Part 4

Oh! What was it? What horrible nightmare was this?... She was looking, she was staring ... yes, she was staring with sightless eyes--eyes out of which the light of life had gone for ever! for ever!...

Eric sank to his knees and hid his face against the still form, and as he did so he felt something wet upon his cheek, something that was trickling slowly down upon the floor where he knelt, something that was gradually spreading in a dark patch, which widened over the grey folds of the robe. And then Eric saw that within the woman's heart a dagger had been thrust.... A dagger within the very centre of her heart.

XI

Over thy creations of beauty there is a mist of tears.

TAGORE.

High and austere in their forsaken silence stood the walls of the great church--God's own sun looked in through the crumbling windows, and God's own sky was its only roof. Many of the columns had fallen, but others stood, erect and rigid, frowning down from their immense height, grey and lonely, like giant trees in winter.

Large heaps of stones lay about the mosaic floor that still showed signs of a beautiful design; statues had fallen from their pedestals and lay in helpless attitudes, their arms broken, their vacant eyes gazing with stony indifference into the sunshine. Sometimes their heads were missing, having rolled away as they fell.

Nature was rapidly doing her work; she was spreading her consoling mantle of verdure and flowers over this crumbling work of art, which human hands had once, long ago, built with pious vows and prayers.

Growths were bursting out of every crevice and crack in rambling confusion. Even the wild plants of the heath beyond had begun to creep into the church, giving the forgotten monument a festive look as if flowers had been strewn everywhere on the floor for some blessed feast-day. In greater masses than any other plant, wild lavender had taken possession of the church, bursting the mosaic floor asunder in a thousand places and pushing its way everywhere, so that over all lay a bluey-grey shimmer like evening mists rising out of a bog.

Through the wide-open portals the desolate land could be seen, stretching as far as the eye could reach, covered with the same dusty blue flower, and quite on the horizon it mixed with the sky, so that it was difficult to discern where the one began and the other ended.

A peculiar stillness lay over everything; it was not easy to imagine that human feet had once crowded towards the now broken altar that shone like a death-cloth as the rays of the sun struck upon the still white stone. The thick carpet of lavender sent out a faint perfume of other days, within which a whole treasure of memories was stowed away ... forgotten. Peace, peace, peace was over all, the peace of things that are past.

Before the altar, stretched out all his length on the ground amongst the blue of the lavender, lay Eric, his face pressed against the floor, his golden curls matted, his neat clothes soiled and dusty. He lay there, all his young body expressing one long cry of protest against the cruel things he had just learnt.

He had fled and fled, blind instinct guiding his steps, quite ignorant as to how he had found his way out. And then, when he once more saw the great sky over his head, he had rushed unseeingly forward, climbing the rocks, leaving the sea far behind.

On, on, in breathless haste to get away from that silent figure wrapped in grey folds, with the sightless eyes and the dagger within her heart ... neither did he know how he had reached this desolate place.

He had seen this ruined fane standing grey and forsaken on a waste of blue-grey flowers; he had seen it outlined in magnificent solitude against the clear sky, and a great wish had come over him to take refuge there, in that holy place, after the atmosphere of tragedy and temptation he had just left behind.

What mattered that the place was a ruin, that holy chants and fervent prayers were no more heard within the skeleton walls! It had been God's house, and the weary wanderer needed sanctuary.

Motionless as one asleep or dead he lay.

There was no sound around him except the buzzing of bees amongst the sweet-smelling lavender.

They flitted hither and thither, fetching out of each blossom its treasure of honey and sweetness, whilst tiny blue butterflies danced in their midst in frivolous useless gaiety. All of a sudden a flight of doves came floating out of the summer sky and settled like white sunlit clouds on every window-sill, where they fluttered their wings, filling the whole place with flashes of light, as the sun gleamed on their snowy feathers.

But still Eric lay without movement, his face among the crushed flowers.

The doves cooed and kissed each other; the bees swarmed around, and from somewhere very far overhead a bird sang a glad song, his voice rising shrill and pure into the warm air.

The sun began to slant his rays through the beautiful high windows, lighting up one of the sides of the building with sheets of gold.

He sent his warm beams to kiss the young man's curls, and to caress the white hands that were clasped before him; then one of the rays fell upon a picture that still kept its place above the altar.

At that very moment Eric, for the first time, raised his head--and there, smiling down upon him in angelic pity, was a face of such perfect sweetness, that he felt the hot tears come rushing to his tired eyes.

