Lake Belle-Marie lies far away. Beyond the forest the mountains
are white. Beyond the mountains the sky rises blue, high up into
the infinite Unknown.
I do not know where the Singing Mouse lives. No man can tell
what journeys it may make such times as it is absent from the
room that holds the pine table, and the book, and the candle,
and the open fire. But last night when the faint, shrill
sweetness of its little voice grew apart from the lonely silence
of the room, and I turned and saw the Singing Mouse sitting on
the corner of the book, the light of the candle shining pink
through its tiny paws, almost the first word it said was of the
far-off Lake of Belle-Marie.
"Do you see it?" asked the Singing Mouse.
"You mean--"
"The moon there through the window? Do you see the moon and the
stars? Do you know where they are shining to-night? Do you see
them, there, deep in the water? Do you know where that is? Do
you know the water? I know. It is Lake Belle-Marie."
And all I could do was to sit speechless. For the fire was gone,
and the wall was open, and the room was not a room. The voice of
the Singing Mouse, shrill and sweet, droned on a thousand miles
away in smallness, but every word a crystal of regret and joy.
"A thousand feet deep, or more, or bottomless, lies Lake
Belle-Marie, for no man has ever fathomed it. But no matter how
deep, the moon lies to-night at the bottom, and you can see it
shining there, deep down in the blue. The stars are smaller,
so they stay up and sparkle on the surface. The forest is very
black to-night, is it not? and the shadow of the pines on the
point looks like a mass of actual substance. Wait! Did you see
that silver creature leap from the quiet water? You may know the
shadow is but a shadow, for you can see the chasing ripples pass
through it and break it up into a crinkled fabric of the night.
"Do you see the pines waving, away up there in their tops, and
do you hear them talking? They are always talking. To-night they
are saying: 'Hush, Belle-Marie; slumber, Belle-Marie; we will
watch, we will watch, hush, hush, hush!' Didn't you ever know
what the pines said? They wish no one ever to come near Lake
Belle-Marie. Well for you that you only sat and looked at the
face of Belle-Marie, and cast no line nor fired untimely shot
around such shores! The pines would have been angry and would
have crushed you. You do not know how they live, seeking only to
keep Belle-Marie from the world, standing close and sturdy
together and threatening any who approach. It would break their
hearts to have her hiding-place found out. You do not know how
they love her. The pines are old, old, old, many of them, but
they told me that no footprint of man was ever seen upon those
shores, that no boat ever rested on that little sea, neither did
ever a treacherous line wrinkle even the smallest portion of its
smoothest coves. Believe me, to have Belle-Marie known would
break the hearts of the pines. They told me they lived all the
time only that they might every night sing Belle-Marie to sleep,
and every morning look upon her face, innocent, pure, unknown
and unknowing, therefore good, sincere and utterly trustworthy.
That is why the pines live. That is what they are talking about.
In many places I know the hearts of the pines are broken, and
they grieve continually. That is because there are too many
people. In this valley the pines do not grieve. They only talk
among themselves. In the morning they will wave their hands
quite gaily and will say: 'Waken, waken, Belle-Marie! Sweet is
the day, sweet is the day, God hath given, given, given!' That
is what the pines say in the morning.
[Illustration]
"The white mountains yonder are very old. How strong and quiet
they are, and how sure of themselves! To be quiet and strong one
needs to be old, for small things do not matter then. Do you
know what the mountains think, as they stand there shoulder to
shoulder--for they live only to shield and protect the forest,
here in the valley. They told me they were thinking of the
smallness and the quickness of the days. 'Age unto age!' is what
the mountains whisper. 'Æon unto æon! Strong, strong, strong is
Time!'
"And yet I knew these mighty pillars stood only to shield the
forest which shielded Belle-Marie. So I stood upon the last
mountain and looked upon the great blue of the sky, and there
again I saw the face of Lake Belle-Marie; and the circle was
complete, and I sought no more, for I knew that from the abode
of perfect, unhurt nature it is but a step up to the perfect
peace and rest of the land where lives that Time whose name the
mountains voice in awe.
"And now, do you see what is happening on Lake Belle-Marie?
Through the cleft in the forest the pink of the early day is
showing, and light shines through the spaces of the pines. And
down the pebbles of the beach, knee-deep into the shining flood,
steps a noble creature, antlered, beautiful, admirable. Do you
see him drink, and do you see him raise his head and look about
with gentle and fearless eye? This creature is of the place, and
no hand must harm him.
"Let the thin, blue smoke die down. Attempt no foot farther on.
Disturb not this spot. Return. But before you go, take one more
look upon the Lake of Belle-Marie!"
So again I gazed upon the face of the lake, which seemed
innocent, and sincere, and trustworthy, and deserving of the
protection of the league of the pines, and the army of the
mountains, and the canopy of the unshamed sky. And then the
voice of the Singing Mouse, employed in some song whose language
I do not yet fully understand, faded and sank away; and even as
it passed the walls came back and the ashes lay gray upon the
hearth.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Skull and the Rose]
[Illustration]