“Dear Olesen, you will have forgotten me, and feeling sure of this I
should scarcely have intruded a letter into your busy life were it not
that I remember your good-nature as a thing unforgettable though so many
years have gone by. I hear of you sometimes when Sleigh comes up the
Sind valley, for I often camp at Sonamarg and above the Zoji La and
farther. I want you to give a message to a man you know who should
be expecting to hear from me. Tell him I shall be at the Tashigong
Monastery when he reaches Gyumur beyond the Shipki. Tell him I have the
information he wants and I will willingly go on with him to Yarkhand
and his destination. He need not arrange for men beyond Gyumur. All
is fixed. So sorry to bother you, old man, but I don’t know Ormond’s
address, except that he was with you and has gone up Simla way. And of
course he will be keen to hear the thing is settled.”
Amazing. I remembered the message I had heard and this man’s words
rang true and kindly, but what could it mean? I really did not question
farther than this for now I could not doubt that I was guided. Stronger
hands than mine had me in charge, and it only remained for me to set
forth in confidence and joy to an end that as yet I could not discern. I
turned my face gladly to the wonder of the mountains.
Gladly--but with a reservation. I was leaving a friend and one whom I
dimly felt might one day be more than a friend--Brynhild Ingmar. That
problem must be met before I could take my way. I thought much of what
might be said at parting. True, she had the deepest attraction for me,
but true also that I now beheld a quest stretching out into the unknown
which I must accept in the spirit of the knight errant. Dare I then
bind my heart to any allegiance which would pledge me to a future
inconsistent with what lay before me? How could I tell what she
might think of the things which to me were now real and external--the
revelation of the only reality that underlies all the seeming. Life can
never be the same for the man who has penetrated to this, and though it
may seem a hard saying there can be but a maimed understanding between
him and those who still walk amid the phantoms of death and decay.
Her sympathy with nature was deep and wonderful but might it not be that
though the earth was eloquent to her the skies were silent? I was but
a beginner myself--I knew little indeed. Dare I risk that little in a
sweet companionship which would sink me into the contentment of the
life lived by the happily deluded between the cradle and the grave and
perhaps close to me for ever that still sphere where my highest hope
abides? I had much to ponder, for how could I lose her out of my
life--though I knew not at all whether she who had so much to make her
happiness would give me a single thought when I was gone.
If all this seem the very uttermost of selfish vanity, forgive a man who
grasped in his hand a treasure so new, so wonderful that he walked
in fear and doubt lest it should slip away and leave him in a world
darkened for ever by the torment of the knowledge that it might have
been his and he had bartered it for the mess of pottage that has bought
so many birthrights since Jacob bargained with his weary brother in
the tents of Lahai-roi. I thought I would come back later with my
prize gained and throwing it at her feet ask her wisdom in return, for
whatever I might not know I knew well she was wiser than I except in
that one shining of the light from Eleusis. I walked alone in the woods
thinking of these things and no answer satisfied me.
I did not see her alone until the day I left, for I was compelled by the
arrangements I was making to go down to Simla for a night. And now the
last morning had come with golden sun--shot mists rolling upward to
disclose the far white billows of the sea of eternity, the mountains
awaking to their enormous joys. The trees were dripping glory to the
steaming earth; it flowed like rivers into their most secret recesses,
moss and flower, fern and leaf floated upon the waves of light revealing
their inmost soul in triumphant gladness. Far off across the valleys
a cuckoo was calling--the very voice of spring, and in the green world
above my head a bird sang, a feathered joy, so clear, so passionate that
I thought the great summer morning listened in silence to his rapture
ringing through the woods. I waited until the Jubilate was ended and
then went in to bid good-bye to my friends.
Mrs. Ingmar bid me the kindest farewell and I left her serene in the
negation of all beauty, all hope save that of a world run on the lines
of a model municipality, disease a memory, sewerage, light and air
systems perfected, the charted brain sending its costless messages to
the outer parts of the habitable globe, and at least a hundred years
of life with a decent cremation at the end of it assured to every
eugenically born citizen. No more. But I have long ceased to regret
that others use their own eyes whether clear or dim. Better the merest
glimmer of light perceived thus than the hearsay of the revelations of
others. And by the broken fragments of a bewildered hope a man shall
eventually reach the goal and rejoice in that dawn where the morning
stars sing together and the sons of God shout for joy. It must come, for
it is already here.