With folded hands he knelt in a posture of adoration, and gazed into the wonderful countenance that looked into his. A long cloak of some indescribable shade flowed down, enfolding the Virgin's ethereal limbs. Her hands were outstretched in a gesture of blessing; upon her head she wore a high golden crown, and the sun beat upon it making it shine like real metal; and her eyes, her wonderful eyes, were full of tears.... But in her heart.... Oh! did he rightly see? or was he dreaming the same awful dream over again?... in her heart, too, a dagger had been thrust! Must all hearts be killed? What was this old world teaching him? Was sorrow everywhere? Were those that blessed treated alike with those who poisoned heart and soul?

How ignorant he had been, singing like a bird in the sunshine, understanding nothing, feeling nothing but his own joy to be alive!

Now all seemed changed; pain and temptation, hard words and sweet smiles, had replaced each other in bewildering confusion, and into the heart of this miraculous Mother of God, this most pure of all women they had also thrust a cruel blade--and yet she continued to smile, her fair hands extended to his helpless gropings to understand!

His eyes riveted to the Holy Face, he approached the devastated altar around which the sun-rays had concentrated all their brightness, till the picture of the Virgin was no longer a painting, but a living woman, all light and radiance, Divine pity and love.

The weary wanderer sank on his knees, his hands folded, his head bent on the altar, and as he knelt there murmuring old forgotten prayers of his childhood, real warm tears streamed from the eyes of the holy picture and fell drop by drop on his sunny locks.

And it was like a gentle blessing which held within it a sweet promise of peace and comfort.

XII

The lavender-covered waste and the gaunt ruins of the church had been left far behind, and our traveller was now ascending the rocky pass of the great rugged mountains that rose high and forbidding above his head. He had felt a longing to climb somewhere very high, with a wish to be as near the blue sky as possible.

Something of the peace that the holy picture had filtered into his heart still remained. Within his clear look there was a dreamy wonder as if he still saw pure visions before him, the warm tears of the Mother of God having consecrated him to a deeper understanding. But there remained a shadow upon his soul from his dark experiences within the dwelling of the sorceress.

He was no more the gay, flitting, singing bird he had been. He strode forward with a more manly tread; something of the boyish eagerness had gone out of his step, some of the sweet confidence had gone from his eyes when they rested on those he met on his way.

When he played on his flute he marvelled at the new tones it had taken; they seemed deeper, sadder, and his voice vibrated less with the joy of living.

Yet the world was still wonderful and full of promise; these rocky mountains had shapes and colours that made his heart rejoice.

In this he was still the same Eric Gundian whom King Wanda had loved: he was without fear, and not even the sight of these treeless giants of stone daunted his wanderer's spirit.

Each night when he slept, no matter where he rested his head, the vision he was following always appeared to him clear, vivid, unchanged--those great solemn eyes that looked into his without ever a droop of the lids. He felt he must cross these enormous heights before he could reach what he was seeking; that as yet his road had been too easy, and that it would be needed of him to make some great effort before he was worthy of attaining his goal.

He looked back in thoughts upon the way he had come, and there seemed to him a great difference between the Eric of yesterday and to-day.

Dense clouds were enfolding the peaks of the mountains and creeping like soft monsters along the sides, filling the deep precipices with damp moving masses which were all coming towards him ready to swallow him up.

Steeper and steeper became the road, the air rarer, whilst the clouds lay thick and impenetrable over all.

Eric toiled on; only seldom could he look down upon what lay beneath because of the vapours that were wrapping themselves around him.

He knew not where he was going, but he stolidly continued his way in spite of the hard rocks and stones that wounded his feet, in spite of the path becoming always more irksome and dangerous.

Often he had but a narrow ledge to walk on, with a chasm on one side, a high wall of rock on the other; and as the clouds lay over everything he was in constant peril of life.

There were moments when a straying sun-ray would break through the clouds, casting a sudden light upon them, transforming them into mother-of-pearl; and sometimes the shaft of light ran straight along the white mist as if a finger of a god were pointing downwards to the dwellings of men.

Then out of the wall of mist a shadow rose and stood before him. It was faintly outlined against the whiteness that was about him, and the shadow was that of a man. And as he looked, full of surprise, another was at his side, and then a third, and these three shades pointed down the road he had been ascending.

Eric turned, and there, behind him, was a whole procession of diaphanous figures all following his footsteps.

They seemed transparent, yet all of them had personality; their faces although blurred and indistinct were full of different expressions.

Some were old and bent, others strong, stalwart, upright. Several of the female figures were young and fair; there were even small children amongst them, and all appeared waiting for him to lead the way.

He moved on, passing the three forms he had first seen, and with a shudder he realized that when he tried to touch them his fingers met nothing but space--his hand passed right through!

