken at all, had returned, + “certainly, you are right. It is not of my seeking, nor shall I be the one + to keep it up. I am willing to let it pass. It is but a small matter at + most.” + </p> + <p> + I turned to Graham—“And you?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated a little, and then said, doggedly “On one condition.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is?” + </p> + <p> + “Keene must explain. He must answer my question.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you accept?” I asked Keene. + </p> + <p> + “Yes and no!” he replied. “No! to answering Graham’s question. He is not + the person to ask it. I wonder that he does not see the impropriety, the + absurdity of his meddling at all in this affair. Besides, he could not + understand my answer even if he believed it. But to the explanation, I + say, Yes! I will give it, not to Graham, but to you. I make you this + proposition. To-morrow is Sunday. We shall be excused from service if we + tell the master that we have important business to settle together. You + shall come with me on one of my long walks. I will tell you all about + them. Then you can be the judge whether there is any harm in them.” + </p> + <p> + “Does that satisfy you?” I said to Graham. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, “that seems fair enough. I am content to leave it in + that way for the present. And to make it still more fair, I want to take + back what I said awhile ago, and to ask Keene’s pardon for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Keene, quickly, “it was said in haste, I bear no + grudge. You simply did not understand, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + So we turned to go down the hill, and as we turned, Dorothy met us, coming + out of the shadows. + </p> + <p> + “What are you men doing here?” she asked. “I heard your voices from below. + What were you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “We were talking,” said Keene, “my dear Dorothy, we were talking—about + walking—yes, that was it—about walking, and about views. The + conversation was quite warm, almost a debate. Now, you know all the + view-points in this region. Which do you call the best, the most + satisfying, the finest prospect? But I know what you will say: the view + from the little knoll in front of Hilltop. For there, when you are tired + of looking far away, you can turn around and see the old school, and the + linden-trees, and the garden.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered gravely, “that is really the view that I love best. I + would give up all the others rather than lose that.” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + There was a softness in the November air that brought back memories of + summer, and a few belated daisies were blooming in the old clearing, as + Keene and I passed by the ruins of the farm-house again, early on Sunday + morning. He had been talking ever since we started, pouring out his praise + of knowledge, wide, clear, universal knowledge, as the best of life’s + joys, the greatest of life’s achievements. The practical life was a blind, + dull routine. Most men were toiling at tasks which they did not like, by + rules which they did not understand. They never looked beyond the edge of + their work. The philosophical life was a spider’s web—filmy threads + of theory spun out of the inner consciousness—it touched the world + only at certain chosen points of attachment. There was nothing firm, + nothing substantial in it. You could look through it like a veil and see + the real world lying beyond. But the theorist could see only the web which + he had spun. Knowing did not come by speculating, theorising. Knowing came + by seeing. Vision was the only real knowledge. To see the world, the whole + world, as it is, to look behind the scenes, to read human life like a + book, that was the glorious thing—most satisfying, divine. + </p> + <p> + Thus he had talked as we climbed the hill. Now, as we came by the place + where we had first met, a new eagerness sounded in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ever since that day I have inclined to tell you something more about + myself. I felt sure you would understand. I am planning to write a book—a + book of knowledge, in the true sense—a great book about human life. + Not a history, not a theory, but a real view of life, its hidden motives, + its secret relations. How different they are from what men dream and + imagine and play that they are! How much darker, how much smaller, and + therefore how much more interesting and wonderful. No one has yet written—perhaps + because no one has yet conceived—such a book as I have in mind. I + might call it a ‘Bionopsis.’” + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” said I, “you have chosen a strange place to write it—the + Hilltop School—this quiet and secluded region! The stream of + humanity is very slow and slender here—it trickles. You must get out + into the busy world. You must be in the full current and feel its force. + You must take part in the active life of mankind in order really to know + it.” + </p> + <p> + “A mistake!” he cried. “Action is the thing that blinds men. You remember + Matthew Arnold’s line: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In action’s dizzying eddy whurled. +</pre> + <p> + To know the world you must stand apart from it and above it; you must look + down on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said I, “you will have to find some secret spring of + inspiration, some point of vantage from which you can get your outlook and + your insight.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short and looked me full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “And that,” cried he, “is precisely what I have found!” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned and pushed along the narrow trail so swiftly that I had + hard work to follow him. After a few minutes we came to a little stream, + flowing through a grove of hemlocks. Keene seated himself on the fallen + log that served for a bridge and beckoned me to a place beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I promised to give you an explanation to-day—to take you on one of + my long walks. Well, there is only one of them. It is always the same. You + shall see where it leads, what it means. You shall share my secret—all + the wonder and glory of it! Of course I know my conduct, has seemed + strange to you. Sometimes it has seemed strange even to me. I have been + doubtful, troubled, almost distracted. I have been risking a great deal, + in danger of losing what I value, what most men count the best thing in + the world. But it could not be helped. The risk was worth while. A great + discovery, the opportunity of a lifetime, yes, of an age, perhaps of many + ages, came to me. I simply could not throw it away. I must use it, make + the best of it, at any danger, at any cost. You shall judge for yourself + whether I was right or wrong. But you must judge fairly, without haste, + without prejudice. I ask you to make me one promise. You will suspend + judgment, you will say nothing, you will keep my secret, until you have + been with me three times at the place where I am now taking you.” + </p> + <p> + By this time it was clear to me that I had to do with a case lying far + outside of the common routine of life; something subtle, abnormal, hard to + measure, in which a clear and careful estimate would be necessary. If + Keene was labouring under some strange delusion, some disorder of mind, + how could I estimate its nature or extent, without time and study, perhaps + without expert advice? To wait a little would be prudent, for his sake as + well as for the sake of others. If there was some extraordinary, reality + behind his mysterious hints, it would need patience and skill to test it. + I gave him the promise for which he asked. + </p> + <p> + At once, as if relieved, he sprang up, and crying, “Come on, follow me!” + began to make his way up the bed of the brook. It was one of the wildest + walks that I have ever taken. He turned aside for no obstacles; swamps, + masses of interlacing alders, close-woven thickets of stiff young spruces, + chevaux-de-frise of dead trees where wind-falls had mowed down the forest, + walls of lichen-crusted rock, landslides where heaps of broken stone were + tumbled in ruinous confusion—through everything he pushed forward. I + could see, here and there, the track of his former journeys: broken + branches of witch-hazel and moose-wood, ferns trampled down, a faint trail + across some deeper bed of moss. At mid-day we rested for a half-hour to + eat lunch. But Keene would eat nothing, except a little pellet of some + dark green substance that he took from a flat silver box in his pocket. He + swallowed it hastily, and stooping his face to the spring by which he had + halted, drank long and eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “An Indian trick,” said he, shaking the drops of water from his face. “On + a walk, food is a hindrance, a delay. But this tiny taste of bitter gum is + a tonic; it spurs the courage and doubles the strength—if you are + used to it. Otherwise I should not recommend you to try it. Faugh! the + flavour is vile.” + </p> + <p> + He rinsed his mouth again with water, and stood up, calling me to come on. + The way, now tangled among the nameless peaks and ranges, bore steadily + southward, rising all the time, in spite of many brief downward curves + where a steep gorge must be crossed. Presently we came into a hard-wood + forest, open and easy to travel. Breasting a long slope, we reached the + summit of a broad, smoothly rounding ridge covered with a dense growth of + stunted spruce. The trees rose above our heads, about twice the height of + a man, and so thick that we could not see beyond them. But, from glimpses + here and there, and from the purity and lightness of the air, I judged + that we were on far higher ground than any we had yet traversed, the + central comb, perhaps, of the mountain-system. + </p> + <p> + A few yards ahead of us, through the crowded trunks of the dwarf forest, I + saw a gray mass, like the wall of a fortress, across our path. It was a + vast rock, rising from the crest of the ridge, lifting its top above the + sea of foliage. At its base there were heaps of shattered stones, and deep + crevices almost like caves. One side of the rock was broken by a slanting + gully. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful,” cried my companion, “there is a rattlers’ den somewhere + about here. The snakes are in their winter quarters now, almost dormant, + but they can still strike if you tread on them. Step here! Give me your + hand—use that point of rock—hold fast by this bush; it is + firmly rooted—so! Here we are on Spy Rock! You have heard of it? I + thought so. Other people have heard of it, and imagine that they have + found it—five miles east of us—on a lower ridge. Others think + it is a peak just back of Cro’ Nest. All wrong! There is but one real Spy + Rock—here! This earth holds no more perfect view-point. It is one of + the rare places from which a man may see the kingdoms of the world and all + the glory of them. Look!” + </p> + <p> + The prospect was indeed magnificent; it was strange what a vast + enlargement of vision resulted from the slight elevation above the + surrounding peaks. It was like being lifted up so that we could look over + the walls. The horizon expanded as if by magic. The vast circumference of + vision swept around us with a radius of a hundred miles. Mountain and + meadow, forest and field, river and lake, hill and dale, village and + farmland, far-off city and shimmering water—all lay open to our + sight, and over all the westering sun wove a transparent robe of gem-like + hues. Every feature of the landscape seemed alive, quivering, pulsating + with conscious beauty. You could almost see the world breathe. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful!” I cried. “Most wonderful! You have found a mount of vision.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he answered, “you don’t half see the wonder yet, you don’t begin to + appreciate it. Your eyes are new to it. You have not learned the power of + far sight, the secret of Spy Rock. You are still shut in by the horizon.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you can look beyond it?” + </p> + <p> + “Beyond yours—yes. And beyond any that you would dream possible—See! + Your sight reaches to that dim cloud of smoke in the south? And beneath it + you can make out, perhaps, a vague blotch of shadow, or a tiny flash of + brightness where the sun strikes it? New York! But I can see the great + buildings, the domes, the spires, the crowded wharves, the tides of people + whirling through the streets—and beyond that, the sea, with the + ships coming and going! I can follow them on their courses—and + beyond that—Oh! when I am on Spy Rock I can see more than other men + can imagine.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment, strange to say, I almost fancied could follow him. The + magnetism of his spirit imposed upon me, carried me away with him. Then + sober reason told me that he was talking of impossibilities. + </p> + <p> + “Keene,” said I, “you are dreaming. The view and the air have intoxicated + you. This is a phantasy, a delusion!” + </p> + <p> + “It pleases you to call it so,” he said, “but I only tell you my real + experience. Why it should be impossible I do not understand. There is no + reason why the power of sight should not be cultivated, enlarged, expanded + indefinitely.” + </p> + <p> + “And the straight rays of light?” I asked. “And the curvature of the earth + which makes a horizon inevitable?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows what a ray of light is?” said he. “Who can prove that it may + not be curved, under certain conditions, or refracted in some places in a + way that is not possible elsewhere? I tell you there is something + extraordinary about this Spy Rock. It is a seat of power—Nature’s + observatory. More things are visible here than anywhere else—more + than I have told you yet. But come, we have little time left. For half an + hour, each of us shall enjoy what he can see. Then home again to the + narrower outlook, the restricted life.” + </p> + <p> + The downward journey was swifter than the ascent, but no less fatiguing. + By the time we reached the school, an hour after dark, I was very tired. + But Keene was in one of his moods of exhilaration. He glowed like a piece + of phosphorus that has been drenched with light. + </p> + <p> + Graham took the first opportunity of speaking with me alone. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” I answered. “You were wrong. There is no treason in Keene’s walks, + no guilt in his moods. But there is something very strange. I cannot form + a judgment yet as to what we should do. We must wait a few days. It will + do no harm to be patient. Indeed, I have promised not to judge, not to + speak of it, until a certain time. Are you satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “This is a curious story,” said he, “and I am puzzled by it. But I trust + you, I agree to wait, though I am far from satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + Our second expedition was appointed for the following Saturday. Keene was + hungry for it, and I was almost as eager, desiring to penetrate as quickly + as possible into the heart of the affair. Already a conviction in regard + to it was pressing upon me, and I resolved to let him talk, this time, as + freely as he would, without interruption or denial. + </p> + <p> + When we clambered up on Spy Rock, he was more subdued and reserved than he + had been the first time. For a while he talked little, but scanned view + with wide, shining eyes. Then he began to tell me stories of the places + that we could see—strange stories of domestic calamity, and social + conflict, and eccentric passion, and hidden crime. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember Hawthorne’s story of ‘The Minister’s Black Veil?’ It is + the best comment on human life that ever was written. Everyone has + something to hide. The surface of life is a mask. The substance of life is + a secret. All humanity wears the black veil. But it is not impenetrable. + No, it is transparent, if you find the right point of view. Here, on Spy + Rock, I have found it. I have learned how to look through the veil. I can + see, not by the light-rays only, but by the rays which are colourless, + imperceptible, irresistible the rays of the unknown quantity, which + penetrate everywhere. I can see how men down in the great city are weaving + their nets of selfishness and falsehood, and calling them industrial + enterprises or political combinations. I can see how the wheels of society + are moved by the hidden springs of avarice and greed and rivalry. I can + see how children drink in the fables of religion, without understanding + them, and how prudent men repeat them without believing them. I can see + how the illusions of love appear and vanish, and how men and women swear + that their dreams are eternal, even while they fade. I can see how poor + people blind themselves and deceive each other, calling selfishness + devotion, and bondage contentment. Down at Hilltop yonder I can see how + Dorothy Ward and John Graham, without knowing it, without meaning it—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, man!” I cried. “Stop, before you say what can never be unsaid. You + know it is not true. These are nightmare visions that ride you. Not from + Spy Rock nor from anywhere else can you see anything at Hilltop that is + not honest and pure and loyal. Come down, now, and let us go home. You + will see better there than here.” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” said he, “but I will come. Yes, of course, I am bound to + come. But let me have a few minutes here alone. Go you down along the path + a little way slowly. I will follow you in a quarter of an hour. And + remember we are to be here together once more!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Once more! Yes, and then what must be done? +</pre> + <p> + How was this strange case to be dealt with so as to save all the actors, + as far as possible, from needless suffering? That Keene’s mind was + disordered at least three of us suspected already. But to me alone was the + nature and seat of the disorder known. How make the others understand it? + They might easily conceive it to be something different from the fact, + some actual lesion of the brain, an incurable insanity. But this it was + not. As yet, at least, he was no patient for a mad-house: it would be + unjust, probably it would be impossible to have him committed. But on the + other hand they might take it too lightly, as the result of overwork, or + perhaps of the use of some narcotic. To me it was certain that the trouble + went far deeper than this. It lay in the man’s moral nature, in the error + of his central will. It was the working out, in abnormal form, but with + essential truth, of his chosen and cherished ideal of life. Spy Rock was + something more than the seat of his delusion, it was the expression of his + temperament. The solitary trail that led thither was the symbol of his + search for happiness—alone, forgetful of life’s lowlier ties, + looking down upon the world in the cold abstraction of scornful knowledge. + How was such a man to be brought back to the real life whose first + condition is the acceptance of a limited outlook, the willingness to live + by trust as much as by sight, the power of finding joy and peace in the + things that we feel are the best, even though we cannot prove them nor + explain them? How could he ever bring anything but discord and sorrow to + those who were bound to him? + </p> + <p> + This was what perplexed and oppressed me. I needed all the time until the + next Saturday to think the question through, to decide what should be + done. But the matter was taken out of my hands. After our latest + expedition Keene’s dark mood returned upon him with sombre intensity. + Dull, restless, indifferent, half-contemptuous, he seemed to withdraw into + himself, observing those around him with half-veiled glances, as if he had + nothing better to do and yet found it a tiresome pastime. He was like a + man waiting wearily at a railway station for his train. Nothing pleased + him. He responded to nothing. + </p> + <p> + Graham controlled his indignation by a constant effort. A dozen times he + was on the point of speaking out. But he restrained himself and played + fair. Dorothy’s suffering could not be hidden. Her loyalty was strained to + the breaking point. She was too tender and true for anger, but she was + wounded almost beyond endurance. + </p> + <p> + Keene’s restlessness increased. The intervening Thursday was Thanksgiving + Day; most of the boys had gone home; the school had holiday. Early in the + morning he came to me. + </p> + <p> + “Let us take our walk to-day. We have no work to do. Come! In this clear, + frosty air, Spy Rock will be glorious!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, “this is no day for such an expedition. This is the home + day. Stay here and be happy with us all. You owe this to love and + friendship. You owe it to Dorothy Ward.” + </p> + <p> + “Owe it?” said he. “Speaking of debts, I think each man is his own + preferred creditor. But of course you can do as you like about to-day. + Tomorrow or Saturday will answer just as well for our third walk + together.” + </p> + <p> + About noon he came down from his room and went to the piano, where Dorothy + was sitting. They talked together in low tones. Then she stood up, with + pale face and wide-open eyes. She laid her hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Do not go, Edward. For the last time I beg you to stay with us to-day.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted her hand and held it for an instant. Then he bowed, and let it + fall. + </p> + <p> + “You will excuse me, Dorothy, I am sure. I feel the need of exercise. + Absolutely I must go; good-by—until the evening.” + </p> + <p> + The hours of that day passed heavily for all of us. There was a sense of + disaster in the air. Something irretrievable had fallen from our circle. + But no one dared to name it. Night closed in upon the house with a + changing sky. All the stars were hidden. The wind whimpered and then + shouted. The rain swept down in spiteful volleys, deepening at last into a + fierce, steady discharge. Nine o’clock, ten o’clock passed, and Keene did + not return. By midnight we were certain that some accident had befallen + him. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to go up into the mountains in that pitch-darkness of + furious tempest. But we could send down to the village for men to organise + a search-party and to bring the doctor. At daybreak we set out—some + of the men going with the Master along Black Brook, others in different + directions to make sure of a complete search—Graham and the doctor + and I following the secret trail that I knew only too well. Dorothy + insisted that she must go. She would bear no denial, declaring that it + would be worse for her alone at home, than if we took her with us. + </p> + <p> + It was incredible how the path seemed to lengthen. Graham watched the + girl’s every step, helping her over the difficult places, pushing aside + the tangled branches, his eyes resting upon her as frankly, as tenderly as + a mother looks at her child. In single file we marched through the gray + morning, clearing cold after the storm, and the silence was seldom broken, + for we had little heart to talk. + </p> + <p> + At last we came to the high, lonely ridge, the dwarf forest, the huge, + couchant bulk of Spy Rock. There, on the back of it, with his right arm + hanging over the edge, was the outline of Edward Keene’s form. It was as + if some monster had seized him and flung him over its shoulder to carry + away. + </p> + <p> + We called to him but there was no answer. The doctor climbed up with me, + and we hurried to the spot where he was lying. His face was turned to the + sky, his eyes blindly staring; there was no pulse, no breath; he was + already cold in death. His right hand and arm, the side of his neck and + face were horribly swollen and livid. The doctor stooped down and examined + the hand carefully. “See!” he cried, pointing to a great bruise on his + wrist, with two tiny punctures in the middle of it from which a few drops + of blood had oozed, “a rattlesnake has struck him. He must have fairly put + his hand upon it, perhaps in the dark, when he was climbing. And, look, + what is this?” + </p> + <p> + He picked up a flat silver box, that lay open on the rock. There were two + olive-green pellets of a resinous paste in it. He lifted it to his face, + and drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it is Gunjab, the most powerful form of Hashish, the + narcotic hemp of India. Poor fellow, it saved him from frightful agony. He + died in a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” I said, “in a dream, and for a dream.” + </p> + <p> + We covered his face and climbed down the rock. Dorothy and Graham were + waiting below. He had put his coat around her. She was shivering a little. + There were tear-marks on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “you must know it. We have lost him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the girl, “I lost him long ago.