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diff --git a/old/65161-0.txt b/old/65161-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3b19d9f..0000000 --- a/old/65161-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2980 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Forest Giant, by Adrien Le Corbeau - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Forest Giant - -Author: Adrien Le Corbeau - -Translator: J. H. Ross - -Release Date: April 25, 2021 [eBook #65161] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Al Haines - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOREST GIANT *** - - - - -[Frontispiece: The Forest Giant] - - - -[Illustration: Title page] - - - - _The Forest Giant_ - - _by_ - - ADRIEN LE CORBEAU - - - _Translated from the French by_ - J. H. ROSS - - - _Jonathan Cape_ - ELEVEN GOWER STREET LONDON - - - - - FIRST PUBLISHED IN MCMXXIV - - MADE & PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN - BY BUTLER & TANNER LTD. - FROME AND - LONDON - - - - -_Contents_ - -CHAP. - -1 THE ODYSSEY - -2 THE GENUS TREMBLES INTO CONSCIOUSNESS - -3 THE KINDLY DARKNESS - -4 CONTRASTS WHICH ARE NOT CONTRASTS - -5 CAUGHT UP INTO THE STREAM OF LIFE - -6 THE LAW OF BALANCE - -7 METAMORPHOSES - -8 WHAT THE MOON SAW - -9 WHEN THE CORSELET SNAPS - -10 THE MIRROR OF CHANGELESS TIME - -11 THE WHEEL OF LIFE LIVED - -12 WHEN THE WOOD-DUST FLOATED IN THE AIR - -13 WHAT IS CALLED DEATH - -14 THE THEORY OF ETERNAL SLEEPLESSNESS - -CONCLUSION: WITHIN A CELL - - - - -CHAPTER I - -_The Odyssey_ - -For years on end it had been rolling, across the plains, through the -deep meadow grasses, under the dim echoing archways of the forest. -Always, in heat and cold, beneath blue skies, or skies clouded with -rain and hail and snow, it had been rolling ceaselessly. One day it -would be gilded by the sunlight--but not softened; another day -grizzled streaks of rain soaked it--without refreshment. It was -buried, to all appearances for ever, by drifts of snow--but was not -hurt. It had crossed cataracts of light and floods of shadow; it had -been rocked by soft winds and hurled dizzily into the air by the -shrieking gusts of cyclones; and it had met all these things--the -sweetness of the day, the shade of night, the winters, the springs, -the summers--with the same submissive, invulnerable apathy. It had -waited its hour, ready, if need be, to wait yet much longer. - -Those who boast of their travels and adventures should think over -this journey and its conditions. We have glimpses of other -countries, we climb mountains, we run through woods and fields; but -our varieties and difficulties are as nothing to the differences of -its varied blades of grass, to its dark holes in the ground, its -mounds of earth or snow, to all the obstacles which it met and -overcame or slipped past on its road. Our gallops on shore or -voyages at sea do not compare with its mad career as the sport of -storms and mountain-torrents. Time and space fought over the little -helpless rolling body. The elements loosed out their terrors round -it like an evil dream, seeming to toss it about in prize. - -Everything seemed to toss it about. It was girt round by -immensities, which might be azure or glittering with gold in summer, -pallid dull or menacing in winter, silent as the abyss by night, and -terrible with a myriad of unknown noises in the day; but nothing -daunted it. Within its tiny form it held other visions, greater yet, -visions and million-old memories of the childhood of the world, when -the waves moaned in another measure, and the agony of the vision of -earth was different. So it waited the favourable event which would -give it life: or the sign of dissolution, to presage its death. - -The light beating of a bird's wings, one dawn, had began its career -by flinging it out of the tiny shelter (a crevice in a low branch of -the mother-tree) from which the mightiest winds had been unable in -long years to tear it. It was falling in slow gyrations through the -green air, across the red-barred dawn-fires of the sun, when a quick -breath of wind lifted its mossy form and carried it, from near the -ground, far out into space. In its flight it grazed, time and again, -the rude bark of trees, sank to ground level, skimmed it, and rose -once more before it fell at last upon the polished surface of a -stone, where it lay till dark and through the night till the next -noon. The air above it was heavy with the humming of insects, and -around stretched the very old forest, vibrant with life. - -The merest trifle might have carried this tiny seed of Californian -pine a few inches farther, where lay fat moist soil, good for -tree-growth; but such was not its lot. The vast and shining EYE -which oversees the dizzy spectacle of the universe, and comprehends -it in its dreadful whole as in its least bewildering detail, this EYE -had doubtless not lost sight of it. Suddenly all light around was -blotted out: a great mass overwhelmed it and carried it away with -heavy abrupt movements. It felt itself embedded in a soft warm -substance, among grains of sand, dead leaves and grass, which were -picked up now and then from the ground, carried awhile, and dropped -(only to be replaced by others), in a sequence of rudely rhythmical -movement. The pine-seed had been caught up in the frog of an -animal's foot, fixed in it deeply, so that it was not till after many -days at last delivered, when the beast waded across a brook and left -the seed on a dry sand-bank, near sunset, in the deep glow of the -evening rays. - -The seed had now quitted the forest for an immense, bare, open -desert, a new prospect of the world. Here were no rustling grasses -nor fluttering leaves, no clashing together of dry branches, no birds -to sing nor beasts to howl: none of that rich, wide, strange stirring -of the mighty jungle, whose breathing and mysterious rumour was -choked (like the cries of its animals and the laboured thrumming of -the winds through its vaulted trees) by the rank smell of sap and the -exhalations of dead leaves and teeming soil. A light wind blew the -seed across the sand, for hours driving it about, backwards, -forwards, to right or left, sometimes in great circles, and sometimes -stationary against a stone till a new gust should send it forth -again, past its obstacle, on yet another abandoned desultory course. -The world was overspread with an intense blue, from which light -seemed to fall in sheets. - -Later this brilliant blue turned to a bleeding red, through which the -sun's golden arrows slid into violet bands and faded gently. An -exquisite freshness fell from heaven as the purple mildness of -evening came down upon the world. Yet the pine-seed could not rest. -The wind, as it became sweeter, became stronger, and sent it again -across the sand-spaces of its former road, while about it a new life -began to stir. Insects which had been hiding all day danced over it, -or circled violently about it, or stopped to smell it, or tried in -vain to crack open its hard shell. Their grotesque shadows ran -blackly over the silver sand. At times green shining specks came -near, hovered a moment, and vanished in a soft shiver of wings. - -All the while the pine-seed resigned itself with unconquerable -patience to its senseless course. Dawn came. The sun climbed high -in the heavens. Yesterday's burning blue again hemmed in the world; -and after it came night and dawn, and day and night again once more. -In the same wide desert the pine-seed rolled about, the sport of the -same winds, pitting against their caprice the constant apathetic -endurance of its little, round, hard body. - -So weeks and months flowed by, times which for other things or other -beings elsewhere may have been momentous; but which for the sequoia -seed were all alike. Then one day the sky darkened, and rain began -to fall. The first slow heavy drops seemed to nail the seed to the -sand, and whole days passed; but in the end, just at twilight, water -began to trickle over the ground and to collect in plashes here and -there over the huge sandy surface. - -The strange power of water to absorb light enables it to preserve the -clearness of the daylight, even when the light has fled, and makes -the shadows which it reflects in the darkness appear even darker than -their truth. The sea gives, better than any other thing, a feeling -of the mystery of never-ending distances. It strikes not merely on -living beings, through their imagination, their blood, their nerves, -but seems almost to project itself into materials. These -water-plashes at last ran together into little streams which carried -off in their current everything not strong enough to resist them. -Consequently the pine-seed found itself all at once flooded with -freshness. The liquid got right into it, penetrated unreservedly -into its outer husk, till the little seed felt itself soaked. None -the less it kept its vital force intact, and neither split nor -sprouted. The life-force handed down to it through millions of -generations was too vigorous and too well-prepared for its special -future, whether near or distant, to break up in the tiny frame. Only -this time inertia was not its sole defence against the assailing -elements: it found in itself a happy elasticity which helped to keep -out surplus liquid. - -Thus for the whole rainy season the seed wandered about the -sand-desert, going with the waters down an imperceptible slope. On -all sides the waves now compassed it, with the grey sky coving above -it and them in the daytime; but at night it was drowned by water and -by darkness. The waters, as ever, darkened the shadows of these -shades circling in space. A chill, blind, impenetrable horror -overcame the pine-seed. It appeared, almost like an endowed being, -to hesitate in its career. It struck against stones, seemed to cling -to the tufts of grass which the waters carried down with them, seemed -to betray a longing to stop, while the waves, so infinitely great, -withdrew it gently but irresistibly from every obstacle. It yielded -patiently, strong perhaps in its sense of future greatness. The -outside forces, despite their violence, could not prevail over the -insignificant seed whose giant bulk would some day laugh at the -roaring of the winds and the struggles of the waves; and as it was -tossed about during the night in the immensity of shadow and water, -may not the sense of past existence have come to life in it, and a -memory of that other chaos with the very different terrors, as -experienced by its forbears in the first stages of the world? So it -journeyed, firmly and humbly, towards the unknown. - - - - -CHAPTER 2 - -_The Genus trembles into Consciousness_ - -One day the stream of water by which the seed was carried along sank -suddenly--whirling down a funnel in the ground. Slowly the grey -light of day grew less as the seed dived deeper and deeper, till in -absolute darkness it was rushing madly down the water-spout. Hoarse -bellowings resounded about its long subterranean voyage, asserting -themselves above the stifled noises of the passage of the buried -river through the bowels of the earth. For weeks and months the -pine-kernel revolved in these invisible currents, at times slipping -slowly along the twisting flow, at other times hurled forward at a -dizzy speed in the dwelling coolness of the under-ground. - -Suddenly the booming of the flood deepened. A hesitating cautious -light came trembling down the waves, and with a huge guggling the -seed found itself thrown out into a greenish mass of translucent -water, the volume of a river which now took charge of its further -course, and in whose stream it long drifted, while the sun gilded the -changing surface or the moon turned it all to silver. The tiny seed -seemed lost in time, swallowed up in space, as it floated on top of -the water or sank into its depth. The contrasts were overwhelming, -when the insignificant grain was set beside the river which carried -it along, beside the wide champaigns of the two banks, beside the -unplumbed void above, in whose pale-blue transparency some far grey -and white clouds were fading or floating. How small it looked so set -in infinite space! and yet the pine-kernel had its own part to play, -and of the thousands of interacting forces in earth and heaven some -were specially appointed to fulfil its destiny. - -Where did it go in this great smooth-running river? How was it that -the immensities among which it wandered did not blot out its faint -existence? Had the all-seeing Eye really appointed each one of the -many incidents which marked its start in life? Can we, in view of -this case, believe that everything has been fore-ordained since the -beginning of time (which has never been), and is ordained to the end -of time (which also will never be)? No doubt there are the same laws -for beings and for things, for constellations of dazzling size as for -atoms too small to see, laws which operate in a like spirit and -entail like inevitable consequences of related sense. Worlds and -beings, objective things and abstractions of thought and instinct all -run a similar course of birth, climax, and decline. They begin in -nameless processes, develop in phases according to their kinds, and -end one day to make room for other transformations equally -indescribable. - -Accordingly the pine-seed was carried by the river in devious -courses, thrown up on the bank, snatched away by the wind, rolled -over the plains, cast up the mountain-side, tossed back into the -fields, led here and there for an incalculable time, the sport of -inapprehensible caprice. A hundred times it nearly fell into a spot -favourable for taking root, and as often it was driven away from its -goal by forces apparently hostile. If the little seed had been -gifted with an observing sense it would probably have seen the lot -and end of every event in its own destiny. Once it hung for years a -few inches from a suitable hole in some fat land, and was left there -unmoved by the fresh winds of spring-time, by the ardent summers, by -the icy falls of snow. Nothing helped it; till finally a pebble -slipped--for some unrecorded reason--picked it up on one of its muddy -faces and held it there for weeks, to set it free again on a path of -turf. - -Such incidents often happened, to make the seed entertain the common -hope of its species, the chance of taking root; but always some -unknown force dashed the near fulfilment from it. However, one -morning, at the edge of a forest and on rain-softened ground, the -sequoia seed at last got leave to germinate. The leave was given -suddenly and precisely. A gust of wind, blowing across a dead calm, -lifted it some hundreds of yards at a bound, and put it down on the -slope of a mound of soil by an open hole. None the less the seed -might have lain short of its place for years, for it was fixed firmly -enough to nullify the impulse of the winds, and the many and various -undulations of the ground-surface; but now at length its natural -purpose was nearly achieved. A few minutes later a dung-beetle -arrived, took it up between its claws, easily avoided the several -obstacles of the mound, and dropped it, as though intelligently, on -the very edge of the pit. The insect then, as in obedience to some -non-apparent but exact will, began heedlessly to fill in the hole -with rich earth. - -So from a little seed and a little soil there will be born here a -_sequoia gigantea_, the hugest plant of earth. It seems a miracle -that the future bulk of the tree, its grain, its pith, the shape and -colour of its needles, the special nature of its sap, the many tens -of hundreds of years of its life should be found in a pin-head of -vegetable fibre; and another miracle that the microscopic seed should -already contain not merely its plant's organic nature, but also its -tastes and distastes, its pleasures and its pains, all the range of -yet unformed impressions which would colour its existence in the -world. - -In such changeless fashion does the vital spark of species run -through a myriad centuries. It was for the sequoia, as it is for the -innumerable forms of life upon earth, for the solar planets, and for -those unknown planets circulating in space, fragments perhaps of suns -beyond our ken. From this aspect the law of perpetuity seems to be -an eternal re-beginning of the same careers, to be pursued through -similar stages to a like end. - -How often we find in ourselves hopes, desires, griefs, apparently -unrelated to our own experiences and circumstances! They come to us -from very far, these feelings, and in answering to them we follow a -mysterious and indiscoverable chain of forerunners. Their fate is to -some extent our own. Like memory (activity's retreating shadow), -their sensations mix and mirror themselves brokenly in us, quickening -in us hesitant, half-felt surmises about their final cause, or as to -why these reflections of a long-lost age are sent to us. - -The play of external events upon our destiny seems to us as -inexplicable as the inherited influences which direct us from within. -The tiny seed, for example, in circumstances apparently hostile and -unfavourable to its development, yet by a few exact but unexpected -actions of others, found itself free to work out its fate; and to -work it out just after a moment when it had seemed indefinitely -delayed. - -We men living under the sun can usefully apply the lessons of our own -existence to this case. We are very far from grasping the whole -scheme of the forces which dispose our lives; indeed, we get only -faint occasional sidelights upon them. They strike our attention -often because of the mysterious symmetry with which certain things -seem to happen. We call them good and bad periods when an order of -events occurs to help or hinder our fortunes; and it is significant -that there should be a family likeness in such series of affairs. -The vision of the lean and fat cows in the Bible is only one instance -of this age-old observation; and we have also noted that cases -apparently hopeless sometimes contain, beyond our sight, their own -happy issue which bursts into view through a union of unexpected and -apparently unrelated circumstances. This law sways not merely our -human affairs but universal fate. Does the all-creating Eye really -see and set in motion His whole universe rhythmically, in tune with -one principle which is concealed from our sight by the terrifying -complexity of detail in daily life in the visible and invisible -worlds? - -If so, the universe takes shape as a harmonious whole. What we know -and what