Brynhild walked with me through the long glades in the fresh thin air
to the bridle road where my men and ponies waited, eager to be off. We
stood at last in the fringe of trees on a small height which commanded
the way;--a high uplifted path cut along the shoulders of the hills and
on the left the sheer drop of the valleys. Perhaps seven or eight feet
in width and dignified by the name of the Great Hindustan and Tibet Road
it ran winding far away into Wonderland. Looking down into the valleys,
so far beneath that the solitudes seem to wall them in I thought of all
the strange caravans which have taken this way with tinkle of bells
and laughter now so long silenced, and as I looked I saw a lost little
monastery in a giant crevice, solitary as a planet on the outermost ring
of the system, and remembrance flashed into my mind and I said;
“I have marching orders that have countermanded my own plans. I am to
journey to the Buddhist Monastery of Tashigong, and there meet a friend
who will tell me what is necessary that I may travel to Yarkhand and
beyond. It will be long before I see Kashmir.”
In those crystal clear eyes I saw a something new to me--a faint smile,
half pitying, half sad;
“Who told you, and where?”
“A girl in a strange place. A woman who has twice guided me--”
I broke off. Her smile perplexed me. I could not tell what to say. She
repeated in a soft undertone;
“Great Lady, be pitiful to the blind eyes and give them light.”
And instantly I knew. O blind--blind! Was the unhappy King of the story
duller of heart than I? And shame possessed me. Here was the chrysoberyl
that all day hides its secret in deeps of lucid green but when the night
comes flames with its fiery ecstasy of crimson to the moon, and I--I had
been complacently considering whether I might not blunt my own spiritual
instinct by companionship with her, while she had been my guide, as
infinitely beyond me in insight as she was in all things beautiful. I
could have kissed her feet in my deep repentance. True it is that the
gateway of the high places is reverence and he who cannot bow his head
shall receive no crown. I saw that my long travel in search of knowledge
would have been utterly vain if I had not learnt that lesson there and
then. In those moments of silence I learnt it once and for ever.
She stood by me breathing the liquid morning air, her face turned upon
the eternal snows. I caught her hand in a recognition that might
have ended years of parting, and its warm youth vibrated in mine, the
foretaste of all understanding, all unions, of love that asks nothing,
that fears nothing, that has no petition to make. She raised her eyes to
mine and her tears were a rainbow of hope. So we stood in silence that
was more than any words, and the golden moments went by. I knew her now
for what she was, one of whom it might have been written;
“I come from where night falls clearer
Than your morning sun can rise;
From an earth that to heaven draws nearer
Than your visions of Paradise,--
For the dreams that your dreamers dream
We behold them with open eyes.”
With open eyes! Later I asked the nature of the strange bond that had
called her to my side.
“I do not understand that fully myself,” she said--“That is part of the
knowledge we must wait for. But you have the eyes that see, and that is
a tie nothing can break. I had waited long in the House of Beauty for
you. I guided you there. But between you and me there is also love.”
I stretched an eager hand but she repelled it gently, drawing back a
little. “Not love of each other though we are friends and in the future
may be infinitely more. But--have you ever seen a drawing of Blake’s--a
young man stretching his arms to a white swan which flies from him on
wings he cannot stay? That is the story of both our lives. We long to
be joined in this life, here and now, to an unspeakable beauty and power
whose true believers we are because we have seen and known. There is no
love so binding as the same purpose. Perhaps that is the only true love.
And so we shall never be apart though we may never in this world be
together again in what is called companionship.”
“We shall meet,” I said confidently. She smiled and was silent.
“Do we follow a will-o’-the wisp in parting? Do we give up the substance
for the shadow? Shall I stay?”
She laughed joyously;
“We give a single rose for a rose-tree that bears seven times seven.
Daily I see more, and you are going where you will be instructed. As you
know my mother prefers for a time to have my cousin with her to help her
with the book she means to write. So I shall have time to myself. What
do you think I shall do?”
“Blow away on a great wind. Ride on the crests of tossing waves. Catch a
star to light the fireflies!”
She laughed like a bird’s song.
“Wrong--wrong! I shall be a student. All I know as yet has come to me
by intuition, but there is Law as well as Love and I will learn. I have
drifted like a happy cloud before the wind. Now I will learn to be the
wind that blows the clouds.”
