feeling in her heart that everything was a mystery, and that the days
would never be long enough to learn all that had yet to be learned, but
knowing now that this, too, was the little language, and pleased with
the sweet thought of so much that was to come. For one had whispered to
her as she went out that the new tongue, and every explanation, as she
was ready for it, would come to her through one of those whom she loved
best, which is the usage of that country. And when the stranger has no
one there that is very dear, then it is an angel who teaches the greater
language, and this is what happens often to the children who are brought
up in that heavenly place. When she reached the street again, she was so
pleased with this thought that it went out of her mind to ask her way
to the great library, where she was to read the story of the historian's
journey through the land of darkness; indeed she forgot that land
altogether, and thought only of what was around her in the great city
which is beyond everything that eye has seen, or that ear has heard, or
that it has entered into the imagination to conceive. And now it seemed
to her that she was much more familiar with the looks of the people, and
could distinguish between those who belonged to the city, and those who
were visitors like herself; and also could tell which they were who had
entered into the mysteries of the kingdom, and which were, like herself,
only acquainted with the beginning of days. And it came to her mind--she
could not tell how--that it was best not to ask questions, but to wait
until the beloved one should come, who would teach her the first words.
For in the meantime she did not feel at all impatient or disturbed by
her want of knowledge, but laughed a little at herself to suppose that
she could find out everything, and went on looking round her, and saying
a word to every one she met, and enjoying the holiday looks of all the
strangers, and the sense she had in her heart of holiday too. She was
walking on in this pleasant way, when she heard a sound that was like
silver trumpets, and saw the crowd turn towards an open space in which
all the beautiful buildings were shaded with fine trees, and flowers
were springing at the very edge of the pavements. The strangers all
hastened along to hear what it was, and she with them, and some also of
the people of the place. And as the little Pilgrim found herself walking
by a woman who was of these last, she asked her what it was.
And the woman told her it was a poet who had come to say to them what
had been revealed to him, and that the two with the silver trumpets were
angels of the musicians' order, whose office it was to proclaim
everything that was new, that the people should know. And many of those
who were at work in the palaces came out and joined the crowd, and the
painter who had showed the little Pilgrim his picture, and many whose
faces she began to be acquainted with. The poet stood up upon a
beautiful pedestal all sculptured in stone, and with wreaths of living
flowers hung upon it--and when the crowd had gathered in front of him,
he began his poem. He told them that it was not about this land, or
anything that happened in it, which they knew as he did, but that it was
a story of the old time, when men were walking in darkness, and when no
one knew the true meaning even of what he himself did, but had to go on
as if blindly, stumbling and groping with their hands. And, "Oh,
brethren," he said, "though all is more beautiful and joyful here where
we know, yet to remember the days when we knew not, and the ways when
all was uncertain, and the end could not be distinguished from the
beginning, is sweet and dear; and that which was done in the dim
twilight should be celebrated in the day; and our Father Himself loves
to hear of those who, having not seen, loved, and who learned without
any teacher, and followed the light, though they did not understand."
And then he told them the story of one who had lived in the old time;
and in that air, which seemed to be made of sunshine, and amid all those
stately palaces, he described to them the little earth which they had
left behind--the skies that were covered with clouds, and the ways that
were so rough and stony, and the cruelty of the oppressor, and the cries
of those that were oppressed. And he showed the sickness and the
troubles, and the sorrow and danger; and how death stalked about, and
tore heart from heart; and how sometimes the strongest would fail, and
the truest fall under the power of a lie, and the tenderest forget to be
kind; and how evil things lurked in every corner to beguile the dwellers
there; and how the days were short and the nights dark, and life so
little that by the time a man had learned something it was his hour to
die. "What can a soul do that is born there?" he cried; "for war is
there and fighting, and perplexity and darkness; and no man knows if
that which he does will be for good or evil, or can tell which is the
best way, or know the end from the beginning; and those he loves the
most are a mystery to him, and their thoughts beyond his reach. And
clouds are between him and the Father, and he is deceived with false
gods and false teachers, who make him to love a lie." The people who
were listening held their breath, and a shadow like a cloud fell on
them, and they remembered and knew that it was true. But the next moment
their hearts rebelled, and one and another would have spoken, and the
little Pilgrim herself had almost cried out and made her plea for the
dear earth which she loved: when he suddenly threw forth his voice again
like a great song. "Oh, dear mother earth," he cried; "oh, little world
and great, forgive thy son! for lovely thou art and dear, and the sun of
God shines upon thee and the sweet dews fall; and there were we born,
and loved, and died, and are come hence to bless the Father and the Son.