we do not know of the millions of existences everywhere at -any time all are driving towards a common end. From the littlenesses -here and the greatnesses there would emerge, perhaps, for those who -could see it, a whole immeasurably, inconceivably huge. The atoms -seem a mass to us, sometimes, though doubtless they differ among -themselves. Men, despite their individual characters, appear, when -seen in bulk and from a distance, as a group-whole, comparable with -bees or ants. From far enough our earth, despite its diversifying -hills and plains and valleys, would seem a smooth body; and if some -being could comprehend the entire universe at once, by means and from -a view-point beyond our understanding, what would it look like -all-together? - -That no man will ever tell us. - - - - -CHAPTER 3 - -_The Kindly Darkness_ - -Buried between two layers of soil the little pine-kernel woke from -its inactivity. Underground was warm and moist; and therefore the -seed swelled up with comfort, and relaxed itself with pleasure. The -damp crept through it, right through it, with a gentle persistence in -marked contrast with the brutal attack of the flood which had swept -it away but had not broken down its stubborn defence. The heat of -the subsoil made the seed ferment, and summoned it to live; but the -mysterious centre of life in it found a fellow-feeling in the equally -mysterious darkness which wrapped it about, full of the unaccountable -impalpable emanations of all life upon earth. - -For this dark we have an unreasonable fear, and it is curious to -inquire into the causes of the horror of blackness which fixes itself -in our hearts at the moment of their first pulsations. The black is -soothing, whence therefore our agony at thought of it? Why do our -heads swim when we look at a graveyard and reckon the darkness of the -tomb; and the nothingness, in its grip, of things which have been but -will be no more? Half-stifled we read a name inscribed on the marble -slab, and imagine the unknown dead man as he lived--what he did, whom -he loved, how he suffered--and we conjure up in our minds the poor -blank wraith, now for ever departed from the light of day. - -We can go further, and from the one build up the army of those who -have lived, of those alive, of those who will live after us: and -these unknown shadows press about our familiar faces, flutter and -crowd in and out of the stage-properties of our own existence--like -dead leaves in the autumn winds. Particular shapes haunt us with -disquieting persistency. We find ourselves in streets, or at shows, -or in public parks in the midst of a mob of people whom we do not -know, but who live beside us; and we hear them speaking, and can -picture to ourselves what they care about. They are of all ages, old -and young, men, women, children, black-eyed, blue-eyed, grey-eyed, -with fair or dark hair or hair withered white, full-lipped, or with -lips shrivelled by passing time; but all of them are living, are -there, glad or sorry, before our eyes. An idea takes possession of -us and strengthens in us till we tremble with it. We think--"All -these individuals about us, whom we could touch as they move, and -whom we know to have feelings and hopes and preoccupations, all these -beings are destined to disappear one day, whatever they do, wherever -they may be, no matter how strong, how well-founded, how firm. In a -hundred years they will just have existed, will be nowhere -discoverable. What will have become of them?" And again we see the -cold, forbidding cemeteries, with the ranked and serried silent tombs -all shut fast among their flowers. We shiver at the thought that -there, under the cover-stones, beneath the turf, below thick layers -of soil, are only blanched bones scattered through that dark which -makes us tremble with the notion that it is in some strange fashion -our enemy. - -Such is the common mistake of reason when imagination has taken -charge of a mind; and in combating it we must first distinguish -between its cause and its effects. These shadows which we fear only -have power upon us after we have irrevocably ceased to exist. It is -not the darkness which destroys us; on the contrary, it is profoundly -creative, doing its work, with that odd prudishness of creation, by -choice out of sight. - -It was in such a blank darkness underground that the sequoia seed -germinated and burst open under the life-impulse. The cotyledons, -rich in vivifying substances, gave a beginning of nourishment to the -seedling until it was able itself to select the elements which would -assist its growth. The darkness cradled the budding plant, and would -continue to prove its definite base after it had grown up to -strength. In all these functions there was no destructiveness, -nothing to excuse our fear of it. The shades stand attentive about -the seeds of plants, as they surround the young of birds in the -hatching egg, as they contain the foetus in its mother's womb. In -the dark is the beginning of nearly all creative processes: even the -diamond forms itself so, in the very bowels of the earth, remote from -us--there, in a solid blackness, it takes to itself that faceted -shape which later will reflect the light from its every point. These -unfortunate shadows for which we harbour so unjust a fear!--and so -illogical a fear, for when our cells are worn out by the strain and -stridency of life and day it is to darkness that we turn for the -renewal of our vital force; and when our hearts and spirits demand -either calm in which to rest after the blows of misfortune, or -mending after the shock of disillusion, again it is to the shadows -that we have recourse, and among them that we find hope--which is -either the salve of fresh illusions or the satisfaction of reviewing -our obtained petitions. - -In this shadow-land our pine-microcosm accumulated the strength which -enabled it to make an essay at living. First it absorbed the starchy -liquid which the cotyledons had prepared for it; then it began itself -to hunt in plant fashion for its own necessary sustenance. Through -all its pores the tiny rootlet sucked up the particular juices and -essences it needed. It grew, and divided itself into branches that -it might tap more sub-soil with these many extensions. It is warm -down there underground, and the soil was wet, for it was spring-time -outside. The earth was pulsating mightily with the sense of new -movement, was transmitting its excitement to the air. The light of -day and the darkness of the pit communicate with one another by -exchanging invisible and indescribable rays. The decaying bodies of -men, animals, and vegetable growths affect and influence their -corresponding numbers at the moment of conception and during -growth--reaching them as freely through the pellucid air as through -the solid layers of the soil. Life and death everywhere run into one -another: every beginning is an end, and everything ends only to begin -again. Innumerable unknown forces come down from heaven to earth, -and as many shoot up from earth into the blue sky, all crossing one -another, tangled together. Some are destructive, some productive. -We cannot classify or estimate these millions of indiscoverable -elements. Most of them never enter our orbit; for we must remind -ourselves that there are an infinity of creations, of every sort and -kind and lot and fate in our universe, ranging from suns to -microscopic cells, each subject to tens of thousands of varying -conditions, and tending towards an incalculable number of predestined -ends--and it is vain for our curious but purblind spirits to try to -estimate separately or to distinguish these appalling problems, for -our limitations in kind forbid us ever to know the infinity of -evolutions in earth and heaven, in the depths of the seas, in the -depths of the earth. It is impossible that we should ever learn what -are the hidden powers which sway our courses, what are the unknown -and unsearchable emanations which breathe around us, or over us, and -give us in hardly perceptible fashion a sense of confused joy, a -vague sadness, or some heedless inexplicable fear. - - - - -CHAPTER 4 - -_Contrasts which are not Contrasts_ - -On the earth it was spring: and the excitement of it drove -underground. Our sprouting seed was caught up in this frenzy of -living, expanded itself, and pushed downwards and upwards in a double -movement, under cover of that odd buckler, the pileorhiza. The light -attracted it; but at the same time it plunged deeper into the night, -for there it found hidden sympathies, and encouragements which made -it fierce and greedy. It grew enormously, draining to itself the -scattered nourishment about it. If other existences were starved -thereby, so much the worse for them. - -Not long ago our plant was a humble seed, ready to beg its tiny life -from each powerful menacing blade of grass. To-day it was a -successful bully, drinking up all the ichor of its patch of soil: and -such conduct is the general rule, even with us men. When we are weak -and know it, we are timid crawling things, hating all powers since -they seem directed against us: but let us gain a little strength, and -we grow proportionately rude, beating down the weaker. So true is it -that evolution in nature is only a re-direction of energy. The Eye -which controls the universe really seems to have foreseen and planned -everything; and things which appear unjust or horrible to us may -appear so only because we do not know the full logic of their -existence. - -It is pleasant to imagine what happens deep down in that secret -mansion of the lower earth. The press of life can be no less there -than on the face of the ground. Yet we call it a mystery, and rank -it with all that is beyond our sense, with that class of event which -even our imaginations fail to visualize precisely. If only we could -see the sequoia root with our eyes, or had some yet unexpressed means -with which to analyse or share its likes and dislikes, watch its -battles, follow its sorrows, its joys! Why were we not endowed with -some special sense able to feel the satisfied tremor of the growing -root when it made contact with kindly elements in the blank night? - -From some distance, somewhere deep under the ground, a trickle of -water sent it refreshing vibrations, like a call. How did our plant -discover the presence of this distant and friendly liquid? Did it -experience that familiar feeling of cool freshness which we men have -near water, which we would have felt in its place? Yet the plant had -no skin like ours, nor nerves, nor sense of smell. It is a mystery -how it should have known things, and how it guessed where lay the -foodstuffs it needed, and by what resources beyond our knowledge it -perceived their existence. It never missed its aim, though it had to -reach out, twist, even ramify, to get at these food-elements, and -absorb them. In nature there are hundreds of such instincts, and -senses, and faculties, besides the feelings, or nerves, or other -appurtenances of the flesh of which we are made. In life there are -thousands of unknown energies, of secret perceptions, of -indescribable vibrations, which we never feel, and shall never know -while we are what we are.... - -Yes, outside it was spring-time. Its light and heat bathed all the -surface of the ground, instilling into the under-soil a whole range -of influences to affect some of the thousands of embryos which there -come to life, by stages which we cannot follow, and of most of which -we never become aware. Creation is so leisurely and so retiring that -it makes little impression on us. It is destruction which is the -striking thing, because it is quick and clear and violent. An -instant destroys a thing which we have long seen living and -developing. A tree many hundreds of years old is crashed down in a -minute by lightning; in a few days a forest fire will destroy a -forest which has existed for thousands of years; and this wanton -annihilation instils in us a great terror, together with an -unintelligent belief in the goddess of destruction, that savage and -formidable power which seems to rule the world, and fills us with -devout awe: she seems so mighty and so bold and ruthless that we -think her the sole goddess of life. - -Such an idea comes to us because of the limited range of our -knowledge and perceptions, our only criteria of judgment. In such -conditions naturally it is the visible and tangible world which makes -most effect on us. Yet we should remind ourselves that if a being -under our eyes passes in a second from life to death, yet in that -same instant millions of similar beings are being created by the -mysterious courses of organic nature: just as while lightning is -striking and consuming a giant of the forest in one burning moment, -simultaneously millions of such trees are germinating in the fruitful -heat of mother-earth, beyond our sphere of control. We should note -that in all ways and at all times creation has the numerical -superiority over destruction, whether it concerns men or animals or -plants. In truth we have no reason to complain that our senses have -been reduced to such bare limits. How palpitant life would be for us -if new faculties superadded to our old gave us to see the invisible, -to understand the occult, to apprehend like plants, to feel in -vibrations like light, to flow abroad like seas and contemplate the -bounds of space. - -Let it be enough if we record, without seeking to explain it by -finding a parallel in our equipment, how singularly efficient our -plant was in insinuating its roots where it would. With the aid of -its pileorhiza it passed not merely through crumbling soil, but -through stony strata, plaster, and wood. Another mystery, this, how -so soft a substance could penetrate hard bodies, which we burst -through only by means of a great effort of strength, using tools yet -harder. The sequoia root, dipping downward in one direction, -thrusting upward in another, without external aid split obstacles -against which we have to employ iron and stone: and at last one fine -morning its first shoot pierced the top layer of soil to salute the -sun. - -At this second the plant was, to our eyes, at last born. We commonly -pass over its hardest battles, those conditioned by the circumstances -of its origin. In reality it was while yet beneath the ground that -the little sequoia tree experienced the mother-care of those kindly -shades without which it could not have come to life: but few of us -take note of that. We so commonly put the effect before the cause -and the success before the effort. Yet our little plant went down as -much as it went up, with roots very like its crests, though the one -struck upward towards the sun, and the other struck downward through -the night. - -I would say that this inexplicable symmetry is one of the laws which -govern the seen, and probably also the unseen, world. Ideas, beings, -things, phenomena of all kinds exhibit to us much the same -beginnings, similar developments, and parallel endings. This fact we -can grasp only piecemeal, not in its whole; but it is clear that -always there is an analogy between extremes. We know that -plant-roots are like their heads. Dawn and twilight (opposed limits -of a natural event) are like one another: the same pallid colours, -the same freshness, the same effect of unambitious calm. Sunrise and -sunset, respectively the appearance and the disappearance of our -day-star, glare at us with a like extravagance of noisy red. Old age -and childhood, the two poles of human life, resemble one another in -their feebleness and weak vitality. Our great joys are silent as our -great sorrows; and the ecstasy of love is not far from the frenzy of -hate. Nature is re-born in spring-tide, and falls sadly asleep when -autumn closes: and yet these two seasons are very like--showers of -rain and gusty winds, shot across with the same weak rays of yellow -light. - -We find this odd likeness of contrasts not merely in visible nature -and in life, but also in the most subtle abstractions of the -spiritual world. We expect a great happiness as anxiously as a great -misfortune, and when we do things our first conception, and the -memory which follows it, trace in our minds the same sort of hazy -contour in fleeting neutral tint. The nescience of our birth is like -our death's. - -Oh! we know very well _how_ some of these resemblances are -caused--thanks to the action of the simple laws of physical -nature--but our spirit fails when we ask _why_ these analogies should -appear with so strange and universal a regularity. - - - - -CHAPTER 5 - -_Caught up into the Stream of Life_ - -In the summer when the sky was blue and the air diaphanous, in autumn -with its melancholy mist, in winter when the wind blew cold and clean -and sharp, our tree lived on and prospered with the passing years. -For now it had become a tree, a giant sequoia pine. It stood a -little clear of a forest in an open space, and so looked solitary. -Its head towered over the surrounding country from its place in the -blue and green opalescent gulf of heaven. The forest whose leaves -danced tremblingly before its feet was made up of quite other trees: -delicate lively things, of middle but swift height, and -thin-branched, so that the wind and the sunlight wove patterns easily -through their frail screen. - -Against this background the seasons passed leisurely, the complete -year seeming swifter than its parts: so that if an ever-living spirit -could have fixed itself deep within the fibres of the giant trunk -while the waves of time broke about it, and counted them as they -came, it would have found centuries fly past as lightly as single -years. If our faculties and standards of perception had been -applicable to the pine, how beautiful we, in its place, would have -thought the world! We would have noted the warmth, the sense of -space, its limpid clarity: also the colours and shapes and scents of -things; but did the tree know how splendid was the scene about it? -At times we think that it must have been sensitive to certain things. -Yet surely it could not see the distant hill rolling away to the -skyline, gay and clean and bright in summer, but pale and solemn in -winter. It could not admire the endless plain or the river winding -near. It paid no attention to the azure sky in which it bathed -itself, nor could it feel--at least not in any human sense--the -caressing wind, the rough embraces of the frost, the cool breath of -the water. Likewise it could not taste the open air, or know the day -flashing round it, or be