I looked at her in astonishment. If a flower had desired the same thing
it could scarcely have seemed more incredible, for I had thought her
whole life and nature instinctive not intellective. She smiled as one
who has a beloved secret to keep.
“When you have gained what in this country they call The Knowledge of
Regeneration, come back and ask me what I have learnt.”
She would say no more of that and turned to another matter, speaking
with earnestness;
“Before you came here I had a message for you, and Stephen Clifden
will tell you the same thing when you meet. Believe it for it is true.
Remember always that the psychical is not the mystical and that what we
seek is not marvel but vision. These two things are very far apart, so
let the first with all its dangers pass you by, for our way lies to the
heights, and for us there is only one danger--that of turning back and
losing what the whole world cannot give in exchange. I have never seen
Stephen Clifden but I know much of him. He is a safe guide--a man who
has had much and strange sorrow which has brought him joy that cannot be
told. He will take you to those who know the things that you desire. I
wish I might have gone too.”
Something in the sweetness of her voice, its high passion, the strong
beauty of her presence woke a poignant longing in my heart. I said;
“I cannot leave you. You are the only guide I can follow. Let us search
together--you always on before.”
“Your way lies there,” she pointed to the high mountains. “And mine to
the plains, and if we chose our own we should wander. But we shall
meet again in the way and time that will be best and with knowledge
so enlarged that what we have seen already will be like an empty dream
compared to daylight truth. If you knew what waits for you you would not
delay one moment.”
She stood radiant beneath the deodars, a figure of Hope, pointing
steadily to the heights. I knew her words were true though as yet I
could not tell how. I knew that whereas we had seen the Wonderful in
beautiful though local forms there is a plane where the Formless may be
apprehended in clear dream and solemn vision-the meeting of spirit with
Spirit. What that revelation would mean I could not guess--how should
I?--but I knew the illusion we call death and decay would wither before
it. There is a music above and beyond the Ninth Vibration though I must
love those words for ever for what their hidden meaning gave me.
I took her hand and held it. Strange--beyond all strangeness that that
story of an ancient sorrow should have made us what we were to each
other--should have opened to me the gates of that Country where she
wandered content. For the first time I had realized in its fulness the
loveliness of this crystal nature, clear as flowing water to receive and
transmit the light--itself a prophecy and fulfilment of some higher race
which will one day inhabit our world when it has learnt the true values.
She drew a flower from her breast and gave it to me. It lies before me
white and living as I write these words.
I sprang down the road and mounted, giving the word to march. The men
shouted and strode on--our faces to the Shipki Pass and what lay beyond.
We had parted.
Once, twice, I looked back, and standing in full sunlight, she waved her
hand.
We turned the angle of the rocks.
What I found--what she found is a story strange and beautiful which
I may tell one day to those who care to hear. That for me there were
pauses, hesitancies, dreads, on the way I am not concerned to deny,
for so it must always be with the roots of the old beliefs of fear and
ignorance buried in the soil of our hearts and ready to throw out their
poisonous fibres. But there was never doubt. For myself I have long
forgotten the meaning of that word in anything that is of real value.
Do not let it be thought that the treasure is reserved for the few or
those of special gifts. And it is as free to the West as to the East
though I own it lies nearer to the surface in the Orient where the
spiritual genius of the people makes it possible and the greater and
more faithful teachers are found. It is not without meaning that all the
faiths of the world have dawned in those sunrise skies. Yet it is within
reach of all and asks only recognition, for the universe has been the
mine of its jewels--
“Median gold it holds, and silver from Atropatene, Ruby and
emerald from Hindustan, and Bactrian agate, Bright with beryl
and pearl, sardonyx and sapphire.”--
and more that cannot be uttered--
the Lights and Perfections.
So for all seekers I pray this prayer--beautiful in its sonorous Latin,
but noble in all the tongues;
“Supplico tibi, Pater et Dux--I pray Thee, Guide of our vision, that
we may remember the nobleness with which Thou hast endowed us, and that
Thou wouldest be always on our right and on our left in the motion of
our wills, that we may be purged from the contagion of the body and the
affections of the brute and overcome and rule them. And I pray also
that Thou wouldest drive away the blinding darkness from the eyes of our
souls that we may know well what is to be held for divine and what for
mortal.”
“The nobleness with which Thou hast endowed us-” this, and not the
cry of the miserable sinner whose very repentance is no virtue but the
consequence of failure and weakness is the strong music to which we must
march.
And the way is open to the mountains.