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WOOD-MAGIC + </h2> + <p> + There are three vines that belong to the ancient forest. Elsewhere they + will not grow, though the soil prepared for them be never so rich, the + shade of the arbour built for them never so closely and cunningly woven. + Their delicate, thread-like roots take no hold upon the earth tilled and + troubled by the fingers of man. The fine sap that steals through their + long, slender limbs pauses and fails when they are watered by human hands. + Silently the secret of their life retreats and shrinks away and hides + itself. + </p> + <p> + But in the woods, where falling leaves and crumbling tree-trunks and + wilting ferns have been moulded by Nature into a deep, brown humus, clean + and fragrant—in the woods, where the sunlight filters green and + golden through interlacing branches, and where pure moisture of distilling + rains and melting snows is held in treasury by never-failing banks of moss—under + the verdurous flood of the forest, like sea-weeds under the ocean waves, + these three little creeping vines put forth their hands with joy, and + spread over rock and hillock and twisted tree-root and mouldering log, in + cloaks and scarves and wreaths of tiny evergreen, glossy leaves. + </p> + <p> + One of them is adorned with white pearls sprinkled lightly over its robe + of green. This is Snowberry, and if you eat of it, you will grow wise in + the wisdom of flowers. You will know where to find the yellow violet, and + the wake-robin, and the pink lady-slipper, and the scarlet sage, and the + fringed gentian. You will understand how the buds trust themselves to the + spring in their unfolding, and how the blossoms trust themselves to the + winter in their withering, and how the busy bands of Nature are ever + weaving the beautiful garment of life out of the strands of death, and + nothing is lost that yields itself to her quiet handling. + </p> + <p> + Another of the vines of the forest is called Partridge-berry. Rubies are + hidden among its foliage, and if you eat of this fruit, you will grow wise + in the wisdom of birds. You will know where the oven-bird secretes her + nest, and where the wood-cock dances in the air at night; the drumming-log + of the ruffed grouse will be easy to find, and you will see the dark + lodges of the evergreen thickets inhabited by hundreds of warblers. There + will be no dead silence for you in the forest, any longer, but you will + hear sweet and delicate voices on every side, voices that you know and + love; you will catch the key-note of the silver flute of the woodthrush, + and the silver harp of the veery, and the silver bells of the hermit; and + something in your heart will answer to them all. In the frosty stillness + of October nights you will see the airy tribes flitting across the moon, + following the secret call that guides them southward. In the calm + brightness of winter sunshine, filling sheltered copses with warmth and + cheer, you will watch the lingering blue-birds and robins and + song-sparrows playing at summer, while the chickadees and the juncos and + the cross-bills make merry in the windswept fields. In the lucent mornings + of April you will hear your old friends coming home to you, Phoebe, and + Oriole, and Yellow-Throat, and Red-Wing, and Tanager, and Cat-Bird. When + they call to you and greet you, you will understand that Nature knows a + secret for which man has never found a word—the secret that tells + itself in song. + </p> + <p> + The third of the forest-vines is Wood-Magic. It bears neither flower nor + fruit. Its leaves are hardly to be distinguished from the leaves of the + other vines. Perhaps they are a little rounder than the Snowberry’s, a + little more pointed than the Partridge-berry’s; sometimes you might + mistake them for the one, sometimes for the other. No marks of warning + have been written upon them. If you find them it is your fortune; if you + taste them it is your fate. + </p> + <p> + For as you browse your way through the forest, nipping here and there a + rosy leaf of young winter-green, a fragrant emerald tip of balsam-fir, a + twig of spicy birch, if by chance you pluck the leaves of Wood-Magic and + eat them, you will not know what you have done, but the enchantment of the + tree-land will enter your heart and the charm of the wildwood will flow + through your veins. + </p> + <p> + You will never get away from it. The sighing of the wind through the + pine-trees and the laughter of the stream in its rapids will sound through + all your dreams. On beds of silken softness you will long for the + sleep-song of whispering leaves above your head, and the smell of a couch + of balsam-boughs. At tables spread with dainty fare you will be hungry for + the joy of the hunt, and for the angler’s sylvan feast. In proud cities + you will weary for the sight of a mountain trail; in great cathedrals you + will think of the long, arching aisles of the woodland; and in the noisy + solitude of crowded streets you will hone after the friendly forest. + </p> + <p> + This is what will happen to you if you eat the leaves of that little vine, + Wood-Magic. And this is what happened to Luke Dubois. + </p> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + The Cabin by the Rivers + </p> + <p> + Two highways meet before the door, and a third reaches away to the + southward, broad and smooth and white. But there are no travellers passing + by. The snow that has fallen during the night is unbroken. The pale + February sunrise makes blue shadows on it, sharp and jagged, an outline of + the fir-trees on the mountain-crest quarter of, a mile away. + </p> + <p> + In summer the highways are dissolved into three wild rivers—the + River of Rocks, which issues from the hills; the River of Meadows, which + flows from the great lake; and the River of the Way Out, which runs down + from their meeting-place to the settlements and the little world. But in + winter, when the ice is firm under the snow, and the going is fine, there + are no tracks upon the three broad roads except the paths of the caribou, + and the footprints of the marten and the mink and the fox, and the narrow + trails made by Luke Dubois on his way to and from his cabin by the rivers. + </p> + <p> + He leaned in the door-way, looking out. Behind him in the shadow, the fire + was still snapping in the little stove where he had cooked his breakfast. + There was a comforting smell of bacon and venison in the room; the tea-pot + stood on the table half-empty. Here in the corner were his rifle and some + of his traps. On the wall hung his snowshoes. Under the bunk was a pile of + skins. Half-open on the bench lay the book that he had been reading the + evening before, while the snow was falling. It was a book of veritable + fairy-tales, which told how men had made their way in the world, and + achieved great fortunes, and won success, by toiling hard at first, and + then by trading and bargaining and getting ahead of other men. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Luke, to himself, as he stood at the door, “I could do that + too. Without doubt I also am one of the men who can do things. They did + not work any harder than I do. But they got better pay. I am twenty-five. + For ten years I have worked hard, and what have I got for it? This!” + </p> + <p> + He stepped out into the morning, alert and vigorous, deep-chested and + straight-hipped. The strength of the hills had gone into him, and his eyes + were bright with health. His kingdom was spread before him. There along + the River of Meadows were the haunts of the moose and the caribou where he + hunted in the fall; and yonder on the burnt hills around the great lake + were the places where he watched for the bears; and up beside the River of + Rocks ran his line of traps, swinging back by secret ways to many a + nameless pond and hidden beaver-meadow; and all along the streams, when + the ice went out in the spring, the great trout would be leaping in rapid + and pool. Among the peaks and valleys of that forest-clad kingdom he could + find his way as easily as a merchant walks from his house to his office. + The secrets of bird and beast were known to him; every season of the year + brought him its own tribute; the woods were his domain, vast, + inexhaustible, free. + </p> + <p> + Here was his home, his cabin that he had built with his own hands. The + roof was tight, the walls were well chinked with moss. It was snug and + warm. But small—how pitifully small it looked to-day—and how + lonely! + </p> + <p> + His hand-sledge stood beside the door, and against it leaned the axe. He + caught it up and began to split wood for the stove. “No!” he cried, + throwing down the axe, “I’m tired of this. It has lasted long enough. I’m + going out to make my way in the world.” + </p> + <p> + A couple of hours later, the sledge was packed with camp-gear and bundles + of skins. The door of the cabin was shut; a ghostlike wreath of blue smoke + curled from the chimney. Luke stood, in his snowshoes, on the white + surface of the River of the Way Out. He turned to look back for a moment, + and waved his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, old cabin! Good-bye, the rivers! Good-bye, the woods!” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The House on the Main Street + </p> + <p> + All the good houses in Scroll-Saw City were different, in the number and + shape of the curious pinnacles that rose from their roofs and in the + trimmings of their verandas. Yet they were all alike, too, in their + general expression of putting their best foot foremost and feeling quite + sure that they made a brave show. They had lace curtains in their front + parlour windows, and outside of the curtains were large red and yellow + pots of artificial flowers and indestructible palms and vulcanised + rubber-plants. It was a gay sight. + </p> + <p> + But by far the bravest of these houses was the residence of Mr. Matthew + Wilson, the principal merchant of Scroll-Saw City. It stood on a corner of + Main Street, glancing slyly out of the tail of one eye, side-ways down the + street, toward the shop and the business, but keeping a bold, complacent + front toward the street-cars and the smaller houses across the way. It + might well be satisfied with itself, for it had three more pinnacles than + any of its neighbours, and the work of the scroll-saw was looped and + festooned all around the eaves and porticoes and bay-windows in amazing + richness. Moreover, in the front yard were cast-iron images painted white: + a stag reposing on a door-mat; Diana properly dressed and returning from + the chase; a small iron boy holding over his head a parasol from the + ferrule of which a fountain squirted. The paths were of asphalt, gray and + gritty in winter, but now, in the summer heat, black and pulpy to the + tread. + </p> + <p> + There were many feet passing over them this afternoon, for Mr. and Mrs. + Matthew Wilson were giving a reception to celebrate the official entrance + of their daughter Amanda into a social life which she had permeated + unofficially for several years. The house was sizzling full of people. + Those who were jammed in the parlour tried to get into the dining-room, + and those who were packed in the dining-room struggled to escape, holding + plates of stratified cake and liquefied ice-cream high above their + neighbours’ heads like signals of danger and distress. Everybody was + talking at the same time, in a loud, shrill voice, and nobody listened to + what anybody else was saying. But it did not matter, for they all said the + same things. + </p> + <p> + “Elegant house for a party, so full of—” “How perfectly lovely + Amanda Wilson looks in that—” “Awfully warm day! Were you at the + Tompkins’ last—” “Wilson’s Emporium must be doing good business to + keep up all this—” “Hear he’s going to enlarge the store and take + Luke Woods into the—” + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn’t wonder if there might be a wedding here before next—” + </p> + <p> + The tide of chatter rose and swelled and ebbed and suddenly sank away. At + six o’clock, the minister and two maiden ladies in black silk with lilac + ribbons, laid down their last plates of ice-cream and said they thought + they must be going. Amanda and her mother preened their dresses and patted + their hair. “Come into the study,” said Mr. Wilson to Luke. “I want to + have a talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + The little bookless room, called the study, was the one that kept its eye + on the shop and the business, away down the street. You could see the + brick front, and the plate-glass windows, and part of the gilt sign. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good store,” said Mr. Wilson, jingling the keys in his pocket, + “does the biggest trade in the county, biggest but one in the whole state, + I guess. And I must say, Luke Woods, you’ve done your share, these last + five years, in building it up. Never had a clerk work so hard and so + steady. You’ve got good business sense, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you think so,” said Luke. “I did as well as I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the elder man, “and now I’m about ready to take you in with + me, give you a share in the business. I want some one to help me run it, + make it larger. We can double it, easy, if we stick to it and spread out. + No reason why you shouldn’t make a fortune out of it, and have a house + just like this on the other corner, when you’re my age.” + </p> + <p> + Luke’s thoughts were wandering a little. They went out from the stuffy + room, beyond the dusty street, and the jangling cars, and the gilt sign, + and the shop full of dry-goods and notions, and the high desks in the + office—out to the dim, cool forest, where Snowberry and + Partridge-berry and Wood-Magic grow. He heard the free winds rushing over + the tree-tops, and saw the trail winding away before him in the green + shade. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind,” said he, “I hope you will not be disappointed in me. + Sometimes I think, perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, not at all,” said the other. “It’s all right. You’re well + fitted for it. And then, there’s another thing. I guess you like my + daughter Amanda pretty well. Eh? I’ve watched you, young man. I’ve had my + eye on you! Now, of course, I can’t say much about it—never can be + sure of these kind of things, you know—but if you and she—” + </p> + <p> + The voice went on rolling out words complacently. But something strange + was working in Luke’s blood, and other voices were sounding faintly in his + ears. He heard the lisping of the leaves on the little poplar-trees, the + whistle of the black duck’s wings as he circled in the air, the distant + drumming of the grouse on his log, the rumble of the water-fall in the + River of Rocks. The spray cooled his face. He saw the fish rising along + the pool, and a stag feeding among the lily-pads. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Wilson,” said he at last, when the + elder man stopped talking. “You have certainly treated me most generously. + The only question is, whether—But to-morrow night, I think, with + your consent, I will speak to your daughter. To-night I am going down to + the store; there is a good deal of work to do on the books.” + </p> + <p> + But when Luke came to the store, he did not go in. He walked along the + street till he came to the river. + </p> + <p> + The water-side was strangely deserted. Everybody was at supper. A couple + of schooners were moored at the wharf. The Portland steamer had gone out. + The row-boats hung idle at their little dock. Down the river, drifting and + dancing lightly over the opalescent ripples, following the gentle turns of + the current which flowed past the end of the dock where Luke was standing, + came a white canoe, empty and astray. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + The White Canoe + </p> + <p> + “That looks just like my old canoe,” said he. “Somebody must have left it + adrift up the river. I wonder how it floated down here without being + picked up.” He put out his hand and caught it, as it touched the dock. + </p> + <p> + In the stern a good paddle of maple-wood was lying; in the middle there + was a roll of blankets and a pack of camp-stuff; in the bow a rifle. + </p> + <p> + “All ready for a trip,” he laughed. “Nobody going but me? Well, then, au + large!” And stepping into the canoe he pushed out on the river. + </p> + <p> + The saffron and golden lights in the sky diffused themselves over the + surface of the water, and spread from the bow of the canoe in deeper waves + of purple and orange, as he paddled swiftly up stream. The pale yellow + gas-lamps of the town faded behind him. The lumber-yards and factories and + disconsolate little houses of the outskirts seemed to melt away. In a + little while he was floating between dark walls of forest, through the + heart of the wilderness. + </p> + <p> + The night deepened around him and the sky hung out its thousand lamps. + Odours of the woods floated on the air: the spicy fragrance of the firs; + the breath of hidden banks of twin-flower. Muskrats swam noiselessly in + the shadows, diving with a great commotion as the canoe ran upon them + suddenly. A horned owl hooted from the branch of a dead pine-tree; far + back in the forest a fox barked twice. The moon crept up behind the wall + of trees and touched the stream with silver. + </p> + <p> + Presently the forest receded: the banks of the river grew broad and open; + the dew glistened on the tall grass; it was surely the River of Meadows. + Far ahead of him in a bend of the stream, Luke’s ear caught a new sound: + SLOSH, SLOSH, SLOSH, as if some heavy animal were crossing the wet meadow. + Then a great splash! Luke swung the canoe into the shadow of the bank and + paddled fast. As he turned the point a black bear came out of the river, + and stood on the shore, shaking the water around him in glittering spray. + Ping! said the rifle, and the bear fell. “Good luck!” said Luke. “I + haven’t forgotten how, after all. I’ll take him into the canoe, and dress + him up at the camp.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, there was the little cabin at the meeting of the rivers. The door was + padlocked, but Luke knew how to pry off one of the staples. Squirrels had + made a litter on the floor, but that was soon swept out, and a fire + crackled in the stove. There was tea and ham and bread in the pack in the + canoe. Supper never tasted better. “One more night in the old camp,” said + Luke as he rolled himself in the blanket and dropped asleep in a moment. + </p> + <p> + The sun shone in at the door and woke him. “I must have a trout for + breakfast,” he cried, “there’s one waiting for me at the mouth of Alder + Brook, I suppose.” So he caught up his rod from behind the door, and got + into the canoe and paddled up the River of Rocks. There was the broad, + dark pool, like a little lake, with a rapid running in at the head, and + close beside the rapid, the mouth of the brook. He sent his fly out by the + edge of the alders. There was a huge swirl on the water, and the + great-grandfather of all the trout in the river was hooked. Up and down + the pool he played for half an hour, until at last the fight was over, and + for want of a net Luke beached him on the gravel bank at the foot of the + pool. + </p> + <p> + “Seven pounds if it’s an ounce,” said he. “This is my lucky day. Now all I + need is some good meat to provision the camp.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced down the river, and on the second point below the pool he saw a + great black bullmoose with horns five feet wide. + </p> + <p> + Quietly, swiftly, the canoe went gliding down the stream; and ever as it + crept along, the moose loped easily before it, from point to point, from + bay to bay, past the little cabin, down the River of the Way Out, now + rustling unseen through a bank of tall alders, now standing out for a + moment bold and black on a beach of white sand—so all day long the + moose loped down the stream and the white canoe followed. Just as the + setting sun was poised above the trees, the great bull stopped and stood + with head lifted. Luke pushed the canoe as near as he dared, and looked + down for the rifle. He had left it at the cabin! The moose tossed his huge + antlers, grunted, and stepped quietly over the bushes into the forest. + </p> + <p> + Luke paddled on down the stream. It occurred to him, suddenly, that it was + near evening. He wondered a little how he should reach home in time for + his engagement. But it did not seem strange, as he went swiftly on with + the river, to see the first houses of the town, and the lumber-yards, and + the schooners at the wharf. + </p> + <p> + He made the canoe fast at the dock, and went up the Main Street. There was + the old shop, but the sign over it read, “Wilson and Woods Company, The + Big Store.” He went on to the house with the white iron images in the + front yard. Diana was still returning from the chase. The fountain still + squirted from the point of the little boy’s parasol. + </p> + <p> + On the veranda sat a stout man in a rocking chair, reading the newspaper. + At the side of the house two little girls with pig-tails were playing + croquet. Some one in the parlour was executing “After the Ball is Over” on + a mechanical piano. + </p> + <p> + Luke accosted a stranger who passed him. “Excuse me, but can you tell me + whether this is Mr. Matthew Wilson’s house?” + </p> + <p> + “It used to be,” said the stranger, “but old man Wilson has been dead + these ten years.” + </p> + <p> + “And who lives here now?” asked Luke. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Woods: he married Wilson’s daughter,” said the stranger, and went on + his way. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Luke to himself, “this is just a little queer. Woods was my + name for a while, when I lived here, but now, I suppose, I’m Luke Dubois + again. Dashed if I can understand it. Somebody must have been dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + So he went back to the white canoe, and paddled away up the river, and + nobody in Scroll-Saw City ever set eyes on him again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OTHER WISE MAN + </h2> + <p> + You know the story of the Three Wise Men of the East, and how they + travelled from far away to offer their gifts at the manger-cradle in + Bethlehem. But have you ever heard the story of the Other Wise Man, who + also saw the star in its rising, and set out to follow it, yet did not + arrive with his brethren in the presence of the young child Jesus? Of the + great desire of this fourth pilgrim, and how it was denied, yet + accomplished in the denial; of his many wanderings and the probations of + his soul; of the long way of his seeking and the strange way of his + finding the One whom he sought—I would tell the tale as I have heard + fragments of it in the Hall of Dreams, in the palace of the Heart of Man. + </p> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + In the days when Augustus Caesar was master of many kings and Herod + reigned in Jerusalem, there lived in the city of Ecbatana, among the + mountains of Persia, a certain man named Artaban. His house stood close to + the outermost of the walls which encircled the royal treasury. From his + roof he could look over the seven-fold battlements of black and white and + crimson and blue and red and silver and gold, to the hill where the summer + palace of the Parthian emperors glittered like a jewel in a crown. + </p> + <p> + Around the dwelling of Artaban spread a fair garden, a tangle of flowers + and fruit-trees, watered by a score of streams descending from the slopes + of Mount Orontes, and made musical by innumerable birds. But all colour + was lost in the soft and odorous darkness of the late September night, and + all sounds were hushed in the deep charm of its silence, save the plashing + of the water, like a voice half-sobbing and half-laughing under the + shadows. High above the trees a dim glow of light shone through the + curtained arches of the upper chamber, where the master of the house was + holding council with his friends. + </p> + <p> + He stood by the doorway to greet his guests—a tall, dark man of + about forty years, with brilliant eyes set near together under his broad + brow, and firm lines graven around his fine, thin lips; the brow of a + dreamer and the mouth of a soldier, a man of sensitive feeling but + inflexible will—one of those who, in whatever age they may live, are + born for inward conflict and a life of quest. + </p> + <p> + His robe was of pure white wool, thrown over a tunic of silk; and a white, + pointed cap, with long lapels at the sides, rested on his flowing black + hair. It was the dress of the ancient priesthood of the Magi, called the + fire-worshippers. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome!” he said, in his low, pleasant voice, as one after another + entered the room—“welcome, Abdus; peace be with you, Rhodaspes and + Tigranes, and with you my father, Abgarus. You are all welcome. This house + grows bright with the joy of your presence.” + </p> + <p> + There were nine of the men, differing widely in age, but alike in the + richness of their dress of many-coloured silks, and in the massive golden + collars around their necks, marking them as Parthian nobles, and in the + winged circles of gold resting upon their breasts, the sign of the + followers of Zoroaster. + </p> + <p> + They took their places around a small black altar at the end of the room, + where a tiny flame was burning. Artaban, standing beside it, and waving a + barsom of thin tamarisk branches above the fire, fed it with dry sticks of + pine and fragrant oils. Then he began the ancient chant of the Yasna, and + the voices of his companions joined in the hymn to Ahura-Mazda: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We worship the Spirit Divine, + all wisdom and goodness possessing, + Surrounded by Holy Immortals, + the givers of bounty and blessing; + We joy in the work of His hands, + His truth and His power confessing. + + We praise all the things that are pure, + for these are His only Creation + The thoughts that are true, and the words + and the deeds that have won approbation; + These are supported by Him, + and for these we make adoration. + Hear us, O Mazda! Thou livest + in truth and in heavenly gladness; + Cleanse us from falsehood, and keep us + from evil and bondage to badness, + Pour out the light and the joy of Thy life + on our darkness and sadness. + + Shine on our gardens and fields, + shine on our working and waving; + Shine on the whole race of man, + believing and unbelieving; + Shine on us now through the night, + Shine on us now in Thy might, + The flame of our holy love + and the song of our worship receiving. +</pre> + <p> + The fire rose with the chant, throbbing as if the flame responded to the + music, until it cast a bright illumination through the whole apartment, + revealing its simplicity and splendour. + </p> + <p> + The floor was laid with tiles of dark blue veined with white; pilasters of + twisted silver stood out against the blue walls; the clear-story of + round-arched windows above them was hung with azure silk; the vaulted + ceiling was a pavement of blue stones, like the body of heaven in its + clearness, sown with silver stars. From the four corners of the roof hung + four golden magic-wheels, called the tongues of the gods. At the eastern + end, behind the altar, there were two dark-red pillars of porphyry; above + them a lintel of the same stone, on which was carved the figure of a + winged archer, with his arrow set to the string and his bow drawn. + </p> + <p> + The doorway between the pillars, which opened upon the terrace of the + roof, was covered with a heavy curtain of the colour of a ripe + pomegranate, embroidered with innumerable golden rays shooting upward from + the floor. In effect the room was like a quiet, starry night, all azure + and silver, flushed in the cast with rosy promise of the dawn. It was, as + the house of a man should be, an expression of the character and spirit of + the master. + </p> + <p> + He turned to his friends when the song was ended, and invited them to be + seated on the divan at the western end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “You have come to-night,” said he, looking around the circle, “at my call, + as the faithful scholars of Zoroaster, to renew your worship and rekindle + your faith in the God of Purity, even as this fire has been rekindled on + the altar. We worship not the fire, but Him of whom it is the chosen + symbol, because it is the purest of all created things. It speaks to us of + one who is Light and Truth. Is it not so, my father?” + </p> + <p> + “It is well said, my son,” answered the venerable Abgarus. “The + enlightened are never idolaters. They lift the veil of form and go in to + the shrine of reality, and new light and truth are coming to them + continually through the old symbols.” “Hear me, then, my father an while I + tell you of the new light and truth that have come to me through the most + ancient of all signs. We have searched the secrets of Nature together, and + studied the healing virtues of water and fire and the plants. We have read + also the books of prophecy in which the future is dimly foretold in words + that are hard to understand. But the highest of all learning is the + knowledge of the stars. To trace their course is to untangle the threads + of the mystery of life from the beginning to the end. If we could follow + them perfectly, nothing would be hidden from us. But is not our knowledge + of them still incomplete? Are there not many stars still beyond our + horizon—lights that are known only to the dwellers in the far + south-land, among the spice-trees of Punt and the gold mines of Ophir?” + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of assent among the listeners. + </p> + <p> + “The stars,” said Tigranes, “are the thoughts of the Eternal. They are + numberless. But the thoughts of man can be counted, like the years of his + life. The wisdom of the Magi is the greatest of all wisdoms on earth, + because it knows its own ignorance. And that is the secret of power. We + keep men always looking and waiting for a new sunrise. But we ourselves + understand that the darkness is equal to the light, and that the conflict + between them will never be ended.” + </p> + <p> + “That does not satisfy me,” answered Artaban, “for, if the waiting must be + endless, if there could be no fulfilment of it, then it would not be + wisdom to look and wait. We should become like those new teachers of the + Greeks, who say that there is no truth, and that the only wise men are + those who spend their lives in discovering and exposing the lies that have + been believed in the world. But the new sunrise will certainly appear in + the appointed time. Do not our own books tell us that this will come to + pass, and that men will see the brightness of a great light?” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said the voice of Abgarus; “every faithful disciple of + Zoroaster knows the prophecy of the Avesta, and carries the word in his + heart. ‘In that day Sosiosh the Victorious shall arise out of the number + of the prophets in the east country. Around him shall shine a mighty + brightness, and he shall make life everlasting, incorruptible, and + immortal, and the dead shall rise again.’” + </p> + <p> + “This is a dark saying,” said Tigranes, “and it may be that we shall never + understand it. It is better to consider the things that are near at hand, + and to increase the influence of the Magi in their own country, rather + than to look for one who may be a stranger, and to whom we must resign our + power.” + </p> + <p> + The others seemed to approve these words. There was a silent feeling of + agreement manifest among them; their looks responded with that indefinable + expression which always follows when a speaker has uttered the thought + that has been slumbering in the hearts of his listeners. But Artaban + turned to Abgarus with a glow on his face, and said: + </p> + <p> + “My father, I have kept this prophecy in the secret place of my soul. + Religion without a great hope would be like an altar without a living + fire. And now the flame has burned more brightly, and by the light of it I + have read other words which also have come from the fountain of Truth, and + speak yet more clearly of the rising of the Victorious One in his + brightness.” + </p> + <p> + He drew from the breast of his tunic two small rolls of fine parchment, + with writing upon them, and unfolded them carefully upon his knee. + </p> + <p> + “In the years that are lost in the past, long before our fathers came into + the land of Babylon, there were wise men in Chaldea, from whom the first + of the Magi learned the secret of the heavens. And of these Balaam the son + of Beor was one of the mightiest. Hear the words of his prophecy: ‘There + shall come a star out of Jacob, and a sceptre shall arise out of Israel.’” + </p> + <p> + The lips of Tigranes drew downward with contempt, as he said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Judah was a captive by the waters of Babylon, and the sons of Jacob +were in bondage to our kings. The tribes of Israel are scattered through +the mountains like lost sheep, and from the remnant that dwells in Judea +under the yoke of Rome neither star nor sceptre shall arise.” + + “And yet,” answered Artaban, “it was the Hebrew Daniel, +the mighty searcher of dreams, the counsellor of kings, the wise +Belteshazzar, who was most honoured and beloved of our great King Cyrus. +A prophet of sure things and a reader of the thoughts of the Eternal, +Daniel proved himself to our people. And these are the words that he +wrote.” (Artaban read from the second roll:) “‘Know, therefore, and +understand that from the going forth of the commandment to restore +Jerusalem, unto the Anointed One, the Prince, the time shall be seven +and threescore and two weeks.”’ +</pre> + <p> + “But, my son,” said Abgarus, doubtfully, “these are mystical numbers. Who + can interpret them, or who can find the key that shall unlock their + meaning?” + </p> + <p> + Artaban answered: “It has been shown to me and to my three companions + among the Magi—Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. We have searched the + ancient tablets of Chaldea and computed the time. It falls in this year. + We have studied the sky, and in the spring of the year we saw two of the + greatest planets draw near together in the sign of the Fish, which is the + house of the Hebrews. We also saw a new star there, which shone for one + night and then vanished. Now again the two great planets are meeting. This + night is their conjunction. My three brothers are watching by the ancient + Temple of the Seven Spheres, at Borsippa, in Babylonia, and I am watching + here. If the star shines again, they will wait ten days for me at the + temple, and then we will set out together for Jerusalem, to see and + worship the promised one who shall be born King of Israel. I believe the + sign will come. I have made ready for the journey. I have sold my + possessions, and bought these three jewels—a sapphire, a ruby, and a + pearl—to carry them as tribute to the King. And I ask you to go with + me on the pilgrimage, that we may have joy together in finding the Prince + who is worthy to be served.” + </p> + <p> + While he was speaking he thrust his hand into the inmost fold of his, + girdle and drew out three great gems—one blue as a fragment of the + night sky, one redder than a ray of sunrise, and one as pure as the peak + of a snow-mountain at twilight—and laid them on the outspread + scrolls before him. + </p> + <p> + But his friends looked on with strange and alien eyes. A veil of doubt and + mistrust came over their faces, like a fog creeping up from the marshes to + hide the hills. They glanced at each other with looks of wonder and pity, + as those who have listened to incredible sayings, the story of a wild + vision, or the proposal of an impossible enterprise. + </p> + <p> + At last Tigranes said: “Artaban, this is a vain dream. It comes from too + much looking upon the stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts. It would + be wiser to spend the time in gathering money for the new fire-temple at + Chala. No king will ever rise from the broken race of Israel, and no end + will ever come to the eternal strife of light and darkness. He who looks + for it is a chaser of shadows. Farewell.” + </p> + <p> + And another said: “Artaban, I have no knowledge of these things, and my + office as guardian of the royal treasure binds me here. The quest is not + for me. But if thou must follow it, fare thee well.” + </p> + <p> + And another said: “In my house there sleeps a new bride, and I cannot + leave her nor take her with me on this strange journey. This quest is not + for me. But may thy steps be prospered wherever thou goest. So, farewell.” + </p> + <p> + And another said: “I am ill and unfit for hardship, but there is a man + among my servants whom I will send with thee when thou goest, to bring me + word how thou farest.” + </p> + <p> + So, one by one, they left the house of Artaban. But Abgarus, the oldest + and the one who loved him the best, lingered after the others had gone, + and said, gravely: “My son, it may be that the light of truth is in this + sign that has appeared in the skies, and then it will surely lead to the + Prince and the mighty brightness. Or it may be that it is only a shadow of + the light, as Tigranes has said, and then he who follows it will have a + long pilgrimage and a fruitless search. But it is better to follow even + the shadow of the best than to remain content with the worst. And those + who would see wonderful things must often be ready to travel alone. I am + too old for this journey, but my heart shall be a companion of thy + pilgrimage day and night, and I shall know the end of thy quest. Go in + peace.” + </p> + <p> + Then Abgarus went out of the azure chamber with its silver stars, and + Artaban was left in solitude. + </p> + <p> + He gathered up the jewels and replaced them in his girdle. For a long time + he stood and watched the flame that flickered and sank upon the altar. + Then he crossed the hall, lifted the heavy curtain, and passed out between + the pillars of porphyry to the terrace on the roof. + </p> + <p> + The shiver that runs through the earth ere she rouses from her night-sleep + had already begun, and the cool wind that heralds the daybreak was drawing + downward from the lofty snow-traced ravines of Mount Orontes. Birds, + half-awakened, crept and chirped among the rustling leaves, and the smell + of ripened grapes came in brief wafts from the arbours. + </p> + <p> + Far over the eastern plain a white mist stretched like a lake. But where + the distant peaks of Zagros serrated the western horizon the sky was + clear. Jupiter and Saturn rolled together like drops of lambent flame + about to blend in one. + </p> + <p> + As Artaban watched them, a steel-blue spark was born out of the darkness + beneath, rounding itself with purple splendours to a crimson sphere, and + spiring upward through rays of saffron and orange into a point of white + radiance. Tiny and infinitely remote, yet perfect in every part, it + pulsated in the enormous vault as if the three jewels in the Magian’s + girdle had mingled and been transformed into a living heart of light. + </p> + <p> + He bowed his head. He covered his brow with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “It is the sign,” he said. “The King is coming, and I will go to meet + him.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + All night long, Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban’s horses, had been waiting, + saddled and bridled, in her stall, pawing the ground impatiently, and + shaking her bit as if she shared the eagerness of her master’s purpose, + though she knew not its meaning. + </p> + <p> + Before the birds had fully roused to their strong, high, joyful chant of + morning song, before the white mist had begun to lift lazily from the + plain, the Other Wise Man was in the saddle, riding swiftly along the + high-road, which skirted the base of Mount Orontes, westward. + </p> + <p> + How close, how intimate is the comradeship between a man and his favourite + horse on a long journey. It is a silent, comprehensive friendship, an + intercourse beyond the need of words. + </p> + <p> + They drink at the same way-side springs, and sleep under the same guardian + stars. They are conscious together of the subduing spell of nightfall and + the quickening joy of daybreak. The master shares his evening meal with + his hungry companion, and feels the soft, moist lips caressing the palm of + his hand as they close over the morsel of bread. In the gray dawn he is + roused from his bivouac by the gentle stir of a warm, sweet breath over + his sleeping face, and looks up into the eyes of his faithful + fellow-traveller, ready and waiting for the toil of the day. Surely, + unless he is a pagan and an unbeliever, by whatever name he calls upon his + God, he will thank Him for this voiceless sympathy, this dumb affection, + and his morning prayer will embrace a double blessing—God bless us + both, the horse and the rider, and keep our feet from falling and our + souls from death! + </p> + <p> + Then, through the keen morning air, the swift hoofs beat their tattoo + along the road, keeping time to the pulsing of two hearts that are moved + with the same eager desire—to conquer space, to devour the distance, + to attain the goal of the journey. + </p> + <p> + Artaban must indeed ride wisely and well if he would keep the appointed + hour with the other Magi; for the route was a hundred and fifty parasangs, + and fifteen was the utmost that he could travel in a day. But he knew + Vasda’s strength, and pushed forward without anxiety, making the fixed + distance every day, though he must travel late into the night, and in the + morning long before sunrise. + </p> + <p> + He passed along the brown slopes of Mount Orontes, furrowed by the rocky + courses of a hundred torrents. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the level plains of the Nisaeans, where the famous herds of + horses, feeding in the wide pastures, tossed their heads at Vasda’s + approach, and galloped away with a thunder of many hoofs, and flocks of + wild birds rose suddenly from the swampy meadows, wheeling in great + circles with a shining flutter of innumerable wings and shrill cries of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + He traversed the fertile fields of Concabar, where the dust from the + threshing-floors filled the air with a golden mist, half hiding the huge + temple of Astarte with its four hundred pillars. + </p> + <p> + At Baghistan, among the rich gardens watered by fountains from the rock, + he looked up at the mountain thrusting its immense rugged brow out over + the road, and saw the figure of King Darius trampling upon his fallen + foes, and the proud list of his wars and conquests graven high upon the + face of the eternal cliff. + </p> + <p> + Over many a cold and desolate pass, crawling painfully across the + wind-swept shoulders of the hills; down many a black mountain-gorge, where + the river roared and raced before him like a savage guide; across many a + smiling vale, with terraces of yellow limestone full of vines and + fruit-trees; through the oak-groves of Carine and the dark Gates of + Zagros, walled in by precipices; into the ancient city of Chala, where the + people of Samaria had been kept in captivity long ago; and out again by + the mighty portal, riven through the encircling hills, where he saw the + image of the High Priest of the Magi sculptured on the wall of rock, with + hand uplifted as if to bless the centuries of pilgrims; past the entrance + of the narrow defile, filled from end to end with orchards of peaches and + figs, through which the river Gyndes foamed down to meet him; over the + broad rice-fields, where the autumnal vapours spread their deathly mists; + following along the course of the river, under tremulous shadows of poplar + and tamarind, among the lower hills; and out upon the flat plain, where + the road ran straight as an arrow through the stubble-fields and parched + meadows; past the city of Ctesiphon, where the Parthian emperors reigned, + and the vast metropolis of Seleucia which Alexander built; across the + swirling floods of Tigris and the many channels of Euphrates, flowing + yellow through the corn-lands—Artaban pressed onward until he + arrived, at nightfall on the tenth day, beneath the shattered walls of + populous Babylon. + </p> + <p> + Vasda was almost spent, and Artaban would gladly have turned into the city + to find rest and refreshment for himself and for her. But he knew that it + was three hours’ journey yet to the Temple of the Seven Spheres, and he + must reach the place by midnight if he would find his comrades waiting. So + he did not halt, but rode steadily across the stubble-fields. + </p> + <p> + A grove of date-palms made an island of gloom in the pale yellow sea. As + she passed into the shadow Vasda slackened her pace, and began to pick her + way more carefully. + </p> + <p> + Near the farther end of the darkness an access of caution seemed to fall + upon her. She scented some danger or difficulty; it was not in her heart + to fly from it—only to be prepared for it, and to meet it wisely, as + a good horse should do. The grove was close and silent as the tomb; not a + leaf rustled, not a bird sang. + </p> + <p> + She felt her steps before her delicately, carrying her head low, and + sighing now and then with apprehension. At last she gave a quick breath of + anxiety and dismay, and stood stock-still, quivering in every muscle, + before a dark object in the shadow of the last palm-tree. + </p> + <p> + Artaban dismounted. The dim starlight revealed the form of a man lying + across the road. His humble dress and the outline of his haggard face + showed that he was probably one of the Hebrews who still dwelt in great + numbers around the city. His pallid skin, dry and yellow as parchment, + bore the mark of the deadly fever which ravaged the marsh-lands in autumn. + The chill of death was in his lean hand, and, as Artaban released it, the + arm fell back inertly upon the motionless breast. + </p> + <p> + He turned away with a thought of pity, leaving the body to that strange + burial which the Magians deemed most fitting—the funeral of the + desert, from which the kites and vultures rise on dark wings, and the + beasts of prey slink furtively away. When they are gone there is only a + heap of white bones on the sand. + </p> + <p> + But, as he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh came from the man’s lips. + The bony fingers gripped the hem of the Magian’s robe and held him fast. + </p> + <p> + Artaban’s heart leaped to his throat, not with fear, but with a dumb + resentment at the importunity of this blind delay. + </p> + <p> + How could he stay here in the darkness to minister to a dying stranger? + What claim had this unknown fragment of human life upon his compassion or + his service? If he lingered but for an hour he could hardly reach Borsippa + at the appointed time. His companions would think he had given up the + journey. They would go without him. He would lose his quest. + </p> + <p> + But if he went on now, the man would surely die. If Artaban stayed, life + might be restored. His spirit throbbed and fluttered with the urgency of + the crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his faith for the sake of a + single deed of charity? Should he turn aside, if only for a moment, from + the following of the star, to give a cup of cold water to a poor, + perishing Hebrew? + </p> + <p> + “God of truth and purity,” he prayed, “direct me in the holy path, the way + of wisdom which Thou only knowest.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned back to the sick man. Loosening the grasp of his hand, he + carried him to a little mound at the foot of the palm-tree. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He unbound the thick folds of the turban and opened the garment above +the sunken breast. He brought water from one of the small canals near +by, and moistened the sufferer’s brow and mouth. He mingled a draught of +one of those simple but potent remedies which he carried always in his +girdle—for the Magians were physicians as well as astrologers—and +poured it slowly between the colourless lips. Hour after hour he +laboured as only a skilful healer of disease can do. At last the man’s +strength returned; he sat up and looked about him. + + “Who art thou?” he said, in the rude dialect of the +country, “and why hast thou sought me here to bring back my life?” + </pre> + <p> + “I am Artaban the Magian, of the city of Ecbatana, and I am going to + Jerusalem in search of one who is to be born King of the Jews, a great + Prince and Deliverer of all men. I dare not delay any longer upon my + journey, for the caravan that has waited for me may depart without me. But + see, here is all that I have left of bread and wine, and here is a potion + of healing herbs. When thy strength is restored thou canst find the + dwellings of the Hebrews among the houses of Babylon.” + </p> + <p> + The Jew raised his trembling hand solemnly to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Now may the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob bless and prosper the + journey of the merciful, and bring him in peace to his desired haven. + Stay! I have nothing to give thee in return—only this: that I can + tell thee where the Messiah must be sought. For our prophets have said + that he should be born not in Jerusalem, but in Bethlehem of Judah. May + the Lord bring thee in safety to that place, because thou hast had pity + upon the sick.” + </p> + <p> + It was already long past midnight. Artaban rode in haste, and Vasda, + restored by the brief rest, ran eagerly through the silent plain and swam + the channels of the river. She put forth the remnant of her strength, and + fled over the ground like a gazelle. + </p> + <p> + But the first beam of the rising sun sent a long shadow before her as she + entered upon the final stadium of the journey, and the eyes of Artaban, + anxiously scanning the great mound of Nimrod and the Temple of the Seven + Spheres, could discern no trace of his friends. + </p> + <p> + The many-coloured terraces of black and orange and red and yellow and + green and blue and white, shattered by the convulsions of nature, and + crumbling under the repeated blows of human violence, still glittered like + a ruined rainbow in the morning light. + </p> + <p> + Artaban rode swiftly around the hill. He dismounted and climbed to the + highest terrace, looking out toward the west. + </p> + <p> + The huge desolation of the marshes stretched away to the horizon and the + border of the desert. Bitterns stood by the stagnant pools and jackals + skulked through the low bushes; but there was no sign of the caravan of + the Wise Men, far or near. + </p> + <p> + At the edge of the terrace he saw a little cairn of broken bricks, and + under them a piece of papyrus. He caught it up and read: “We have waited + past the midnight, and can delay no longer. We go to find the King. Follow + us across the desert.” + </p> + <p> + Artaban sat down upon the ground and covered his head in despair. + </p> + <p> + “How can I cross the desert,” said he, “with no food and with a spent + horse? I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire, and buy a train of + camels, and provision for the journey. I may never overtake my friends. + Only God the merciful knows whether I shall not lose the sight of the King + because I tarried to show mercy.” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + There was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was listening to the + story of the Other Wise Man. Through this silence I saw, but very dimly, + his figure passing over the dreary undulations of the desert, high upon + the back of his camel, rocking steadily onward like a ship over the waves. + </p> + <p> + The land of death spread its cruel net around him. The stony waste bore no + fruit but briers and thorns. The dark ledges of rock thrust themselves + above the surface here and there, like the bones of perished monsters. + Arid and inhospitable mountain-ranges rose before him, furrowed with dry + channels of ancient torrents, white and ghastly as scars on the face of + nature. Shifting hills of treacherous sand were heaped like tombs along + the horizon. By day, the fierce heat pressed its intolerable burden on the + quivering air. No living creature moved on the dumb, swooning earth, but + tiny jerboas scuttling through the parched bushes, or lizards vanishing in + the clefts of the rock. By night the jackals prowled and barked in the + distance, and the lion made the black ravines echo with his hollow + roaring, while a bitter, blighting chill followed the fever of the day. + Through heat and cold, the Magian moved steadily onward. + </p> + <p> + Then I saw the gardens and orchards of Damascus, watered by the streams of + Abana and Pharpar, with their sloping swards inlaid with bloom, and their + thickets of myrrh and roses. I saw the long, snowy ridge of Hermon, and + the dark groves of cedars, and the valley of the Jordan, and the blue + waters of the Lake of Galilee, and the fertile plain of Esdraelon, and the + hills of Ephraim, and the highlands of Judah. Through all these I followed + the figure of Artaban moving steadily onward, until he arrived at + Bethlehem. And it was the third day after the three Wise Men had come to + that place and had found Mary and Joseph, with the young child, Jesus, and + had laid their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh at his feet. + </p> + <p> + Then the Other Wise Man drew near, weary, but full of hope, bearing his + ruby and his pearl to offer to the King. “For now at last,” he said, “I + shall surely find him, though I be alone, and later than my brethren. This + is the place of which the Hebrew exile told me that the prophets had + spoken, and here I shall behold the rising of the great light. But I must + inquire about the visit of my brethren, and to what house the star + directed them, and to whom they presented their tribute.” + </p> + <p> + The streets of the village seemed to be deserted, and Artaban wondered + whether the men had all gone up to the hill-pastures to bring down their + sheep. From the open door of a cottage he heard the sound of a woman’s + voice singing softly. He entered and found a young mother hushing her baby + to rest. She told him of the strangers from the far East who had appeared + in the village three days ago, and how they said that a star had guided + them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth was lodging with his wife and + her new-born child, and how they had paid reverence to the child and given + him many rich gifts. + </p> + <p> + “But the travellers disappeared again,” she continued, “as suddenly as + they had come. We were afraid at the strangeness of their visit. We could + not understand it. The man of Nazareth took the child and his mother, and + fled away that same night secretly, and it was whispered that they were + going to Egypt. Ever since, there has been a spell upon the village; + something evil hangs over it. They say that the Roman soldiers are coming + from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and the men have driven the + flocks and herds far back among the hills, and hidden themselves to escape + it.” + </p> + <p> + Artaban listened to her gentle, timid speech, and the child in her arms + looked up in his face and smiled, stretching out its rosy hands to grasp + at the winged circle of gold on his breast. His heart warmed to the touch. + It seemed like a greeting of love and trust to one who had journeyed long + in loneliness and perplexity, fighting with his own doubts and fears, and + following a light that was veiled in clouds. + </p> + <p> + “Why might not this child have been the promised Prince?” he asked within + himself, as he touched its soft cheek. “Kings have been born ere now in + lowlier houses than this, and the favourite of the stars may rise even + from a cottage. But it has not seemed good to the God of wisdom to reward + my search so soon and so easily. The one whom I seek has gone before me; + and now I must follow the King to Egypt.” + </p> + <p> + The young mother laid the baby in its cradle, and rose to minister to the + wants of the strange guest that fate had brought into her house. She set + food before him, the plain fare of peasants, but willingly offered, and + therefore full of refreshment for the soul as well as for the body. + Artaban accepted it gratefully; and, as he ate, the child fell into a + happy slumber, and murmured sweetly in its dreams, and a great peace + filled the room. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly there came the noise of a wild confusion in the streets of + the village, a shrieking and wailing of women’s voices, a clangour of + brazen trumpets and a clashing of swords, and a desperate cry: “The + soldiers! the soldiers of Herod! They are killing our children.” The young + mother’s face grew white with terror. She clasped her child to her bosom, + and crouched motionless in the darkest corner of the room, covering him + with the folds of her robe, lest he should wake and cry. + </p> + <p> + But Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the house. His broad + shoulders filled the portal from side to side, and the peak of his white + cap all but touched the lintel. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody hands and dripping + swords. At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress they hesitated + with surprise. The captain of the band approached the threshold to thrust + him aside. But Artaban did not stir. His face was as calm as though he + were watching the stars, and in his eyes there burned that steady radiance + before which even the half-tamed hunting leopard shrinks, and the + bloodhound pauses in his leap. He held the soldier silently for an + instant, and then said in a low voice: “I am all alone in this place, and + I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who will leave me + in peace.” + </p> + <p> + He showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a great drop + of blood. + </p> + <p> + The captain was amazed at the splendour of the gem. The pupils of his eyes + expanded with desire, and the hard lines of greed wrinkled around his + lips. He stretched out his hand and took the ruby. + </p> + <p> + “March on!” he cried to his men, “there is no child here. The house is + empty.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The clamor and the clang of arms passed down the street as the headlong +fury of the chase sweeps by the secret covert where the trembling deer +is hidden. Artaban re-entered the cottage. He turned his face to the +east and prayed: + + “God of truth, forgive my sin! I have said the thing that +is not, to save the life of a child. And two of my gifts are gone. I +have spent for man that which was meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy +to see the face of the King?” + </pre> + <p> + But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadow behind him, said + very gently: + </p> + <p> + “Because thou hast saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless + thee and keep thee; the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be + gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give + thee peace.” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, deeper and more + mysterious than the first interval, and I understood that the years of + Artaban were flowing very swiftly under the stillness, and I caught only a + glimpse, here and there, of the river of his life shining through the mist + that concealed its course. + </p> + <p> + I saw him moving among the throngs of men in populous Egypt, seeking + everywhere for traces of the household that had come down from Bethlehem, + and finding them under the spreading sycamore-trees of Heliopolis, and + beneath the walls of the Roman fortress of New Babylon beside the Nile—traces + so faint and dim that they vanished before him continually, as footprints + on the wet river-sand glisten for a moment with moisture and then + disappear. + </p> + <p> + I saw him again at the foot of the pyramids, which lifted their sharp + points into the intense saffron glow of the sunset sky, changeless + monuments of the perishable glory and the imperishable hope of man. He + looked up into the face of the crouching Sphinx and vainly tried to read + the meaning of the calm eyes and smiling mouth. Was it, indeed, the + mockery of all effort and all aspiration, as Tigranes had said—the + cruel jest of a riddle that has no answer, a search that never can + succeed? Or was there a touch of pity and encouragement in that + inscrutable smile—a promise that even the defeated should attain a + victory, and the disappointed should discover a prize, and the ignorant + should be made wise, and the blind should see, and the wandering should + come into the haven at last? + </p> + <p> + I saw him again in an obscure house of Alexandria, taking counsel with a + Hebrew rabbi. The venerable man, bending over the rolls of parchment on + which the prophecies of Israel were written, read aloud the pathetic words + which foretold the sufferings of the promised Messiah—the despised + and rejected of men, the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. + </p> + <p> + “And remember, my son,” said he, fixing his eyes upon the face of Artaban, + “the King whom thou seekest is not to be found in a palace, nor among the + rich and powerful. If the light of the world and the glory of Israel had + been appointed to come with the greatness of earthly splendour, it must + have appeared long ago. For no son of Abraham will ever again rival the + power which Joseph had in the palaces of Egypt, or the magnificence of + Solomon throned between the lions in Jerusalem. But the light for which + the world is waiting is a new light, the glory that shall rise out of + patient and triumphant suffering. And the kingdom which is to be + established forever is a new kingdom, the royalty of unconquerable love. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how this shall come to pass, nor how the turbulent kings + and peoples of earth shall be brought to acknowledge the Messiah and pay + homage to him. But this I know. Those who seek him will do well to look + among the poor and the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.” + </p> + <p> + So I saw the Other Wise Man again and again, travelling from place to + place, and searching among the people of the dispersion, with whom the + little family from Bethlehem might, perhaps, have found a refuge. He + passed through countries where famine lay heavy upon the land, and the + poor were crying for bread. He made his dwelling in plague-stricken cities + where the sick were languishing in the bitter companionship of helpless + misery. He visited the oppressed and the afflicted in the gloom of + subterranean prisons, and the crowded wretchedness of slave-markets, and + the weary toil of galley-ships. In all this populous and intricate world + of anguish, though he found none to worship, he found many to help. He fed + the hungry, and clothed the naked, and healed the sick, and comforted the + captive; and his years passed more swiftly than the weaver’s shuttle that + flashes back and forth through the loom while the web grows and the + pattern is completed. + </p> + <p> + It seemed almost as if he had forgotten his quest. But once I saw him for + a moment as he stood alone at sunrise, waiting at the gate of a Roman + prison. He had taken from a secret resting-place in his bosom the pearl, + the last of his jewels. As he looked at it, a mellower lustre, a soft and + iridescent light, full of shifting gleams of azure and rose, trembled upon + its surface. It seemed to have absorbed some reflection of the lost + sapphire and ruby. So the secret purpose of a noble life draws into itself + the memories of past joy and past sorrow. All that has helped it, all that + has hindered it, is transfused by a subtle magic into its very essence. It + becomes more luminous and precious the longer it is carried close to the + warmth of the beating heart. + </p> + <p> + Then, at last, while I was thinking of this pearl, and of its meaning, I + heard the end of the story of the Other Wise Man. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + Three-and-thirty years of the life of Artaban had passed away, and he was + still a pilgrim and a seeker after light. His hair, once darker than the + cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow that covered them. His + eyes, that once flashed like flames of fire, were dull as embers + smouldering among the ashes. + </p> + <p> + Worn and weary and ready to die, but still looking for the King, he had + come for the last time to Jerusalem. He had often visited the holy city + before, and had searched all its lanes and crowded bevels and black + prisons without finding any trace of the family of Nazarenes who had fled + from Bethlehem long ago. But now it seemed as if he must make one more + effort, and something whispered in his heart that, at last, he might + succeed. + </p> + <p> + It was the season of the Passover. The city was thronged with strangers. + The children of Israel, scattered in far lands, had returned to the Temple + for the great feast, and there had been a confusion of tongues in the + narrow streets for many days. + </p> + <p> + But on this day a singular agitation was visible in the multitude. The sky + was veiled with a portentous gloom. Currents of excitement seemed to flash + through the crowd. A secret tide was sweeping them all one way. The + clatter of sandals and the soft, thick sound of thousands of bare feet + shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly along the street that leads + to the Damascus gate. + </p> + <p> + Artaban joined a group of people from his own country, Parthian Jews who + had come up to keep the Passover, and inquired of them the cause of the + tumult, and where they were going. + </p> + <p> + “We are going,” they answered, “to the place called Golgotha, outside the + city walls, where there is to be an execution. Have you not heard what has + happened? Two famous robbers are to be crucified, and with them another, + called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works among + the people, so that they love him greatly. But the priests and elders have + said that he must die, because he gave himself out to be the Son of God. + And Pilate has sent him to the cross because he said that he was the ‘King + of the Jews.’” + </p> + <p> + How strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired heart of Artaban! + They had led him for a lifetime over land and sea. And now they came to + him mysteriously, like a message of despair. The King had arisen, but he + had been denied and cast out. He was about to perish. Perhaps he was + already dying. Could it be the same who had been born in Bethlehem + thirty-three years ago, at whose birth the star had appeared in heaven, + and of whose coming the prophets had spoken? + </p> + <p> + Artaban’s heart beat unsteadily with that troubled, doubtful apprehension + which is the excitement of old age. But he said within himself: “The ways + of God are stranger than the thoughts of men, and it may be that I shall + find the King, at last, in the hands of his enemies, and shall come in + time to offer my pearl for his ransom before he dies.” + </p> + <p> + So the old man followed the multitude with slow and painful steps toward + the Damascus gate of the city. Just beyond the entrance of the guardhouse + a troop of Macedonian soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl + with torn dress and dishevelled hair. As the Magian paused to look at her + with compassion, she broke suddenly from the hands of her tormentors, and + threw herself at his feet, clasping him around the knees. She had seen his + white cap and the winged circle on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Have pity on me,” she cried, “and save me, for the sake of the God of + Purity! I also am a daughter of the true religion which is taught by the + Magi. My father was a merchant of Parthia, but he is dead, and I am seized + for his debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from worse than death!” + </p> + <p> + Artaban trembled. + </p> + <p> + It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him in the + palm-grove of Babylon and in the cottage at Bethlehem—the conflict + between the expectation of faith and the impulse of love. Twice the gift + which he had consecrated to the worship of religion had been drawn to the + service of humanity. This was the third trial, the ultimate probation, the + final and irrevocable choice. + </p> + <p> + Was it his great opportunity, or his last temptation? He could not tell. + One thing only was clear in the darkness of his mind—it was + inevitable. And does not the inevitable come from God? + </p> + <p> + One thing only was sure to his divided heart—to rescue this helpless + girl would be a true deed of love. And is not love the light of the soul? + </p> + <p> + He took the pearl from his bosom. Never had it seemed so luminous, so + radiant, so full of tender, living lustre. He laid it in the hand of the + slave. + </p> + <p> + “This is thy ransom, daughter! It is the last of my treasures which I kept + for the King.” + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, the darkness of the sky deepened, and shuddering tremors + ran through the earth heaving convulsively like the breast of one who + struggles with mighty grief. + </p> + <p> + The walls of the houses rocked to and fro. Stones were loosened and + crashed into the street. Dust clouds filled the air. The soldiers fled in + terror, reeling like drunken men. But Artaban and the girl whom he had + ransomed crouched helpless beneath the wall of the Praetorium. + </p> + <p> + What had he to fear? What had he to hope? He had given away the last + remnant of his tribute for the King. He had parted with the last hope of + finding him. The quest was over, and it had failed. But, even in that + thought, accepted and embraced, there was peace. It was not resignation. + It was not submission. It was something more profound and searching. He + knew that all was well, because he had done the best that he could from + day to day. He had been true to the light that had been given to him. He + had looked for more. And if he had not found it, if a failure was all that + came out of his life, doubtless that was the best that was possible. He + had not seen the revelation of “life everlasting, incorruptible and + immortal.” But he knew that even if he could live his earthly life over + again, it could not be otherwise than it had been. + </p> + <p> + One more lingering pulsation of the earthquake quivered through the + ground. A heavy tile, shaken from the roof, fell and struck the old man on + the temple. He lay breathless and pale, with his gray head resting on the + young girl’s shoulder, and the blood trickling from the wound. As she bent + over him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice through the + twilight, very small and still, like music sounding from a distance, in + which the notes are clear but the words are lost. The girl turned to see + if some one had spoken from the window above them, but she saw no one. + </p> + <p> + Then the old man’s lips began to move, as if in answer, and she heard him + say in the Parthian tongue: + </p> + <p> + “Not so, my Lord! For when saw I thee an hungered and fed thee? Or + thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw I thee a stranger, and took thee + in? Or naked, and clothed thee? When saw I thee sick or in prison, and + came unto thee? Three-and—thirty years have I looked for thee; but I + have never seen thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased, and the sweet voice came again. And again the maid heard it, + very faint and far away. But now it seemed as though she understood the + words: + </p> + <p> + “Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the + least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.” + </p> + <p> + A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the pale face of Artaban like + the first ray of dawn, on a snowy mountain-peak. A long breath of relief + exhaled gently from his lips. + </p> + <p> + His journey was ended. His treasures were accepted. The Other Wise Man had + found the King. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A HANDFUL OF CLAY + </h2> + <p> + There was a handful of clay in the bank of a river. It was only common + clay, coarse and heavy; but it had high thoughts of its own value, and + wonderful dreams of the great place which it was to fill in the world when + the time came for its virtues to be discovered. + </p> + <p> + Overhead, in the spring sunshine, the trees whispered together of the + glory which descended upon them when the delicate blossoms and leaves + began to expand, and the forest glowed with fair, clear colours, as if the + dust of thousands of rubies and emeralds were hanging, in soft clouds, + above the earth. + </p> + <p> + The flowers, surprised with the joy of beauty, bent their heads to one + another, as the wind caressed them, and said: “Sisters, how lovely you + have become. You make the day bright.” + </p> + <p> + The river, glad of new strength and rejoicing in the unison of all its + waters, murmured to the shores in music, telling of its release from icy + fetters, its swift flight from the snow-clad mountains, and the mighty + work to which it was hurrying—the wheels of many mills to be turned, + and great ships to be floated to the sea. + </p> + <p> + Waiting blindly in its bed, the clay comforted itself with lofty hopes. + “My time will come,” it said. “I was not made to be hidden forever. Glory + and beauty and honour are coming to me in due season.” + </p> + <p> + One day the clay felt itself taken from the place where it had waited so + long. A flat blade of iron passed beneath it, and lifted it, and tossed it + into a cart with other lumps of clay, and it was carried far away, as it + seemed, over a rough and stony road. But it was not afraid, nor + discouraged, for it said to itself: “This is necessary. The path to glory + is always rugged. Now I am on my way to play a great part in the world.” + </p> + <p> + But the hard journey was nothing compared with the tribulation and + distress that came after it. The clay was put into a trough and mixed and + beaten and stirred and trampled. It seemed almost unbearable. But there + was consolation in the thought that something very fine and noble was + certainly coming out of all this trouble. The clay felt sure that, if it + could only wait long enough, a wonderful reward was in store for it. + </p> + <p> + Then it was put upon a swiftly turning wheel, and whirled around until it + seemed as if it must fly into a thousand pieces. A strange power pressed + it and moulded it, as it revolved, and through all the dizziness and pain + it felt that it was taking a new form. + </p> + <p> + Then an unknown hand put it into an oven, and fires were kindled about it—fierce + and penetrating—hotter than all the heats of summer that had ever + brooded upon the bank of the river. But through all, the clay held itself + together and endured its trials, in the confidence of a great future. + “Surely,” it thought, “I am intended for something very splendid, since + such pains are taken with me. Perhaps I am fashioned for the ornament of a + temple, or a precious vase for the table of a king.” + </p> + <p> + At last the baking was finished. The clay was taken from the furnace and + set down upon a board, in the cool air, under the blue sky. The + tribulation was passed. The reward was at hand. + </p> + <p> + Close beside the board there was a pool of water, not very deep, nor very + clear, but calm enough to reflect, with impartial truth, every image that + fell upon it. There, for the first time, as it was lifted from the board, + the clay saw its new shape, the reward of all its patience and pain, the + consummation of its hopes—a common flower-pot, straight and stiff, + red and ugly. And then it felt that it was not destined for a king’s + house, nor for a palace of art, because it was made without glory or + beauty or honour; and it murmured against the unknown maker, saying, “Why + hast thou made me thus?” + </p> + <p> + Many days it passed in sullen discontent. Then it was filled with earth, + and something—it knew not what—but something rough and brown + and dead-looking, was thrust into the middle of the earth and covered + over. The clay rebelled at this new disgrace. “This is the worst of all + that has happened to me, to be filled with dirt and rubbish. Surely I am a + failure.” + </p> + <p> + But presently it was set in a greenhouse, where the sunlight fell warm + upon it, and water was sprinkled over it, and day by day as it waited, a + change began to come to it. Something was stirring within it—a new + hope. Still it was ignorant, and knew not what the new hope meant. + </p> + <p> + One day the clay was lifted again from its place, and carried into a great + church. Its dream was coming true after all. It had a fine part to play in + the world. Glorious music flowed over it. It was surrounded with flowers. + Still it could not understand. So it whispered to another vessel of clay, + like itself, close beside it, “Why have they set me here? Why do all the + people look toward us?” And the other vessel answered, “Do you not know? + You are carrying a royal sceptre of lilies. Their petals are white as + snow, and the heart of them is like pure gold. The people look this way + because the flower is the most wonderful in the world. And the root of it + is in your heart.” + </p> + <p> + Then the clay was content, and silently thanked its maker, because, though + an earthen vessel, it held so great a treasure. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOST WORD + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Come down, Hermas, come down! The night is past. It is time to be +stirring. Christ is born today. Peace be with you in His name. Make +haste and come down!” + + A little group of young men were standing in a street of +Antioch, in the dusk of early morning, fifteen hundred years ago—a +class of candidates who had nearly finished their years of training for +the Christian church. They had come to call their fellow-student Hermas +from his lodging. +</pre> + <p> + Their voices rang out cheerily through the cool air. They were full of + that glad sense of life which the young feel when they have risen early + and come to rouse one who is still sleeping. There was a note of friendly + triumph in their call, as if they were exulting unconsciously in having + begun the adventure of the new day before their comrade. + </p> + <p> + But Hermas was not asleep. He had been waking for hours, and the walls of + his narrow lodging had been a prison to his heart. A nameless sorrow and + discontent had fallen upon him, and he could find no escape from the + heaviness of his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + There is a sadness of youth into which the old cannot enter. It seems + unreal and causeless. But it is even more bitter and burdensome than the + sadness of age. There is a sting of resentment in it, a fever of angry + surprise that the world should so soon be a disappointment, and life so + early take on the look of a failure. It has little reason in it, perhaps, + but it has all the more weariness and gloom, because the man who is + oppressed by it feels dimly that it is an unnatural thing that he should + be tired of living before he has fairly begun to live. + </p> + <p> + Hermas had fallen into the very depths of this strange self-pity. He was + out of tune with everything around him. He had been thinking, through the + dead night, of all that he had given up when he left the house of his + father, the wealthy pagan Demetrius, to join the company of the + Christians. Only two years ago he had been one of the richest young men in + Antioch. Now he was one of the poorest. The worst of it was that, though + he had made the choice willingly and with a kind of enthusiasm, he was + already dissatisfied with it. + </p> + <p> + The new life was no happier than the old. He was weary of vigils and + fasts, weary of studies and penances, weary of prayers and sermons. He + felt like a slave in a treadmill. He knew that he must go on. His honour, + his conscience, his sense of duty, bound him. He could not go back to the + old careless pagan life again; for something had happened within him which + made a return impossible. Doubtless he had found the true religion, but he + had found it only as a task and a burden; its joy and peace had slipped + away from him. + </p> + <p> + He felt disillusioned and robbed. He sat beside his hard couch, waiting + without expectancy for the gray dawn of another empty day, and hardly + lifting his head at the shouts of his friends. + </p> + <p> + “Come down, Hermas, you sluggard! Come down! It is Christmas morn. Awake, + and be glad with us!” + </p> + <p> + “I am coming,” he answered listlessly; “only have patience a moment. I + have been awake since midnight, and waiting for the day.” + </p> + <p> + “You hear him!” said his friends one to another. “How he puts us all to + shame! He is more watchful, more eager, than any of us. Our master, John + the Presbyter, does well to be proud of him. He is the best man in our + class.” + </p> + <p> + While they were talking the door opened and Hermas stepped out. He was a + figure to be remarked in any company—tall, broad-shouldered, + straight-hipped, with a head proudly poised on the firm column of the + neck, and short brown curls clustering over the square forehead. It was + the perpetual type of vigorous and intelligent young manhood, such as may + be found in every century among the throngs of ordinary men, as if to show + what the flower of the race should be. But the light in his eyes was + clouded and uncertain; his smooth cheeks were leaner than they should have + been at twenty; and there were downward lines about his mouth which spoke + of desires unsatisfied and ambitions repressed. He joined his companions + with brief greetings,—a nod to one, a word to another,—and + they passed together down the steep street. + </p> + <p> + Overhead the mystery of daybreak was silently transfiguring the sky. The + curtain of darkness had lifted along the edge of the horizon. The ragged + crests of Mount Silpius were outlined with pale saffron light. In the + central vault of heaven a few large stars twinkled drowsily. The great + city, still chiefly pagan, lay more than half-asleep. But multitudes of + the Christians, dressed in white and carrying lighted torches in their + hands, were hurrying toward the Basilica of Constantine to keep the new + holy-day of the church, the festival of the birthday of their Master. + </p> + <p> + The vast, bare building was soon crowded, and the younger converts, who + were not yet permitted to stand among the baptised, found it difficult to + come to their appointed place between the first two pillars of the house, + just within the threshold. There was some good-humoured pressing and + jostling about the door; but the candidates pushed steadily forward. + </p> + <p> + “By your leave, friends, our station is beyond you. Will you let us pass? + Many thanks.” + </p> + <p> + A touch here, a courteous nod there, a little patience, a little + persistence, and at last they stood in their place. Hermas was taller than + his companions; he could look easily over their heads and survey the sea + of people stretching away through the columns, under the shadows of the + high roof, as the tide spreads on a calm day into the pillared cavern of + Staffa, quiet as if the ocean hardly dared to breathe. The light of many + flambeaux fell, in flickering, uncertain rays, over the assembly. At the + end of the vista there was a circle of clearer, steadier radiance. Hermas + could see the bishop in his great chair, surrounded by the presbyters, the + lofty desks on either side for the readers of the Scripture, the + communion-table and the table of offerings in the middle of the church. + </p> + <p> + The call to prayer sounded down the long aisle. Thousands of hands were + joyously lifted in the air, as if the sea had blossomed into waving + lilies, and the “Amen” was like the murmur of countless ripples in an + echoing place. + </p> + <p> + Then the singing began, led by the choir of a hundred trained voices which + the Bishop Paul had founded in Antioch. Timidly, at first, the music felt + its way, as the people joined with a broken and uncertain cadence: the + mingling of many little waves not yet gathered into rhythm and harmony. + Soon the longer, stronger billows of song rolled in, sweeping from side to + side as the men and the women answered in the clear antiphony. + </p> + <p> + Hermas had often been carried on those + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tides of music’s golden sea + Selling toward eternity. +</pre> + <p> + But to-day his heart was a rock that stood motionless. The flood passed by + and left him unmoved. + </p> + <p> + Looking out from his place at the foot of the pillar, he saw a man + standing far off in the lofty bema. Short and slender, wasted by sickness, + gray before his time, with pale cheeks and wrinkled brow, he seemed at + first like a person of no significance—a reed shaken in the wind. + But there was a look in his deep-set, poignant eyes, as he gathered all + the glances of the multitude to himself, that belied his mean appearance + and prophesied power. Hermas knew very well who it was: the man who had + drawn him from his father’s house, the teacher who was instructing him as + a son in the Christian faith, the guide and trainer of his soul—John + of Antioch, whose fame filled the city and began to overflow Asia, and who + was called already Chrysostom, the golden-mouthed preacher. + </p> + <p> + Hermas had felt the magic of his eloquence many a time; and to-day, as the + tense voice vibrated through the stillness, and the sentences moved + onward, growing fuller and stronger, bearing argosies of costly rhetoric + and treasures of homely speech in their bosom, and drawing the hearts of + men with a resistless magic, Hermas knew that the preacher had never been + more potent, more inspired. + </p> + <p> + He played on that immense congregation as a master on an instrument. He + rebuked their sins, and they trembled. He touched their sorrows, and they + wept. He spoke of the conflicts, the triumphs, the glories of their faith, + and they broke out in thunders of applause. He hushed them into reverent + silence, and led them tenderly, with the wise men of the East, to the + lowly birthplace of Jesus. + </p> + <p> + “Do thou, therefore, likewise leave the Jewish people, the troubled city, + the bloodthirsty tyrant, the pomp of the world, and hasten to Bethlehem, + the sweet house of spiritual bread. For though thou be but a shepherd, and + come hither, thou shalt behold the young Child in an inn. Though thou be a + king, and come not hither, thy purple robe shall profit thee nothing. + Though thou be one of the wise men, this shall be no hindrance to thee. + Only let thy coming be to honour and adore, with trembling joy, the Son of + God, to whose name be glory, on this His birthday, and forever and + forever.” + </p> + <p> + The soul of Hermas did not answer to the musician’s touch. The strings of + his heart were slack and soundless; there was no response within him. He + was neither shepherd, nor king, nor wise man; only an unhappy, + dissatisfied, questioning youth. He was out of sympathy with the eager + preacher, the joyous hearers. In their harmony he had no part. Was it for + this that he had forsaken his inheritance and narrowed his life to poverty + and hardship? What was it all worth? + </p> + <p> + The gracious prayers with which the young converts were blessed and + dismissed before the sacrament sounded hollow in his ears. Never had he + felt so utterly lonely as in that praying throng. He went out with his + companions like a man departing from a banquet where all but he had been + fed. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, Hermas,” they cried, as he turned from them at the door. But he + did not look back, nor wave his hand. He was already alone in his heart. + </p> + <p> + When he entered the broad Avenue of the Colonnades, the sun had already + topped the eastern hills, and the ruddy light was streaming through the + long double row of archways and over the pavements of crimson marble. But + Hermas turned his back to the morning, and walked with his shadow before + him. + </p> + <p> + The street began to swarm and whirl and quiver with the motley life of a + huge city: beggars and jugglers, dancers and musicians, gilded youths in + their chariots, and daughters of joy looking out from their windows, all + intoxicated with the mere delight of living and the gladness of a new day. + The pagan populace of Antioch—reckless, pleasure-loving, spendthrift—were + preparing for the Saturnalia. But all this Hermas had renounced. He cleft + his way through the crowd slowly, like a reluctant swimmer weary of + breasting the tide. + </p> + <p> + At the corner of the street where the narrow, populous Lane of the + Camel-drivers crossed the Colonnades, a storyteller had bewitched a circle + of people around him. It was the same old tale of love and adventure that + many generations have listened to; but the lively fancy of the hearers + rent it new interest, and the wit of the improviser drew forth sighs of + interest and shouts of laughter. + </p> + <p> + A yellow-haired girl on the edge of the throng turned, as Hermas passed, + and smiled in his face. She put out her hand and caught him by the sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” she said, “and laugh a bit with us. I know who you are—the + son of Demetrius. You must have bags of gold. Why do you look so black? + Love is alive yet.” + </p> + <p> + Hermas shook off her hand, but not ungently. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “You are mistaken in me. I am + poorer than you are.” + </p> + <p> + But as he passed on, he felt the warm touch of her fingers through the + cloth on his arm. It seemed as if she had plucked him by the heart. + </p> + <p> + He went out by the Western Gate, under the golden cherubim that the + Emperor Titus had stolen from the ruined Temple of Jerusalem and fixed + upon the arch of triumph. He turned to the left, and climbed the hill to + the road that led to the Grove of Daphne. + </p> + <p> + In all the world there was no other highway as beautiful. It wound for + five miles along the foot of the mountains, among gardens and villas, + plantations of myrtles and mulberries, with wide outlooks over the valley + of Orontes and the distant, shimmering sea. + </p> + <p> + The richest of all the dwellings was the House of the Golden Pillars, the + mansion of Demetrius. He had won the favor of the apostate Emperor Julian, + whose vain efforts to restore the worship of the heathen gods, some twenty + years ago, had opened an easy way to wealth and power for all who would + mock and oppose Christianity. Demetrius was not a sincere fanatic like his + royal master; but he was bitter enough in his professed scorn of the new + religion, to make him a favourite at the court where the old religion was + in fashion. He had reaped a rich reward of his policy, and a strange sense + of consistency made him more fiercely loyal to it than if it had been a + real faith. He was proud of being called “the friend of Julian”; and when + his son joined himself to the Christians, and acknowledged the unseen God, + it seemed like an insult to his father’s success. He drove the boy from + his door and disinherited him. + </p> + <p> + The glittering portico of the serene, haughty house, the repose of the + well-ordered garden, still blooming with belated flowers, seemed at once + to deride and to invite the young outcast plodding along the dusty road. + “This is your birthright,” whispered the clambering rose-trees by the + gate; and the closed portals of carven bronze said: “You have sold it for + a thought—a dream.”’ + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Hermas found the Grove of Daphne quite deserted. There was no sound in the + enchanted vale but the rustling of the light winds chasing each other + through the laurel thickets, and the babble of innumerable streams. + Memories of the days and nights of delicate pleasure that the grove had + often seen still haunted the bewildered paths and broken fountains. At the + foot of a rocky eminence, crowned with the ruins of Apollo’s temple, which + had been mysteriously destroyed by fire just after Julian had restored and + reconsecrated it, Hermas sat down beside a gushing spring, and gave + himself up to sadness. + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful the world would be, how joyful, how easy to live in, + without religion! These questions about unseen things, perhaps about + unreal things, these restraints and duties and sacrifices-if I were only + free from them all, and could only forget them all, then I could live my + life as I pleased, and be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said a quiet voice at his back. + </p> + <p> + He turned, and saw an old man with a long beard and a threadbare cloak + (the garb affected by the pagan philosophers) standing behind him and + smiling curiously. + </p> + <p> + “How is it that you answer that which has not been spoken?” said Hermas; + “and who are you that honour me with your company?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive the intrusion,” answered the stranger; “it is not ill meant. A + friendly interest is as good as an introduction.” + </p> + <p> + “But to what singular circumstance do I owe this interest?” + </p> + <p> + “To your face,” said the old man, with a courteous inclination. “Perhaps + also a little to the fact that I am the oldest inhabitant here, and feel + as if all visitors were my guests, in a way.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you, then, one of the keepers of the grove? And have you given up + your work with the trees to take a holiday as a philosopher? + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. The robe of philosophy is a mere affectation, I must confess. + I think little of it. My profession is the care of altars. In fact, I am + the solitary priest of Apollo whom the Emperor Julian found here when he + came to revive the worship of the grove, some twenty years ago. You have + heard of the incident?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hermas, beginning to be interested; “the whole city must have + heard of it, for it is still talked of. But surely it was a strange + sacrifice that you brought to celebrate the restoration of Apollo’s + temple?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the ancient goose?” said the old man laughing. “Well, perhaps it + was not precisely what the emperor expected. But it was all that I had, + and it seemed to me not inappropriate. You will agree to that if you are a + Christian, as I guess from your dress.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak lightly for a priest of Apollo.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as for that, I am no bigot. The priesthood is a professional matter, + and the name of Apollo is as good as any other. How many altars do you + think there have been in this grove?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Just four-and-twenty, including that of the martyr Babylas, whose +ruined chapel you see just beyond us. I have had something to do with +most of them in my time. They are transitory. They give employment to +care-takers for a while. But the thing that lasts, and the thing that +interests me, is the human life that plays around them. The game has +been going on for centuries. It still disports itself very pleasantly +on summer evenings through these shady walks. Believe me, for I know. +Daphne and Apollo are shadows. But the flying maidens and the pursuing +lovers, the music and the dances, these are realities. Life is a game, +and the world keeps it up merrily. But you? You are of a sad countenance +for one so young and so fair. Are you a loser in the game?” The words + a key fits the lock. He opened his heart to the old man, and told him +the story of his life: his luxurious boyhood in his father’s house; +the irresistible spell which compelled him to forsake it when he +heard John’s preaching of the new religion; his lonely year with the +anchorites among the mountains; the strict discipline in his teacher’s +house at Antioch; his weariness of duty, his distaste for poverty, his +discontent with worship. +</pre> + <p> + “And to-day,” said he, “I have been thinking that I am a fool. My life is + swept as bare as a hermit’s cell. There is nothing in it but a dream, a + thought of God, which does not satisfy me.” + </p> + <p> + The singular smile deepened on his companion’s face. “You are ready, + then,” he suggested, “to renounce your new religion and go back to that of + your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I renounce nothing, I accept nothing. I do not wish to think about + it. I only wish to live.” + </p> + <p> + “A very reasonable wish, and I think you are about to see its + accomplishment. Indeed, I may even say that I can put you in the way of + securing it. Do you believe in magic?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know whether I believe in anything. This is not a day on which I + care to make professions of faith. I believe in what I see. I want what + will give me pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the old man, soothingly, as he plucked a leaf from the + laurel-tree above them and dipped it in the spring, “let us dismiss the + riddles of belief. I like them as little as you do. You know this is a + Castalian fountain. The Emperor Hadrian once read his fortune here from a + leaf dipped in the water. Let us see what this leaf tells us. It is + already turning yellow. How do you read that?” + </p> + <p> + “Wealth,” said Hermas, laughing, as he looked at his mean garments. + </p> + <p> + “And here is a bud on the stem that seems to be swelling. What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasure,” answered Hermas, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “And here is a tracing of wreaths upon the surface. What do you make of + that?” + </p> + <p> + “What you will,” said Hermas, not even taking the trouble to look. + “Suppose we say success and fame?