For in no other world, though they are so vast, is it given to any to
know the Lord in the darkness, and follow Him groping, and make way
through sin and death, and overcome the evil, and conquer in His Name."
At which there was a great sound of weeping and of triumph, and the
little Pilgrim could not contain herself, but cried out too in joy as if
for a deliverance. And then the poet told his tale. And as he told them
of the man who was poor and sorrowful and alone, and how he loved and
was not loved again, and trusted and was betrayed, and was tempted and
drawn into the darkness, so that it seemed as if he must perish; but,
when hope was almost gone, turned again from the edge of despair, and
confronted all his enemies, and fought and conquered, the people
followed every word with great outcries of love and pity and wonder. For
each one as he listened remembered his own career and that of his
brethren in the old life, and admired to think that all the evil was
past, and wondered how, out of such tribulation and through so many
dangers, all were safe and blessed here. And there were others that were
not of them, who listened, some seated at the windows of the palaces and
some standing in the great square--people who were not like the others,
whose bearing was more majestic, and who looked upon the crowd all
smiling and weeping with wonder and interest, but had no knowledge of
the cause, and listened as it were to a tale that is told. The poet and
his audience were as one, and at every period of the story there was a
deep breathing and pause, and every one looked at his neighbour, and
some grasped each other's hands as they remembered all that was in the
past; but the strangers listened and gazed and observed all, as those
who listen and are instructed in something beyond their knowledge. The
little Pilgrim stood all this time not knowing where she was, so intent
was she upon the tale, and as she listened it seemed to her that all her
own life was rolling out before her, and she remembered the things that
had been, and perceived how all had been shaped and guided, and trembled
a little for the brother who was in danger, yet knew that all would be
well.
The woman who had been at her side listened too with all her heart,
saying to herself as she stood in the crowd, "He has left nothing out!
The little days they were so short, and the skies would change all in a
moment and one's heart with them. How he brings it all back!" And she
put up her hand to dry away a tear from her eyes, though her face all
the time was shining with the recollection. The little Pilgrim was glad
to be by the side of a woman after talking with so many men, and she put
out her hand and touched the cloak that this lady wore, and which was
white and of the most beautiful texture, with gold threads woven in it,
or something that looked like gold.
"Do you like," she said, "to think of the old time?"
The woman turned and looked down upon her, for she was tall and stately,
and immediately took the hand of the little Pilgrim into hers, and held
it without answering, till the poet had ended and come down from the
place where he had been standing. He came straight through the crowd to
where this lady stood, and said something to her. "You did well to tell
me," looking at her with love in his eyes--not the tender sweetness of
all those kind looks around, but the love that is for one. The little
Pilgrim looked at them with her heart beating, and was very glad for
them, and happy in herself, for she had not seen this love before since
she came into the city, and it had troubled her to think that perhaps it
did not exist any more. "I am glad," the lady said, and gave him her
other hand; "but here is a little sister who asks me something, and I
must answer her. I think she has but newly come."
"She has a face full of the morning," the poet said. It did the little
Pilgrim good to feel the touch of the warm, soft hand, and she was not
afraid, but lifted her eyes and spoke to the lady, and to the poet. "It
is beautiful what you said to us. Sometimes in the old time we used to
look up to the beautiful skies and wonder what there was above the
clouds, but we never thought that up here in this great city you would
be thinking of what we were doing, and making beautiful poems all about
us. We thought that you would sing wonderful psalms, and talk of things
high, high above us."
"The little sister does not know what the meaning of the earth is," the
poet said. "It is but a little speck, but it is the centre of all. Let
her walk with us, and we will go home, and you will tell her, Ama, for
I love to hear you talk."
"Will you come with us?" the lady said.
