A mother sat alone at an open window. Through it came the voices of the children as they played under the acacia-trees, and the breath of the hot afternoon air. In and out of the room flew the bees, the wild bees, with their legs yellow with pollen, going to and from the acacia-trees, droning all the while. She sat on a low chair before the table and darned. She took her work from the great basket that stood before her on the table: some lay on her knee and half covered the book that rested there. She watched the needle go in and out; and the dreary hum of the bees and the noise of the children’s voices became a confused murmur in her ears, as she worked slowly and more slowly. Then the bees, the long-legged wasp-like fellows who make no honey, flew closer and closer to her head, droning. Then she grew more and more drowsy, and she laid her hand, with the stocking over it, on the edge of the table, and leaned her head upon it. And the voices of the children outside grew more and more dreamy, came now far, now near; then she did not hear them, but she felt under her heart where the ninth child lay. Bent forward and sleeping there, with the bees flying about her head, she had a weird brain-picture; she thought the bees lengthened and lengthened themselves out and became human creatures and moved round and round her. Then one came to her softly, saying, “Let me lay my hand upon thy side where the child sleeps. If I shall touch him he shall be as I.”
She asked, “Who are you?”
And he said, “I am Health. Whom I touch will have always the red blood dancing in his veins; he will not know weariness nor pain; life will be a long laugh to him.”
“No,” said another, “let me touch; for I am Wealth. If I touch him material care shall not feed on him. He shall live on the blood and sinews of his fellow-men, if he will; and what his eye lusts for, his hand will have. He shall not know ‘I want.’” And the child lay still like lead.
And another said, “Let me touch him: I am Fame. The man I touch, I lead to a high hill where all men may see him. When he dies he is not forgotten, his name rings down the centuries, each echoes it on to his fellows. Think—not to be forgotten through the ages!”
And the mother lay breathing steadily, but in the brain-picture they pressed closer to her.
“Let me touch the child,” said one, “for I am Love. If I touch him he shall not walk through life alone. In the greatest dark, when he puts out his hand he shall find another hand by it. When the world is against him, another shall say, ‘You and I.’” And the child trembled.
But another pressed close and said, “Let me touch; for I am Talent. I can do all things—that have been done before. I touch the soldier, the statesman, the thinker, and the politician who succeed; and the writer who is never before his time, and never behind it. If I touch the child he shall not weep for failure.”
About the mother’s head the bees were flying, touching her with their long tapering limbs; and, in her brain-picture, out of the shadow of the room came one with sallow face, deep-lined, the cheeks drawn into hollows, and a mouth smiling quiveringly. He stretched out his hand. And the mother drew back, and cried, “Who are you?” He answered nothing; and she looked up between his eyelids. And she said, “What can you give the child—health?” And he said, “The man I touch, there wakes up in his blood a burning fever, that shall lick his blood as fire. The fever that I will give him shall be cured when his life is cured.”
“You give wealth?”
He shook his head. “The man whom I touch, when he bends to pick up gold, he sees suddenly a light over his head in the sky; while he looks up to see it, the gold slips from between his fingers, or sometimes another passing takes it from them.”
“Fame?”
He answered, “likely not. For the man I touch there is a path traced out in the sand by a finger which no man sees. That he must follow. Sometimes it leads almost to the top, and then turns down suddenly into the valley. He must follow it, though none else sees the tracing.”
“Love?”
He said, “He shall hunger for it—but he shall not find it. When he stretches out his arms to it, and would lay his heart against a thing he loves, then, far off along the horizon he shall see a light play. He must go towards it. The thing he loves will not journey with him; he must travel alone. When he presses somewhat to his burning heart, crying, ‘Mine, mine, my own!’ he shall hear a voice—‘Renounce! renounce! this is not thine!’”
“He shall succeed?”
He said, “He shall fail. When he runs with others they shall reach the goal before him. For strange voices shall call to him and strange lights shall beckon him, and he must wait and listen. And this shall be the strangest: far off across the burning sands where, to other men, there is only the desert’s waste, he shall see a blue sea! On that sea the sun shines always, and the water is blue as burning amethyst, and the foam is white on the shore. A great land rises from it, and he shall see upon the mountain-tops burning gold.”
The mother said, “He shall reach it?”
And he smiled curiously.
She said, “It is real?”
And he said, “What IS real?”
And she looked up between his half-closed eyelids, and said, “Touch.”
And he leaned forward and laid his hand upon the sleeper, and whispered to it, smiling; and this only she heard—“This shall be thy reward—that the ideal shall be real to thee.”
And the child trembled; but the mother slept on heavily and her brain-picture vanished. But deep within her the antenatal thing that lay here had a dream. In those eyes that had never seen the day, in that half-shaped brain was a sensation of light! Light—that it never had seen. Light—that perhaps it never should see. Light—that existed somewhere!
And already it had its reward: the Ideal was real to it.
London.
There are four bare walls; there is a Christ upon the walls, in red, carrying his cross; there is a Blessed Bambino with the face rubbed out; there is Madonna in blue and red; there are Roman soldiers and a Christ with tied hands. All the roof is gone; overhead is the blue, blue Italian sky; the rain has beaten holes in the walls, and the plaster is peeling from it. The chapel stands here alone upon the promontory, and by day and by night the sea breaks at its feet. Some say that it was set here by the monks from the island down below, that they might bring their sick here in times of deadly plague. Some say that it was set here that the passing monks and friars, as they hurried by upon the roadway, might stop and say their prayers here. Now no one stops to pray here, and the sick come no more to be healed.
