III
I thought I could never be satiated by this infinite procession ofwonders. But at last there rose in my mind, like a rising star, the needto be alone no longer. I was passing through a kind of heavenly infancy;and just as a day comes when a child puts out a hand with a consciousintention, not merely a blind groping, but with a need to clasp andcaress, or answers a smile by a smile, a word by a purposeful cry, so ina moment I was aware of some one with me and near me, with a heart and anature that leaned to mine and had need of me, as I of him. I knew himto be one who had lived as I had lived, on the earth that wasours,--lived many lives, indeed; and it was then first that I becameaware that I had myself lived many lives too. My human life, which I hadlast left, was the fullest and clearest of all my existences; but theyhad been many and various, though always progressive. I must not nowtell of the strange life histories that had enfolded me--they had risenin dignity and worth from a life far back, unimaginably elementary andinstinctive; but I felt in a moment that my new friend's life had beenfar richer and more perfect than my own, though I saw that there werestill experiences ahead of both of us; but not yet. I may describe hispresence in human similitudes, a presence perfectly defined, thoughapprehended with no human sight. He bore a name which describedsomething clear, strong, full of force, and yet gentle of access, likewater. It was just that; a thing perfectly pure and pervading, whichcould be stained and troubled, and yet could retain no defilement oragitation; which a child could scatter and divide, and yet wasabsolutely powerful and insuperable. I will call him Amroth. Him, I say,because though there was no thought of sex left in my consciousness,his was a courageous, inventive, masterful spirit, which gave ratherthan received, and was withal of a perfect kindness and directness, loveundefiled and strong. The moment I became aware of his presence, I felthim to be like one of those wonderful, pure youths of an Italianpicture, whose whole mind is set on manful things, untroubled by thelove of woman, and yet finding all the world intensely gracious andbeautiful, full of eager frankness, even impatience, with long, slim,straight limbs and close-curled hair. I knew him to be the sort of beingthat painters and poets had been feeling after when they represented orspoke of angels. And I could not help laughing outright at the thoughtof the meek, mild, statuesque draped figures, with absurd wings anddepressing smiles, that encumbered pictures and churches, with whom nohuman communication would be possible, and whose grave and discomfitingglance would be fatal to all ease or merriment. I recognised in Amrotha mirthful soul, full of humour and laughter, who could not be shockedby any truth, or hold anything uncomfortably sacred--though indeed heheld all things sacred with a kind of eagerness that charmed me. Insteadof meeting him in dolorous pietistic mood, I met him, I remember, as atschool or college one suddenly met a frank, smiling, high-spirited youthor boy, who was ready at once to take comradeship for granted, andwalked away with one from a gathering, with an outrush of talk and plansfor further meetings. It was all so utterly unlike the subdued andcautious and sensitive atmosphere of devotion that it stirred us both,I was aware, to a delicious kind of laughter. And then came a swiftinterchange of thought, which I must try to represent by speech, thoughspeech was none.
"I am glad to find you, Amroth," I said. "I was just beginning to wonderif I was not going to be lonely."
"Ah," he said, "one has what one desires here; you had too much to seeand learn at first to want my company. And yet I have been with you,pointing out a thousand things, ever since you came here."
"Was it you," I said, "that have been showing me all this? I thought Iwas alone."
At which Amroth laughed again, a laugh full of content. "Yes," he said,"the crags and the sunset--do you not remember? I came down with you,carrying you like a child in my arms, while you slept; and then I sawyou awake. You had to rest a long time at first; you had had much tobear--uncertainty--that is what tires one, even more than pain. And Ihave been telling you things ever since, when you could listen."
"Oh," I said, "I have a hundred things to ask you; how strange it is tosee so much and understand so little!"
"Ask away," said Amroth, putting an arm through mine.
"I was afraid," I said, "that it would all be so different--like acatechism 'Dost thou believe--is this thy desire?' But instead it seemsso entirely natural and simple!"
"Ah," he said, "that is how we bewilder ourselves on earth. Why, it ishard to say! But all the real things remain. It is all just assurprising and interesting and amusing and curious as it ever was: theonly things that are gone--for a time, that is--are the things that areugly and sad. But they are useful too in their way, though you have noneed to think of them now. Those are just the discipline, the training."
"But," I said, "what makes people so different from each other downthere--so many people who are sordid, grubby, quarrelsome, cruel,selfish, spiteful? Only a few who are bold and kind--like you, forinstance?"
"No," he said, answering the thought that rose in my mind, "of course Idon't mind--I like compliments as well as ever, if they come naturally!But don't you see that all the little poky, sensual, mean, disgustinglives are simply those of spirits struggling to be free; we begin bybeing enchained by matter at first, and then the stream runs clearer.The divine things are imagination and sympathy. That is the secret."
The Child of the Dawn Page 5