soothed by the calming shades of night. It -was unable to feel, see, hear, or taste movement and light and noise -and flavours, as we can; yet it received impressions to which we are -blank, and united itself ardently or voluptuously or uneasily with -the other elements of its existence. It would require a manufacture -of new words (to fit sensations foreign to our nature) before our -present understandings could appreciate plant-loves and hatreds, and -the things which please them or give them discomfort. - -Our tree became part of its whole environment, of the hills, of the -plain, of the atmosphere and scents of things, by a constant -interchange of matter. Its sap was drawn from the depths of the -earth, and rose unchecked through each breathing cell up to the crest -of the tree. It flowed rapidly about even the very smallest pores, -and thence from the topmost twig fell again as fast (but this time -rich with new ingredients) to the lowest root. We can easily gauge -the chemical content of these ingredients, but nevertheless the -absorption on their passage of the nutritive particles remains a -mystery. - -They are drawn from all the elements of which the world is made up, -even in its most opposed forms: and the various species of active -things, whether men or animals or plants, select those actual ones -proper for their nourishment, after their kind, and attract them -through space and time, through all the multitude of encompassing -forces, from solid matter, from vapours or from liquids, whatever -their appearance and whatever their composition. The sequoia, for -instance, drew to itself what was qualified to make rough its red -bark, to harden the fibres of its stem, to make smooth the green -composition of its needles; and drew them from the encircling air, -from the blue rays of light, from the mist of waters, from every -motion and scent about it. From the same vast whole, made up of -thousands of dissimilar bodies, the birds draw their plumage, the -tortoises their shells, the worms their rings, the flowers their -petals, and humankind their complexions, their blood and flesh. - -We are fully aware that these substances are all carbon in divers -forms; but that raises the fresh question, when we ponder it, whether -the whole universe is not of a single sameness--a vision of -mind-wracking infinity repeating itself in a perpetual changeless -series? and that might lead us to stand in astonished awe before a -nature which can make a bone, or pearl-shell, or a wing-case, or a -claw, or an eyelash from the same elements whether they are of the -air we breathe, of the light shining from our eyes, or of any other -transformation of appearance or taste. However, even if the matter -be the same, the forces which cause it to take shape are infinite. -How many must be the sources of energy which together compose the -complete eternal mirror-disk of life, in which from time to time we -catch glimpses of vague forms, as it whirls on its mad course, -bearing away worlds too big for our failing minds to comprehend, or -too small for our blunted senses to distinguish? - -Above all, this dazzling multiple disk teaches us motion and harmony: -that is to say, labour and love. The largest planet like the -smallest atom exists by combination and by movement. Look upon the -million needles of the sequoia pine, how they everlastingly breathed -in and out, drawing gases and water from the air and returning -others. The stomata never stopped work for an instant. Within the -seeds the sap worked as unceasingly. Nothing ever dwells in absolute -inertia for a moment anywhere. The atmosphere vibrates, light -pierces, hearts beat, water flows, the molecules of crystals build -themselves together, the stars revolve, the air stirs, the darkness -is propitious to growth: through everything is spun the cord of love -and labour. - -Perhaps, when we contemplate the tireless labour of the bees and ants -as they run here and there, and reinforce one another in an endless -series of the same acts, with apparently their sole purpose in the -next generation--perhaps a dismal weariness steals over us at the -sight of such everlasting monotony of labour, and at a feeling that -their futile efforts much resemble our own; but we may legitimately -remind ourselves that our ignorance of the complete scheme of things -inhibits or at least vitiates our judgment; also that the chain of -succession, from father to son in an endless series stretching away -to infinity, is Nature's first law. - -Just as nothing isolated happens in nature, so nothing exists which -is isolated or peculiar. What we call our individuality is only a -congeries of cells: just as what we call an adventure is a complex of -events tending towards a single defined end. It would be wrong for -us to pick out and treat of any single one of the tribulations of the -pine-seed on its described huge journey, except in relation to the -result of the history, the mighty tree towering like a red pillar -four hundred feet into the air. Likewise with our storied lives. We -will find nothing irregular in them if we realize that they existed -before they became patent, and that our minds became aware of them -only when they developed in some apparently fresh phase to which we -were peculiarly sensitive. A good example is the ray of light which -left a star centuries ago, but which we notice only as it enters our -limited field of vision. - -The least important event has a history going back far beyond our -mind's reach: we cannot fix the start of any thing, or of any -creature, or of any circumstance. This enormous tree, whose shadow -falls across my book, and whose history we are tracing ... what began -it? How did the class of giant pine arise? The most evanescent -happening carries back through adventure upon adventure to infinity, -and if we could trace back everything to its first cause, probably we -would be astonished to find small consequences to things which we -think magnificent, and would find that our grandest created things -took their rise in ordinary and insignificant circumstances. - -We may lawfully presume that the past has been universal, and that -the future will be the same; for probably everything happened in the -eternity which preceded us, and everything will certainly happen in -the limitless time which will succeed our paltry moments. - -Where do we come from? What was our first shape? Academic questions -these, perhaps of no great urgency, but none the less difficult for -us to picture. We feel distinctly enough what is good or bad in our -experiences of the moment; yet we cannot in the least evade our -destinies; and our impotence supplies us with a reason for casting -out despair, and accepting with dignity what fate offers. - -Seconds build up into minutes, and minutes into hours, and these into -the days of our life; and so also far-fetched trifles accumulate into -occasions. It depends on our circumstances whether they seek us out -or whether we go to them. Every being possessing activity, that is, -which has a relation with space and a temporary faculty of volition, -moves towards change as change moves towards him. The mobile beings, -such as men and beasts and birds, as often as they move, make -progress towards some small or large point in their history. Their -change of position makes them encounter the unexpected, which is -itself perhaps coming towards them. Our pine-tree, however, being of -the plant class, was rooted in one place, and had to attend its -changes there. For of course its history was full of change. In -seed-shape it had wandered across the world, its devious course lying -sometimes on the surface of the ground, sometimes in the water, -sometimes in the air. Now, being a tree, its wanderings were over; -but its normal life yet varied nearly from day to day. The scene (to -our eyes changeless) in which it stood no doubt changed without our -being able to see the differences. We have no bark or needles or -sap, and cannot therefore enter into the feelings of the tree which -with them knew how clouds modulated its light, how the passing wind -varied its scent and texture according to the distance or direction -from which it came, how the rain-drops tasted so one time and so -another time, their very elements seeming different according as the -seasons varied the sensitiveness of the great lonely tree. - -Anyhow, we should remember that with plants it will not be as with -us. Lacking our faculties, they may yet be richer than us in other -directions, endowed with senses whose deficiency in ourselves we -cannot perceive: and perhaps even things have their senses. There -may really be "tears in things." It would be an attractive doctrine -that the energies which affect inanimate things may affect them in -sensible degrees, that the universe (which is a rounded whole) obeys -the same laws in forms which change according to circumstance, but -remain alike in force and means. - - - - -CHAPTER 6 - -_The Law of Balance_ - -How lustreless and same the passage of time appears when we review it -in our memory! but how uncertain and varied it is when we live it -moment by moment, leaning out of each second to encounter the next! -Likewise with the life of the great tree. Its sap on the daily round -of work may have had fresh pleasures and discomforts at each -revolution; but the tree's life seemed to have slipped past in a tame -monotony when taken in a period of thirty or forty centuries. Yet it -may be that the sequoia felt the seasons change about it, and that -the times and scenes (so constant to our eyes) in which it lived -affected it variously, just as its great outline may not have been -without influence on its own country. One can picture the huge -reddish spout leaping up into the air, with a hazy network of -hundreds of branches about it. Its head seemed to be lost in the -blue. Its bole was twenty-five paces about, but against its enormous -height such a thickness seemed slight, and the whole tree had an air -of slender grace, quite unlike other great trees, as, for instance, -the baobab, whose trunk might be thicker than a sequoia trunk, but -whose height would be incomparably less. - -Like all conifers, the root-system of the sequoia was not elaborate. -Of course it had great roots, and many of them, and luxuriant -ones--but not to compare with the tree's size. Here also one may -trace the all-seeing Eye, having regard for universal harmony. If -trunk and roots were in due proportion, the tree's appetite would be -empowered to satisfy its hunger by ravaging an immense area of -ground. Its roots would exhaust the vital essences from a wide -circle, and reduce it to a desert. So the principle of balance -enters, and applies itself to the pine-giant: and we find if we -search diligently into nature that its greatest creatures have their -weak spots, and the feeblest things of the world have their -unexpected means of defence. - -Examples of this law are well found in the fantastic prehistoric -time. Through its dense jungle rolled a nightmare shape, a reptile -(called the Diplodocus) unnaturally huge, perhaps a hundred feet long -and proportionally tall. On the end of its prolonged neck was a -grotesque little head, in which stared two glassy stupid eyes. The -beast would seem to have been doomed to a miserable life, for to -nourish its demensurate body would require nearly unlimited food, and -it had only a tiny mouth, able to pick up a spoonful at a time. So -poor Diplodocus passed his whole life chewing leaves, and had no time -off for sleep or holiday. He could do nothing all the while but eat, -and so by the law of compensation his greatness was brought low. If -his head had been as good as his body, and if instead of being only a -grass-eating lizard he had learned to eat meat, then nothing alive -could have resisted him, and he would have depopulated his radius of -action. - -This harmony in life, this astonishing foresight watching over matter -makes one think. Every source of energy in the world has -irrefragible bounds marked out for it. The curse of Diplodocus seems -to have fallen on our modern whale, whose strength would make the sea -barren of other life if its gullet had not been made too small to -swallow them. What a danger for the rest of the world that other -mammal, the elephant, might have been with his union of strength and -intelligence, had his nature not been made so peaceable, and the -period of gestation so long! - -Lions, tigers and panthers are fierce and powerful, but have found a -pitiless exterminator in man. The larger felines have ever been the -most tempting game for hunters, who pursue them with particular zest: -and things are always so, everywhere. Men give infinite reasons or -pretexts, on which they think (or say they think) they acted: but -behind all these we can trace the constant operation of an immutable -law, to which their obedience is implicit. - -This terrible law of compensations cuts often across our brief -freedom--across those periods when we fancy ourselves all-powerful, -masters of the event. We might really be so, if the Eye was not -watching and regulating the smallest details of creation: but as it -is, this law which checks excessive strength comes into operation -against us, using ourselves as its own means. It may be for this -reason that we are tormented by drugs or drinks or other plagues; for -most non-human beings are comparatively free of them, and they cause -any number of weaknesses and harmful complications, fatal to the -health of society. As a crowning debilitant we have our -man-devouring wars. - -For it really seems that they must be half-divine, these terrible -events which impose themselves upon us, as though at the dictates of -superhuman authority. If fate did not decree them how could these -wars yet pour out the life-blood of our peoples, since man has always -condemned them with the whole force of his reason? - -No one, whether the greatest conqueror or the most commonplace -individual, has ever dared to speak of war without exposing its sorry -character: unless he curses it: and such is the plainest common -sense. There leap to our minds a thousand reasons against war, -whenever we need them. Only when the crisis comes and the clash of -peoples is prepared, then human beings savagely acclaim it. They -burn with the sense of battle, a madness which comes upon them from -without and masters them, so that they can speak only with its voice. -Just as the roots of plants have the pileorhiza to stay their first -feebleness and let them fight out their rivalries with the other -beings of the under-world, so when war begins this obscure law -injects us with patriotism, a draught which gives us strength and -courage to support the miseries of its train. - -Daily it is said, "War would be easily prevented. All that is -needful is for every man alive to forswear it. If at the same moment -we all refused to make a move against our kind, these fires consuming -men would be at once put out." Yes, but exactly this apparently easy -agreement and common action never happen. When the moment comes for -armed slaughter men are unanimous only in fierce support of pretexts -for beginning it. When the storm has passed we are astounded and -rather horrified to look back on our bloodthirsty record, and like a -river sinking back into its bed after a flood, we return gradually to -our habitual peace and quietude:--too late, alas! for the will of the -gods has been done and humanity has paid its bloody tribute to their -law of death. At the next date of bleeding the whole round will -begin again, just as before. - -So Diplodocus' little head, his point of weakness, may be made a -symbol of this malady of man. And the reason why we should be -subjected to this inflexible law? No doubt that our too-great -strength be brought down ... but it remains a question whether the -too-great strength is because our numbers are over-many for the earth -to bear, or because we are near discovering and exploiting the -working of the greater powers of nature. It may also be the law of -checks and balances pursuing its course against all excessive -strengths, which gives the riches and resources of this world to -ordinary people, rather than to those mighty spirits with character -enough to overturn their generations. One can imagine what might -have happened had the great scholars or thinkers whose writings -revolutionized life had in their hands the power of a despot or the -wealth of Croesus. "You can't have everything" is the hackneyed -phrase in which common sense has tried to express one of the most -disturbing truths of the universe. However much it may appear so, -nowhere is any excess of power allowed to disturb the balance of -things. Absolute equality is of course equally out of the question, -for harmony is based always on the union of unlike things. - -One pine-tree could observe this law working in its sphere of life, -through the thousands of years for which it stood there. Generation -after generation of birds and insects followed one another on its -stem and branches. Some days were dismal, others glorious, just as -some hours were unprofitable and others rich. The light and warmth -were not always divided to it in equal part. Underground the -moisture did not always refresh its mazy roots in fair degree. -Clouds often veiled its blue sky: the seasons made that swelling hill -bare and sad as often as they made it smile with waving green. The -giant tree saw its needles grow from freshness into pallor, and then -fall, thousands of times. Some of its branches for no visible reason -grew splendidly, while others, also for no visible reason, remained -small and stunted. Yet still its life, as a whole, was lived in -tune, as ours are to our content, however discordant the individual -moments. A single ray of light is enough to scatter the darkness: -and when we think of the surroundings in which the giant lived, the -idea comes that perhaps we would fear death less if it were not for -that haunting picture of our corpses rotting slowly in the darkness -underground. We might live more in love with death if we knew that -our dust would remain under the sun, to change and re-model itself in -plant-fashion, like those yellow leaves which wither and fall before -winter comes. It would assuage our minds if we could think that -after our end we would live yet in the shimmering day, absorbed -particles of that great life-filled space this side the limitless -ether of the stars. - - - - -CHAPTER 7 - -_Metamorphoses_ - -As space creates all things out of its own substance