Behind it runs the old Roman road. If you climb it and come and sit there alone on a hot sunny day you may almost hear at last the clink of the Roman soldiers upon the pavement, and the sound of that older time, as you sit there in the sun, when Hannibal and his men broke through the brushwood, and no road was.
Now it is very quiet. Sometimes a peasant girl comes riding by between her panniers, and you hear the mule’s feet beat upon the bricks of the pavement; sometimes an old woman goes past with a bundle of weeds upon her head, or a brigand-looking man hurries by with a bundle of sticks in his hand; but for the rest the Chapel lies here alone upon the promontory, between the two bays and hears the sea break at its feet.
I came here one winter’s day when the midday sun shone hot on the bricks of the Roman road. I was weary, and the way seemed steep. I walked into the chapel to the broken window, and looked out across the bay. Far off, across the blue, blue water, were towns and villages, hanging white and red dots, upon the mountain-sides, and the blue mountains rose up into the sky, and now stood out from it and now melted back again.
The mountains seemed calling to me, but I knew there would never be a bridge built from them to me; never, never, never! I shaded my eyes with my hand and turned away. I could not bear to look at them.
I walked through the ruined Chapel, and looked at the Christ in red carrying his cross, and the Blessed rubbed-out Bambino, and the Roman soldiers, and the folded hands, and the reed; and I went and sat down in the open porch upon a stone. At my feet was the small bay, with its white row of houses buried among the olive trees; the water broke in a long, thin, white line of foam along the shore; and I leaned my elbows on my knees. I was tired, very tired; tired with a tiredness that seemed older than the heat of the day and the shining of the sun on the bricks of the Roman road; and I lay my head upon my knees; I heard the breaking of the water on the rocks three hundred feet below, and the rustling of the wind among the olive trees and the ruined arches, and then I fell asleep there. I had a dream.
A man cried up to God, and God sent down an angel to help him; and the angel came back and said, “I cannot help that man.”
God said, “How is it with him?”
And the angel said, “He cries out continually that one has injured him; and he would forgive him and he cannot.”
God said, “What have you done for him?”
The angel said, “All—. I took him by the hand, and I said, ‘See, when other men speak ill of that man do you speak well of him; secretly, in ways he shall not know, serve him; if you have anything you value share it with him, so, serving him, you will at last come to feel possession in him, and you will forgive.’ And he said, ‘I will do it.’ Afterwards, as I passed by in the dark of night, I heard one crying out, ‘I have done all. It helps nothing! My speaking well of him helps me nothing! If I share my heart’s blood with him, is the burning within me less? I cannot forgive; I cannot forgive! Oh, God, I cannot forgive!’
“I said to him, ‘See here, look back on all your past. See from your childhood all smallness, all indirectness that has been yours; look well at it, and in its light do you not see every man your brother? Are you so sinless you have right to hate?’
“He looked, and said, ‘Yes, you are right; I too have failed, and I forgive my fellow. Go, I am satisfied; I have forgiven;’ and he laid him down peacefully and folded his hands on his breast, and I thought it was well with him. But scarcely had my wings rustled and I turned to come up here, when I heard one crying out on earth again, ‘I cannot forgive! I cannot forgive! Oh, God, God, I cannot forgive! It is better to die than to hate! I cannot forgive! I cannot forgive!’ And I went and stood outside his door in the dark, and I heard him cry, ‘I have not sinned so, not so! If I have torn my fellows’ flesh ever so little, I have kneeled down and kissed the wound with my mouth till it was healed. I have not willed that any soul shall be lost through hate of me. If they have but fancied that I wronged them I have lain down on the ground before them that they might tread on me, and so, seeing my humiliation, forgive and not be lost through hating me; they have not cared that my soul should be lost; they have not willed to save me; they have not tried that I should forgive them!’
“I said to him, ‘See here, be thou content; do not forgive: forget this soul and its injury; go on your way. In the next world perhaps—’
“He cried, ‘Go from me, you understand nothing! What is the next world to me! I am lost now, today. I cannot see the sunlight shine, the dust is in my throat, the sand is in my eyes! Go from me, you know nothing! Oh, once again before I die to see that the world is beautiful! Oh, God, God, I cannot live and not love. I cannot live and hate. Oh, God, God, God!’ So I left him crying out and came back here.”
God said, “This man’s soul must be saved.”
And the angel said “How?”
God said, “Go down you, and save it.”
The angel said, “What more shall I do?”
Then God bent down and whispered in the angel’s ear, and the angel spread out its wings and went down to earth.
And partly I woke, sitting there upon the broken stone with my head on my knee; but I was too weary to rise. I heard the wind roam through the olive trees and among the ruined arches, and then I slept again.
The angel went down and found the man with the bitter heart and took him by the hand, and led him to a certain spot.
Now the man wist not where it was the angel would take him nor what he would show him there. And when they came the angel shaded the man’s eyes with his wing, and when he moved it the man saw somewhat on the earth before them. For God had given it to that angel to unclothe a human soul; to take from it all those outward attributes of form, and colour, and age, and sex, whereby one man is known from among his fellows and is marked off from the rest, and the soul lay before them, bare, as a man turning his eye inwards beholds himself.
They saw its past, its childhood, the tiny life with the dew upon it; they saw its youth when the dew was melting, and the creature raised its Lilliputian mouth to drink from a cup too large for it, and they saw how the water spilt; they saw its hopes that were never realized; they saw its hours of intellectual blindness, men call sin; they saw its hours of all-radiating insight, which men call righteousness; they saw its hour of strength, when it leaped to its feet crying, “I am omnipotent;” its hour of weakness, when it fell to the earth and grasped dust only; they saw what it might have been, but never would be.