And the little Pilgrim's heart leaped up in her, to think she was now
going to see a home in this wonderful city; and they went along hand in
hand, and though they were three together, and many were coming and
going, there was no difficulty, for every one made way for them. And
there was a little murmur of pleasure as the poet passed, and those who
had heard his poem made obeisance to him, and thanked him, and thanked
the Father for him, that he was able to show them so many beautiful
things. And they walked along the street which was shining with colour,
and saw, as they passed, how the master painter had come to his work,
and was standing upon the balcony where the little Pilgrim had been, and
bringing out of the wall, under his hand, faces which were full of life,
and which seemed to spring forth as if they had been hidden there. "Let
us wait a little and see him working," the poet said: and all round
about the people stopped on their way, and there was a soft cry of
pleasure and praise all through the beautiful street. And the painter
with whom the little Pilgrim had talked before came, and stood behind
her as if he had been an old friend, and called out to her at every new
touch to mark how this and that was done. She did not understand as he
did, but she saw how beautiful it was, and she was glad to have seen the
great painter, as she had been glad to hear the great poet. It seemed to
the little Pilgrim as if everything happened well for her, and that no
one had ever been so blessed before. And to make it all more sweet, this
new friend, this great and sweet lady, always held her hand, and pressed
it softly when something more lovely appeared; and even the pictured
faces on the wall seemed to beam upon her, as they came out one by one
like the stars in the sky. Then the three went on again, and passed by
many more beautiful palaces, and great streets leading away into the
light, till you could see no farther; and they met with bands of
singers, who sang so sweetly that the heart seemed to leap out of the
Pilgrim's breast to meet with them, for above all things this was what
she had loved most. And out of one of the palaces there came such
glorious music, that everything she had seen and heard before seemed as
nothing in comparison. And amid all these delights they went on and on,
but without wearying, till they came out of the streets into lovely
walks and alleys, and made their way to the banks of a great river,
which seemed to sing too, a soft melody of its own.
And here there were some fair houses surrounded by gardens and flowers
that grew everywhere, and the doors were all open, and within everything
was lovely and still, and ready for rest if you were weary. The little
Pilgrim was not weary, but the lady placed her upon a couch in the
porch, where the pillars and the roof were all formed of interlacing
plants and flowers; and there they sat with her and talked, and
explained to her many things. They told her that the earth, though so
small, was the place in all the world to which the thoughts of those
above were turned. "And not only of us who have lived there, but of all
our brothers in the other worlds; for we are the race which the Father
has chosen to be the example. In every age there is one that is the
scene of the struggle and the victory, and it is for this reason that
the chronicles are made, and that we are all placed here to gather the
meaning of what has been done among men. And I am one of those," the
lady said, "that go back to the dear earth and gather up the tale of
what our little brethren are doing. I have not to succour, like some
others, but only to see and bring the news; and he makes them into great
poems as you have heard; and sometimes the master painter will take one
and make of it a picture; and there is nothing that is so delightful to
us as when we can bring back the histories of beautiful things."
"But, oh," said the little Pilgrim, "what can there be on earth so
beautiful as the meanest thing that is here?"
Then they both smiled upon her and said, "It is more beautiful than the
most beautiful thing here to see how, under the low skies and in the
short days, a soul will turn to our Father. And sometimes," said Ama,
"when I am watching, one will wander and stray, and be led into the dark
till my heart is sick; then come back and make me glad. Sometimes I cry
out within myself to the Father, and say, 'Oh, my Father, it is enough!'
and it will seem to me that it is not possible to stand by and see his
destruction. And then while you are gazing, while you are crying, he
will recover and return, and go on again. And to the angels it is more
wonderful than to us, for they have never lived there. And all the other
worlds are eager to hear what we can tell them. For no one knows except
the Father how the battle will turn, or when it will all be
accomplished; and there are some who tremble for our little brethren.
For to look down and see how little light there is, and how no one knows
what may happen to him next, makes them afraid who never were there."
The little Pilgrim listened with an intent face, clasping her hands, and
said--"But it never could be that our Father should be overcome by evil.
Is not that known in all the worlds?"
Then the lady turned and kissed her: and the poet broke forth in
singing, and said, "Faith is more heavenly than heaven; it is more
beautiful than the angels. It is the only voice that can answer to our
Father. We praise Him, we glorify Him, we love His name, but there is
but one response to Him through all the worlds, and that is the cry of
the little brothers, who see nothing and know nothing, but believe that
He will never fail."
At this the little Pilgrim wept, for her heart was touched: but she
said--"We are not so ignorant: for we have our Lord who is our Brother,
and He teaches us all that we require to know."
Upon this the poet rose and lifted up his hands and spoke once more; but
it was as if he spoke to others, to some one at a distance; it was in
the other language which the little Pilgrim still did not understand,
but she could make out that it sounded like a great proclamation that He
was wise as He was good, and called upon all to see that the Lord had
chosen the only way. And the sound of the poet's voice was like a great
trumpet sounding bold and sweet, as if to tell this to those who were
far away.