only to devour -them again at last, so time which itself cannot move or change allots -to everything its span of life. Our hours and days are within us, -and it is the revolution of the globe, and not time, which makes the -seasons. Yet beings and things succeed one another, and their -courses give us an illusion that the age grows old. It is a -convenient figure, for it is good to say that the days slip past and -the seasons wheel round, each in turn. - -Once more spring made green the mighty tree. The sun and the winds -fretted its newly-budded branches. The giant began to transform -itself. Like last year, and the thousands of years before, the sap -made buds which pushed out into leaves, into flowers, and at last -into fruits from which the future seeds would be born. Each spring -inaugurated an ascending change, to be followed, this year as in the -dead years, by a descending change. - -So the sap in its evolution took the common way of all life's forces. -It rose towards its highest forms, in turn becoming leaf and flower -and fruit: and then it fell away in hard, dry, woodenish particles. -Through this history of changing shape passes all we know, ideas as -well as things. Even our feelings are not exempt. Everything within -and without us alters and re-forms itself: so that there is no -changeless situation, nothing which is for ever exactly the same. In -the indestructible and turbulent race of matter one universal essence -is working in a fixed direction: and if the tree-sap changed into -wood, after having triumphally been green leaf and shining flower, so -does implacable fate lead our component cells through exquisite -childhood into splendid youth, only to change us at last into -tottering and wasted creatures of old age. - -The elements alter their shape through time and space. In the same -light, in the same conditions and circumstances, flowers bloom and -fade, our hair turns from its first dark or fair colour into silver, -our eyes lose their early fire, our firm red flesh goes dry and -shrivelled. These changes happen to the same drop of sap in the -plant world, and to the same tissue in the animal world. In the -unexplored world of instinct our senses follow a similar evolution. -Our enthusiasm for something or other springs to life, lasts awhile, -and then chills into complete detachment. "Love is akin to hate," -says a proverb: but really the two states run together. Our -indifference or our dislike is often born of an exhausted regard: -otherwise would we so often come to hate what we once enjoyed? No, -these rising and falling changes are not confined to plants, but are -a general part of evolution, in material as in immaterial things. - -Springtime, however, with its thrill towards active life prevailed -once again upon the earth. The sap was boiling up in the inmost -pores of the giant tree. It was shaken in mysterious travail, -sharing, in its tree-fashion, the corresponding sensations of living -beings: but expressing them of course very differently. Its -passionate re-birth was shown in the perfumes which it released, in -the trembling of its branches, in its needles flashing silver in the -moonlight, or golden in the full light of the sun. Yet these -enigmatical eddies were those of the new year, the same which make -our blood hot and our desires keen. - -The universal mysterious analogy of all life again forces itself on -our reeling minds. These millions of shoots and needles in the pine -were produced with such profusion only to grow old and die, like -lives passing away, while the great tree stood steady in the midst of -them, rooted and intact. Our nerve cells and tissues in a like -fashion renew themselves day and night, without our giving them a -thought, so absorbed are we in "living our lives" to our full bent. -The pine-tree lived on the subsidiary lives of each of its utricles, -and exhausted something of its reserve force with each generation of -them passed by: and so do we grow old with each of their deaths as -the tiny cells in us die without our heeding. - -Life seems to whirl like a top, getting apparently the momentum for a -new spin from each spin past, but actually failing steadily towards -its final rest. Each slipping moment leaves us inevitably nearer to -our end, however it may seem to give us spring and key for fuller -existence. Especially in spring-time does a new life seem to be -working in us. A mute exhilaration flows through all our nerves, -making them tingle like the needles of the giant pine. Beings and -things open in one great vibration, whose repercussion is felt even -in the dark places underground. Subtle aspirations emanate from here -and there, and cross one another confusedly: yet in their varied and -varying shapes whirling aloft in the air, inspiring living creatures -or burgeoning in plants, they are only multiple aspects of one -central influence. These very diverse expressions are all products -of one faculty, vivified by the same ichor. - -A puff of wind stirred the twigs of the forest giant. The sun was -setting in a western sky heaped with purple and violet and rosy -clouds. There was a confused movement of many forms of life in the -darkling wood, whose smallness beside it made the sequoia tree seem a -disproportionate sentinel. Twilight slid into darkness, dissipated -early by a silver moon. A cloud of insects rose up the reddish trunk -of the pine. They glittered or suggested red and blue and emerald -green, blended or particoloured. Their tiny feet swarmed up the rude -bark silently. On the ground other tiny insects gleamed greenly -through the grass, or darkened its sandy surface with queer black -shadows. They paired, in obedience to the instinct which had made -the dainty butterflies all the afternoon flutter together intimately. -The echo of croaking frogs came keenly from the distance, through the -myriad smells of evening. - -Everything seemed possessed, reeling with excitement, and with a -grave disturbance of spirit, before the might of this hetero-sexual -instinct, which drives male upon female, revives the splendour of -birds' plumage, sharpens the note of frogs, distils the scents of -flowers, causes the shallow stream to laugh aloud, makes the -meadow-grasses to dance, and the tigers to roar with excess of life: -which is able also to twine serpents in a slimy embrace, and to whirl -the deadly scorpions in a loathsome ecstasy. It seems so universal, -this omnipotent force, able to run down the moonbeams, to flutter in -the wind, to wave with the grasses, to thrill through all the -atmosphere. It makes human beings cling together in quivering -couples, jerking to the pull of its nameless demand: and truly seems -one spirit in these many shapes, an imperious will which in all these -varied pairings is shadowing out the frame of the master-law of -reproduction. Even the elements appear subject to its sway: for this -passion which binds one to another of a kind that every sort may see -something of universality in its single mood, may it not be this -which puts the little more of glory in the sunlight, that extra -softness in the air of night, that repose in open space, that richer -music in the waves, that purer purity in heaven, and on earth that -sustained thrill? - -From head to foot the giant tree responded to the new warmth of -sentiment in nature. While the sun shone the birds had mated in its -boughs. Now, in the moonshine, the insects had their turn, and clung -together silently in the vague shimmering mist of their brilliant -colours. Deep in the soil the tap-roots of plants swelled up in -pleasure: in the air floated a sea of all imaginable scents, -impalpable unseen messengers through space of the universal fluid -which betrays itself to our sense of smell on the one side, and on -another side in the strange lights of lovers' eyes. If we remember -how the loved one would tell us her feelings and her inmost thoughts -by a mere glance, then it will not seem to us far-fetched that plants -hold converse in the perfumes which they scatter in the air. These -invisible and intangible but powerful scents, which spread abroad to -invite insects and to stupefy us with nebulous desires, seem to play -much the same role as the magnetism of our looks, that other strange -power which is able by shuffling the blues and blacks and greens of -our eyes to express love or indifference or hate; and without any -change of shape or colour can reassure with gentleness or paralyse -with terror, conveying the most subtle shades of desire and passion -and command. - - - - -CHAPTER 8 - -_What the Moon Saw_ - -Meanwhile there were showering down on earth the beams of that moon, -mirror and transmitter of the sun, which conveys to us its light -without its heat. From the distance came the splashing of water: and -on the river bank, where it was nearest to the tree and within sight, -lay a man and woman. They were naked, and the water was dripping -slowly from their bronzed bodies. They lay aside by side, and the -low murmur of their voices and their stifled kisses filled the near -air about. Beyond and around them eddied the confused noises of the -fields and woods, the scents of evening made lively by the cool damp -air, the brightness of the moon's shining on the silvan landscape, a -selection of all the sounds and shapes and tints and flavours in the -world. The contagion of universal love had caught the lovers, making -their eyes hard, their blood hot, their lips red. The everlasting -universal thrill which makes the flowers burst into bloom, which -makes the insects glitter and the birds sing, was upon these two, -flinging them into a mutual passionate embrace. - -They were just another instance of the immortal lust of conjoined -sexes. Their sighs rustled between their lips like the wind in the -grass, they sobbed together like the breaking sea, their flesh -tingled with their blood as did the fibres of the forest giant with -sap. Their inchoate and always unfulfilled desires took wing in the -clear blue evening and became part of the immense and complex harmony -of a thousand strains which has reigned since the beginning of the -worlds, in the ether, to the stars, about the stars, beyond them, -even to the confines of illimitable space. - -The great pine-tree in its six thousand years had many times seen -substances mating and beings marrying, and was able to record that -these two young naked humans were exactly like the thousands of other -couples whose loves it had witnessed since that distant time when as -a tender plant it had pushed its shy and timid way towards the blue. - -For sixty centuries generation of man had succeeded generation -beneath the tree, but whatever differences there might have been in -their external circumstances or in the superficial accessories of -their state, always when in love their couples used to embrace naked -on such spring evenings as this, with the same ceremony and as -ecstatically as the pair to-day. The forest giant from its lofty -crest was thus able to establish that mankind had remained -essentially the same through the six thousand years. - -Love is the strongest of our passions, but also that which we hide -the deepest: whereas we exhibit our ambitions, our pride, our greed, -our frenzies, openly. Yet when love does take possession of us it -sharpens and exalts our dullest, remotest faculties to the height: -but it is a moot point whether we are right to believe it exclusively -our work, a sentiment evoked by our own means. There is a disturbing -possibility that it may be imposed on us regardless of our will. We -are not able to extinguish it, nor to fan it: for its potent causes -lie deep beyond our sight, and are fleeting. We often see men -carried away by a passion for some one who is not in the least their -ideal, and see this passion grow greater or smaller without valid -cause. Insignificant trifles, and impressions of the apparent -slightest sometimes have enormous consequences in our lives. Love is -called up or frightened away by the faintest ghost of a memory, by -the waking impression of a forgotten dream, by some homely detail. -The faculty of love has been transmitted through our generations for -thousands of years, unchanged: for the tremor which excited our -forbears in their caves was, in its kind, of the intensity of the -embrace of the sexes to-day. - -The truth would seem to be that in love we obey an eternal, general -and boundless law. In our conceit we think that no emotion is -comparable to the fever of passionate mankind. Yet what can we know -of the particular sensations possessing inhuman couples? such as the -fervour of a plant in seed, or that colossal attraction which drags -planets into the orbits of their suns. Our love-dramas and kisses -and excitements are mere examples of the universal spasm. - -Let us return to the man and woman within sight of the upper branches -of the pine as they lay supine on the green bank of the river taking -their ease after happy exertions. The slight sound of their -voluptuous sighs had died away down the breeze. The vibrations of -their meeting flesh had gone abroad through the blue evening, with -the beaded moisture evaporating from their skins, and the heating -scents of awakened sex, to become part of the endless waves of ether -set up by the motions of the stars, by the odorous love-excitements -of birds and beasts and reptiles, by the pollen of seeding plants. -Of course the embracing couple did not know it: they knew nothing of -the movement of the Spheres and their Rivers of life, nor of their -component cells nor of the uncounted tribes of germs living within -their bodies. Yet at the very crisis of the amorous passion the -infinitely small no doubt bear their part in it to some degree, just -as the lovers in their act have contributed to the harmony of the -universe. We must try to think of ourselves existing as it were -detached, hanging between an external medley of forces beyond our -ken, and an internal current of life equally inappreciable by our -senses. We seem to become sensitive to exterior sensation only -locally, in the parts immediately affected. When lovers kiss the -delight of it attacks mouth and heart and spirit alone. We never -think that our arms or shoulders may also be concerned. - -Yet on reflection it would seem incontestable that the mere -localization of the conscious emotion cannot prevent its being shared -generally by our whole being. The kiss, though expressed only by our -lips, is a product of the vitality of all our organs: and likewise in -each of our actions we, from our tiny sector of the world, share in -the universal harmony, though we cannot know the extent of our -contribution nor trace its course through the clash of external -forces. - -It is a grave thought that in this indescribable whole the separate -items of activity undergo an identical evolutionary process. When -the sky was blue, in the piercing sunlight of a fragrant summer-time, -the forest giant attained its highest pitch, as its branches were -rich and supple with sap. Then came days of decline. Under a feeble -sun and a lack-lustre sky the air grew cold and faint: and the tree -entered on a phase of decline, slow at first but increasing in speed -till almost precipitate. Declines and falls have also (like all -else) their charts of intensity growing to a climax and falling away -inevitably thereafter. A stone flung into the air has a history like -the giant tree. It shoots up, up, to its highest point, dwells on -it, as it were, for a fraction of a second, and then turns to fall, -gently at first, but later coming down with an increasing rush. This -change up and change down seem to be one of the prime laws of life -and of matter and of energy, from the boundless existence of the -constellations to the atoms and the inexpressible complexities of -nature. Everything seems subject to such a process and our -imaginations cannot conceive anything exempt, or anything which will -ever be exempt. A stone flung up and falling, a branch budding and -growing bare, a fire flaring up and going out, a sentiment being -born, developing and dying, everything good or bad in events and in -things, in the animal creation, and in plants, in suns and in -particles, in everything that is or happens, exhibit obedience to -this universal law of change, growth and decay. Detached atoms -retain the character and share the fate of their former whole. - -The lovers on the sloping river-bank near the giant tree were thus -reproducing the universal harmony, in their narrow and temporary -harmony, as they clipped and twined together in rhythmical -counterchange of their inmost emotions. They were so much larger -than the insects which shone red in the sunset or turned green in the -moonshine: they were so much smaller than the tree: yet in their -degree and kind they were in accord with the course of nature, as -expressed in the force which linked the fireflies and made the tree -bear seed. They partook of the ambitions which coming from the mists -of time and from the chaos of space make planets revolve in their -orbits and electrons whirl together: and if our insatiable curiosity -makes us seek to know, however dimly, what is going on up there or -down there, let us tell ourselves that we are part of all that is, -that we obey the very laws which govern alike the unimaginable whole -and its hugest components, and that therefore our infinitesimal -experience if we can expand or contract it indefinitely may guide us -as to the experiences both of the greatest and of the smallest. - -Poor loving couple whom we have left sobbing with pleasure in the -harmonious and fragrant evening-light! It was written that their -transport should die, like all else in this world, and that a falling -cadence should close it, making its course one with those of the suns -and trees. The conviction that our joys are transient may make us -sad: but we can draw consolation from the idea that all the dwellers -in chaos are within the law. By taking thought we can make strong -our souls, and still them, with the certain knowledge of our utter -helplessness. - -Yes, the moment was good for the man and woman by the tall and -splendid tree, as they throbbed together in the new sensitiveness of -their overcharged emotion: but remorselessly decline will follow on -the climax, not merely in the case of the love that grows faint, but -for the summer which must yield place to winter, for youth on which -old age is waiting, for the spray of water which rises to its height -only to fall, for the suns which to-day dazzle us, but for some few -ten