The man bent forward.
And the angel said, “What is it?”
He answered, “It is I! it is myself!” And he went forward as if he would have lain his heart against it; but the angel held him back and covered his eyes.
Now God had given power to the angel further to unclothe that soul, to take from it all those outward attributes of time and place and circumstance whereby the individual life is marked off from the life of the whole.
Again the angel uncovered the man’s eyes, and he looked. He saw before him that which in its tiny drop reflects the whole universe; he saw that which marks within itself the step of the furthest star, and tells how the crystal grows under ground where no eye has seen it; that which is where the germ in the egg stirs; which moves the outstretched fingers of the little newborn babe, and keeps the leaves of the trees pointing upward; which moves where the jelly-fish sail alone on the sunny seas, and is where the lichens form on the mountains’ rocks.
And the man looked.
And the angel touched him.
But the man bowed his head and shuddered. He whispered—“It is God!”
And the angel re-covered the man’s eyes. And when he uncovered them there was one walking from them a little way off;—for the angel had re-clothed the soul in its outward form and vesture—and the man knew who it was.
And the angel said, “Do you know him?”
And the man said, “I know him,” and he looked after the figure.
And the angel said, “Have you forgiven him?”
But the man said, “How beautiful my brother is!”
And the angel looked into the man’s eyes, and he shaded his own face with his wing from the light. He laughed softly and went up to God.
But the men were together on earth.
I awoke.
The blue, blue sky was over my head, and the waves were breaking below on the shore. I walked through the little chapel, and I saw the Madonna in blue and red, and the Christ carrying his cross, and the Roman soldiers with the rod, and the Blessed Bambino with its broken face; and then I walked down the sloping rock to the brick pathway. The olive trees stood up on either side of the road, their black berries and pale-green leaves stood out against the sky; and the little ice-plants hung from the crevices in the stone wall. It seemed to me as if it must have rained while I was asleep. I thought I had never seen the heavens and the earth look so beautiful before. I walked down the road. The old, old, old tiredness was gone.
Presently there came a peasant boy down the path leading his ass; she had two large panniers fastened to her sides; and they went down the road before me.
I had never seen him before; but I should have liked to walk by him and to have held his hand—only, he would not have known why.
Alassio, Italy.
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreamt Life stood before her, and held in each hand a gift—in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And she said to the woman, “Choose!”
And the woman waited long: and she said, “Freedom!”
And Life said, “Thou hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, ‘Love,’ I would have given thee that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee, and returned to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return. In that day I shall bear both gifts in one hand.”
I heard the woman laugh in her sleep.
London.
There was an artist once, and he painted a picture. Other artists had colours richer and rarer, and painted more notable pictures. He painted his with one colour, there was a wonderful red glow on it; and the people went up and down, saying, “We like the picture, we like the glow.”
The other artists came and said, “Where does he get his colour from?” They asked him; and he smiled and said, “I cannot tell you”; and worked on with his head bent low.
And one went to the far East and bought costly pigments, and made a rare colour and painted, but after a time the picture faded. Another read in the old books, and made a colour rich and rare, but when he had put it on the picture it was dead.
But the artist painted on. Always the work got redder and redder, and the artist grew whiter and whiter. At last one day they found him dead before his picture, and they took him up to bury him. The other men looked about in all the pots and crucibles, but they found nothing they had not.
And when they undressed him to put his grave-clothes on him, they found above his left breast the mark of a wound—it was an old, old wound, that must have been there all his life, for the edges were old and hardened; but Death, who seals all things, had drawn the edges together, and closed it up.
And they buried him. And still the people went about saying, “Where did he find his colour from?”
And it came to pass that after a while the artist was forgotten—but the work lived.
St. Leonards-on-Sea.
I thought I stood in Heaven before God’s throne, and God asked me what I had come for. I said I had come to arraign my brother, Man.
God said, “What has he done?”
I said, “He has taken my sister, Woman, and has stricken her, and wounded her, and thrust her out into the streets; she lies there prostrate. His hands are red with blood. I am here to arraign him; that the kingdom be taken from him, because he is not worthy, and given unto me. My hands are pure.”
I showed them.
God said, “Thy hands are pure.—Lift up thy robe.”
I raised it; my feet were red, blood-red, as if I had trodden in wine.
God said, “How is this?”
I said, “Dear Lord, the streets on earth are full of mire. If I should walk straight on in them my outer robe might be bespotted, you see how white it is! Therefore I pick my way.”
God said, “On what?”
I was silent, and I let my robe fall. I wrapped my mantle about my head. I went out softly. I was afraid that the angels would see me.
II.
Once more I stood at the gate of Heaven, I and another. We held fast by one another; we were very tired. We looked up at the great gates; the angels opened them, and we went in. The mud was on our garments. We walked across the marble floor, and up to the great throne. Then the angels divided us. Her, they set upon the top step, but me, upon the bottom; for, they said, “Last time this woman came here she left red foot-marks on the floor; we had to wash them out with our tears. Let her not go up.”
Then she, with whom I came, looked back, and stretched out her hand to me; and I went and stood beside her. And the angels, they, the shining ones who never sinned and never suffered, walked by us to and fro and up and down; I think we should have felt a little lonely there if it had not been for one another, the angels were so bright.
God asked me what I had come for; and I drew my sister forward a little that he might see her.
