“My father, shall we soon be there?”
The man stopped, and shading his eyes with his hand, looked long before
him into the silver haze. They were on the southern bank of a wide
valley, flanked by deep hills looking wise as grey-headed youth, a
legion of close comrades, showing no gap in their ranks. They seemed
to breathe; to sit, looking down into the valley, with heads dropped on
their breasts, and deep overshadowed eyes, that never changed, in mist
or snow, or sun, or any kind of weather: dark brooding lights that knew
the secrets of the world, watchful yet kind. Races, ardent with longing,
had come and gone through the valley, had passed the shining porches
in the North on the way to the quiet country; and they had never come
again, though shadows flitted back and forth when the mists came down:
visiting spirits, hungering on the old trail for some that had dropped
by the way. As the ages passed, fewer and fewer travelled through the
valley-no longer a people or a race, but twos and threes, and sometimes
a small company, like soldiers of a battered guard, and oftener still
solitary pilgrims, broken with much travel and bowed with loneliness.
But they always cried out with joy when they beheld far off in the
North, at the end of the long trail, this range of grey and violet hills
break into golden gaps with scarlet walls, and rivers of water ride
through them pleasantly. Then they hurried on to the opal haze that hung
at the end of the valley--and who heard ever of any that wished to leave
the Scarlet Hills and the quiet country beyond!
The boy repeated his question: “My father, shall we soon be there?”
The man withdrew his hand from over his eyes, and a strange smile came
to his lips.
“My son,” he answered, “canst thou not see? Yonder, through the gentle
mist, are the Scarlet Hills. Our journey is near done.”
The boy lifted his head and looked. “I can see nothing but the mist, my
father--not the Scarlet Hills. I am tired, I would sleep.”
“Thou shalt sleep soon. The wise men told us of the Delightful Chateau
at the gateway of the hills. Courage, my son! If I gave thee the golden
balls to toss, would it cheer thee?”
“My father, I care not for the golden balls; but if I had horse and
sword and a thousand men, I would take a city.”
The man laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder.
“If I, my son,” he said, “had a horse and sword and a thousand men, I
would build a city.”
“Why dost thou not fly thy falcon, or write thy thoughts upon the sand,
as thou didst yesterday, my father?”
The man loosed the falcon from his wrist, and watched it fly away.
“My son, I care not for the falcon, nor any more for writing on the
sands.”
“My father, if thou didst build a city, I would not tear it down, but I
would keep it with my thousand men.
“Thou hast well said, my son.” And the man stooped and kissed the lad on
the forehead.
And so they travelled on in silence for a long time, and slowly they
came to the opal haze, which smelled sweet as floating flowers, and gave
their hearts a halcyon restfulness. And glancing down at him many times,
the father saw the lad’s face look serenely wise, without becoming old,
and his brown hair clustered on his forehead with all the life of youth
in it. Yet in his eyes the lad seemed as old as himself.
“My father,” said the lad again, “wouldst thou then build a city?”
And the father answered: “Nay, my son, I would sow seed, and gather it
into harvest--enough for my needs, no more; and sit quiet in my doorway
when my work was done, and be grateful to the gods.”
The lad waited a moment, then answered: “When thou wast a governor in
our own country, thou hadst serfs and retainers without number, and
fifty men to beat upon the shields of brass to tell of thy coming
through the gates of the King’s house; now thou wouldst sow a field and
sit quiet in thy doorway, like the blind seller of seed-cakes ‘gainst
the temple.”
“Even so, my son.” Then he stooped down, knelt upon his knees, and
kissed the earth solemnly, and when he rose there was a smile upon his
face.
Then the lad said: “When I was the son of a governor I loved to play
with the golden balls, to shoot at the target for pearls, and to ride
the flamingo down; now I would grind the corn which thou didst reap, and
with oil make seed-cakes for our supper, and sit quiet with thee in thy
doorway.” Then he too stooped down and kissed the earth, and rose up
again with a smile upon his face.
And as they went the earth seemed suddenly to blossom anew, the glory
of the Scarlet Hills burst upon them, and they could hear bugles calling
far off and see giant figures trooping along the hills, all scarlet too,
with streaming hair. And presently, near to a lake, there was a
great gateway, and perched upon a rock near it a chateau of divine
proportions, on which was written above the perfect doorway:
“The Keeper of the House awaits thee. Enter into Quiet.”
And they entered, and were possessed of an incomparable peace. And then
came to them an old man of noble countenance, with eye neither dimmed
nor sunken, and cheek dewy as a child’s, and his voice was like an organ
when it plays the soft thanksgiving of a mother.
“Why did ye kiss the earth as ye travelled?” he asked. Then they told
him, each with his own tongue, and he smiled upon them and questioned
them of all their speech by the way; and they answered him all honestly
and with gladness, for the searching of their hearts was a joy and
relief. But he looked most lovingly upon the lad.
“Wouldst thou, then, indeed enter the quiet country?” he asked.
And the lad answered: “I have lived so long in the noise!”
“Thou hast learned all, thou hast lived all,” he answered the boy.
“Beyond the Hills of Scarlet there is quiet, and thou shalt dwell there,
thou and he. Ye have the perfect desire--Go in peace, and know that
though ye are of different years, as men count time, God’s clock strikes
the same for both; for both are of equal knowledge, and have the same
desire at last.”
Then, lifting up his hands, he said: “O children of men! O noisy world!
when will ye learn the delectable way?”
Slowly they all three came from the Chateau, and through the great
gateway, and passed to the margin of a shining lake. There the two
stepped into a boat that waited for them, of which the rowers were nobly
fashioned, like the Keeper of the House, and as they bowed their heads
to a melodious blessing, the boat drew away. Soon, in the sweet haze,
they looked transfigured and enlarged, majestic figures moving through
the Scarlet Hills to the quiet country. Now the valley through which
they had passed was the Valley of Death, where the young become old, and
the old young, and all become wise.