thousand years are doomed to a slow expiry till they shall go -round and round their unyielding prisons of space in blind stiff -loneliness. The spiral of being leaps up rapidly to its brilliant -apogee, and then runs down again into obscurity while the ring-waves -of each action expand ever outward in the infinite. - - - - -CHAPTER 9 - -_When the Corselet Snaps_ - -More pine kernels had sprouted near by, and the great tree was now -kept company by other russet trunks, tens of centuries younger, but -undergoing the same development. They grew and changed against the -same background as the older tree, extracting the nourishment which -formed their shape and colour, sap and scent, from the same area. -Again the law of perpetuity asserted itself in creation. - -Near the giant a young tree was fainting and failing. It had not the -strong straight shape of the other conifers, nor their sharp, shining -needles. Its current of life was crossed, confused. Its sap did not -fill its roots and branches, its wood was unhealthy: while on its -gnarled trunk grew and increased year by year a huge boss of dead -matter, whose weight seemed to crush the whole organism. The stomata -laboured feebly in their task of collecting food from the environs, -and so reduced the tree's vitality that it felt no thrill from the -bounty of spring or summer, while hardly was there any flavour in the -weak sap which crept drop by drop through the sick veins of its -branches. It seemed tired and faint-hearted in its travail, this -sap, like an aged workman: and the tree's whole attitude and effect -was that of old age, of a failing constitution such as marks the last -stages of life in trees long past their prime. - -For this young sequoia was sick. Its soggy utricles made no response -to the new winds of spring-tide, and were as insensible to sunlight -and to the rays of a cloudless sky. The fine weather which made the -giant so brave and fresh in foliage had no effect on this. Its slow, -sad invalid existence made it more and more like a tree whose cadence -was closing with its pale, fagged flagging tissue. - -To an external observer its sickness was as though the coat of mail -which linked in and protected its life had parted, and let all its -fibres grow odd and wrong. The course of development had been -broken, and the shattered rhythm had thrown out even the smallest -cells. Their disordered whole was sad and sick with incurable -disease, a premature old age with its petulant inconsequence: and if -this sickness might be called premature age, age might be called a -slow sickness. - -Plants and creatures have their illnesses, things their -malformations, planets no doubt their disasters: and since the fates -of puissant things are those of futile things may we presume that -there are mishaps also for the ordered whole? The analogies between -stars and the microscopic dust of chemical particles impress -themselves more and more upon our notice. Interstellar space seems -proportionately no richer in movement or in matter than atomic space, -and fancy, running beyond our physical powers of apprehension from -one to other, falls ever into the same nescience. We can guess at a -common rhythm behind the march of events and the linked procession of -acts: so that our superstitions may be only distorted glimpses of -design half-understood, scattered observations which our unequal -spirits cannot join together. Our superstitions take precise shape -more especially when we are in bodily pain and perturbed in spirit. -Our imagination then sublimates the shadows of our fate, flickering -over them like a marsh-light in the darkness of our half-knowledge; -and achieves only to make their obscurity more obscure. - -The young sequoia tree because of its sickness could do no more than -just carry on its stunted life. The breath entered faintly into its -labouring lungs: its whole life was limited by its deficient sap, and -by the futile ineffective busyness of its stomata. Yet it accepted -the ill-health as a normal state. The idea of a more fortunate life -could not come to it, as it might to men. It had never known any -other condition than this painful breathing-in of the life-currents, -this poverty of exhalation, and so could not desire a better: whereas -human beings in pain feel it all the more since their spirits can -disengage themselves from the trammels of the flesh and conjure up -visions of a happier fate. - -In such a way we make worse our torments each time we long to be -delivered from them. - -A scented breath of evening floated beneath the starry sky. Plants -and creatures came to life at its whisper, which combined with the -far-away murmur of the river and the resonance of space to give a new -vividness to the grove of young pines. The tall and magnificent -giant with the full flush of its grown strength made this sweetness -of nature its own. Only the sick tree remained without benefit from -the life-giving evening airs. Its sluggish viscid sap stagnated in -the clogged stomata. Slowly its faint exhalations were breathed out -through its pores: it seemed as though nothing could revive this -imperfect organism: and as a matter of fact the first effect of -illness is to disorganize the senses, to shatter the harmony of the -unit attacked, so that it receives insufficiently and returns to the -universal flow an insufficient rhythm. - -We have all had experience for a shorter or a longer time of this -heart-breaking state of sickness, when a livid mist seems to settle -itself thickly over our faculties, and the objective world weighs -upon us with the whole weight of our material blemishes. At such a -time our sensitiveness to influences outside ourselves is bad, -whether it is that our disease-crippled organs are no longer powerful -enough to communicate freely with the hidden forces through whose -paths we move, or whether it is that these very forces in a manner -avoid an unhealthy assemblage. Anyhow, it is only when suffering has -disordered our state that we become fully aware of the gulf which -lies between the external world and that other world within us. - -But what we learn more particularly at such moments is how our senses -limit external influences. Our inner world is seething with a form -of life which feels special to itself, since all contact with the -vital currents of our environment has been cut off. Also, apart from -a slight play given to the organs our physical sensibility detaches -itself entirely from external adventures and elements. When our -being has once reached this absolute it fixes itself there, and no -piling up of circumstance, in however extravagant a degree, could -move it an inch farther. Thus a loss of consciousness through -illness involves as vivid a sense of dizzy falling into space as a -literal plunge into some darkling abyss, and the perturbation of an -inward malady may strike us as suddenly and sharply as the flash of a -real lightning-stroke jazzing across our eyes. - -In all the world there is no force able to extend or prolong our -sensibility beyond its fixed term; which may be a reflection upon the -poverty of our means of apprehension. We would not hear the crash of -two colliding planets as loudly as the piercing of our ear-drums by a -pin-point, and to be burned alive in some conflagration is for the -individual as though the universe went up in flame, since for those -few seconds of his agony the intensity of the heat of his burning -house is as great upon him as the fires of an incandescent world. A -heart struck by a fragment of bursting shell would feel no more if it -was caught up and crushed between clashing faces of rock. - -So by means of our senses we can measure against our being the -greatest physical catastrophes: we can know the supreme degree of our -faculty for feeling pain without calling for a clash of worlds to -prove it. The limitations of our senses are such that beyond a -quite-near point they can register no advance at all. It is all the -same sensation whether we fall three hundred or thirty thousand feet. - -Its illness made the young sequoia dull to its circumstances, while -the forest giant all the while responded to each vibration of its -environment. On some days its sap seemed in easy relation with the -air and scents and light raining upon it, as if a mysterious fluid -somewhere in these many elements was making eager its stomata and -dissolving the material resistance of the fibres which cut off the -tree's vital fluid from the outer air. At other times, for no clear -reason this sympathy between sap and outer world would grow difficult. - -When ill-health overtakes us, it closes off from exterior contact the -private world in which we exist: but not completely: we are not -driven to subsist only on our internal vitality. From there does -come the impulse or continuity which leads us up to action: but this -energy is reinforced by means existing independently of us, and yet -influencing us to our inmost soul. - -Our passions come to birth within us, truly: but their growth and -final efflorescence may be due to a variety of vibrations sent from -without. Our loves and braveries and hates are coloured by powers -beyond our will's control. A single sentiment may express itself in -divers shapes according to the circumstances in which we move. A -passionate outburst may be one in a closed room, another in a street, -quite different in open country. The giant tree felt its feelings -change according to the state of the landscape over which it towered: -just as men are peculiarly liable to be strong or weak, safe or -fearful, forthcoming or callous according to their attitude, their -stage-setting, the occult influences which hem them in. Otherwise -our likes and dislikes, our joys and sorrows would not move us to -different expressions of temper in different places and conditions. - -The radiant discharges of the sky, the perfumes of space, and humane -shades of earth abounded: but the sick tree, in the balmy evening, -laboured painfully to breathe them in. A link of its armour of -defence had slipped, and about it all the fibres of its being had -become displaced. - - - - -CHAPTER 10 - -_The Mirror of Changeless Time_ - -The giant tree seemed almost to slumber in the still hazy light of -that autumnal afternoon. The sap appeared dispirited, weighed down -from tree-top to root by weariness. For some hundreds of years it -had not been working at full pitch. The time-worn trunk bristled -with dried lifeless branches in whose veins sap had ceased to flow -with life-giving effect: and in the covering of needles outside the -pine could be seen definite signs of age, even to the extent of sorry -bare patches. Its life had now gone dull and very distant, indeed -had become little more than a reflection of the old boisterous self. -April and August no longer budded into splendid vigour in its -utricles. For plants as for creatures perceptions become faint with -time, sensations get blurred, lights grow dim, till of the life of -yesterday nothing but a colourless print remains, a veiled -inconsequent activity. So dull stood the giant on this set November -day, as if half-asleep. - -Perhaps it was recalling some wordless memory of its six thousand -springs? Did its tissues tingle with stored-up impressions? Perhaps -a confused sense of important events was moving in those physical -parts which had most directly received their impact. Up one side of -the time-worn trunk stretched an enormous scar, the relic of a gaping -wound where once lightning had struck and gashed the tree so that sap -ran out to waste. It took the giant more than a hundred years to -close that wound, a period which, for the tree, compared well with -the month in which our human flesh heals up: since time has no -beginning nor ending, is neither long nor short, has no -halting-places and never changes: its duration is relative to the -life of the things which are its vehicle, and expresses itself only -in them. - -Accordingly the giant's decay, in terms, was like our own. It might -last for centuries, during which the weakness and partial inertia of -the tree would persist: whereas the decay of man is completed in -fifteen or twenty years. Yet declines, like lives, in perspective -will be seen to have differed only in degree. When man and tree have -ceased to exist their respective courses will be summed up in epochs, -short for the one and long for the other, but of the same category -and as easily tabulated:--for past events all fall into order since -they exist only as memories, without the qualities of action which -distinguished them in fact. In retrospect fifty years are like six -centuries, a year of the past scarcely longer than a charged dragging -minute of the present. - -Let us imagine that the sequoia, on this misty autumn afternoon was -recalling its memories. It could a little titillate its cells by -remembering those uncounted days, sunny or overcast, those -storm-stricken or magical nights, those sharp or restful dawns. Its -six thousand years of memory would be to the tree what his sixty -years are to an aged man, for in memory and dream we have two means -which smooth away the unlike things in time, and give to it, for one -looking backward, an equality which active nature hardly possesses. -A dream-second or a second in memory may be a century as easily as a -year: just as actions which have taken thousands of years to complete -may finally have the same contour as little events of an hour. Our -eyes can enclose in their fixed impartial frame a huge landscape or a -tiny plot of space. What is passed has no existence except in -memory: while as for time--we carry it within ourselves, and pay it -out slowly or fast (or unconsciously) according to whether we are -busy or interested or indifferent. Hours are elastic periods, which -expand or contract according to the attention we pay them, and it is -our ideas and our passions which mark them off round the face of our -days. - -Time may be imaged as a mirror, a confused mirror across whose -impassive face tens of thousands of scenes chase each other in a mazy -dance: for in it are reflected the innumerable and never-closing -consequences of all action, with all the lights, all the shadows, all -the extent and motions of the universe. The mirror itself is -changeless, and the semblance of movement lies in the reflection, in -that endless rout of fleeting images whose transience is to their -glass as our little moment to eternity. Our utmost capacity is to -project a thought-ray from our place and instant of existence back -into the night which hides our coming, or forward to the night which -waits our going--rays whose imagined courses towards the poles of the -infinite we cannot follow even in thought. Yet they are our only -links with past and future, those two names which together spell -eternity: the future a past not yet achieved, and the past a future -left behind. - -Such would have been the thoughts of the sequoia (had it been able to -think like us) on this chill November day, as it stood there by the -grove of its sons and grandsons, the derived pine-trees which had -sprung up about it, yet had not, even the greatest of them, reached -to half its height: and something of the same train of thought might -have been started by the sight of the neighbouring forest, now in its -twentieth generation. These other trees had passed from youth to -maturity, and then grown old and died, changing their promise into -performance, and at last becoming a mere memory; and each stage of -their lives, each tree at every age was to be seen reflected in the -impassive glass of time, which kept of them no record nor trace, but -preserved itself intact against them, as against all phases of the -universe that had been, that was, that ever would be. - -Years, hours, minutes and moments are not children of Time, but -circumstance made visible in some one or something. Only dreams seem -able to assert themselves beyond the face of time's unchanging -mirror. They shine and register, wheel and flit in the darkling mist -of eternity, with something of its power to embrace æons and seconds -alike. Like eternity too they harmonize and arrange the great things -of the universe with the least, with things so small that they leave -no mark even in the cloud-confines of the immaterial: and again like -eternity they have no beginning and no end, and so convey something -of the incommunicable character of chaos. - -Thus in that lifeless November the giant seemed lost in a white -trance. If we are vivid in springtime, in autumn we wish for sleep -and dreams. A vagueness is the nature of the falling year. Up -above, in space, great deep clouds expanded gradually. They dragged -themselves along in languor, while their slow shadows darkened the -moist earth and climbed the stripped branches of the giant pine. In -this misty autumnal afternoon against its sad background all movement -seemed slack. A formless but dreamy instinct seemed implicit in -animals and plants and things. The minutes ticked off lazily in the -unearthly gleaming half-light, in this soft and yet magical -atmosphere above which the giant seemed to hang its head in reverie. -Its relaxed needles, weeping boughs and lined rugged trunk made up a -mournful-seeming disappointed whole. There was not a breath nor a -whisper in the air. Every shape, every colour, every scent, each -withering blade of grass supine on the earth, each pebble on the -plain, each ripple of light or trembling shadow seemed to give off a -similar emanation, a dull slow tonelessness which permeated the -toneless air, above, below, about. In one huge fissure of the bole -slept a bear, made torpid by the close thick weather. On the ground -near the foot of the tree in a tuft of dried grass a dog was -sleeping, the dim gaze of its half-open eyes veiled and turned -inward. Beside it on a raised turf sat a great insect, the hardly -visible vibration of whose wings seemed pensive too. Farther away, -but within sight from the tree-top, stood a hut whose people lay -silently watching the great clouds pass. They also were dreaming or -thinking, allowing the whims of the spirit born of this declining -season to play over what had been or what yet might be. - -It would seem as though rare influences of all that is -incomprehensible and infinite in space, of the chaotic and -inconceivable in time, were sometimes allowed to echo down upon -things alive and things lifeless, and to swing them in a general and -harmonious way. Nature moves on for ever, sleeplessly and -untiringly, but from time to time the past seems to