God said, “How is it you are here together today?”
I said, “She was upon the ground in the street, and they passed over her; I lay down by her, and she put her arms around my neck, and so I lifted her, and we two rose together.”
God said, “Whom are you now come to accuse before me?”
I said, “We are come to accuse no man.”
And God bent, and said, “My children—what is it that ye seek?”
And she beside me drew my hand that I should speak for both.
I said, “We have come to ask that thou shouldst speak to Man, our brother, and give us a message for him that he might understand, and that he might—”
God said, “Go, take the message down to him!”
I said, “But what is the message?”
God said, “Upon your hearts it is written; take it down to him.”
And we turned to go; the angels went with us to the door. They looked at us.
And one said—“Ai! but their dresses are beautiful!”
And the other said, “I thought it was mire when they came in, but see, it is all golden!”
But another said, “Hush, it is the light from their faces!”
And we went down to him.
Alassio, Italy.
In the dark one night I lay upon my bed. I heard the policeman’s feet beat on the pavement; I heard the wheels of carriages roll home from houses of entertainment; I heard a woman’s laugh below my window—and then I fell asleep. And in the dark I dreamt a dream. I dreamt God took my soul to Hell.
Hell was a fair place; the water of the lake was blue.
I said to God, “I like this place.”
God said, “Ay, dost thou!”
Birds sang, turf came to the water-edge, and trees grew from it. Away off among the trees I saw beautiful women walking. Their clothes were of many delicate colours and clung to them, and they were tall and graceful and had yellow hair. Their robes trailed over the grass. They glided in and out among the trees, and over their heads hung yellow fruit like large pears of melted gold.
I said, “It is very fair; I would go up and taste the—”
God said, “Wait.”
And after a while I noticed a very fair woman pass: she looked this way and that, and drew down a branch, and it seemed she kissed the fruit upon it softly, and went on her way, and her dress made no rustle as she passed over the grass. And when I saw her no more, from among the stems came another woman fair as she had been, in a delicate tinted robe; she looked this way and that. When she saw no one there she drew down the fruit, and when she had looked over it to find a place, she put her mouth to it softly, and went away. And I saw other and other women come, making no noise, and they glided away also over the grass.
And I said to God, “What are they doing?”
God said, “They are poisoning.”
And I said, “How?”
God said, “They touch it with their lips, when they have made a tiny wound in it with their fore-teeth they set in it that which is under their tongues: they close it with their lip—that no man may see the place, and pass on.”
I said to God, “Why do they do it?”
God said, “That another may not eat.”
I said to God, “But if they poison all then none dare eat; what do they gain?”
God said, “Nothing.”
I said, “Are they not afraid they themselves may bite where another has bitten?”
God said, “They are afraid. In Hell all men fear.”
He called me further. And the water of the lake seemed less blue.
Then, to the right among the trees were men working. And I said to God, “I should like to go and work with them. Hell must be a very fruitful place, the grass is so green.”
God said, “Nothing grows in the garden they are making.”
We stood looking; and I saw them working among the bushes, digging holes, but in them they set nothing; and when they had covered them with sticks and earth each went a way off and sat behind the bushes watching; and I noticed that as each walked he set his foot down carefully looking where he trod. I said to God, “What are they doing?”
God said, “Making pitfalls into which their fellows may sink.”
I said to God, “Why do they do it?”
God said, “Because each thinks that when his brother falls he will rise.”
I said to God, “How will he rise?”
God said, “He will not rise.”
And I saw their eyes gleam from behind the bushes.
I said to God, “Are these men sane?”
God said, “They are not sane; there is no sane man in Hell.”
And he told me to come further.
And I looked where I trod.
And we came where Hell opened into a plain, and a great house stood there. Marble pillars upheld the roof, and white marble steps let up to it. The wind of heaven blew through it. Only at the back hung a thick curtain. Fair men and women there feasted at long tables. They danced, and I saw the robes of women flutter in the air and heard the laugh of strong men. What they feasted with was wine; they drew it from large jars which stood somewhat in the background, and I saw the wine sparkle as they drew it.
And I said to God, “I should like to go up and drink.” And God said, “Wait.” And I saw men coming in to the Banquet House; they came in from the back and lifted the corner of the curtain at the sides and crept in quickly; and they let the curtain fall behind them; they bore great jars they could hardly carry. And the men and women crowded round them, and the new-comers opened their jars and gave them of the wine to drink; and I saw that the women drank even more greedily than the men. And when others had well drunken they set the jars among the old ones beside the wall, and took their places at the table. And I saw that some of the jars were very old and mildewed and dusty, but others had still drops of new must on them and shone from the furnace.
And I said to God, “What is that?” For amid the sound of the singing, and over the dancing of feet, and over the laughing across the wine-cups I heard a cry.
And God said, “Stand a way off.”
And he took me where I saw both sides of the curtain. Behind the house was the wine-press where the wine was made. I saw the grapes crushed, and I heard them cry. I said, “Do not they on the other side hear it?”
God said, “The curtain is thick; they are feasting.”
And I said, “But the men who came in last. They saw?”
God said, “They let the curtain fall behind them—and they forget!”
I said, “How came they by their jars of wine?”
God said, “In the treading of the press these are they who came to the top; they have climbed out over the edge, and filled their jars from below, and have gone into the house.”
And I said, “And if they had fallen as they climbed—?”
God said, “They had been wine.”
I stood a way off watching in the sunshine, and I shivered.
God lay in the sunshine watching too.
Then there rose one among the feasters, who said, “My brethren, let us pray!”
