“It is an impossibility, and if I did they would think me a lunatic or
a snivelling, sentimental humbug. I believe that lots of my old friends
would scarcely speak to me again. Why, putting aside the pleasures of
sport, if the views you preach were to be accepted, what would become
of keepers and beaters and huntsmen and dog-breeders, and of thousands
of others who directly or indirectly get their living out of hunting
and shooting? Where would game rents be also?”
“I don’t know, I am sure,” replied the Hare wearily. “I suppose that
they would earn their living in some other way, as they must in
countries where there is no sport, and that you would have to make up
for shooting rents by growing more upon the land. You know that after
all we hares and the other game eat a great deal which might be saved
if there were not so many of us. But I am not wise, and I have never
looked at the question from that point of view. It may seem selfish,
but I have to consider myself and the creatures whose cause I plead,
for something inside me is telling me now—yes, now—that all of them are
speaking through my mouth. It says that is why I am allowed to be here
and to talk with you both; for their sakes rather than for my own.”
“If you have more to say you had better say it quickly,” I interrupted,
addressing the Red-faced Man. “I see that the Lights are beginning to
change, which means that soon the Road will be closed and the Gates
opened.”
“I can’t remember anything,” he answered. “Yes, there is one matter,”
he added nervously. “I see, Mr. Hare, that you are thinking of my boy
Tom, not very kindly I am afraid. As you have been so good as to
forgive me I hope that you won’t be hard on Tom. He is not at all a bad
sort of a lad if a little thoughtless, like many other young people.”
“I don’t like Tom,” said the Hare, with decision. “Tom shot me when you
told him not to shoot. Tom shut me up in a filthy place with a yellow
rabbit which he forgot to feed, so that it wanted to eat me. Tom tried
to cut me off from the wood so that the running dogs might catch me,
although you shouted to him that it was not sportsmanlike. Tom dragged
me out of the sea and blew down my nostrils to keep me alive. Tom threw
me to the hounds, although Giles remonstrated with him and even the
huntsman begged him to let me go. I tell you that I don’t like Tom.”
“Still, Mr. Hare,” pleaded the Red-faced Man, “I hope that if it should
be in your power when we get through those Gates, that you will be
merciful to Tom. I can’t think of much to say for him in this hurry,
but there, he is my only son and the truth is that I love him. You know
he may live—to be different—if you don’t bring some misfortune on him.”
“Who am I to bring misfortune or to withhold it?” asked the Hare,
softening visibly. “Well, I know what love means, for my mother loved
me and I loved her in my way. I tell you that when I saw her dead,
turned from a beautiful living thing into a stained lump of flesh and
fur, I felt dreadful. I understand now that you love Tom as my mother
loved me, and, Man, for the sake of your love—not for his sake, mind—I
promise you that I won’t say anything against Tom if I can help it, or
do anything either.”
“You’re a real good fellow!” exclaimed the Red-faced Man, with evident
relief. “Give me your hand. Oh! I forgot, you can’t. Hullo! what’s up
now? Everything seems to be altering.”
As he spoke, to my eyes the Lights began to change in earnest. All the
sky (I call it sky for clearness) above the mighty Gates became as it
were alive with burning tongues of every colour that an artist can
conceive. By degrees these fiery tongues or swords shaped themselves
into a vast circle which drove back the walls of darkness, and through
this circle, guided, guarded by the spirits of dead suns, with odours
and with chantings, descended that crowned City of the Mansions before
whose glory imagination breaks and even Vision veils her eyes.
It descended, its banners wavering in the winds of prayer; it hung
above the Gates, the flowers of all splendours, Heaven’s very rose,
hung like an opal on the boundless breast of night, and there it
stayed.
The Voice in the North called to the Voice in the South; the Voice in
the East called to the Voice in the West, and up the Great White Road
sped the Angel of the Road, making report as he came that all his
multitude were gathered in and for that while the Road was barred.
He passed and in a flash the Gates were burned away. The ashes of them
fell upon the heads of those waiting at the Gates, whitening their
faces and drying their tears before the Change. They fell upon the Man
and the Hare beside me, veiling them as it were and making them silent,
but on me they did not fall. Then, from between the Wardens of the
Gates, flowed forth the Helpers and the Guardians (save those who
already were without comforting the children) seeking their beloved and
bearing the Cups of slumber and new birth; then pealed the question—
“Who hath suffered most? Let that one first taste of peace.”
Now all the dim hosts surged forward since each outworn soul believed
that it had suffered most and was in the bitterest need of peace. But
the Helpers and the Guardians gently pressed them back, and again there
pealed, no question but a command.