After Elsje's death I had no more peace in the new country. It seemed
as though her homesickness had passed on to me. My dreams spoke night
after night of Holland, only Holland, and of the place where I had
found my wife. Her supernatural being seemed to drive me toward the
land of her longing.
A long time I resisted this desire, unwilling to give up the work that
I had begun with go much sacrifice and carried through with so much
anguish.
Then I received a strange communication. I heard through a business
agent of my family in Italy, with whom I had remained in touch, that my
mother had died and had left her fortune to my children; and that my
daughter Emilia, having attained her majority, was determined not to
accept the money but to give it to me. My children were all married or
independent, and the whole family was scattered. Lucia was an abbess in
a religious institution.
Then I could no longer resist the secret craving which did not cease
night or day and so distinctly appeared to me like a warning from my
dead wife, and I went back to this little town, where I bought my
present house and the small nursery garden, which still furnishes me
daily occupation.
What I received from my daughter was not much, but sufficient for
maintaining my simple, provincial life here. Gradually I succeeded in
accustoming the petty provincials to my strange ways, and now my life
is as endurable as any that I could still have hoped to find on earth.
Only by this strange communication and Emilia's friendly act was I
aroused from the dark stupor into which Elsje's death had plunged me. I
would not perhaps have had the power to rouse myself to an interest in
life and in my work, would perhaps have fallen ill and died without
once seeing Elsje in my dreams. For my despair and my homesickness had
also dimmed the clarity of my dreamlife. I slept little and badly, the
tortured soul could not separate itself sufficiently from the restless
body to attain to reintegration and transcendental perception.
Emilia's act saved me. And then I made the comforting observation, that
with the recovery from a period of deep affliction the power of
enjoyment is extraordinarily heightened. I saw my daughter again in
Paris, where we had agreed to meet before I should go to Holland, and
the one single day there was marked by a wondrous indescribable joy.
It overcame me quite suddenly - during the journey from America - that
I felt the dark melancholy giving way. And then too came the clear
perception during the night, brief but intense, in which I for the
first time summoned the beloved dead, heard her soft, loving voice, and
saw her eyes.
In Paris the reunion with the only one of my children who had remained
true to me - the gentle devoted girl who wanted to continue to
understand and to help her father - was an exquisite joy.
It is impossible to put into words what takes place in the soul at such
a time, and the effect is so strange that, even while experiencing it,
I was filled with continual devout wonder.
The connection between the spiritual body and waking body must then
suddenly be supplied and firmly restored again, and the weakness of
this spiritual joint that was caused by melancholy all at once relieved.
All that I saw that day was joy, was well-nigh bliss. And above all -
it signified so much! With everything I saw, I felt the existence of
infinite prospects of joy and beauty that were indicated by it, only
just briefly indicated -but unmistakable.
There was a large exposition - one of these banal world fairs which I
had often railed at. But now with my thousand-fold heightened
sensibility of joy and beauty, I saw it all as a distinct dawning and
precursor of untold approaching glory.
The wide, sunny avenues with the gilded statues gleaming in the clear
sunlight, the temples and galleries white and stately, the thousands
and thousands of people assembled from every land, the joyous festive
aspect, the music on all sides, the odor of dust, of linden-blossoms,
of faintly perfumed clothes - ah! how powerless is this summary to
picture the indescribable, the beautiful joy whereof all this seemed to
me to be a fleeting proclaimer. I could look about me where I would -
at an Eastern façade, at a group of musicians, at a leafy row of sunlit
trees, at the sweet, pretty, well-dressed girl who walked by my side
and who was my daughter - everything betokened gladness, strange,
subtle, unknown joy, intense splendor, secret expectation of great,
never-suspected mysteries and wonders.
On this happy day these two truths were firmly rooted in my soul:
First, that humanity is on its upward course, that the wound of God is
healing, that a new common welfare, surpassing all imagination, is in
store, even on this earth, with a glory beyond measure or example. And
secondly, that our power of enjoyment continues to grow under the
weight of our mortal body and that there is nothing improbable in the
expectation of the ancient believers that we shall only then really
know what true blessedness is when we are forever delivered from this
burden.
Even as all faculties, all organs, are developed by opposition,
provided it is not overpowering, so also the power of loving and of
being blessed is developed under the outward opposition of the mortal,
physical life, provided the spirit retains the once acquired knowledge
and is able to endure the tribulations and with prudence to conquer
them.
This advantage I did not lose again in my later solitary life. My old
age, monotonous and inwardly lonely though it may be, is joyous and
happy, full of bright expectation, full of gentle resignation.
A few times I again had the great outward pleasure of having my
daughter visit me and of being able to speak with her openly and
honestly about my life, about her mother, about Elsje, my eternally
beloved, true wife. I could speak to no one else of this. But Emilia
always listened attentively and reverently, and I do not doubt but that
it taught her something and that it broadened and cleared her mind.
Aside from these few eminently happy days, I do not despise the most
trifling daily pleasures - nevertheless I leave my little city but
seldom. I find pleasure in the beauties of my little town and this low
land at all seasons, in the working and cultivating of my little plot
of land, in the freshly plowed earth with its sweet smell, in the eager
interest in the thriving of my plants, and also in the small domestic
joys.