And all the men and women rose: and strong men bowed their heads, and mothers folded their little children’s hands together, and turned their faces upwards, to the roof. And he who first had risen stood at the table head, and stretched out both his hands, and his beard was long and white, and his sleeves and his beard had been dipped in wine; and because the sleeves were wide and full they held much wine, and it dropped down upon the floor.
And he cried, “My brothers and my sisters, let us pray.”
And all the men and women answered, “Let us pray.”
He cried, “For this fair banquet-house we thank thee, Lord.”
And all the men and women said “We thank thee, Lord.”
“Thine is this house, dear Lord.”
“Thine is this house.”
“For us hast thou made it.”
“For us.”
“Oh, fill our jars with wine, dear Lord.”
“Our jars with wine.”
“Give peace and plenty in our time, dear Lord.”
“Peace and plenty in our time”—I said to God, “Whom is it they are talking to?” God said, “Do I know whom they speak of?” And I saw they were looking up at the roof; but out in the sunshine, God lay.
“—dear Lord!”
“Dear Lord.”
“Our children’s children, Lord, shall rise and call thee blessed.”
“Our children’s children, Lord.”—I said to God, “The grapes are crying!” God said, “Still! I hear them”—“shall call thee blessed.”
“Shall call thee blessed.”
“Pour forth more wine upon us, Lord.”
“More wine.”
“More wine.”
“More wine!”
“Wine!!”
“Wine!!”
“Wine!!!”
“Dear Lord!”
Then men and women sat down and the feast went on. And mothers poured out wine and fed their little children with it, and men held up the cup to women’s lips and cried, “Beloved! drink,” and women filled their lovers’ flagons and held them up; and yet the feast went on.
And after a while I looked, and I saw the curtain that hung behind the house moving.
I said to God, “Is it a wind?”
God said, “A wind.”
And it seemed to me, that against the curtain I saw pressed the forms of men and women. And after a while the feasters saw it move, and they whispered, one to another. Then some rose and gathered the most worn-out cups, and into them they put what was left at the bottom of other vessels. Mothers whispered to their children, “Do not drink all, save a little drop when you have drunk.” And when they had collected all the dregs they slipped the cups out under the bottom of the curtain without lifting it. After a while the curtain left off moving.
I said to God, “How is it so quiet?”
He said, “They have gone away to drink it.”
I said, “They drink it—their own!”
God said, “It comes from this side of the curtain, and they are very thirsty.”
Then the feast went on, and after a while I saw a small, white hand slipped in below the curtain’s edge along the floor; and it motioned towards the wine jars.
And I said to God, “Why is that hand so bloodless?”
And God said, “It is a wine-pressed hand.”
And men saw it and started to their feet; and women cried, and ran to the great wine jars, and threw their arms around them, and cried, “Ours, our own, our beloved!” and twined their long hair about them.
I said to God, “Why are they frightened of that one small hand?”
God answered, “Because it is so white.”
And men ran in a great company towards the curtain, and struggled there. I heard them strike upon the floor. And when they moved away the curtain hung smooth and still; and there was a small stain upon the floor.
I said to God, “Why do they not wash it out?”
God said, “They cannot.”
And they took small stones and put them down along the edge of the curtain to keep it down. Then the men and women sat down again at the tables.
And I said to God, “Will those stones keep it down?”
God said, “What think you?”
I said, “If the wind blew?”
God said, “If the wind blew?”
And the feast went on.
And suddenly I cried to God, “If one should rise among them, even of themselves, and start up from the table and should cast away his cup, and cry, ‘My brothers and my sisters, stay! what is it that we drink?’—and with his sword should cut in two the curtain, and holding wide the fragments, cry, ‘Brothers, sisters, see! it is not wine, not wine! not wine! My brothers, oh, my sisters!’ and he should overturn the—”
God said, “Be still!—, see there.”
I looked: before the banquet-house, among the grass, I saw a row of mounds, flowers covered them, and gilded marble stood at their heads. I asked God what they were.
He answered, “They are the graves of those who rose up at the feast and cried.”
And I asked God how they came there.
He said, “The men of the banquet-house rose and cast them down backwards.”
I said, “Who buried them?”
God said, “The men who cast them down.”
I said, “How came it that they threw them down, and then set marble over them?”
God said, “Because the bones cried out, they covered them.”
And among the grass and weeds I saw an unburied body lying; and I asked God why it was.
God said, “Because it was thrown down only yesterday. In a little while, when the flesh shall have fallen from its bones, they will bury it also, and plant flowers over it.”
And still the feast went on.
Men and women sat at the tables quaffing great bowls. Some rose, and threw their arms about each other, and danced and sang. They pledged each other in the wine, and kissed each other’s blood-red lips.
Higher and higher grew the revels.
Men, when they had drunk till they could no longer, threw what was left in their glasses up to the roof, and let it fall back in cascades. Women dyed their children’s garments in the wine, and fed them on it till their tiny mouths were red. Sometimes, as the dancers whirled, they overturned a vessel, and their garments were bespattered. Children sat upon the floor with great bowls of wine, and swam rose-leaves on it, for boats. They put their hands in the wine and blew large red bubbles.
And higher and higher grew the revels, and wilder the dancing, and louder and louder the singing. But here and there among the revellers were those who did not revel. I saw that at the tables here and there were men who sat with their elbows on the board and hands shading their eyes; they looked into the wine-cup beneath them, and did not drink. And when one touched them lightly on the shoulder, bidding them to rise and dance and sing, they started, and then looked down, and sat there watching the wine in the cup, but they did not move.