bode forward in -brief uncertain fashion, casting lights and shadows across the loom -of the present. The adamant Now may keep no trace of the dead Then, -but the ripples of the past none the less persist in ever-failing -widening rings, which pass out into the abyss as ghost-memories: and -these, falling sometimes upon the bark of a tree, or upon the nature -of a man, or the mind of a dog, or into a sea or a perfume or the -half-light of a dewy evening, evoke dreams and clothe the formless -with apparent form that it may have relation with material men and -things. - - - - -CHAPTER 11 - -_The Wheel of Life Lived_ - -Time then is not to be divided into centuries and hours and minutes: -but just as each atom figures a world in itself, so each moment is an -eternity, one link in an endless chain which binds the remotest past -to the remotest future. Time's mirror may look with changeless face -upon the tens of thousands of events which defile before it and pass -away leaving no mark;--but that is not to say that these events are -without issue, since their consequences ripple out into space for -ever and ever. What has happened never wholly ceases to happen. To -mankind a sentiment of it may return in many forms--in a snatch of -music, in a perfume, in some subtle vibration or illumination of the -atmosphere--and these returns are authentic parcels of the original -moment, for time is to be divorced neither from material nor -immaterial things. This Present, which to us will so soon be Past, -keeps, as it flies, something of its true essence, and will revive -its influence a year, a century, thousands of centuries later, in -some scent or sound, or unforeseen collocation of circumstance. - -This continuing process gives us our only approach to the conception -of eternity, for there could be no endless time if the hours lived -only once and for all, and then died irremediably. Seconds which -have their passage grow enriched in its course and cease, only to -revive in a new form, after the same fashion as ourselves who, when -death has resolved us, will live again in other combinations of our -elements, no particle of which can be lost in space or time. Each -second comprehends eternity, as each atom the infinite, and the -course of all that is in the universe is rotary, an orbit constant as -those of stars or of electrons. Everything wheels about space in -circles; and probably movement in time is also circular: so that when -we find ourselves strangely imagining things which have been, or -things which may sometime be, we can explain ourselves to ourselves -with the reflection that our momentary path has doubtless that second -crossed the emanations of some instant fully lived by another, long -ago. - -The sensation that we have already seen or lived or heard something -is similarly explained. Each active moment is an amalgam of -sentiments and wills and multiple elements which split apart as soon -as the purpose is achieved. The moments of its duration then scatter -through space and time, taking with them remains of their charged -sounds, colours, and scents, with atmospheres of joy or sadness not -fully perceptible by our limited senses, but certainly to be opined, -and almost to be felt. We may pursue this train of thought a little -farther, and be prepared to accept that certain places derive a -special atmosphere from the events of which they have been the -setting, and may preserve it indefinitely. We are often sensible of -particular associations which hang about such and such a feature: one -place may instil terror, and others peace, disquietude, mystery, or -love, without any apparent quality in their disposition to account -for the possession of such power. The reason is that the events or -thoughts or actions of which they have been the scene have left -traces within the four walls of the room, in the branches of the -tree, or in the various features of the place. In fact, the seconds -of old time are yet living there, loaded with old association, and as -they whirl and vibrate they sensitize us with their invisible rays. -If we were endowed with new faculties, sensitive to such influences -as now escape us, and with them were able to apprehend and analyse -these scattered fragments of the past, these waifs of dead -adventures, then we might be able to reconstruct the deeds and lives -and deaths, all the unplumbed combinations of circumstance in the -cities or countries of our passage. This invisible swarm of "seconds -which have been" hems us about, wherever and whenever we go, with its -traces of suffering and of delight, of unrest, of clashing, of -colour: for the emanations of our souls (like those of the souls of -things) are heavy with various essences which may grow faint, but -never altogether perish. - -In this dead November air a soft musical murmur seemed to hang round -the giant tree, as if it were mourning its old age and sadness. In -this autumnal dreaminess the tree was living again some of its passed -life, hearing the times and moments thronging by, contrasting (even -in its least fibre) the brilliancy of yesterday with the sadness of -the failing present. The numberless radiations of the air which for -centuries had made florid its stem seemed to-day to renew about it -their health-giving vibrations. This dust of time, the elements of -old situations great and small, had come from near or far as the case -was: perhaps from the beginning of things in the depths of the abyss. -To-morrow, when the great tree would be no more, it might affect -other forms, and make fertile other existences. - -We go abroad in a throng of atoms, the basic materials of distant and -diverse forms of life. Sometimes they breathe upon us, sometimes we -hear them, sometimes we see them. At other times they move us to -love or hope or fear, melt us to tenderness, brace us to deep -efforts, or daze us with weird portents. To this vagabond star-dust -we can ascribe a sometime fit of passion or wrath, of madness or joy. -The world about us is all peopled with these spirit-mists. We live -red moments and white moments, odorous or musical moments, moments of -pain or love, brief or slow, loud or peaceful. Space, to repeat, -builds up nature out of its own substance: and likewise unchanging -time makes use of its own essence to assemble and arrange and fix the -order of events. - -Evening came down wan and weeping over the uncertain scene. The mist -thickened into clouds like smoke, whilst silence and a baseless -lethargy soaked through the sluggish air. The giant tree loomed -straight and huge in the twilight, its form as ever, its colours -those which it had assumed on so many evenings. Neither shape nor -appearance was different from those with which it had fronted the -autumns of many years, and their intricate pallors; but never before -had it looked so desolate in the desolate splendour of its setting. -Its sadness was as patent as the sadness of the landscape: and since -neither the content nor the surface of this November gloaming -appeared different from those of past autumns the source of this -changed feeling had to be searched for. There was no motion in the -tree, nor stirring of a blade of grass, nor strange gleam through the -fog; nor did the chill air feel endued with a particular quality: yet -this depression over the world was true and heavy, weighing down all -spirits and things from some unknown direction, and by imperceptible -means. It could only have been the product of secret universal -influences vibrating in space as a cloud of invisible particles able -to link time to matter, as dreams to reality. - -The giant was weary, the giant was sick: and the mysterious sorrow of -its pain was diffused about it like an odour. The low clouds -continued to collect together, darkening with their purple masses the -violet striations of the unwholesome sky. The still country-side was -suddenly stirred by a faint shudder. It was that the sun had set. -The first approach of evening yet held relics of the light of day: -and through it came another sudden tremor, which awoke the slumbering -air, and the inert earth, the pale grass, the scattered pebbles in -the plain, the roosting birds, the beasts in their dens men in their -houses, and insects in their inmost hiding-places. The pine-tree in -turn felt this invisible convulsion penetrate strangely from its -crest to its roots. - -The convulsion was invisible, indefinable, and immense, and yet its -cause seemed wholly hidden. What was this swarm of vivified instants -(lived perhaps millions of years ago) which had drifted into the -district of the giant pine? How far had they come, these fulfilled -seconds, whose course had once been run? Were they the time- and -space-enfeebled echo of a cataclysm in some unknown world? (when? and -where?) or the travail of a blind sun lost in space, yet casting its -ominous enigmatic messages across the worlds? - -These very real astral influences, active upon men and also upon all -that exists, are understood by us usually in an unworthy and -insufficient degree. It is admitted that we are at times bound by -the forces of distant heavenly bodies, but this can hardly be as -individuals, nor can their waves, when they sway us, be sent forth -expressly on our petty account. We must not be so simple as to think -that the existence of any one among us can interest or engross the -whole activity of a sphere or that its labouring is to make smooth -the way of a single man. We feel its influence when our path crosses -the direction of its discharged waves; but all beings, all plants, -hills, peoples, countries in the same case are influenced at the same -time as ourselves, and in a like fashion. - -This may explain why associations of things are sometimes swayed to a -common feeling or purpose by invisible means. We often note that a -sense of gaiety or of suffering, of liveliness or of resignation, of -calm or disquietude imposes itself on us and on our neighbours, quite -independently of our own state of mind. Both animate and inanimate -things are subject to such changes of state, which may last a long or -a short time, may be restricted or general, but which generally lead -their objects in an undesigned direction. Such forms have probably -played a wide and yet undetected part in the history of mankind, and -also in the physical history of the globe: they may account for some -of our unexpected and abrupt departures from the usual manner, for -the irregular impulses which make us commit acts foreign to our -normal will and nature. So that the unknown, into which pass our -dead acts and ideas, may itself conceal also the sources of our -resolutions and of our performances. - -The evening closed in yet more, its clouds slowly veiling the -heavens, while the mists thickened, and covered up the ground: yet -the unnameable trouble, which so mysteriously gripped the region, had -faded as mysteriously as it had come. Unchanged, in its surrounding -silence and circumstances stood the giant, serene once more. True it -was still tired, and the sap in its veins felt enfeebled by advancing -age; but the sense of misery and desolation just now weighing upon it -had been lifted. The dismal pomp of invisible minutes of grief had -wended its way past, invisibly. These sad, dark, disaster-laden -minutes--from what black event, and whence had they been derived? -What incalculable journey had they made? and whither would their -uncontrolled and endless course next tend? And the great tree -itself, standing there so stiff under that autumn sky, so remote from -ours--what can have been these detached moments of its life and being -which come from its stem to interest us, to bring to our lamp-lighted -room the ghosts of its joy and the shades of its pain? What were -these acts, these enjoyed moments of the giant's life, that they can -so float about us, murmur to us, hold our interest, that even to our -dreams come memories and broken incidents of what it was? that as the -tale of its death draws near to be told, we feel grief for that huge -ruddy trunk? - -Perhaps it is because the thoughts which take wing from our souls, as -from the souls of things, are so many parcels of vital essence, which -pass over the face of the mirror of changeless time, and look into it -and are pictured there, and then break up and rearrange themselves, -but never die. - - - - -CHAPTER 12 - -_When the Wood-Dust floated in the Air_ - -Whilst the August sun was pouring its clear warm rays from the blue -heavens upon the world, a fine wood-powder continued to rain down -from all the internal cavities of the giant's trunk, in a reddish -dust which lay deep upon the roots. The tree's substance had been so -falling away for centuries, with every now and then a larger -dilapidation when some great cavity formed itself within its -thickness: while on the outside the harsh bark as slowly decayed. - -Beneath the soil in the still-kindly darkness of the earth's heart -the roots, regretting their failed vivacity, were now resigned to -grow more dry and twisted and inert day by day, powerless any more to -suck life-giving nourishment from their ground. On the surface of -the earth the eternal counter-change of life and death proceeded. -Thousands of births, both plant and animal, occurred, to compensate -for the thousands of deaths, the wheel of life impartially grinding -out change or creation or destructiveness. - -It was now summer. The still air was elastic and alive, and -transmitted a shining lightness to the world. All was green and gay -and content, serene as the unflecked sky and the splendid sun. Girt -about with this joyous and pellucid atmosphere stood the giant, tall -as ever, but contrasting more sharply against its pure keenness. The -huge embrace, vivid and blue and green, in which heaven held earth, -seemed almost violent in opposition to the spirit of the tree, whose -dead branches and scarred trunk and weary roots marked a heavy -despondency. - -Sorrow in spring and summer is quite unlike sorrow in autumn or -winter. When the year dies the current of life is dying too, whereas -in spring-time the new sharp vigour of life makes any sadness seem -doubly desolate. The warm sun and renewal of activity in animals and -plants, the liveliness of those about us intensify our grief, which, -when autumn comes, is in keeping with the common tendency of nature, -and becomes moderate, soothed by the absence of joy in others. -Apposition is the greatest tonic of colours, as analogy clears the -vision: accordingly this day of fairest summer, with its luxuriant -flowers and plants about which the bees were humming in the sunshine -so that nature seemed to sing softly to itself in the jocund air and -the universal gladness made the far hills come together for joy, this -day made prominent the infinite desolation of the giant's aspect. - -The gold of the sunlight was gilding the singing ripples of the -water, the birds were flinging their loudest notes upon the velvet -air, the wild beasts were supine with excess of well-being, the -plants were burgeoning and swelling with sap in the afflatus of their -perfumes: but the sequoia, alone, was bitten through and compassed -with the bitter smell of old age, and felt life draw back from its -insensitive branches, from its ruined trunk, from its hidden roots, -now lifeless and impassive among the former fertilizing benefits of -the juices underground. The trees near-by were preening themselves -in the rain of sun-starts, shuddering with the force of the new waves -of life pumped into them from the teeming earth. The wind thrilled -through their branches and all nature came together in that healthy -rush of new life, which had once been common also to the giant tree. -Once! for now the inside of its trunk was powdered thick with that -rain of fine red wood-dust, falling ever more fast towards the tree's -ruin. - -Yet the outline of the tree against the clear, thin sky appeared -unchanged. At its very head, the topmost twig still bore green and -lustrous pine-needles. The remaining life of the sequoia had taken -refuge and concentrated itself there, in those few square inches of -supple wood and fluid sap. From the first days of spring the tree -had seemed to live wholly for this last branch, which was linked -directly with a very fine tap root burrowing deep underground. The -only pulse of life in the tree was here, in the circulation of these -few drops of sap between head and foot. Breath had slowly abandoned -the rest of the tree, to hover hazardous and trembling for a weak -while between the labouring root and the little green twig lost away -up there in the blue. - -The tree's entire intention seemed now to lie in this last twig, to -the exclusion of any thought of the huge dead mass between. One -might say almost that it tried to ignore all the decay, after the -fashion of other failing lives. This solitary green branch on the -inert bole was like the quivering wing-case of a crushed insect, or -the childish and petty busyness of an old man near the grave. -Everybody can recall the incomprehensible eagerness of some dying -soul to recollect a strayed trifle, as if repose of mind depended on -its being put straight: or that other unfortunate on his sick bed who -seemed to lose sense of the beating wings of death in listening to -the petty ticking of a newly mended watch. Childhood, prime and age -have ambitions and goals to suit their strengths, so that the complex -and magnificent dreams of youth grow pale and few as life dims in us. -Old men have small hopes and mean activity, not because they are -weary and sick of life, but because life is abandoning them: and at -the final moment, when life leaves us altogether, its last feeblest -trace may be a trivial thought which we try to fix, a futile wish we -long to satisfy, a foolish interest. This last living branch of the -giant tree may prefigure the moment when the last inhabitants of our -globe will cling to its last habitable portion while all the rest of -it is frozen in an eternal winter, or when the like fate overtakes -the last habitable planet of our sky. Life which is made by inches -departs by inches: in those sudden cases of apparent and violent -destruction it is only that the falling curve dips downward more fast. - -This we must consider not as a special act of nature, but as an -ultimate effect of life moving towards that new arrangement which is -called death. Since everything which exists, small or great, is -compounded of various elements (an interaction of multiple energies), -so it is logical that life should take hold of its matter