There were many things at that time that were full of mystery, things
which I never came to understand. There was in particular a certain sort
of people, whom one met occasionally, for whom I could never wholly
account. They were unlike others in this fact, that they never appeared
to belong to any particular place or community. They were both men and
women, who seemed--I can express it in no other way--to be in the
possession of a secret so great that it made everything else trivial and
indifferent to them. Not that they were impatient or contemptuous--it
was quite the other way; but to use a similitude, they were like
good-natured, active, kindly elders at a children's party. They did not
shun conversation, but if one talked with them, they used a kind of
tender and gentle irony, which had something admiring and complimentary
about it, which took away any sense of vexation or of baffled curiosity.
It was simply as though their concern lay elsewhere; they joined in
anything with a frank delight, not with any touch of condescension. They
were even more kindly and affectionate than others, because they did not
seem to have any small problems of their own, and could give their whole
attention and thought to the person they were with. These inscrutable
people puzzled me very much. I asked Amroth about them once.
"Who are these people," I said, "whom one sometimes meets, who are so
far removed from all of us? What are they doing here?"
Amroth smiled. "So you have detected them!" he said. "You are quite
right, and it does your observation credit. But you must find it out for
yourself. I cannot explain, and if I could, you would not understand me
yet."
"Then I am not mistaken," I said, "but I wish you would give me a
hint--they seem to know something more worth knowing than all beside."
"Exactly," said Amroth. "You are very near the truth; it is staring you
in the face; but it would spoil all if I told you. There is plenty about
them in the old books you used to read--they have the secret of joy."
And that is all that he would say.
It was on a solitary ramble one day, outside of the place of delight,
that I came nearer to one of these people than I ever did at any other
time. I had wandered off into a pleasant place of grassy glades with
little thorn-thickets everywhere. I went up a small eminence, which
commanded a view of the beautiful plain with its blue distance and the
enamelled green foreground of close-grown coverts. There I sat for a
long time lost in pleasant thought and wonder, when I saw a man drawing
near, walking slowly and looking about him with a serene and delighted
air. He passed not far from me, and observing me, waved a hand of
welcome, came up the slope, and greeting me in a friendly and open
manner, asked if he might sit with me for a little.
"This is a pleasant place," he said, "and you seem very agreeably
occupied."
"Yes," I said, looking into his smiling face, "one has no engagements
here, and no need of business to fill the time--but indeed I am not sure
that I am busy enough." As I spoke I was regarding him with some
curiosity. He was a man of mature age, with a strong, firm-featured
face, healthy and sunburnt of aspect, and he was dressed, not as I was
for ease and repose, but with the garments of a traveller. His hat,
which was large and of some soft grey cloth, was pushed to his back, and
hung there by a cord round his neck. His hair was a little grizzled, and
lay close-curled to his head; in his strong and muscular hand he carried
a stick. He smiled again at my words, and said:
"Oh, one need not trouble about being busy until the time comes; that
is a feeling one inherits from the life of earth, and I am sure you have
not left it long. You have a very fresh air about you, as if you had
rested, and rested well."
"Yes, I have rested," I said; "but though I am content enough, there is
something unquiet in me, I am afraid!"
"Ah!" he said, "there is that in all of us, and it would not be well
with us if there were not. Will you tell me a little about yourself?
That is one of the pleasures of this life here, that we have no need to
be cautious, or to fear that we shall give ourselves away."