And here and there I saw a woman sit apart. The others danced and sang and fed their children, but she sat silent with her head aside as though she listened. Her little children plucked her gown; she did not see them; she was listening to some sound, but she did not stir.
The revels grew higher. Men drank till they could drink no longer, and lay their heads upon the table sleeping heavily. Women who could dance no more leaned back on the benches with their heads against their lovers’ shoulders. Little children, sick with wine, lay down upon the edges of their mothers’ robes. Sometimes, a man rose suddenly, and as he staggered struck the tables and overthrew the benches; some leaned upon the balustrades sick unto death. Here and there one rose who staggered to the wine jars and lay down beside them. He turned the wine tap, but sleep overcame him as he lay there, and the wine ran out.
Slowly the thin, red stream ran across the white marbled floor; it reached the stone steps; slowly, slowly, slowly it trickled down, from step to step, from step to step: then it sank into the earth. A thin white smoke rose up from it.
I was silent; I could not breathe; but God called me to come further.
And after I had travelled for a while I came where on seven hills lay the ruins of a mighty banquet-house larger and stronger than the one which I had seen standing.
I said to God, “What did the men who built it here?”
God said, “They feasted.”
I said, “On what?”
God said, “On wine.”
And I looked; and it seemed to me that behind the ruins lay still a large circular hollow within the earth where a foot of the wine-press had stood.
I said to God, “How came it that this large house fell?”
God said, “Because the earth was sodden.”
He called me to come further.
And at last we came upon a hill where blue waters played, and white marble lay upon the earth. I said to God, “What was here once?”
God said, “A pleasure house.”
I looked, and at my feet great pillars lay. I cried aloud for joy to God, “The marble blossoms!”
God said, “Ay, ‘twas a fairy house. There has not been one like to it, nor ever shall be. The pillars and the porticoes blossomed; and the wine cups were as gathered flowers: on this side all the curtain was broidered with fair designs, the stitching was of gold.”
I said to God, “How came it that it fell?”
God said, “On the side of the wine-press it was dark.”
And as we travelled, we came where lay a mighty ridge of sand, and a dark river ran there; and there rose two vast mounds.
I said to God, “They are very mighty.”
God said, “Ay, exceeding great.”
And I listened.
God asked me what I was listening to.
And I said, “A sound of weeping, and I hear the sound of strokes, but I cannot tell whence it comes.”
God said, “It is the echo of the wine-press lingering still among the coping-stones upon the mounds. A banquet-house stood here.”
And he called me to come further.
Upon a barren hill-side, where the soil was arid, God called me to stand still. And I looked around.
God said, “There was a feasting-house here once upon a time.”
I said to God, “I see no mark of any!”
God said, “There was not left one stone upon another that has not been thrown down.” And I looked round; and on the hill-side was a lonely grave.
I said to God, “What lies there?”
He said, “A vine truss, bruised in the wine-press!”
And at the head of the grave stood a cross, and on its foot lay a crown of thorns.
And as I turned to go, I looked backward. The wine-press and the banquet-house were gone; but the grave yet stood.
And when I came to the edge of a long ridge there opened out before me a wide plain of sand. And when I looked downward I saw great stones lie shattered; and the desert sand had half covered them over.
I said to God, “There is writing on them, but I cannot read it.”
And God blew aside the desert sand, and I read the writing: “Weighed in the balance, and found—” but the last word was wanting.
And I said to God, “It was a banquet-house?”
God said, “Ay, a banquet-house.”
I said, “There was a wine-press here?”
God said, “There was a wine-press.”
I asked no further question. I was very weary; I shaded my eyes with my hand, and looked through the pink evening light.
Far off, across the sand, I saw two figures standing. With wings upfolded high above their heads, and stern faces set, neither man nor beast, they looked out across the desert sand, watching, watching, watching! I did not ask God what they were, for I knew what the answer would be.
And, further and yet further, in the evening light, I looked with my shaded eyes.
Far off, where the sands were thick and heavy, I saw a solitary pillar standing: the crown had fallen, and the sand had buried it. On the broken pillar sat a grey owl-of-the-desert, with folded wings; and in the evening light I saw the desert fox creep past it, trailing his brush across the sand.
Further, yet further, as I looked across the desert, I saw the sand gathered into heaps as though it covered something.
I cried to God, “Oh, I am so weary.”
God said, “You have seen only one half of Hell.”
I said, “I cannot see more, I am afraid of Hell. In my own narrow little path I dare not walk because I think that one has dug a pitfall for me; and if I put my hand to take a fruit I draw it back again because I think it has been kissed already. If I look out across the plains, the mounds are burial heaps; and when I pass among the stones I hear them crying aloud. When I see men dancing I hear the time beaten in with sobs; and their wine is living! Oh, I cannot bear Hell!”
God said, “Where will you go?”
I said “To the earth from which I came; it was better there.”
And God laughed at me; and I wondered why he laughed.
God said, “Come, and I will show you Heaven.”
...
And partly I awoke. It was still and dark; the sound of the carriages had died in the street; the woman who laughed was gone; and the policeman’s tread was heard no more. In the dark it seemed as if a great hand lay upon my heart, and crushed it. I tried to breathe and tossed from side to side; and then again I fell asleep, and dreamed.
God took me to the edge of that world. It ended. I looked down. The gulf, it seemed to me, was fathomless, and then I saw two bridges crossing it that both sloped upwards.
I said to God, “Is there no other way by which men cross it?”