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the stranger; “it is all written here. I promise that you + shall enjoy it all. But you do not need to believe in my promise. I am not + in the habit of requiring faith of those whom I would serve. No such hard + conditions for me! There is only one thing that I ask. This is the season + that you Christians call the Christmas, and you have taken up the pagan + custom of exchanging gifts. Well, if I give to you, you must give to me. + It is a small thing, and really the thing you can best afford to part + with: a single word—the name of Him you profess to worship. Let me + take that word and all that belongs to it entirely out of your life, so + that you shall never hear it or speak it again. You will be richer without + it. I promise you everything, and this is all I ask in return. Do you + consent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I consent,” said Hermas, mocking. “If you can take your price, a + word, you can keep your promise, a dream.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger laid the long, cool, wet leaf softly across the young man’s + eyes. An icicle of pain darted through them; every nerve in his body was + drawn together there in a knot of agony. + </p> + <p> + Then all the tangle of pain seemed to be lifted out of him. A cool languor + of delight flowed back through every vein, and he sank into a profound + sleep. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + There is a slumber so deep that it annihilates time. It is like a fragment + of eternity. Beneath its enchantment of vacancy, a day seems like a + thousand years, and a thousand years might well pass as one day. + </p> + <p> + It was such a sleep that fell upon Hermas in the Grove of Daphne. An + immeasurable period, an interval of life so blank and empty that he could + not tell whether it was long or short, had passed over him when his senses + began to stir again. The setting sun was shooting arrows of gold under the + glossy laurel-leaves. He rose and stretched his arms, grasping a smooth + branch above him and shaking it, to make sure that he was alive. Then he + hurried back toward Antioch, treading lightly as if on air. + </p> + <p> + The ground seemed to spring beneath his feet. Already his life had + changed, he knew not how. Something that did not belong to him had dropped + away; he had returned to a former state of being. He felt as if anything + might happen to him, and he was ready for anything. He was a new man, yet + curiously familiar to himself—as if he had done with playing a + tiresome part and returned to his natural state. He was buoyant and free, + without a care, a doubt, a fear. + </p> + <p> + As he drew near to his father’s house he saw a confusion of servants in + the porch, and the old steward ran down to meet him at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, we have been seeking you everywhere. The master is at the point of + death, and has sent for you. Since the sixth hour he calls your name + continually. Come to him quickly, lord, for I fear the time is short.” + </p> + <p> + Hermas entered the house at once; nothing could amaze him to-day. His + father lay on an ivory couch in the inmost chamber, with shrunken face and + restless eyes, his lean fingers picking incessantly at the silken + coverlet. + </p> + <p> + “My son!” he murmured; “Hermas, my son! It is good that you have come back + to me. I have missed you. I was wrong to send you away. You shall never + leave me again. You are my son, my heir. I have changed everything. + Hermas, my son, come nearer—close beside me. Take my hand, my son!” + </p> + <p> + The young man obeyed, and, kneeling by the couch, gathered his father’s + cold, twitching fingers in his firm, warm grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Hermas, life is passing—long, rich, prosperous; the last sands, I + cannot stay them. My religion, a good policy—Julian was my friend. + But now he is gone—where? My soul is empty—nothing beyond—very + dark—I am afraid. But you know something better. You found something + that made you willing to give up your life for it—it, must have been + almost like dying—yet you were happy. What was it you found? See, I + am giving you everything. I have forgiven you. Now forgive me. Tell me, + what is it? Your secret, your faith—give it to me before I go.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of this broken pleading a strange passion of pity and love + took the young man by the throat. His voice shook a little as he answered + eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “Father, there is nothing to forgive. I am your son; I will gladly tell + you all that I know. I will give you the secret. Father, you must believe + with all your heart, and soul, and strength in—” + </p> + <p> + Where was the word—the word that he had been used to utter night and + morning, the word that had meant to him more than he had ever known? What + had become of it? + </p> + <p> + He groped for it in the dark room of his mind. He had thought he could lay + his hand upon it in a moment, but it was gone. Some one had taken it away. + Everything else was most clear to him: the terror of death; the lonely + soul appealing from his father’s eyes; the instant need of comfort and + help. But at the one point where he looked for help he could find nothing; + only an empty space. The word of hope had vanished. He felt for it blindly + and in desperate haste. + </p> + <p> + “Father, wait! I have forgotten something—it has slipped away from + me. I shall find it in a moment. There is hope—I will tell you + presently—oh, wait!” + </p> + <p> + The bony hand gripped his like a vice; the glazed eyes opened wider. “Tell + me,” whispered the old man; “tell me quickly, for I must go.” + </p> + <p> + The voice sank into a dull rattle. The fingers closed once more, and + relaxed. The light behind the eyes went out. + </p> + <p> + Hermas, the master of the House of the Golden Pillars, was keeping watch + by the dead. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + The break with the old life was as clean as if it had been cut with a + knife. Some faint image of a hermit’s cell, a bare lodging in a back + street of Antioch, a class-room full of earnest students, remained in + Hermas’ memory. Some dull echo of the voice of John the Presbyter, and the + measured sound of chanting, and the murmur of great congregations, still + lingered in his ears; but it was like something that had happened to + another person, something that he had read long ago, but of which he had + lost the meaning. + </p> + <p> + His new life was full and smooth and rich—too rich for any sense of + loss to make itself felt. There were a hundred affairs to busy him, and + the days ran swiftly by as if they were shod with winged sandals. + </p> + <p> + Nothing needed to be considered, prepared for, begun. Everything was ready + and waiting for him. All that he had to do was to go on. + </p> + <p> + The estate of Demetrius was even greater than the world had supposed. + There were fertile lands in Syria which the emperor had given him, + marble-quarries in Phrygia, and forests of valuable timber in Cilicia; the + vaults of the villa contained chests of gold and silver; the secret + cabinets in the master’s room were full of precious stones. The stewards + were diligent and faithful. The servants of the household rejoiced at the + young master’s return. His table was spread; the rose-garland of pleasure + was woven for his head; his cup was overflowing with the spicy wine of + power. + </p> + <p> + The period of mourning for his father came at a fortunate moment to + seclude and safeguard him from the storm of political troubles and + persecutions that fell upon Antioch after the insults offered by the + people to the imperial statues in the year 387. The friends of Demetrius, + prudent and conservative persons, gathered around Hermas and made him + welcome to their circle. Chief among them was Libanius, the sophist, his + nearest neighbour, whose daughter Athenais had been the playmate of Hermas + in the old days. + </p> + <p> + He had left her a child. He found her a beautiful woman. What + transformation is so magical, so charming, as this? To see the uncertain + lines of youth rounded into firmness and symmetry, to discover the + half-ripe, merry, changing face of the girl matured into perfect + loveliness, and looking at you with calm, clear, serious eyes, not + forgetting the past, but fully conscious of the changed present—this + is to behold a miracle in the flesh. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, these two years?” said Athenais, as they walked + together through the garden of lilies where they had so often played. + </p> + <p> + “In a land of tiresome dreams,” answered Hermas; “but you have wakened me, + and I am never going back again.” + </p> + <p> + It was not to be supposed that the sudden disappearance of Hermas from + among his former associates could long remain unnoticed. At first it was a + mystery. There was a fear, for two or three days, that he might be lost. + Some of his more intimate companions maintained that his devotion had led + him out into the desert to join the anchorites. But the news of his return + to the House of the Golden Pillars, and of his new life as its master, + filtered quickly through the gossip of the city. + </p> + <p> + Then the church was filled with dismay and grief and reproach. Messengers + and letters were sent to Hermas. They disturbed him a little, but they + took no hold upon him. It seemed to him as if the messengers spoke in a + strange language. As he read the letters there were words blotted out of + the writing which made the full sense unintelligible. + </p> + <p> + His old companions came to reprove him for leaving them, to warn him of + the peril of apostasy, to entreat him to return. It all sounded vague and + futile. They spoke as if he had betrayed or offended some one; but when + they came to name the object of his fear—the one whom he had + displeased, and to whom he should return—he heard nothing; there was + a blur of silence in their speech. The clock pointed to the hour, but the + bell did not strike. At last Hermas refused to see them any more. + </p> + <p> + One day John the Presbyter stood in the atrium. Hermas was entertaining + Libanius and Athenais in the banquet-hall. When the visit of the Presbyter + was announced, the young master loosed a collar of gold and jewels from + his neck, and gave it to his scribe. + </p> + <p> + “Take this to John of Antioch, and tell him it is a gift from his former + pupil—as a token of remembrance, or to spend for the poor of the + city. I will always send him what he wants, but it is idle for us to talk + together any more. I do not understand what he says. I have not gone to + the temple, nor offered sacrifice, nor denied his teaching. I have simply + forgotten. I do not think about those things any longer. I am only living. + A happy man wishes him all happiness and farewell.” + </p> + <p> + But John let the golden collar fall on the marble floor. “Tell your master + that we shall talk together again, in due time,” said he, as he passed + sadly out of the hall. + </p> + <p> + The love of Athenais and Hermas was like a tiny rivulet that sinks out of + sight in a cavern, but emerges again a bright and brimming stream. The + careless comradery of childhood was mysteriously changed into a complete + companionship. + </p> + <p> + When Athenais entered the House of the Golden Pillars as a bride, all the + music of life came with her. Hermas called the feast of her welcome “the + banquet of the full chord.” Day after day, night after night, week after + week, month after month, the bliss of the home unfolded like a rose of a + thousand leaves. When a child came to them, a strong, beautiful boy, + worthy to be the heir of such a house, the heart of the rose was filled + with overflowing fragrance. Happiness was heaped upon happiness. Every + wish brought its own accomplishment. Wealth, honour, beauty, peace, love—it + was an abundance of felicity so great that the soul of Hermas could hardly + contain it. + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough, it began to press upon him, to trouble him with the very + excess of joy. He felt as if there were something yet needed to complete + and secure it all. There was an urgency within him, a longing to find some + outlet for his feelings, he knew not how—some expression and + culmination of his happiness, he knew not what. + </p> + <p> + Under his joyous demeanour a secret fire of restlessness began to burn—an + expectancy of something yet to come which should put the touch of + perfection on his life. He spoke of it to Athenais, as they sat together, + one summer evening, in a bower of jasmine, with their boy playing at their + feet. There had been music in the garden; but now the singers and + lute-players had withdrawn, leaving the master and mistress alone in the + lingering twilight, tremulous with inarticulate melody of unseen birds. + There was a secret voice in the hour seeking vainly for utterance a word + waiting to be spoken. + </p> + <p> + “How deep is our happiness, my beloved!” said Hermas; “deeper than the sea + that slumbers yonder, below the city. And yet it is not quite full and + perfect. There is a depth of joy that we have not yet known—a repose + of happiness that is still beyond us. What is it? I have no superstitions, + like the king who cast his signet-ring into the sea because he dreaded + that some secret vengeance would fall on his unbroken good fortune. That + was an idle terror. But there is something that oppresses me like an + invisible burden. There is something still undone, unspoken, unfelt—something + that we need to complete everything. Have you not felt it, too? Can you + not lead me to it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, lifting her eyes to his face; “I, too, have felt it, + Hermas, this burden, this need, this unsatisfied longing. I think I know + what it means. It is gratitude—the language of the heart, the music + of happiness. There is no perfect joy without gratitude. But we have never + learned it, and the want of it troubles us. It is like being dumb with a + heart full of love. We must find the word for it, and say it together. + Then we shall be perfectly joined in perfect joy. Come, my dear lord, let + us take the boy with us, and give thanks.” + </p> + <p> + Hermas lifted the child in his arms, and turned with Athenais into the + depth of the garden. There was a dismantled shrine of some forgotten + fashion of worship half-hidden among the luxuriant flowers. A fallen image + lay beside it, face downward in the grass. They stood there, hand in hand, + the boy drowsily resting on his father’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Silently the roseate light caressed the tall spires of the cypress-trees; + silently the shadows gathered at their feet; silently the tranquil stars + looked out from the deepening arch of heaven. The very breath of being + paused. It was the hour of culmination, the supreme moment of felicity + waiting for its crown. The tones of Hermas were clear and low as he began, + half-speaking and half-chanting, in the rhythm of an ancient song: + </p> + <p> + “Fair is the world, the sea, the sky, the double kingdom of day and night, + in the glow of morning, in the shadow of evening, and under the dripping + light of stars. + </p> + <p> + “Fairer still is life in our breasts, with its manifold music and meaning, + with its wonder of seeing and hearing and feeling and knowing and being. + </p> + <p> + “Fairer and still more fair is love, that draws us together, mingles our + lives in its flow, and bears them along like a river, strong and clear and + swift, reflecting the stars in its bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Wide is our world; we are rich; we have all things. Life is abundant + within us—a measureless deep. Deepest of all is our love, and it + longs to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Come, thou final word; Come, thou crown of speech! Come, thou charm of + peace! Open the gates of our hearts. Lift the weight of our joy and bear + it upward. + </p> + <p> + “For all good gifts, for all perfect gifts, for love, for life, for the + world, we praise, we bless, we thank—” + </p> + <p> + As a soaring bird, struck by an arrow, falls headlong from the sky, so the + song of Hermas fell. At the end of his flight of gratitude there was + nothing—a blank, a hollow space. + </p> + <p> + He looked for a face, and saw a void. He sought for a hand, and clasped + vacancy. His heart was throbbing and swelling with passion; the bell swung + to and fro within him, beating from side to side as if it would burst; but + not a single note came from it. All the fulness of his feeling, that had + risen upward like a fountain, fell back from the empty sky, as cold as + snow, as hard as hail, frozen and dead. There was no meaning in his + happiness. No one had sent it to him. There was no one to thank for it. + His felicity was a closed circle, a wall of ice. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go back,” he said sadly to Athenais; “the child is heavy upon my + shoulder. We will lay him to sleep, and go into the library. The air grows + chilly. We were mistaken. The gratitude of life is only a dream. There is + no one to thank.” + </p> + <p> + And in the garden it was already night. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + No outward change came to the House of the Golden Pillars. Everything + moved as smoothly, as delicately, as prosperously, as before. But inwardly + there was a subtle, inexplicable transformation. A vague discontent, a + final and inevitable sense of incompleteness, overshadowed existence from + that night when Hermas realised that his joy could never go beyond itself. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the old man whom he had seen in the Grove of Daphne, but + never since, appeared mysteriously at the door of the house, as if he had + been sent for, and entered like an invited guest. + </p> + <p> + Hermas could not but make him welcome, and at first he tried to regard him + with reverence and affection as the one through whom fortune had come. But + it was impossible. There was a chill in the inscrutable smile of Marcion, + as he called himself, that seemed to mock at reverence. He was in the + house as one watching a strange experiment—tranquil, interested, + ready to supply anything that might be needed for its completion, but + thoroughly indifferent to the feelings of the subject; an anatomist of + life, looking curiously to see how long it would continue, and how it + would act, after the heart had been removed. + </p> + <p> + In his presence Hermas was conscious of a certain irritation, a resentful + anger against the calm, frigid scrutiny of the eyes that followed him + everywhere, like a pair of spies, peering out over the smiling mouth and + the long white beard. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look at me so curiously?” asked Hermas, one morning, as they + sat together in the library. “Do you see anything strange in me?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Marcion; “something familiar.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “A singular likeness to a discontented young man that I met some years ago + in the Grove of Daphne.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should that interest you? Surely it was to be expected.” + </p> + <p> + “A thing that we expect often surprises us when we see it. Besides, my + curiosity is piqued. I suspect you of keeping a secret from me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are jesting with me. There is nothing in my life that you do not + know. What is the secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more than the wish to have one. You are growing tired of your + bargain. The play wearies you. That is foolish. Do you want to try a new + part?” + </p> + <p> + The question was like a mirror upon which one comes suddenly in a + half-lighted room. A quick illumination falls on it, and the passer-by is + startled by the look of his own face. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said Hermas. “I am tired. We have been going on stupidly + in this house, as if nothing were possible but what my father had done + before me. There is nothing original in being rich, and well-fed, and + well-dressed. Thousands of men have tried it, and have not been satisfied. + Let us do something new. Let us make a mark in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well said,” nodded the old man; “you are speaking again like a man + after my own heart. There is no folly but the loss of an opportunity to + enjoy a new sensation.” + </p> + <p> + From that day Hermas seemed to be possessed with a perpetual haste, an + uneasiness that left him no repose. The summit of life had been attained, + the highest possible point of felicity. Henceforward the course could only + be at a level—perhaps downward. It might be brief; at the best it + could not be very long. It was madness to lose a day, an hour. That would + be the only fatal mistake: to forfeit anything of the bargain that he had + made. He would have it, and hold it, and enjoy it all to the full. The + world might have nothing better to give than it had already given; but + surely it had many things that were new, and Marcion should help him to + find them. + </p> + <p> + Under his learned counsel the House of the Golden Pillars took on a new + magnificence. Artists were brought from Corinth and Rome and Alexandria to + adorn it with splendour. Its fame glittered around the world. Banquets of + incredible luxury drew the most celebrated guests into its triclinium, and + filled them with envious admiration. The bees swarmed and buzzed about the + golden hive. The human insects, gorgeous moths of pleasure and greedy + flies of appetite, parasites and flatterers and crowds of inquisitive + idlers, danced and fluttered in the dazzling light that surrounded Hermas. + </p> + <p> + Everything that he touched prospered. He bought a tract of land in the + Caucasus, and emeralds were discovered among the mountains. He sent a + fleet of wheat-ships to Italy, and the price of grain doubled while it was + on the way. He sought political favour with the emperor, and was rewarded + with the governorship of the city. His name was a word to conjure with. + </p> + <p> + The beauty of Athenais lost nothing with the passing seasons, but grew + more perfect, even under the inexplicable shade of dissatisfaction that + sometimes veiled it. “Fair as the wife of Hermas” was a proverb in + Antioch; and soon men began to add to it, “Beautiful as the son of + Hermas”; for the child developed swiftly in that favouring clime. At nine + years of age he was straight and strong, firm of limb and clear of eye. + His brown head was on a level with his father’s heart. He was the jewel of + the House of the Golden Pillars; the pride of Hermas, the new Fortunatus. + </p> + <p> + That year another drop of success fell into his brimming cup. His black + Numidian horses, which he had been training for the world-renowned + chariot-races of Antioch, won the victory over a score of rivals. Hermas + received the prize carelessly from the judge’s hands, and turned to drive + once more around the circus, to show himself to the people. He lifted the + eager boy into the chariot beside him to share his triumph. + </p> + <p> + Here, indeed, was the glory of his life—this matchless son, his + brighter counterpart carved in breathing ivory, touching his arm, and + balancing himself proudly on the swaying floor of the chariot. As the + horses pranced around the ring, a great shout of applause filled the + amphitheatre, and thousands of spectators waved their salutations of + praise: “Hail, fortunate Hermas, master of success! Hail, little Hermas, + prince of good luck!” + </p> + <p> + The sudden tempest of acclamation, the swift fluttering of innumerable + garments in the air, startled the horses. They dashed violently forward, + and plunged upon the bits. The left rein broke. They swerved to the right, + swinging the chariot sideways with a grating noise, and dashing it against + the stone parapet of the arena. In an instant the wheel was shattered. The + axle struck the ground, and the chariot was dragged onward, rocking and + staggering. + </p> + <p> + By a strenuous effort Hermas kept his place on the frail platform, + clinging to the unbroken rein. But the boy was tossed lightly from his + side at the first shock. His head struck the wall. And when Hermas turned + to look for him, he was lying like a broken flower on the sand. + </p> + <p> + VI + </p> + <p> + They carried the boy in a litter to the House of the Golden Pillars, + summoning the most skilful physician of Antioch to attend him. For hours + the child was as quiet as death. Hermas watched the white eyelids, folded + close like lily-buds at night, even as one watches for the morning. At + last they opened; but the fire of fever was burning in the eyes, and the + lips were moving in a wild delirium. + </p> + <p> + Hour after hour that sweet childish voice rang through the halls and + chambers of the splendid, helpless house, now rising in shrill calls of + distress and senseless laughter, now sinking in weariness and dull + moaning. The stars shone and faded; the sun rose and set; the roses + bloomed and fell in the garden; the birds sang and slept among the + jasmine-bowers. But in the heart of Hermas there was no song, no bloom, no + light—only speechless anguish, and a certain fearful looking-for of + desolation. + </p> + <p> + He was like a man in a nightmare. He saw the shapeless terror that was + moving toward him, but he was impotent to stay or to escape it. He had + done all that he could. There was nothing left but to wait. + </p> + <p> + He paced to and fro, now hurrying to the boy’s bed as if he could not bear + to be away from it, now turning back as if he could not endure to be near + it. The people of the house, even Athenais, feared to speak to him, there + was something so vacant and desperate in his face. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall on the second of those eternal days he shut himself in the + library. The unfilled lamp had gone out, leaving a trail of smoke in the + air. The sprigs of mignonette and rosemary, with which the room was + sprinkled every day, were unrenewed, and scented the gloom with close + odours of decay. A costly manuscript of Theocritus was tumbled in disorder + on the floor. Hermas sank into a chair like a man in whom the very spring + of being is broken. Through the darkness some one drew near. He did not + even lift his head. A hand touched him; a soft arm was laid over his + shoulders. It was Athenais, kneeling beside him and speaking very low: + </p> + <p> + “Hermas—it is almost over—the child! His voice grows weaker + hour by hour. He moans and calls for some one to help him; then he laughs. + It breaks my heart. He has just fallen asleep. The moon is rising now. + Unless a change comes he cannot last till sunrise. Is there nothing we can + do? Is there no power that can save him? Is there no one to pity us and + spare us? Let us call, let us beg for compassion and help; let us pray for + his life!” + </p> + <p> + Yes; this was what he wanted—this was the only thing that could + bring relief: to pray; to pour out his sorrow somewhere; to find a greater + strength than his own and cling to it and plead for mercy and help. To + leave this undone was to be false to his manhood; it was to be no better + than the dumb beasts when their young perish. How could he let his boy + suffer and die, without an effort, a cry, a prayer? + </p> + <p> + He sank on his knees beside Athenais. + </p> + <p> + “Out of the depths—out of the depths we call for pity. The light of + our eyes is fading—the child is dying. Oh, the child, the child! + Spare the child’s life, thou merciful—” + </p> + <p> + Not a word; only that deathly blank. The hands of Hermas, stretched out in + supplication, touched the marble table. He felt the cool hardness of the + polished stone beneath his fingers. A roll of papyrus, dislodged by his + touch, fell rustling to the floor. Through the open door, faint and far + off, came the footsteps of the servants, moving cautiously. The heart of + Hermas was like a lump of ice in his bosom. He rose slowly to his feet, + lifting Athenais with him. + </p> + <p> + “It is in vain,” he said; “there is nothing for us to do. Long ago I knew + something. I think it would have helped us. But I have forgotten it. It is + all gone. But I would give all that I have, if I could bring it back again + now, at this hour, in this time of our bitter trouble.” + </p> + <p> + A slave entered the room while he was speaking, and approached + hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Master,” he said, “John of Antioch, whom we were forbidden to admit to + the house, has come again. He would take no denial. Even now he waits in + the peristyle; and the old man Marcion is with him, seeking to turn him + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Hermas to his wife, “let us go to him.” + </p> + <p> + In the central hall the two men were standing; Marcion, with disdainful + eyes and sneering lips, taunting the unbidden guest; John, silent, quiet, + patient, while the wondering slaves looked on in dismay. He lifted his + searching gaze to the haggard face of Hermas. + </p> + <p> + “My son, I knew that I should see you again, even though you did not send + for me. I have come to you because I have heard that you are in trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” answered Hermas, passionately; “we are in trouble, desperate + trouble, trouble accursed. Our child is dying. We are poor, we are + destitute, we are afflicted. In all this house, in all the world, there is + no one that can help us. I knew something long ago, when I was with you,—a + word, a name,—in which we might have found hope. But I have lost it. + I gave it to this man. He has taken it away from me forever.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to Marcion. The old man’s lips curled scornfully. “A word, a + name!” he sneered. “What is that, O most wise man and holy Presbyter? A + thing of air, a thing that men make to describe their own dreams and + fancies. Who would go about to rob any one of such a thing as that? It is + a prize that only a fool would think of taking. Besides, the young man + parted with it of his own free will. He bargained with me cleverly. I + promised him wealth and pleasure and fame. What did he give in return? An + empty name, which was a burden—” + </p> + <p> + “Servant of demons, be still!” The voice of John rang clear, like a + trumpet, through the hall. “There is a name which none shall dare to take + in vain. There is a name which none can lose without being lost. There is + a name at which the devils tremble. Go quickly, before I speak it!” + </p> + <p> + Marcion shrank into the shadow of one of the pillars. A lamp near him + tottered on its pedestal and fell with a crash. In the confusion he + vanished, as noiselessly as a shade. + </p> + <p> + John turned to Hermas, and his tone softened as he said: “My son, you have + sinned deeper than you know. The word with which you parted so lightly is + the keyword of all life. Without it the world has no meaning, existence no + peace, death no refuge. It is the word that purifies love, and comforts + grief, and keeps hope alive forever. It is the most precious word that + ever ear has heard, or mind has known, or heart has conceived. It is the + name of Him who has given us life and breath and all things richly to + enjoy; the name of Him who, though we may forget Him, never forgets us; + the name of Him who pities us as you pity your suffering child; the name + of Him who, though we wander far from Him, seeks us in the wilderness, and + sent His Son, even as His Son has sent me this night, to breathe again + that forgotten name in the heart that is perishing without it. Listen, my + son, listen with all your soul to the blessed name of God our Father.” + </p> + <p> + The cold agony in the breast of Hermas dissolved like a fragment of ice + that melts in the summer sea. A sense of sweet release spread through him + from head to foot. The lost was found. The dew of peace fell on his + parched soul, and the withering flower of human love raised its head + again. He stood upright, and lifted his hands high toward heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord! O my God, be merciful + to me, for my soul trusteth in Thee. My God, Thou hast given; take not Thy + gift away from me, O my God! Spare the life of this my child, O Thou God, + my Father, my Father!” + </p> + <p> + A deep hush followed the cry. “Listen!” whispered Athenais, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + Was it an echo? It could not be, for it came again—the voice of the + child, clear and low, waking from sleep, and calling: “Father!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The day before Christmas, in the year of our Lord 722. + </p> + <p> + Broad snow-meadows glistening white along the banks of the river Moselle; + steep hill-sides blooming with mystic forget-me-not where the glow of the + setting sun cast long shadows down their eastern slope; an arch of + clearest, deepest gentian bending overhead; in the centre of the aerial + garden the walls of the cloister of Pfalzel, steel-blue to the east, + violet to the west; silence over all,—a gentle, eager, conscious + stillness, diffused through the air, as if earth and sky were hushing + themselves to hear the voice of the river faintly murmuring down the + valley. + </p> + <p> + In the cloister, too, there was silence at the sunset hour. All day long + there had been a strange and joyful stir among the nuns. A breeze of + curiosity and excitement had swept along the corridors and through every + quiet cell. A famous visitor had come to the convent. + </p> + <p> + It was Winfried of England, whose name in the Roman tongue was Boniface, + and whom men called the Apostle of Germany. A great preacher; a wonderful + scholar; but, more than all, a daring traveller, a venturesome pilgrim, a + priest of romance. + </p> + <p> + He had left his home and his fair estate in Wessex; he would not stay in + the rich monastery of Nutescelle, even though they had chosen him as the + abbot; he had refused a bishopric at the court of King Karl. Nothing would + content him but to go out into the wild woods and preach to the heathen. + </p> + <p> + Through the forests of Hesse and Thuringia, and along the borders of + Saxony, he had wandered for years, with a handful of companions, sleeping + under the trees, crossing mountains and marshes, now here, now there, + never satisfied with ease and comfort, always in love with hardship and + danger. + </p> + <p> + What a man he was! Fair and slight, but straight as a spear and strong as + an oaken staff. His face was still young; the smooth skin was bronzed by + wind and sun. His gray eyes, clean and kind, flashed like fire when he + spoke of his adventures, and of the evil deeds of the false priests with + whom he contended. + </p> + <p> + What tales he had told that day! Not of miracles wrought by sacred relics; + not of courts and councils and splendid cathedrals; though he knew much of + these things. But to-day he had spoken of long journeyings by sea and + land; of perils by fire and flood; of wolves and bears, and fierce + snowstorms, and black nights in the lonely forest; of dark altars of + heathen gods, and weird, bloody sacrifices, and narrow escapes from + murderous bands of wandering savages. + </p> + <p> + The little novices had gathered around him, and their faces had grown pale + and their eyes bright as they listened with parted lips, entranced in + admiration, twining their arms about one another’s shoulders and holding + closely together, half in fear, half in delight. The older nuns had turned + from their tasks and paused, in passing by, to bear the pilgrim’s story. + Too well they knew the truth of what he spoke. Many a one among them had + seen the smoke rising from the ruins of her father’s roof. Many a one had + a brother far away in the wild country to whom her heart went out night + and day, wondering if he were still among the living. + </p> + <p> + But now the excitements of that wonderful day were over; the hour of the + evening meal had come; the inmates of the cloister were assembled in the + refectory. + </p> + <p> + On the dais sat the stately Abbess Addula, daughter of King Dagobert, + looking a princess indeed, in her purple tunic, with the hood and cuffs of + her long white robe trimmed with ermine, and a snowy veil resting like a + crown on her silver hair. At her right hand was the honoured guest, and at + her left hand her grandson, the young Prince Gregor, a big, manly boy, + just returned from school. + </p> + <p> + The long, shadowy hall, with its dark-brown rafters and beams; the double + row of nuns, with their pure veils and fair faces; the ruddy glow of the + slanting sunbeams striking upward through the tops of the windows and + painting a pink glow high up on the walls,—it was all as beautiful + as a picture, and as silent. For this was the rule of the cloister, that + at the table all should sit in stillness for a little while, and then one + should read aloud, while the rest listened. + </p> + <p> + “It is the turn of my grandson to read to-day,” said the abbess to + Winfried; “we shall see how much he has learned in the school. Read, + Gregor; the place in the book is marked.” + </p> + <p> + The lad rose from his seat and turned the pages of the manuscript. It was + a copy of Jerome’s version of the Scriptures in Latin, and the marked + place was in the letter of St. Paul to the Ephesians,—the passage + where he describes the preparation of the Christian as a warrior arming + for battle. The young voice rang out clearly, rolling the sonorous words, + without slip or stumbling, to the end of the chapter. + </p> + <p> + Winfried listened smiling. “That was bravely read, my son,” said he, as + the reader paused. “Understandest thou what thou readest?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, father,” answered the boy; “it was taught me by the masters at + Treves; and we have read this epistle from beginning to end, so that I + almost know it by heart.” + </p> + <p> + Then he began to repeat the passage, turning away from the page as if to + show his skill. + </p> + <p> + But Winfried stopped him with a friendly lifting of the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Not so, my son; that was not my meaning. When we pray, we speak to God. + When we read, God speaks to us. I ask whether thou hast heard what He has + said to thee in the common speech. Come, give us again the message of the + warrior and his armour and his battle, in the mother-tongue, so that all + can understand it.” + </p> + <p> + The boy hesitated, blushed, stammered; then he came around to Winfried’s + seat, bringing the book. “Take the book, my father,” he cried, “and read + it for me. I cannot see the meaning plain, though I love the sound of the + words. Religion I know, and the doctrines of our faith, and the life of + priests and nuns in the cloister, for which my grandmother designs me, + though it likes me little. And fighting I know, and the life of warriors + and heroes, for I have read of it in Virgil and the ancients, and heard a + bit from the soldiers at Treves; and I would fain taste more of it, for it + likes me much. But how the two lives fit together, or what need there is + of armour for a clerk in holy orders, I can never see. Tell me the + meaning, for if there is a man in all the world that knows it, I am sure + it is thou.” + </p> + <p> + So Winfried took the book and closed it, clasping the boy’s hand with his + own. + </p> + <p> + “Let us first dismiss the others to their vespers,” said he, “lest they + should be weary.” + </p> + <p> + A sign from the abbess; a chanted benediction; a murmuring of sweet voices + and a soft rustling of many feet over the rushes on the floor; the gentle + tide of noise flowed out through the doors and ebbed away down the + corridors; the three at the head of the table were left alone in the + darkening room. + </p> + <p> + Then Winfried began to translate the parable of the soldier into the + realities of life. + </p> + <p> + At every turn he knew how to flash a new light into the picture out of his + own experience. He spoke of the combat with self, and of the wrestling + with dark spirits in solitude. He spoke of the demons that men had + worshipped for centuries in the wilderness, and whose malice they invoked + against the stranger who ventured into the gloomy forest. Gods, they + called them, and told weird tales of their dwelling among the impenetrable + branches of the oldest trees and in the caverns of the shaggy hills; of + their riding on the wind-horses and hurling spears of lightning against + their foes. Gods they were not, but foul spirits of the air, rulers of the + darkness. Was there not glory and honour in fighting them, in daring their + anger under the shield of faith, in putting them to flight with the sword + of truth? What better adventure could a brave man ask than to go forth + against them, and wrestle with them, and conquer them? + </p> + <p> + “Look you, my friends,” said Winfried, “how sweet and peaceful is this + convent to-night! It is a garden full of flowers in the heart of winter; a + nest among the branches of a great tree shaken by the winds; a still haven + on the edge of a tempestuous sea. And this is what religion means for + those who are chosen and called to quietude and prayer and meditation. + </p> + <p> + “But out yonder in the wide forest, who knows what storms are raving + to-night in the hearts of men, though all the woods are still? who knows + what haunts of wrath and cruelty are closed tonight against the advent of + the Prince of Peace? And shall I tell you what religion means to those who + are called and chosen to dare, and to fight, and to conquer the world for + Christ? It means to go against the strongholds of the adversary. It means + to struggle to win an entrance for the Master everywhere. What helmet is + strong enough for this strife save the helmet of salvation? What + breastplate can guard a man against these fiery darts but the breastplate + of righteousness? What shoes can stand the wear of these journeys but the + preparation of the gospel of peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Shoes?” he cried again, and laughed as if a sudden thought had struck + him. He thrust out his foot, covered with a heavy cowhide boot, laced high + about his leg with thongs of skin. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,—how a fighting man of the cross is shod! I have seen the + boots of the Bishop of Tours,—white kid, broidered with silk; a day + in the bogs would tear them to shreds. I have seen the sandals that the + monks use on the highroads,—yes, and worn them; ten pair of them + have I worn out and thrown away in a single journey. Now I shoe my feet + with the toughest hides, hard as iron; no rock can cut them, no branches + can tear them. Yet more than one pair of these have I outworn, and many + more shall I outwear ere my journeys are ended. And I think, if God is + gracious to me, that I shall die wearing them. Better so than in a soft + bed with silken coverings. The boots of a warrior, a hunter, a woodsman,—these + are my preparation of the gospel of peace. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Gregor,” he said, laying his brown hand on the youth’s shoulder, + “come, wear the forester’s boots with me. This is the life to which we are + called. Be strong in the Lord, a hunter of the demons, a subduer of the + wilderness, a woodsman of the faith. Come.” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s eyes sparkled. He turned to his grandmother. She shook her head + vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, father,” she said, “draw not the lad away from my side with these + wild words. I need him to help me with my labours, to cheer my old age.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you need him more than the Master does?” asked Winfried; “and will you + take the wood that is fit for a bow to make a distaff?” + </p> + <p> + “But I fear for the child. Thy life is too hard for him. He will perish + with hunger in the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Once,” said Winfried, smiling, “we were camped on the bank of the river + Ohru. The table was set for the morning meal, but my comrades cried that + it was empty; the provisions were exhausted; we must go without breakfast, + and perhaps starve before we could escape from the wilderness. While they + complained, a fish-hawk flew up from the river with flapping wings, and + let fall a great pike in the midst of the camp. There was food enough and + to spare! Never have I seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging + bread.” + </p> + <p> + “But the fierce pagans of the forest,” cried the abbess,—“they may + pierce the boy with their arrows, or dash out his brains with their axes. + He is but a child, too young for the danger and the strife.” + </p> + <p> + “A child in years,” replied Winfried, “but a man in spirit. And if the + hero fall early in the battle, he wears the brighter crown, not a leaf + withered, not a flower fallen.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The aged princess trembled a little. She drew Gregor close to her side, +and laid her hand gently on his brown hair. “I am not sure that he wa + there is no horse in the stable to give him, now, and he cannot go as +befits the grandson of a king.” + </pre> + <p> + Gregor looked straight into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Grandmother,” said he, “dear grandmother, if thou wilt not give me a + horse to ride with this man of God, I will go with him afoot.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Two years had passed since that Christmas-eve in the cloister of Pfalzel. + A little company of pilgrims, less than a score of men, were travelling + slowly northward through the wide forest that rolled over the hills of + central Germany. + </p> + <p> + At the head of the band marched Winfried, clad in a tunic of fur, with his + long black robe girt high above his waist, so that it might not hinder his + stride. His hunter’s boots were crusted with snow. Drops of ice sparkled + like jewels along the thongs that bound his legs. There were no other + ornaments of his dress except the bishop’s cross hanging on his breast, + and the silver clasp that fastened his cloak about his neck. He carried a + strong, tall staff in his hand, fashioned at the top into the form of a + cross. + </p> + <p> + Close beside him, keeping step like a familiar comrade, was the young + Prince Gregor. Long marches through the wilderness had stretched his legs + and broadened his back, and made a man of him in stature as well as in + spirit. His jacket and cap were of wolf-skin, and on his shoulder he + carried an axe, with broad, shining blade. He was a mighty woodsman now, + and could make a spray of chips fly around him as he hewed his way through + the trunk of a pine-tree. + </p> + <p> + Behind these leaders followed a pair of teamsters, guiding a rude sledge, + loaded with food and the equipage of the camp, and drawn by two big, + shaggy horses, blowing thick clouds of steam from their frosty nostrils. + Tiny icicles hung from the hairs on their lips. Their flanks were smoking. + They sank above the fetlocks at every step in the soft snow. + </p> + <p> + Last of all came the rear guard, armed with bows and javelins. It was no + child’s play, in those days, to cross Europe afoot. + </p> + <p> + The weird woodland, sombre and illimitable, covered hill and vale, + table-land and mountain-peak. There were wide moors where the wolves + hunted in packs as if the devil drove them, and tangled thickets where the + lynx and the boar made their lairs. Fierce bears lurked among the rocky + passes, and had not yet learned to fear the face of man. The gloomy + recesses of the forest gave shelter to inhabitants who were still more + cruel and dangerous than beasts of prey,—outlaws and sturdy robbers + and mad were-wolves and bands of wandering pillagers. + </p> + <p> + The pilgrim who would pass from the mouth of the Tiber to the mouth of the + Rhine must trust in God and keep his arrows loose in the quiver. + </p> + <p> + The travellers were surrounded by an ocean of trees, so vast, so full of + endless billows, that it seemed to be pressing on every side to overwhelm + them. Gnarled oaks, with branches twisted and knotted as if in rage, rose + in groves like tidal waves. Smooth forests of beech-trees, round and gray, + swept over the knolls and slopes of land in a mighty ground-swell. But + most of all, the multitude of pines and firs, innumerable and monotonous, + with straight, stark trunks, and branches woven together in an unbroken + flood of darkest green, crowded through the valleys and over the hills, + rising on the highest ridges into ragged crests, like the foaming edge of + breakers. + </p> + <p> + Through this sea of shadows ran a narrow stream of shining whiteness,—an + ancient Roman road, covered with snow. It was as if some great ship had + ploughed through the green ocean long ago, and left behind it a thick, + smooth wake of foam. Along this open track the travellers held their way,—heavily, + for the drifts were deep; warily, for the hard winter had driven many + packs of wolves down from the moors. + </p> + <p> + The steps of the pilgrims were noiseless; but the sledges creaked over the + dry snow, and the panting of the horses throbbed through the still air. + The pale-blue shadows on the western side of the road grew longer. The + sun, declining through its shallow arch, dropped behind the tree-tops. + Darkness followed swiftly, as if it had been a bird of prey waiting for + this sign to swoop down upon the world. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Gregor to the leader, “surely this day’s march is done. It + is time to rest, and eat, and sleep. If we press onward now, we cannot see + our steps; and will not that be against the word of the psalmist David, + who bids us not to put confidence in the legs of a man?” + </p> + <p> + Winfried laughed. “Nay, my son Gregor,” said he, “thou hast tripped, even + now, upon thy text. For David said only, ‘I take no pleasure in the legs + of a man.’ And so say I, for I am not minded to spare thy legs or mine, + until we come farther on our way, and do what must be done this night. + Draw thy belt tighter, my son, and hew me out this tree that is fallen + across the road, for our campground is not here.” + </p> + <p> + The youth obeyed; two of the foresters sprang to help him; and while the + soft fir-wood yielded to the stroke of the axes, and the snow flew from + the bending branches, Winfried turned and spoke to his followers in a + cheerful voice, that refreshed them like wine. + </p> + <p> + “Courage, brothers, and forward yet a little! The moon will light us + presently, and the path is plain. Well know I that the journey is weary; + and my own heart wearies also for the home in England, where those I love + are keeping feast this Christmas-eve. But we have work to do before we + feast to-night. For this is the Yuletide, and the heathen people of the + forest are gathered at the thunder-oak of Geismar to worship their god, + Thor. Strange things will be seen there, and deeds which make the soul + black. But we are sent to lighten their darkness; and we will teach our + kinsmen to keep a Christmas with us such as the woodland has never known. + Forward, then, and stiffen up the feeble knees!” + </p> + <p> + A murmur of assent came from the men. Even the horses seemed to take fresh + heart. They flattened their backs to draw the heavy loads, and blew the + frost from their nostrils as they pushed ahead. + </p> + <p> + The night grew broader and less oppressive. A gate of brightness was + opened secretly somewhere in the sky. Higher and higher swelled the clear + moon-flood, until it poured over the eastern wall of forest into the road. + A drove of wolves howled faintly in the distance, but they were receding, + and the sound soon died away. The stars sparkled merrily through the + stringent air; the small, round moon shone like silver; little breaths of + dreaming wind wandered across the pointed fir-tops, as the pilgrims toiled + bravely onward, following their clew of light through a labyrinth of + darkness. + </p> + <p> + After a while the road began to open out a little. There were spaces of + meadow-land, fringed with alders, behind which a boisterous river ran + clashing through spears of ice. + </p> + <p> + Rude houses of hewn logs appeared in the openings, each one casting a + patch of inky shadow upon the snow. Then the travellers passed a larger + group of dwellings, all silent and unlighted; and beyond, they saw a great + house, with many outbuildings and inclosed courtyards, from which the + hounds bayed furiously, and a noise of stamping horses came from the + stalls. But there was no other sound of life. The fields around lay naked + to the moon. They saw no man, except that once, on a path that skirted the + farther edge of a meadow, three dark figures passed them, running very + swiftly. + </p> + <p> + Then the road plunged again into a dense thicket, traversed it, and + climbing to the left, emerged suddenly upon a glade, round and level + except at the northern side, where a hillock was crowned with a huge + oak-tree. It towered above the heath, a giant with contorted arms, + beckoning to the host of lesser trees. “Here,” cried Winfried, as his eyes + flashed and his hand lifted his heavy staff, “here is the Thunder-oak; and + here the cross of Christ shall break the hammer of the false god Thor.” + </p> + <p> + Withered leaves still clung to the branches of the oak: torn and faded + banners of the departed summer. The bright crimson of autumn had long + since disappeared, bleached away by the storms and the cold. But to-night + these tattered remnants of glory were red again: ancient bloodstains + against the dark-blue sky. For an immense fire had been kindled in front + of the tree. Tongues of ruddy flame, fountains of ruby sparks, ascended + through the spreading limbs and flung a fierce illumination upward and + around. The pale, pure moonlight that bathed the surrounding forests was + quenched and eclipsed here. Not a beam of it sifted through the branches + of the oak. It stood like a pillar of cloud between the still light of + heaven and the crackling, flashing fire of earth. + </p> + <p> + But the fire itself was invisible to Winfried and his companions. A great + throng of people were gathered around it in a half-circle, their backs to + the open glade, their faces toward the oak. Seen against that glowing + background, it was but the silhouette of a crowd, vague, black, formless, + mysterious. + </p> + <p> + The travellers paused for a moment at the edge of the thicket, and took + counsel together. + </p> + <p> + “It is the assembly of the tribe,” said one of the foresters, “the great + night of the council. I heard of it three days ago, as we passed through + one of the villages. All who swear by the old gods have been summoned. + They will sacrifice a steed to the god of war, and drink blood, and eat + horse-flesh to make them strong. It will be at the peril of our lives if + we approach them. At least we must hide the cross, if we would escape + death.” + </p> + <p> + “Hide me no cross,” cried Winfried, lifting his staff, “for I have come to + show it, and to make these blind folk see its power. There is more to be + done here to-night than the slaying of a steed, and a greater evil to be + stayed than the shameful eating of meat sacrificed to idols. I have seen + it in a dream. Here the cross must stand and be our rede.” + </p> + <p> + At his command the sledge was left in the border of the wood, with two of + the men to guard it, and the rest of the company moved forward across the + open ground. They approached unnoticed, for all the multitude were looking + intently toward the fire at the foot of the oak. + </p> + <p> + Then Winfried’s voice rang out, “Hail, ye sons of the forest! A stranger + claims the warmth of your fire in the winter night.” + </p> + <p> + Swiftly, and as with a single motion, a thousand eyes were bent upon the + speaker. The semicircle opened silently in the middle; Winfried entered + with his followers; it closed again behind them. + </p> + <p> + Then, as they looked round the curving ranks, they saw that the hue of the + assemblage was not black, but white,—dazzling, radiant, solemn. + White, the robes of the women clustered together at the points of the wide + crescent; white, the glittering byrnies of the warriors standing in close + ranks; white, the fur mantles of the aged men who held the central palace + in the circle; white, with the shimmer of silver ornaments and the purity + of lamb’s-wool, the raiment of a little group of children who stood close + by the fire; white, with awe and fear, the faces of all who looked at + them; and over all the flickering, dancing radiance of the flames played + and glimmered like a faint, vanishing tinge of blood on snow. + </p> + <p> + The only figure untouched by the glow was the old priest, Hunrad, with his + long, spectral robe, flowing hair and beard, and dead-pale face, who stood + with his back to the fire and advanced slowly to meet the strangers. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you? Whence come you, and what seek you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Your kinsman am I, of the German brotherhood,” answered Winfried, “and + from England, beyond the sea, have I come to bring you a greeting from + that land, and a message from the All-Father, whose servant I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Welcome, then,” said Hunrad, “welcome, kinsman, and be silent; for what + passes here is too high to wait, and must be done before the moon crosses + the middle heaven, unless, indeed, thou hast some sign or token from the + gods. Canst thou work miracles?” + </p> + <p> + The question came sharply, as if a sudden gleam of hope had flashed + through the tangle of the old priest’s mind. But Winfried’s voice sank + lower and a cloud of disappointment passed over his face as he replied: + “Nay, miracles have I never wrought, though I have heard of many; but the + All-Father has given no power to my hands save such as belongs to common + man.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Stand still, then, thou common man,” said Hunrad, scornfully, “and +behold what the gods have called us hither to do. This night is the +death-night of the sun-god, Baldur the Beautiful, beloved of gods and +men. This night is the hour of darkness and the power of winter, of +sacrifice and mighty fear. This night the great Thor, the god of thunder +and war, to whom this oak is sacred, is grieved for the death of Baldur, +and angry with this people because they have forsaken his worship. Long +is it since an offering has been laid upon his altar, long since the +roots of his holy tree have been fed with blood. Therefore its leaves +have withered before the time, and its boughs are heavy with death. +Therefore the Slavs and the Wends have beaten us in battle. Therefore +the harvests have failed, and the wolf-hordes have ravaged the folds, +and the strength has departed from the bow, and the wood of the spear +has broken, and the wild boar has slain the huntsman. Therefore the +plague has fallen on our dwellings, and the dead are more than the +living in all our villages. Answer me, ye people, are not these things +true?” + + A hoarse sound of approval ran through the circle. A +chant, in which the voices of the men and women blended, like the shrill +wind in the pinetrees above the rumbling thunder of a waterfall, rose +and fell in rude cadences. + + O Thor, the Thunderer + Mighty and merciless, + Spare us from smiting! + Heave not thy hammer, + Angry, aginst us; + Plague not thy people. + Take from our treasure + Richest Of ransom. + Silver we send thee, + Jewels and javelins, + Goodliest garments, + All our possessions, + Priceless, we proffer. + Sheep will we slaughter, + Steeds will we sacrifice; + Bright blood shall bathe + O tree of Thunder, + Life-floods shall lave thee, + Strong wood of wonder. + Mighty, have mercy, + Smile as no more, + Spare us and save us, + Spare us, Thor! Thor! +</pre> + <p> + With two great shouts the song ended, and stillness followed so intense + that the crackling of the fire was heard distinctly. The old priest stood + silent for a moment. His shaggy brows swept down ever his eyes like ashes + quenching flame. Then he lifted his face and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “None of these things will please the god. More costly is the offering + that shall cleanse your sin, more precious the crimson dew that shall send + new life into this holy tree of blood. Thor claims your dearest and your + noblest gift.” + </p> + <p> + Hunrad moved nearer to the group of children who stood watching the fire + and the swarms of spark-serpents darting upward. They had heeded none of + the priest’s words, and did not notice now that he approached them, so + eager were they to see which fiery snake would go highest among the oak + branches. Foremost among them, and most intent on the pretty game, was a + boy like a sunbeam, slender and quick, with blithe brown eyes and laughing + lips. The priest’s hand was laid upon his shoulder. The boy turned and + looked up in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said the old man, with his voice vibrating as when a thick rope is + strained by a ship swinging from her moorings, “here is the chosen one, + the eldest son of the Chief, the darling of the people. Hearken, Bernhard, + wilt thou go to Valhalla, where the heroes dwell with the gods, to bear a + message to Thor?” + </p> + <p> + The boy answered, swift and clear: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, priest, I will go if my father bids me. Is it far away? Shall I run + quickly? Must I take my bow and arrows for the wolves?” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s father, the Chieftain Gundhar, standing among his bearded + warriors, drew his breath deep, and leaned so heavily on the handle of his + spear that the wood cracked. And his wife, Irma, bending forward from the + ranks of women, pushed the golden hair from her forehead with one hand. + The other dragged at the silver chain about her neck until the rough links + pierced her flesh, and the red drops fell unheeded on her breast. + </p> + <p> + A sigh passed through the crowd, like the murmur of the forest before the + storm breaks. Yet no one spoke save Hunrad: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Prince, both bow and spear shalt thou have, for the way is long, + and thou art a brave huntsman. But in darkness thou must journey for a + little space, and with eyes blindfolded. Fearest thou?” + </p> + <p> + “Naught fear I,” said the boy, “neither darkness, nor the great bear, nor + the were-wolf. For I am Gundhar’s son, and the defender of my folk.” + </p> + <p> + Then the priest led the child in his raiment of lamb’s-wool to a broad + stone in front of the fire. He gave him his little bow tipped with silver, + and his spear with shining head of steel. He bound the child’s eyes with a + white cloth, and bade him kneel beside the stone with his face to the + cast. Unconsciously the wide arc of spectators drew inward toward the + centre, as the ends of the bow draw together when the cord is stretched. + Winfried moved noiselessly until he stood close behind the priest. + </p> + <p> + The old man stooped to lift a black hammer of stone from the ground,—the + sacred hammer of the god Thor. Summoning all the strength of his withered + arms, he swung it high in the air. It poised for an instant above the + child’s fair head—then turned to fall. + </p> + <p> + One keen cry shrilled out from where the women stood: “Me! take me! not + Bernhard!” + </p> + <p> + The flight of the mother toward her child was swift as the falcon’s swoop. + But swifter still was the hand of the deliverer. + </p> + <p> + Winfried’s heavy staff thrust mightily against the hammer’s handle as it + fell. Sideways it glanced from the old man’s grasp, and the black stone, + striking on the altar’s edge, split in twain. A shout of awe and joy + rolled along the living circle. The branches of the oak shivered. The + flames leaped higher. As the shout died away the people saw the lady Irma, + with her arms clasped round her child, and above them, on the altar-stone, + Winfried, his face shining like the face of an angel. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + A swift mountain-flood rolling down its channel; a huge rock tumbling from + the hill-side and falling in mid-stream: the baffled waters broken and + confused, pausing in their flow, dash high against the rock, foaming and + murmuring, with divided impulse, uncertain whether to turn to the right or + the left. + </p> + <p> + Even so Winfried’s bold deed fell into the midst of the thoughts and + passions of the council. They were at a standstill. Anger and wonder, + reverence and joy and confusion surged through the crowd. They knew not + which way to move: to resent the intrusion of the stranger as an insult to + their gods, or to welcome him as the rescuer of their prince. + </p> + <p> + The old priest crouched by the altar, silent. Conflicting counsels + troubled the air. Let the sacrifice go forward; the gods must be appeased. + Nay, the boy must not die; bring the chieftain’s best horse and slay it in + his stead; it will be enough; the holy tree loves the blood of horses. Not + so, there is a better counsel yet; seize the stranger whom the gods have + led hither as a victim and make his life pay the forfeit of his daring. + </p> + <p> + The withered leaves on the oak rustled and whispered overhead. The fire + flared and sank again. The angry voices clashed against each other and + fell like opposing waves. Then the chieftain Gundhar struck the earth with + his spear and gave his decision. + </p> + <p> + “All have spoken, but none are agreed. There is no voice of the council. + Keep silence now, and let the stranger speak. His words shall give us + judgment, whether he is to live or to die.” + </p> + <p> + Winfried lifted himself high upon the altar, drew a roll of parchment from + his bosom, and began to read. + </p> + <p> + “A letter from the great Bishop of Rome, who sits on a golden throne, to + the people of the forest, Hessians and Thuringians, Franks and Saxons. In + nomin Domini, sanctae et individuae Trinitatis, amen!” + </p> + <p> + A murmur of awe ran through the crowd. “It is the sacred tongue of the + Romans; the tongue that is heard and understood by the wise men of every + land. There is magic in it. Listen!” + </p> + <p> + Winfried went on to read the letter, translating it into the speech of the + people. + </p> + <p> + “We have sent unto you our Brother Boniface, and appointed him your + bishop, that he may teach you the only true faith, and baptise you, and + lead you back from the ways of error to the path of salvation. Hearken to + him in all things like a father. Bow your hearts to his teaching. He comes + not for earthly gain, but for the gain of your souls. Depart from evil + works. Worship not the false gods, for they are devils. Offer no more + bloody sacrifices, nor eat the flesh of horses, but do as our Brother + Boniface commands you. Build a house for him that he may dwell among you, + and a church where you may offer your prayers to the only living God, the + Almighty King of Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + It was a splendid message: proud, strong, peaceful, loving. The dignity of + the words imposed mightily upon the hearts of the people. They were + quieted as men who have listened to a lofty strain of music. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us, then,” said Gundhar, “what is the word that thou bringest to us + from the Almighty? What is thy counsel for the tribes of the woodland on + this night of sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + “This is the word, and this is the counsel,” answered Winfried. “Not a + drop of blood shall fall to-night, save that which pity has drawn from the + breast of your princess, in love for her child. Not a life shall be + blotted out in the darkness to-night; but the great shadow of the tree + which hides you from the light of heaven shall be swept away. For this is + the birth-night of the white Christ, son of the All-Father, and Saviour of + mankind. Fairer is He than Baldur the Beautiful, greater than Odin the + Wise, kinder than Freya the Good. Since He has come to earth the bloody + sacrifice must cease. The dark Thor, on whom you vainly call, is dead. + Deep in the shades of Niffelheim he is lost forever. His power in the + world is broken. Will you serve a helpless god? See, my brothers, you call + this tree his oak. Does he dwell here? Does he protect it?” + </p> + <p> + A troubled voice of assent rose from the throng. The people stirred + uneasily. Women covered their eyes. Hunrad lifted his head and muttered + hoarsely, “Thor! take vengeance! Thor!” + </p> + <p> + Winfried beckoned to Gregor. “Bring the axes, thine and one for me. Now, + young woodsman, show thy craft! The king-tree of the forest must fall, and + swiftly, or all is lost!” + </p> + <p> + The two men took their places facing each other, one on each side of the + oak. Their cloaks were flung aside, their heads bare. Carefully they felt + the ground with their feet, seeking a firm grip of the earth. Firmly they + grasped the axe-helves and swung the shining blades. + </p> + <p> + “Tree-god!” cried Winfried, “art thou angry? Thus we smite thee!” + </p> + <p> + “Tree-god!” answered Gregor, “art thou mighty? Thus we fight thee!” + </p> + <p> + Clang! clang! the alternate strokes beat time upon the hard, ringing wood. + The axe-heads glittered in their rhythmic flight, like fierce eagles + circling about their quarry. + </p> + <p> + The broad flakes of wood flew from the deepening gashes in the sides of + the oak. The huge trunk quivered. There was a shuddering in the branches. + Then the great wonder of Winfried’s life came to pass. + </p> + <p> + Out of the stillness of the winter night, a mighty rushing noise sounded + overhead. + </p> + <p> + Was it the ancient gods on their white battlesteeds, with their black + hounds of wrath and their arrows of lightning, sweeping through the air to + destroy their foes? + </p> + <p> + A strong, whirling wind passed over the treetops. It gripped the oak by + its branches and tore it from the roots. Backward it fell, like a ruined + tower, groaning and crashing as it split asunder in four great pieces. + </p> + <p> + Winfried let his axe drop, and bowed his head for a moment in the presence + of almighty power. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the people, “Here is the timber,” he cried, “already + felled and split for your new building. On this spot shall rise a chapel + to the true God and his servant St. Peter. + </p> + <p> + “And here,” said he, as his eyes fell on a young fir-tree, standing + straight and green, with its top pointing toward the stars, amid the + divided ruins of the fallen oak, “here is the living tree, with no stain + of blood upon it, that shall be the sign of your new worship. See how it + points to the sky. Call it the tree of the Christ-child. Take it up and + carry it to the chieftain’s hall. You shall go no more into the shadows of + the forest to keep your feasts with secret rites of shame. You shall keep + them at home, with laughter and songs and rites of love. The thunder-oak + has fallen, and I think the day is coming when there shall not be a home + in all Germany where the children are not gathered around the green + fir-tree to rejoice in the birth-night of Christ.” + </p> + <p> + So they took the little fir from its place, and carried it in joyous + procession to the edge of the glade, and laid it on the sledge. The horses + tossed their heads and drew their load bravely, as if the new burden had + made it lighter. + </p> + <p> + When they came to the house of Gundhar, he bade them throw open the doors + of the hall and set the tree in the midst of it. They kindled lights among + the branches until it seemed to be tangled full of fire-flies. The + children encircled it, wondering, and the sweet odour of the balsam filled + the house. + </p> + <p> + Then Winfried stood beside the chair of Gundhar, on the dais at the end of + the hall, and told the story of Bethlehem; of the babe in the manger, of + the shepherds on the hills, of the host of angels and their midnight song. + All the people listened, charmed into stillness. + </p> + <p> + But the boy Bernhard, on Irma’s knee, folded in her soft arms, grew + restless as the story lengthened, and began to prattle softly at his + mother’s ear. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” whispered the child, “why did you cry out so loud, when the + priest was going to send me to Valhalla?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hush, my child,” answered the mother, and pressed him closer to her + side. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” whispered the boy again, laying his finger on the stains upon + her breast, “see, your dress is red! What are these stains? Did some one + hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + The mother closed his mouth with a kiss. “Dear, be still, and listen!” + </p> + <p> + The boy obeyed. His eyes were heavy with sleep. But he heard the last + words of Winfried as he spoke of the angelic messengers, flying over the + hills of Judea and singing as they flew. The child wondered and dreamed + and listened. Suddenly his face grew bright. He put his lips close to + Irma’s cheek again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother!” he whispered very low, “do not speak. Do you hear them? + Those angels have come back again. They are singing now behind the tree.” + </p> + <p> + And some say that it was true; but others say that it was only Gregor and + his companions at the lower end of the hall, chanting their Christmas + hymn: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All glory be to God on high, + And on the earth be peace! + Good-will, henceforth, from heaven to man, + Begin and never cease. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Blue Flower, and Others, by Henry van Dyke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLUE FLOWER, AND OTHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 1603-h.htm or 1603-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/1603/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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