An old faithful servant from "The Toelast" has, after the death of Jan
Baars, gone over into my employ, and she cooks deliciously and cares
for me as for her own child. And the long, solemn, solitary evenings in
my quiet house with my books, papers, memories and a little music are
never too long for me.
What I mind most are the meetings of the board of directors of the
orphanage, but I shall tell of that another time. It is not a heavy
affliction, however.
The nights have, as formerly, continued to be my greatest solace. The
years now pass swiftly and fleetingly, for in age one measures the
flight of time with a larger scale. I now reckon its flight almost
solely by the milestones of my dreams, by the times when I could summon
my beloved and was sensible of her presence.
In this connection I shall recount one more dream - it was in the late
morning hours between seven and eight o'clock. The dream began with a
conversation concerning the life after death, in which I tried to
convince some one that there would be a fusion of units, not a personal
continuation of life, but an absorbing of our individual being into the
universal being with complete retention of our memory and our
experience. This was clearer to me than ever before.
Then all at once came the thought: I have not yet seen my beloved, she
is waiting, I must go quickly to greet her. Thereupon the consciousness
that I was dreaming and was in E------ and that I should find her
there. I went out of doors and saw the blue sky and a magnificent
landscape. Then I passed into the state of ecstasy. Following one upon
the other in rapid succession, the most glorious spectacles unfolded
themselves and I did nothing but utter cries of rapture and fervid
thanks. I saw an entrancing mountain landscape, clearly and sharply
outlined, the crevices in the rocks, the rough stony ledges lit up by
the sun, the mountain pastures o'erspread with golden radiance. And
then all at once there lay before me a fair green valley, with low
shrubs, a clear, gently-flowing, winding stream, quiet houses and a few
tall-stemmed tropical trees. An indescribable, deeply-significant calm
and stillness reigned there. The land was populated and thickly
settled, but enwrapped in a universal breathless consecration of peace
and joy. I saw light-blue peacocks quietly strutting about in the sun,
their images reflected by the water. The colors, the pure atmosphere,
the pretty, quiet house, the solemn silence, the presence, felt but not
seen, of thousands of peaceful, happy human beings, the light horizon
with the mighty sun-lit mountain chain - all this was too beautiful for
words.
I called my beloved that she should come and look too. I did not see
her, but I heard her dear voice saying:
"What a quantity of flowers!"
Then I felt the desire to pray, and facing toward the direction whence
the light came, I for the first time no longer saw the dark cloud which
I had always seen there until Elsje's death and which after that time
only gradually dissolved. And for the first time in the dream-world I
saw the disc of the sun.
Then I spoke to Christ, passionately and eloquently as I had never done
before and surely would never be able to do in the day-time. Gratitude
and love I gave utterance to.
"My father and my mother thou art, and I love thee despite all I have
suffered for thee. I am willing to suffer for thee, and I feel no
bitterness for the grief I have suffered. I forgive thee, I forgive
thee, and I know that thou forgivest me all my follies and my
weaknesses - for between us there shall no longer be any question of
forgiveness, but only of gratitude, even as between myself and my
beloved. For we cannot conceive thee and therefore cannot love thee
sufficiently, and we only love thee in each other, even as we know each
other. But I know that the love for my beloved is love for thee and
that in her I love thee. And I feel no regret and am happy and
thankful, content to have followed thee and served thee, firmly
believing that I shall grow in power till I shall recognize and attain
fitness for eternal blessedness. I ask for nothing, but I long for thee
and for thy Glory, and I shall leave behind a glowing trail of
gratitude so that the others may find thee by it."
As I said this, I saw light mists draw away from the face of the sun,
and it began to shine with blinding radiance. This seemed such a
gracious revelation to me that I could only cry: Ah! Ah! in my
transport. Then I felt that I would weep or faint from joy, but that I
did not want, and I awoke!
That morning I was refreshed and well fortified against trouble.
The only thing I still fear is a weakening of the mind in my declining
years, so that I should have to drift about for years as a hopeless
wreck. I have a theory that one can prevent this by sagacious prudence
and by exertion and exercise of the contemplative power.
But this theory has yet to be proved. And my example alone would not be
sufficient for that.
As long as I retain my clearness of mind, I have plenty of work in
elaborating these ideas and conceptions which so far I have only
briefly indicated.
In the first place?
- - -
The E------ Journal in its issue of June 12th, 1908, published the
following account:
"To-day a sad accident occurred outside the harbor within eight of our
town. On the yacht 'Elsje,' belonging to Mr. Muralto, a fire started,
presumably caused by the upsetting of an alcohol lamp. The entire
vessel was speedily ablaze. Mr. Muralto, despite his great age a strong
swimmer, jumped overboard, endeavoring to carry his companion, a
skipper's lad who could not swim, to the haven on some planks. But the
strong current pulled both out to sea. The boy was picked up by a
home-sailing sloop, Mr. Muralto was drowned. As the deemed was
universally respected and loved for his benevolence and unassuming
manner, his death arouses universal sympathy in our town."