God said, “One; it rises far from here and slopes straight upwards.”
I asked God what the bridges’ names were.
God said, “What matter for the names? Call them the Good, the True, the Beautiful, if you will—you will yet not understand them.”
I asked God how it was I could not see the third.
God said, “It is seen only by those who climb it.”
I said, “Do they all lead to one heaven?”
God said, “All Heaven is one: nevertheless some parts are higher than others; those who reach the higher may always go down to rest in the lower; but those in the lower may not have strength to climb to the higher; nevertheless the light is all one.”
And I saw over the bridge nearest me, which was wider than the other, countless footmarks go. I asked God why so many went over it.
God said, “It slopes less deeply, and leads to the first heaven.”
And I saw that some of the footmarks were of feet returning. I asked God how it was.
He said, “No man who has once entered Heaven ever leaves it; but some, when they have gone half way, turn back, because they are afraid there is no land beyond.”
I said, “Has none ever returned?”
God said, “No; once in Heaven always in Heaven.”
And God took me over. And when we came to one of the great doors—for Heaven has more doors than one, and they are all open—the posts rose up so high on either side I could not see the top, nor indeed if there were any.
And it seemed to me so wide that all Hell could go in through it.
I said to God, “Which is the larger, Heaven or Hell?”
God said, “Hell is as wide, but Heaven is deeper. All Hell could be engulfed in Heaven, but all Heaven could not be engulfed in Hell.”
And we entered. It was a still great land. The mountains rose on every hand, and there was a pale clear light; and I saw it came from the rocks and stones. I asked God how it was.
But God did not answer me.
I looked and wondered, for I had thought Heaven would be otherwise. And after a while it began to grow brighter, as if the day were breaking, and I asked God if the sun were not going to rise.
God said, “No; we are coming to where the people are.”
And as we went on it grew brighter and brighter till it was burning day; and on the rock were flowers blooming, and trees blossomed at the roadside; and streams of water ran everywhere, and I heard the birds singing; I asked God where they were.
God said, “It is the people calling to one another.”
And when we came nearer I saw them walking, and they shone as they walked. I asked God how it was they wore no covering.
God said, “Because all their body gives the light; they dare not cover any part.”
And I asked God what they were doing.
God said, “Shining on the plants that they may grow.”
And I saw that some were working in companies, and some alone, but most were in twos, sometimes two men and sometimes two women; but generally there was one man and one woman; and I asked God how it was.
God said, “When one man and one woman shine together, it makes the most perfect light. Many plants need that for their growing. Nevertheless, there are more kinds of plants in Heaven than one, and they need many kinds of light.”
And one from among the people came running towards me; and when he came near it seemed to me that he and I had played together when we were little children, and that we had been born on the same day. And I told God what I felt; God said, “All men feel so in Heaven when another comes towards them.”
And he who ran towards me held my hand, and led me through the bright lights. And when we came among the trees he sang aloud, and his companion answered, and it was a woman, and he showed me to her. She said, “He must have water”; and she took some in her hands, and fed me (I had been afraid to drink of the water in Hell), and they gathered fruit for me, and gave it me to eat. They said, “We shone long to make it ripen,” and they laughed together as they saw me eat it.
The man said, “He is very weary; he must sleep” (for I had not dared to sleep in Hell), and he laid my head on his companion’s knee and spread her hair out over me. I slept, and all the while in my sleep I thought I heard the birds calling across me. And when I woke it was like early morning, with the dew on everything.
And the man took my hand and led me to a hidden spot among the rocks. The ground was very hard, but out of it were sprouting tiny plants, and there was a little stream running. He said, “This is a garden we are making, no one else knows of it. We shine here every day; see, the ground has cracked with our shining, and this little stream is bursting out. See, the flowers are growing.”
And he climbed on the rocks and picked from above two little flowers with dew on them, and gave them to me. And I took one in each hand; my hands shone as I held them. He said, “This garden is for all when it is finished.” And he went away to his companion, and I went out into the great pathway.
And as I walked in the light I heard a loud sound of much singing. And when I came nearer I saw one with closed eyes, singing, and his fellows were standing round him; and the light on the closed eyes was brighter than anything I had seen in Heaven. I asked one who it was. And he said, “Hush! Our singing bird.”
And I asked why the eyes shone so.
And he said, “They cannot see, and we have kissed them till they shone so.”
And the people gathered closer round him.
And when I went a little further I saw a crowd crossing among the trees of light with great laughter. When they came close I saw they carried one without hands or feet. And a light came from the maimed limbs so bright that I could not look at them.
And I said to one, “What is it?”
He answered, “This is our brother who once fell and lost his hands and feet, and since then he cannot help himself; but we have touched the maimed stumps so often that now they shine brighter than anything in Heaven. We pass him on that he may shine on things that need much heat. No one is allowed to keep him long, he belongs to all;” and they went on among the trees.
I said to God, “This is a strange land. I had thought blindness and maimedness were great evils. Here men make them to a rejoicing.”
God said, “Didst thou then think that love had need of eyes and hands!”
And I walked down the shining way with palms on either hand. I said to God, “Ever since I was a little child and sat alone and cried, I have dreamed of this land, and now I will not go away again. I will stay here and shine.” And I began to take off my garments, that I might shine as others in that land; but when I looked down I saw my body gave no light. I said to God, “How is it?”
God said, “Is there no dark blood in your heart; is it bitter against none?”