piece-meal, -and relinquish it, when the time comes, also piecemeal. - -In this fashion the internal decomposition of the pine-tree -proceeded. Slowly its substance crumbled away to dust, amidst the -close smell of age and decay. Tremors of dissolution began to pass -through the giant. Dull creakings ran up and down the trunk. Its -sorry boughs quivered with a thin resonance, while deep-buried in the -soil its roots contracted in agony. A narrow crack opened in the -wood just above ground level, and gradually spread round the trunk, -growing deeper as it went: while the red tree-dust trickled out -through every hollowed place and floated in the air as a fine cloud, -proof of dry rot and presage of coming death. - -Still, at the very crest there shone out golden in the sunlight that -last living branch, fresh and shining in all its needles. The -gracious summer had fortified all life upon earth. From a hill far -away there came a waft of air, which loaded itself on its passage -with the emanations of plain and field and wood, till it reached the -district of the tree. Its warm soft breath kissed the giant gently, -just waving the little green twig up aloft, and then passed on, as -though towards an endless series of new scenes and adventures. Yet -it was early checked. A line of trees, making a wall with their -interwoven branches, repulsed it, flung it back with a new impulse. -It became a gust, sweeping along the ground-level, raising a cloud of -leaves and dust and the dried powder of decomposed wood about the -base of the sequoia, into whose fissured trunk it blew strongly. The -tree shuddered, spiral tremors running up its length and down again, -rather as the invigorating sap had once run up and down. At the foot -of the tree, where the circular crack was, these tremors were stayed. -They ran together, reinforced each other, swelled into lateral -shocks. A deep low warning sounded in the body of the wood, and -echoed outside. For a little the huge shape shivered in the liquid -air, oscillating to right and left, while the tiny plume of green at -its summit described vivid curves against the blueness of the sky. -Then simply, powerfully, inevitably, as in all natural decisions, -came a loud rending like the last cry of an agonizing spirit, and the -immense pillar bowed down and fell upon the earth, which shook under -the weight, while the sky, suddenly made vacant of such bulk, seemed -to leap up as the giant fell. Thick clouds of ruddy dust rose widely -into the air, filling it with the damp odour of decay, while the -bottom of the trunk feathered out in splinters, as the dried roots, -so long hidden from the day, were torn out from both ground and wood. - -More than seven thousand years ago a heedless puff of wind had cast a -sequoia seed upon the fertile earth: and now another puff had broken -down its tree. For more than seventy centuries the forest giant had -had its part in this life which we share, and its course (like ours, -while they endure) had run curving through time and space till its -circle was completed, a perfect round, as all life's movements are, -and will be everywhere and evermore. Its very age was inscribed in -concentric circles in the thickness of its trunk. The seasons, in -their repeated going and coming, had given the impression of a slowly -turning wheel, like the terrene revolution or the sun's. The -sequoia, a cylinder in core, a cone in shape, had lived amongst -fellow-curves. The rounded stars journey in their elliptical orbits, -and the electrons likewise in their infinite degree. This unchanging -changeless time rounds all things in their span. The hours encompass -us, described upon their dial; and even contrasts at the last run -together, made to coincide by the slow bending of every line of form. -Infinity, if that be the nature of the universe, causes to meet all -movement when its arc of direction is completed, and the course of -time too seems circular, the rolling of a wheel. Can chaos, the -abyss itself, be concentric, after the likeness of everything with -which its halls are peopled? - -Suppose that an eagle, piercing high beyond our sight in the blue -vault of heaven, had seen the giant fall. It would have thought the -event and the object petty, across the vast distance. One near-by -would have been moved by the greatness of the victim. The greatness -and the littleness of things thus seem to depend upon the point of -view--a trite, daily, observation, no doubt, but so is life itself to -us. Big and little--is it not possible that proportions get their -value only subjectively, and that in space they rank less important -than to our minds? This concept of relativity, producing itself in -everlasting stages across the horizon of our intelligence--may it not -be linked with that other law of comparison, the relation of one -dimension to another, which ensures something bigger than any object, -however big, and something smaller than the almost infinitely small? - -Anyhow, measured by human standards, the trunk of the dying giant as -it lay there on the ground was huge. The wind was still rustling in -its branches, though the air about them was made dense with wood-dust -now. It used to be, to our mind, an immense tree ... and soon it -will be nothing. Soon? Before the sequoia has given back to space -the elements of which it was made, its carcass will have to rot for -hundreds or thousands of years. It takes so long for all the -constituents of such a tree to be resolved, for the oxygen to go back -to oxygen, for the carbon to re-become carbon, the liquid to turn -again into liquid. Yet this lapse of time, when the last trace of -the tree has ceased to be, will have been as a second. To our -fallibility it has seemed long, but eternity, which will bring the -ultimate and certain destruction of all matter, recks not of a few -thousand centuries. - -When it was alive the forest giant harboured in its branches -thousands of bodies of insects. Some were crushed violently to dust -by accidents. Some perished merely by lapse of time, but all in the -end came to nothing: for eternity reduces everything to the same -value, sooner or later--reduces them all to nothing. Our thousands -of lives, magnificent or sordid, long or short, great or small, as -they happen to be on earth, leave no mark in space and time. The -glory or the shame of what has been bears value and meaning only in -our fitful solitary dreams. Should we consider them as having never -existed--all these things which have had life and have, under the -law, returned to the chaos which called them forth--now only as the -dust of forces and of time? The elements remain eternally unchanged, -however protean their assumed shapes: perhaps what we term life and -death are only their incidental phases. - - - - -CHAPTER 13 - -_What is called Death_ - -The forest giant now lay low in the sunlight waiting the return of -its substances to their kindred elements of time or space. For the -moment the tree was dead, since it kept yet its living shape; but -when nothing of it remained recognizable, it would be as if it had -never been. Long and short lives, rich and poor lives, are all made -equal at the moment when they have ended. - -Like the mass of beings and plants and things, our tree found rest in -death. After so many and with so many we ask anxiously, "What is -this Death?" a sempiternal, unanswered, fresh and vital question. No -one has yet solved it, and probably no one will, for we cannot -experience death and retain our power to register its effects. -Sometimes we can feel it coming near, or imagine we do, and at that -time may try to describe its onset; but such an experience has -nothing in common with veritable death. To know it, and to impart -our knowledge of it to others, would entail our having control of our -faculties, whereas death's first act is to deprive us of just that -control. - -How much has been said and thought and written about death! And -without effect. We should make up our minds that nothing is to be -added to what we already know about it. We continually strain to -realize the flavour of death by heaping up a confused mass of ideas, -by strange and inordinate imaginings, by deliberately forcing our -thought and dealing to a point beyond control. Yet these are not -means and ways by which to learn; for in our wildest dreams, in our -most fearful phantasies, or strangest visions, in all that is -unfamiliar, runs the thread of life. We can have no dreams or -hallucinations or inventions, born of true imagination or of a fit of -madness, unless life give them us--and so how can they hold an idea -or sense of death? And this is why we will never, in anticipation, -taste death. - -We cannot even distinguish and analyse for ourselves the fashion in -which death will some day bear us away from life. Death is the -non-existent, made not out of silence (which noise explains), nor out -of darkness (which light would explain), but out of something -inconceivably absolute. Sleep implies an awakening, dreams imply the -powers of seeing, thinking, hearing, inertness implies the power of -movement; so that nothing in our range of experience, from complete -peace to utter terror, can plant in us a true sense of death, and -probably no man, to the end of the world, will ever be able to -explain it in terms of others' deaths or of his own. - -When our spirit has departed (that is, when the bond between the -secret and innumerable forces whose continued contact makes our life -is at last unloosed), we are only vague shapes in deliquescence. The -dead keep nothing of their ancient character. What had been their -life is submerged in the infinite whole, as myriads of particles of -varying elements. In nature alone is the power to dispose of these -dispersed and impalpable essences; so it is finally impossible that -an entity such as our present should ever again come together and act -after our death. We are, and we will cease to be: that much is -certain; but what we will be can never be told. - -In some purple and grey evening of the closing year, one of those -pale hours which seem to dissolve away our flesh that our spirit may -grow more reinforced in itself, we can sit and dream of those who -were dear to us, whom life has left so that they are no more found. -With far-away eyes and hearts heavy with memories we remember our -dead, how brilliant their faces, how dear their voices, how moving -their presences once were to us: and from memories so harrowing we -have not wracking despair and agony, but only pitying tears, which -seem inadequate as issue of the certainty that we will never see -again those looks nor hear those voices nor feel those presences. -These dead were all in all to us, and yet they have gone without -trace left either for us or for the world. And why does our reason -not swoon in a nerve-shattering flood of horror when it sees the -deaths of people whom we loved, or whom we have merely seen doing and -moving, people who have pleased us or hurt us, whose warm hands (full -and trembling with life) have touched ours, whose glances have met -our own; why are we not terrified as we stand by at their supreme -moment when life and death meet, and a world in the winking of an eye -is reduced to nothing? And when we have lost our familiar friends, -how can we go on living, and talking? how can we take pleasure in -things or be sorry, in our usual fashion? And how think of them -after they have gone, with such calm regret and resignation, whereas -it was a frenzied grief, touching madness, which the anticipation of -their future deaths evoked in us? - -The answer to these questions is that the knowledge how we must -ourselves some day die is always stirring in us, forms part of our -flesh and blood, moves in our nerves, and finds our own inevitable -destined end prefigured in each death of those about us. We say, or -rather we feel obscurely, that what is happening to them will some -day happen to us, when the fatal time comes for us to pay this dread -tribute which they are paying. - -Perhaps it is the same current of ideas, which makes collective -disaster, such as war or pestilence, less frightful to us than the -tragedies of individuals. The consciousness that we are ourselves -exposed to such perils reduces our commiseration, not out of egotism -(as is commonly thought), but from a sense that we too will bear our -part in the eventual expiation. The idea that in our turn we will -suffer this softens in some odd way our dread of the inevitable and -the distress we might feel at another's pitiable situation. - -The younger sequoia trees which had survived the greatest of their -family would flourish for a long while yet, and enjoy the vigour of -their cool fragrant sap; but the fall of the giant would be theirs in -the end. They would go brittle and inert before the fatal hour. -Neither the light of day, nor warmth, nor the kindly earth would any -more be profitable to them. Their substance would dissolve -infallibly into a fine red dust, smelling mournfully of age. Only -time and space, of all the universe, remain for ever changeless. - -There was a bustle of ants in the heavy dust of the decaying wood, up -and down the fallen trunk of the giant tree, now flecked with -alternate bars of light and shade. Here as elsewhere life and death -succeeded one another. Flowers bloom as flowers fade, creatures are -born as others die, fresh springs rise up here as rivers grow dry -elsewhere, crystals are formed as others split: and all the while -earth goes forward towards its frozen fate. In high heaven the -wheeling stars prepare themselves to receive life, or to grow -desolate; all is in flux, transforms itself, repeats itself, dies: -even what seems to us most assured and everlasting. While we -ourselves, atoms of the universe, endure our sentence of imprisonment -in life according to inexorable law, until the term of death. - -In such a chaos, where, amidst millions of clashing forces, millions -of destinies are being worked out, what can be the purpose of the -all-seeing Eye? what inconceivable end has He designed for the living -and for the dead, for the stars, for all creation? Our souls and -bodies, our births and goings-out, the details and the wholes, what -is the final inexpressible combination which will resolve them all? -whither does the huge inexplicable movement tend? - -In face of such a problem let us remember how we mitigate our terror -by being able to take ourselves and our puny acts seriously. They -are so small compared with the constellations of the stars, and yet -they absorb us. We are able to laugh and cry, to love and hate, in -our narrow bounds, forgetting for the while the agony of the unknown -which encompasses us, and forgetting to ask the how and why, the -purpose of each act of life, its relation to the universe. We are -able to exist by and according to the impulses of our own flesh and -spirit, as each species exists according to the particular measure -and direction of its means. - -The forest giant also had its time. A pine-seed after manifold -adventures transformed itself, in a course of admirable permutations, -into a mighty tree for more than seventy centuries. Yet its hour -struck: and in its fate can be read the fates of all created things, -after due allowance has been made for variety in age and kind and -size. The giant at last lay in peace upon the fertile ground, having -had its life, like us, and like us having nothing thereafter in -eternity or in the infinite: though while it lived it obeyed the -nature of its kind, and all powers in earth and heaven seemed leagued -in its support. - -So we do all, while we exist. In the small circle which it is -happiness for us to fill, we repeat the experience of those who have -gone before; and in the breathing air, in the shining light, the -dancing heat, the darkening shadow, in the rhythm of the friendly -world we carry through to the end the courses laid down for us. And -vainly do we seek to learn not merely whence we come and whither we -go, but what and why we are, while we exist. - - - - -CHAPTER 14 - -_The Theory of Eternal Sleeplessness_ - -What can chaos be but the mass of elements not yet conjoined with -those other atoms which have been embodied and which have returned to -the mass? - -The fallen tree was now sunken in an endless sleep. The rays of the -sun playing over its ruined trunk gradually absorbed its colours. -The discoloured redness of its substance, the yellow of its rotted -dust, the fresh green of its last shoots slowly faded, while the -winds took away its antique smell and the blue atmosphere -re-incorporated the oxygen, the carbon, and the last elements of -moisture in its wood. Finally the whole shape of the former tree -disappeared, so that there remained on earth no visible or tangible -trace of its former inhabitant; though its substance still existed. -Its component parts could be found in the light and air, in the -clouds, in a vibration, a breath, on a stone, either in material -substances or in invisible radiations. They were the old elements of -the sequoia, exactly as they had been in essence, though now their -forms were so different that they conjured up no memories of the -vanished tree. On the analogy it may well be that the solid -particles, the liquids, the essences which together make up our -apparent forms, have had equally varied incarnations, have been -beautiful or vile, have been drab or splendid, have been -delicious-smelling, have encountered a thousand unexpected changes -and adventures before they were re-born as us. The energy which -moves us, the matter which gives us substance, the impulses which -excite us, the dreams which trouble us, and the occasional mysteries -which vibrate in our souls and bodies may come from sources thousands -of years old, and through a myriad phases of existence. - -In face of these unexplored ramifications of our personality it seems -impossible that we should ever be able to tie effect to cause, or -learn the reason of these secret longings of ours, or of those -strange instincts and reactions, those preferences, those fears. -They come to us from so far, the forces which order our doings: and -though each element remains intact and unadulterated, yet signs of -the many moments they have passed embodied in various shapes cling to -them always, like fine dust. - -One wonders whence came the particles which composed the giant tree, -from what previous embodiments, and into what shapes they reassembled -after the pine was dead. What had been green in the tree might be -black or transparent when next its