And I said to God, “What is it making?”
And God said, “Music!”
And he touched my ears, and I heard it.
And after a long while I whispered to God, “This is Heaven.”
And God asked me why I was crying. But I could not answer for joy.
And the face turned from its work, and the light fell upon me. Then it grew so bright I could not see things separately; and which were God, or the man, or I, I could not tell; we were all blended. I cried to God, “Where are you?” but there was no answer, only music and light.
Afterwards, when it had grown so dark again that I could see things separately, I found that I was standing there wrapped tight in my little old, brown, earthly cloak, and God and the man were separated from each other, and from me.
I did not dare say I would go and make music beside the man. I knew I could not reach even to his knee, nor move the instrument he played. But I thought I would stand there on my little peak and sing an accompaniment to that great music. And I tried; but my voice failed. It piped and quavered. I could not sing that tune. I was silent.
Then God pointed to me, that I should go out of Heaven.
And I cried to God, “Oh, let me stay here! If indeed it be, as I know it is, that I am not great enough to sing upon the mountain, nor strong enough to labour on its side, nor bright enough to shine and love within the garden, at least let me go down to the great gateway; humbly I will kneel there sweeping; and, as the saved pass in, I will see the light upon their faces. I shall hear the singing in the garden, and the shout upon the hillside—”
God said, “It may not be;” he pointed.
And I cried, “If I may not stay in Heaven, then let me go down to Hell, and I will grasp the hands of men and women there; and slowly, holding one another’s hands, we will work our way upwards.”
Still God pointed.
And I threw myself upon the earth and cried, “Earth is so small, so mean! It is not meet a soul should see Heaven and be cast out again!”
And God laid his hand on me, and said, “Go back to earth: that which you seek is there.”
I awoke: it was morning. The silence and darkness of the night were gone. Through my narrow attic window I saw the light of another day. I closed my eyes and turned towards the wall: I could not look upon the dull grey world.
In the streets below, men and women streamed past by hundreds; I heard the beat of their feet on the pavement. Men on their way to business; servants on errands; boys hurrying to school; weary professors pacing slowly the old street; prostitutes, men and women, dragging their feet wearily after last night’s debauch; artists with quick, impatient footsteps; tradesmen for orders; children to seek for bread. I heard the stream beat by. And at the alley’s mouth, at the street corner, a broken barrel-organ was playing; sometimes it quavered and almost stopped, then went on again, like a broken human voice.
I listened: my heart scarcely moved; it was as cold as lead. I could not bear the long day before me; and I tried to sleep again; yet still I heard the feet upon the pavement. And suddenly I heard them cry loud as they beat, “We are seeking!—we are seeking!—we are seeking!” and the broken barrel-organ at the street corner sobbed, “The Beautiful!—the Beautiful!—the Beautiful!” And my heart, which had been dead, cried out with every throb, “Love!—Truth!—the Beautiful!—the Beautiful!” It was the music I had heard in Heaven that I could not sing there.
And fully I awoke.
Upon the faded quilt, across my bed a long yellow streak of pale London sunlight was lying. It fell through my narrow attic window.
I laughed. I rose.
I was glad the long day was before me.
Paris and London.
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