"For you must know," said the Lady Ama, who all the time held the
Pilgrim's hand, "that it is permitted to all to judge according to the
wisdom that has been given them. And there are some who think that our
dear Lord might have found another way, and that wait, sometimes with
trembling, lest He should fail; but not among us who have lived on
earth, for we know. And it is our work to show to all the worlds that
His way never fails, and how wonderful it is, and beautiful above all
that heart has conceived. And thus we justify the ways of God, who is
our Father. But in the other worlds there are many who will continue to
fear until the history of the earth is all ended and the chronicles are
made complete."
"And will that be long?" the little Pilgrim cried, feeling in her heart
that she would like to go to all the worlds and tell them of our Lord,
and of His love, and how the thought of Him makes you strong; and it
troubled her a little to hear her friends speak of the low skies and the
short days, and the dimness of that dear country which she had left
behind, in which there were so many still whom she loved.
Upon this Ama shook her head, and said that of that day no one knew, not
even our Lord, but only the Father: and then she smiled and answered
the little Pilgrim's thought. "When we go back," she said, "it is not as
when we lived there; for now we see all the dangers of it and the
mysteries which we did not see before. It was by the Father's dear love
that we did not see what was around us and about us while we lived
there, for then our hearts would have fainted: and that makes us wonder
now that any one endures to the end."
"You are a great deal wiser than I am," said the little Pilgrim; "but
though our hearts had fainted how could we have been overcome? for He
was on our side."
At this neither of them made any reply at first, but looked at her; and
at length the poet said that she had brought many thoughts back to his
mind, and how he had himself been almost worsted when one like her came
to him and gave strength to his soul. "For that He was on our side was
the only thing she knew," he said, "and all that could be learned or
discovered was not worthy of naming beside it. And this I must tell
when next I speak to the people, and how our little sister brought it to
my mind."
And then they paused from this discourse, and the little Pilgrim looked
round upon the beautiful houses and the fair gardens, and she said--
"You live here? and do you come home at night?--but I do not mean at
night, I mean when your work is done. And are they poets like you that
dwell all about in these pleasant places, and the--"
She would have said the children, but stopped, not knowing if perhaps it
might be unkind to speak of the children when she saw none there.
Upon this the lady smiled once more, and said--
"The door stands open always, so that no one is shut out, and the
children come and go when they will. They are children no longer, and
they have their appointed work like him and me."
"And you are always among those you love?" the Pilgrim said; upon which
they smiled again and said, "We all love each other;" and the lady held
her hand in both of hers, and caressed it, and softly laughed, and said,
"You know only the little language. When you have been taught the other
you will learn many beautiful things."
She rested for some time after this, and talked much with her new
friends: and then there came into the heart of the little Pilgrim a
longing to go to the place which was appointed for her, and which was
her home, and to do the work which had been given her to do. And when
the lady saw this she rose and said that she would accompany her a
little upon her way. But the poet bade her farewell and remained under
the porch, with the green branches shading him, and the flowers twining
round the pillars, and the open door of his beautiful house behind him.
When she looked back upon him he waved his hand to her as if bidding
her God-speed, and the lady by her side looked back too and waved her
hand, and the little Pilgrim felt tears of happiness come to her eyes;
for she had been wondering with a little disappointment to see that the
people in the city, except those who were strangers, were chiefly alone,
and not like those in the old world where the husband and wife go
together. It consoled her to see again two who were one. The lady
pressed her hand in answer to her thought, and bade her pause a moment
and look back into the city as they passed the end of the great street
out of which they came. And then the Pilgrim was more and more consoled,
for she saw many who had before been alone now walking together hand in
hand.
"It is not as it was," Ama said. "For all of us have work to do which is
needed for the worlds, and it is no longer needful that one should sit
at home while the other goes forth; for our work is not for our life as
of old, or for ourselves, but for the Father who has given us so great
a trust. And, little sister, you must know that though we are not so
great as the angels, nor as many that come to visit us from the other
worlds, yet we are nearer to Him. For we are in His secret, and it is
ours to make it clear."
The little Pilgrim's heart was very full to hear this; but she said--
"I was never clever, nor knew much. It is better for me to go away to my
little border-land, and help the strangers who do not know the way."
"Whatever is your work is the best," the lady said; "but though you are
so little you are in the Father's secret too; for it is nature to you to
know what the others cannot be sure of, that we must have the victory at
the last. So that we have this between us, the Father and we. And though
all are His children, we are of the kindred of God, because of our Lord
who is our Brother;" and then the Lady Ama kissed her, and bade her when
she returned to the great city, either for rest or for love, or because
the Father sent for her, that she should come to the house by the river.
"For we are friends for ever," she said, and so threw her white veil
over her head, and was gone upon her mission, whither the little Pilgrim
did not know.