elements took visible form. What -had made the tree seem solid might be liquid or vapour in the new -assemblage. The fragrant pine-fumes might be solid and common next -time. Common? Well, hardly perhaps, for there is neither beautiful -nor ugly, noble nor ignoble in the universe. Such qualities are -conferred upon things by their impact upon our senses. This or that -vortex of atoms which to-day gives us exquisite dreams may in a later -evolution be some combination utterly hateful to our taste. A -process which wounds us to-day may to-morrow bring forth a marvellous -constellation of molecules. The indestructible elements whirl -unceasing in the universe, moving from an out-worn structure to a new -one, dissolving and amalgamating without rest till they rejoin the -ever-lasting silence--whence they will leap out again to like -adventures, or towards yet unknown variations, in turn to scatter in -a dust of atoms. An embodiment may last for a day or for hundreds of -thousands of years; but its inevitable end is in the chaos of -infinity. - -On the sun-bathed earth an irrefragable peace had at last drowned the -ruins of the tree. With its death one particular adventure in -creation was run. The forces which had made it tangible would -continue to function, but their specific combination as a pine-tree -was ended for ever. The forest giant henceforward would be as before -its birth--a part of the body of eternal nature. Around it the -rhythm of the world would flow, neither faster nor slower than of -old, with light and shadow, ice and fire, birth and death, all things -just as before, but not _it_: these similar conditions cannot be of -_this_ tree's atoms, nor partakers of _its_ life, nor a union of -_its_ elements. Its race was run: as in this world all things must -some while end. The tree with the ruddy trunk and green needles was -dead: and they are dead, or will die, those insects with the gaudy -wing-cases, the bright-scaled fish, the downy birds, the sharp-fanged -animals, proud mankind, diamonds of the purest water, black carbon, -seas, mountains, world and suns. The eternal universal is built up -of perishable parts, and our blind career is only a succession of -incidents like or unlike, a drawn-out flicker of beginnings and -endings, a steady stream of sensations, of bubbles swelling up and -bursting, one single life made up of a myriad lives. They beat and -flow and scatter, to be re-born after each change. - -We are all ephemeral in terms of our allotted situation, and eternal -in terms of the universe. Everything which is still, as everything -which moves about us, is no more than a whirl of situations -constantly made and unmade: and so our substances, those which now -make up ourselves, will infallibly scatter us some day. Elements -seem to grow tired at last of being confined in one special shape, to -be weary of being so long a man, a stone, a river, a fire. Their -weariness is ours, in sum. We feel vigorous or weak, joyful or sad, -perturbed or resigned according to the prosperity of our cells: and -we all, whatever our age and health, encounter hours in which, -without reason given, our whole being longs for annihilation. At -other times--in common experience it happens often at that hour when -lamps should be lit--there swells up in us an indeterminate wish to -be other than we are: and our flesh goes dead, our hearts cold, our -heads empty of desire. - -May this not be our dissatisfied elements, desirous of change, -speaking within us? And the often-just premonitions of death which -come to men, how explain them other than as the stirring of our -elements quickened by radiations from the unknown? The trouble of -those stricken by a sudden and mortal fate, their inexplicable -distress, the panic-stricken flock of teeming thoughts vainly seeking -escape in their shadowy subconsciousness--all this morbid poignant -possessed state must be due to our cells' foreknowledge that shortly -their architecture will be changed. Our independent life puts no -obstacle in the way of that universal ebb and flow, which sets -through us and subjects us to the same law of eternal change which -rules the rest of chaos. - -For these reasons the close of a career should not be to us a -melancholy sight. To be born, to exist, to die should seem simple, -natural, unchangeable things, only shades of difference even when -considered to the farthest obscurity of their never-ending course. -But to be eternal, there is a vision which exceeds! To be eternal! - -The universe withstands, unmoved, the passing of trees and beings and -things. In its season everything must defile before the mirror of -changeless time. Plants in their fading go the way of suns as they -grow cold, of dreams as they pass on waking, of an insect as it -perishes. In the imperishable universe things are born only to die. -We, as atoms of the stream of life, can stiffen ourselves with the -knowledge that we suffer only the common fate of all created things; -that the same fate rules both material and spiritual things, men and -stars following one curve in their careers; and that in nature no -situation can endure unaltered. - -As we dwell on it, the idea of being eternal becomes impossible to -our spirits. To be infinitely active for ever, what a prospect of -overwhelming sameness! Perpetual life would be for us no less than a -never-ending sleeplessness. We would have to endure with a constant -endurance of constant circumstances, while others about us were born -and died, while plants grew green and withered, whilst the rivers -ran, and the suns burned themselves out; we would have to watch the -ebb and flow of things, and the measured flight of hours, the -evolution of form, the levelling of fine distinction. The same -dreams, the same senses would function, without ever a stop, without -ever a relieving variation--what a vision of weariness and monotonous -despair! Like a great wide eye in which were mirrored chaos and its -thousand ghostly shapes, an eye limpid but glassy, strained and -aching with its long stare, over which it was ordered that no easeful -lid might ever close. - -Everlasting life for men an everlasting insomnia? Let us call to -mind some of those nights when sleep would not visit us, when -open-eyed we gazed into the dark as though it were luminous, our -temples all one ring of ice, and in our stagnant veins a biding -weariness which nothing could relieve. Life throbbed in our ears -with an unchanging beat. The air about us might be loud with rumour, -or be silent; there might be a clock ticking, or a storm raging in -the night outside, but anyhow, and however our mood, the -sleeplessness always in the end prevailed over all circumstances, and -knotted up the customary arabesques of our sensation into one -pattern, mechanical and terrifying in its regularity. A cold terror -would take hold of us--the lucid ordered distraction of severe -insomnia--and we would be lost in a passionless despair, in that -desert of opaque oppression which is ultimate fatigue. - -Each cell in us called aloud on sleep, while our whole being thrummed -with the rhythm of life. The entire existence of the aged and the -very sick is an unended longing for repose, and no small part of the -agony and horror of a death-bed is this cruel wakefulness which holds -the eyes ever on the watch. Eternal peace has no terrors for the -dying: but if that necessary nescience was not to follow after, if -their wakefulness was to endure world without end--what then? - -Despite our pains life is sweet, while it runs within its proper -bounds; but it would be intolerable if it were endless. On this -mortal earth the giant tree had passed into its last rest, leaving -the general current of life behind it to continue unchecked. The -sequoia, even if it had had the power, would not have been sorry no -longer to breathe in the odours of the world, nor feel the sunlight, -nor pump the sap up and down its weather-beaten trunk. At its hour -of death it was desiring death, the great sleep in which lay repose, -with all its strength, even with its finest stomata, its inmost -grain, its remotest root; and if this was the issue of its seven -thousand years, such should be the issue of a dog's corresponding -fifteen years, of a man's seventy years, of a planet's millions. - -In the midst of eternity an age is not so long. - - - - -CONCLUSION - -_Within a Cell_ - -Through all the changing pomp of seasons, while the sun showered down -its yellow rays, while the rain striped it with grey markings, and -the snow lay heavy and white upon it, the vision of the tree was -present to me, first as a colossal column, standing up in heaven, -then as a broken ruin, prostrate on the ground. As through a light -haze I have tried to distinguish the splendour of its life, and the -tragedy of its death: and all this while the blue and green and grey -country in which the sequoia lived and died has become in some degree -my own country, a part of me. I grew to love those distant hills, -modulating away to invisibility on some shining day of spring; I -learned to feel the sadness of the autumn twilights which made the -background of the pine-tree go so pale and lifeless and desolate. I -traced at length the slow circulation of the giant's sap, and became -sensitive like the tree to light and shadow, to all the influences, -exciting or soporific, of the type of country in which I had placed -it. Nevertheless, all this creation of a vast landscape, and the -huge form of the tree, took shape, endured, and ended in a tiny -space, one of those imperceptible and secret compartments called -cells, parts of our bodies immeasurable by human wit. - -Outside my window the world was growing feeble in the failing autumn, -but from the white page which I slowly darkened with my writing -bloomed for my sight a summer scene of green and gold, where once the -giant tree had stood, but which now was again become clear ground and -azure sky: and I told myself how shortly my memory-cell would produce -for me a new mind-landscape, new images, new sentiments. Such -dreams, born within ourselves, have the vividness of real incidents, -while they last: to such a degree that it seems questionable whether -the physical shocks we undergo and the palpable matter we encounter -are really the intensest experiences of our lives. May it not be -rather that our sharpest colouring comes from the volatile and -obscure matter of our ideas and dreams, with its rich palette of -innumerable shades? Only by means of the abstract part of our nature -do we commune with the universe. Our likes and dislikes, our -delights and despairs are not the issue of our carnal parts, -offspring of our blood and nerves, except in so far as these are -submissive conductors of the hidden reactions of our imagination. A -single dream will change the current of our life, and our actions are -the product of the powerful but hidden inner world of our minds. - -So that it is our imagination which rules our conduct. Our physical -performance is the reflex of our conception of the deed. Our will is -the developed image of the dark, fertile, capricious, imperceptible -force which we call fancy. We can mingle this fancy in almost -material fashion with all the things and beings on our path through -life, so strange in composition is this substance or fluid. -Everything which is ours, even our passions, obey its commands. It -can make us chaste or ardent, will purify our flesh in the presence -of our sisters, and inflame the same matter when our thoughts turn -concupiscently towards a woman with whom we can feasibly have -dealings. Fanatics owe their superhuman endurance during horrible -mutilations of the flesh to this same power, which also gives to -martyrs the perfect calm of soul in which they tread the threshold of -an awful death. - -May not this flexible mistress of our understanding be made of the -same essence as the motive force of the universe? Not our reason but -our imagination enables us to grasp the conception of illimitable -chaos, to comprehend the music of the farthest spheres, to overleap -all distance and cast the sum of the faintest stars. By it we can -distinguish between world and world, in their far-fetched and -fleeting changes from the incandescent minute of the nucleus to that -last frozen silence in which the dead planets circulate: and also by -its means we can see the smallness of things, even when they are -atoms inexpressibly small. - -Not that our imagination is universal. There are causes we will -never fathom, effects we can never know, forces too occult for us. -Yet we have monitions of them; their flickering image hovers -sometimes just beyond our grasp, their last repeated echo dies away -in a murmur just too weak for us to understand. - -Therefore in the depths of our subconsciousness the immane with its -thousand heads mirrors itself vaguely, like a wide field agreeing to -compress its forms and rarefy its details within the tiny sphere of a -prismatic drop of water. - -Our dreams take shape, and endure and fade, having seemed reality -while they endured. Images and sounds and scents of strange -marvellous richness dance restlessly through our inner world. - -This other life which palpitates in us is often more engrossing to us -than our public life, and always more fickle. It has no bounds, so -far as supply of incident and vision is concerned: but is absolutely -limited (as much as is our physical life) in its extent of influence. -Its scope is for ourselves alone. Our designs are made and our -actions prepared in this domain of our dark fancy, and the adventures -we there conceive only lose in richness and range when they are -translated into physical terms. Of that realm we are absolute -master, and we rule our universe thence. In it time and space both -bow at our behest. By a simple whim we transpose seasons in a -moment, that we may inhabit tropics and the frozen north at once. -Elements and creatures and things are at our mercy. In this world, -and only in this world, are we given to know freedom and omnipotence. - -How do things go in this secret and magical realm of ours, where we -have power to work the miracles denied us in daily life? There we -can love and hate, as we would wish to do, physically, can taste the -fill of love's joys, and all of ambition or of crime. We can change -our shape, attend the marvellous revels of fairy-land, witness -horrible massacres, contemplate the incredible clash of suns. In -this our private world neither days nor hours exist to limit us. We -can live a thousand centuries in a moment, or spin out a moment -across unending years. This dream-control of matter empowers us -somewhat to understand the terrible play of events across eternity -and the infinite, for it must proceed rather in the same manner: and -since the thousand flying shades of chaos can be reflected in our -subconsciousness, it follows that our fancy and our dreams must be -made of the same stuff as the nameless force which rules the universe. - -The forest giant also had its life in a dream--a life which seemed to -last for more than seventy centuries, in the precise surroundings -wherein stood this substantial ghost. The dream which made it did -not fade wholly with its death, for to my fancy clouds of wood-dust, -with their sad musty taste, seemed yet to float after its fall over -the vacant place where the tree had stood. - -My memories of the landscape in which the dream had passed endured -after the ending of the dream. Birds seemed to fly over the -prostrate giant, and thousands of busy insects flitted about its -hollow trunk. The sound of the water came yet to me from far off, -while the sunlight was golden where the tree had breathed, and night -drew its dark curtain round the spot. A mighty rumour filled the -space about--for in the subtle world of dream lively truth is given -by our imagination to shapes and sounds and smells, which become ours -to create, to destroy, or to revive at will. - -And from my middle place, hanging between the external world which is -ours and the inner world which belongs to me alone, I ask myself, -hesitating and afraid, if our dreams are not perhaps more than -dreams, if we ourselves are not perhaps creations of some fancy -greater than our own, greater even than our understanding? In which -case the external universe might be to the all-seeing Eye what the -world of our imagination is to us--another way of saying that one -substance makes substantial the mighty whole, but that the means, the -forces, the expression of it are innumerable. - -It is a strange speculation that we may be ourselves products of the -creative thought of some being beyond our thought: yet very -far-reaching is the power of our imagination which can pass from star -to star, can people space, and conjure up new worlds, can shadow out -to itself the incomprehensible. It is afraid of no height and of no -depth: but one idea escapes it, gives it dizzy pause--speculation -upon the beginning and the end of creation. Yet in time our spirit -calms itself, grows resigned to the idea that there was no beginning, -and will be no end, only an interminable progression. Such is the -only sober escape from the unbearable notions of a precise beginning -and a pre-destined final end, ideas which if driven home would wreck -our peace. A beginning--but how could this be? Whence could it -come? and when and how? and an end--but what could come after that? -Would it be the starting-point of a new evolution, of a fresh -departure in time? Besides, the very ideas are absurd, -self-contradictory. Nature has no exceptions, no isolated events. - -In such a haze of strange ideas and confused visions my dream draws -to its close. However, we do not make them of hazardous and fugitive -web. Into them are woven real figments of our life and immanent -seconds from the stock of unchanging time. Their elements will float -forth across the universe after the dissolution of the adventures -whose apparent, if mental, form they have for the moment composed. -These scattered moments of my faded dream will distribute an -impression of the life of the great pine-tree, which was born and -lived and died in its place, till the sense of it pierces to a tiny -immeasurable point, one of those secret places which we call our -cells ... and then it seems to me that there rises a thin mist of -russet wood-powder, amid a heartrending savour of old age.... - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOREST GIANT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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