And I said, “Yes—“; and I thought—“Now is the time when I will tell God, that which I have been, meaning to tell him all along, how badly my fellow-men have treated me. How they have misunderstood me. How I have intended to be magnanimous and generous to them, and they—.” And I began to tell God; but when I looked down all the flowers were withering under my breath, and I was silent.
And God called me to come up higher, and I gathered my mantle about me and followed him.
And the rocks grew higher and steeper on every side; and we came at last to a place where a great mountain rose, whose top was lost in the clouds. And on its side I saw men working; and they picked at the earth with huge picks; and I saw that they laboured mightily. And some laboured in companies, but most laboured singly. And I saw the drops of sweat fall from their foreheads, and the muscles of their arms stand out with labour. And I said, “I had not thought in heaven to see men labour so!” And I thought of the garden where men sang and loved, and I wondered that any should choose to labour on that bare mountain-side. And I saw upon the foreheads of the men as they worked a light, and the drops which fell from them as they worked had light.
And I asked God what they were seeking for.
And God touched my eyes, and I saw that what they found were small stones, which had been too bright for me to see before; and I saw that the light of the stones and the light on the men’s foreheads was the same. And I saw that when one found a stone he passed it on to his fellow, and he to another, and he to another. No man kept the stone he found. And at times they gathered in great company about when a large stone was found, and raised a great shout so that the sky rang; then they worked on again.
And I asked God what they did with the stones they found at last. Then God touched my eyes again to make them stronger; and I looked, and at my very feet was a mighty crown. The light streamed out from it.
God said, “Each stone as they find it is set here.”
And the crown was wrought according to a marvellous pattern; one pattern ran through all, yet each part was different.
I said to God, “How does each man know where to set his stone, so that the pattern is worked out?”
God said, “Because in the light his forehead sheds each man sees faintly outlined that full crown.”
And I said, “But how is it that each stone is joined along its edges to its fellows, so that there is no seam anywhere?”
God said, “The stones are alive; they grow.”
And I said, “But what does each man gain by his working?”
God said, “He sees his outline filled.”
I said, “But those stones which are last set cover those which were first; and those will again be covered by those which come later.”
God said, “They are covered, but not hid. The light is the light of all. Without the first, no last.”
And I said to God, “When will this crown be ended?”
And God said, “Look up!”
I looked up; and I saw the mountain tower above me, but its summit I could not see; it was lost in the clouds.
God said no more.
And I looked at the crown: then a longing seized me. Like the passion of a mother for the child whom death has taken; like the yearning of a friend for the friend whom life has buried; like the hunger of dying eyes for a life that is slipping; like the thirst of a soul for love at its first spring waking, so, but fiercer was the longing in me.
I cried to God, “I too will work here; I too will set stones in the wonderful pattern; it shall grow beneath MY hand. And if it be that, labouring here for years, I should not find one stone, at least I will be with the men that labour here. I shall hear their shout of joy when each stone is found; I shall join in their triumph, I shall shout among them; I shall see the crown grow.” So great was my longing as I looked at the crown, I thought a faint light fell from my forehead also.
God said, “Do you not hear the singing in the gardens?”
I said, “No, I hear nothing; I see only the crown.” And I was dumb with longing; I forgot all the flowers of the lower Heaven and the singing there. And I ran forward, and threw my mantle on the earth and bent to seize one of the mighty tools which lay there. I could not lift it from the earth.
God said, “Where hast THOU earned the strength to raise it? Take up thy mantle.”
And I took up my mantle and followed where God called me; but I looked back, and I saw the crown burning, my crown that I had loved.
Higher and higher we climbed, and the air grew thinner. Not a tree or plant was on the bare rocks, and the stillness was unbroken. My breath came hard and quick, and the blood crept within my finger-tips. I said to God, “Is this Heaven?”
God said, “Yes; it is the highest.”
And still we climbed. I said to God, “I cannot breathe so high.”
God said, “Because the air is pure?”
And my head grew dizzy, and as I climbed the blood burst from my finger-tips.
Then we came out upon a lonely mountain-top.
No living being moved there; but far off on a solitary peak I saw a lonely figure standing. Whether it were man or woman I could not tell; for partly it seemed the figure of a woman, but its limbs were the mighty limbs of a man. I asked God whether it was man or woman.
God said, “In the least Heaven sex reigns supreme; in the higher it is not noticed; but in the highest it does not exist.”
And I saw the figure bend over its work, and labour mightily, but what it laboured at I could not see.
I said to God, “How came it here?”
God said, “By a bloody stair. Step by step it mounted from the lowest Hell, and day by day as Hell grew farther and Heaven no nearer, it hung alone between two worlds. Hour by hour in that bitter struggle its limbs grew larger, till there fell from it rag by rag the garments which it started with. Drops fell from its eyes as it strained them; each step it climbed was wet with blood. Then it came out here.”
And I thought of the garden where men sang with their arms around one another; and the mountain-side where they worked in company. And I shuddered.
And I said, “Is it not terribly alone here?”
God said, “It is never alone!”
I said, “What has it for all its labour? I see nothing return to it.”
Then God touched my eyes, and I saw stretched out beneath us the plains of Heaven and Hell, and all that was within them.
God said, “From that lone height on which he stands, all things are open. To him is clear the shining in the garden, he sees the flower break forth and the streams sparkle; no shout is raised upon the mountain-side but his ear may hear it. He sees the crown grow and the light shoot from it. All Hell is open to him. He sees the paths mount upwards. To him, Hell is the seed ground from which Heaven springs. He sees the sap ascending.”
And I saw the figure bend over its work, and the light from its face fell upon it.