"What I want most is, to know about your homes here."
"It is all home here," he said, and smiled; and then, as he met her
wistful looks, he went on to tell her that he and his brothers were not
always there. "We have all our occupations," he said, "and sometimes I am
sent to inquire into facts that have happened, of which the record is not
clear; for we must omit nothing; and sometimes we are told to rest and
take in new strength; and sometimes--"
"But oh, forgive me," cried the little Pilgrim, "you had some who were
more dear to you than all the world in the old time?"
And the others all looked up again at the question, and looked at her
with tender eyes, and said to the man whom she questioned,--"Speak!"
He made a little pause before he spoke, and he looked at one here and
there, and called to them,--
"Patience, brother," and "Courage, brother." And then he said, "Those
whom we loved best are nearly all with us; but some have not yet come."
"Oh," said the little Pilgrim, "but how then do you bear it, to be parted
so long--so long?"
Then one of those to whom the first speaker had called out "Patience"
rose, and came to her smiling; and he said,--
"I think every hour that perhaps she will come, and the joy will be so
great, that thinking of that makes the waiting short: and nothing here is
long, for it never ends; and it will be so wonderful to hear her tell how
the Father has guided her, that it will be a delight to us all; and she
will be able to explain many things, not only for us, but for all; and we
love each other so that this separation is as nothing in comparison with
what is to come."
It was beautiful to hear this, but it was not what the little Pilgrim
expected, for she thought they would have told her of the homes to which
they all returned when their work was over, and a life which was like the
life of the old time; but of this they said nothing, only looking at her
with smiling eyes, as at the curious questions of a child. And there were
many other things she would have asked, but refrained when she looked at
them, feeling as if she did not yet understand; when one of them broke
forth suddenly in a louder voice, and said,--
"The little sister knows only the little language and the beginning of
days. She has not learned the mysteries, and what Love is, and what life
is."
And another cried, "It is sweet to hear it again;" and they all gathered
round her with tender looks, and began to talk to each other, and tell
her, as men will tell of the games of their childhood, of things that
happened, which were half-forgotten, in the old time.
After this the little Pilgrim went out again into the beautiful city,
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 that 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 mean time 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 that 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
neighbor, 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 color,
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 further; 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 succor 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, 'O 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 sang again a great
song; 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.