And each time he turned his head there they were, all of them, pressing close on his heels, silent, persistent. Truly it was a gruesome company to be wandering with in this wilderness of rocks and clouds.

Eric wondered how long it would last, and if they meant to go with him all the way.

Who were they? And what did they want of him?

Although many of them were beautiful, Eric thought them horrible and uncanny, and kept wondering in what way he could relieve himself of their presence; indeed he had not reckoned with such companions on his road.

Should he turn back? But if he did he would have to pass them all, and he remembered with a shudder how his hand had gone right through those bodiless shapes when he had tried to touch them, so it was better to go forward instead of retracing his footsteps.

Eric came now to a turn of the path where a great rock jutted out, barring his way in such a fashion that to pass it he would have to put one foot before the other on a ledge so narrow that the sight alone made him feel giddy and faint.

Beneath him gaped the great sea of clouds covering unknown depths he could not penetrate; but forwards he must go! Was he not like a hunted animal with this procession of ghosts so remorselessly tracking him?

He bravely set his face to the dangerous pass, and very carefully, his hands clutching at the rough surface of the rock, he managed to turn the dreaded corner; as he did so, there, right in the middle of his path, blocking his way, was a very old man.

He sat with head bent, his long grey beard dragging on the ground; within his clasped hands he grasped a thick stick against which he was leaning.

He looked sad and weary, and yet he was full of quiet dignity; a surprising figure to meet in a lonely place. His grey clothing hung loosely over his emaciated body, his wide mantle fell in thin folds about him; on his head he wore a broad-brimmed, weather-beaten hat.

At the young man's exclamation of surprise he raised his head and looked keenly at him, but spoke not a word. Yet this old man was not a spectre like the others, but in verity a living human creature, and for that reason welcome to our lonely wanderer.

"Speak to me," cried Eric. "I am half mad with the longing to hear a human voice. Tell me, if thou canst, who are these silent ones that dog my steps, and make these mountains horrible to me? Fain would I be rid of them!"

He turned to look behind him and there they were, close upon his footsteps, huddled together on the narrow shelf he had just passed; and all of them looked at him with hungry, expectant eyes; and yet through their bodies the rocks could be distinctly seen. It was a grim sight! The old man did not reply, but turned his head towards the silent apparitions and scrutinized them long and earnestly, then a slow smile broke over his face.

At last he spoke:

"Be not hard upon those that are dead, my son; these here find no peace because they did not receive a holy burial, nor were prayers said over their silent hearts; they felt thy coming, so they have arisen from where they lay in waiting, to follow thee. Let thy heart be soft unto them. Their presence around thee speaks in thy favour, for they try to follow only those whose conscience is without stain, for those alone can help them whose lives have been pure."

"Who are they?" asked the young man, and the old one answered:

"They are the restless souls of those who died here amongst the mountains. They all had hopes in their hearts when they started, and dreams or ambitions; each thought himself strong enough to scale these cruel heights, but they dropped down on the way; few, very few, ever reach the top. They lose courage or weary and try to turn back; but it is difficult to go back for those who have started on these paths that lead so high."

"Tell me, O wise man," cried the youth, "what mountains are these, and why did I feel that I must try to ascend them?"

"They are called the mountains of Life, my son. For some they bear also the name of the mountains of Temptation; for others they mean Toil; for others Trouble; for some they are named Redemption, and for the fewest they are called the mountains of Attainment."

"For me what shall they be called, my father?"

"That remains to be seen, my boy," responded the solemn voice.

"Tarry awhile beside me and I shall tell thee a few things that may be of use to thee. Thy fair face pleases me, and I wish thee well. But I am old, and my voice has no more the force as of a river in spring-time when the snows have melted; it is more like a sluggish stream over which a thick sheet of ice has been laid. But sit thee down close by me that I need not raise it overmuch."

So saying he drew his cloak away, making room for Eric on the rock where he was resting. The waiting shapes had become fainter, and were like torn pieces of mist that had caught upon the rocks.

"But before all else, I pray thee, tell me," said Eric, "why thou sayest these shadows have awaited my coming; and why thou dost not thyself lead them to peace? Thou who art so wise?"

The venerable face turned to the young one with a sad smile, and the old solemn voice answered in a low tone, "To be wise is not the same as to be good. Long ago, in the days of my youth, and later also in the years of my manhood, I was a great sinner, and many a dark unavowed act have I committed. But wise I always was, and even magic have I understood.

"There comes a time, my son, when the heart longs for peace; the white peace of solitude. Amongst men it could never be found, so I came up here; but that was only after my head had bent beneath the snow of age, after I had tasted all fruits both bitter and sweet; and this I tell thee: few are worth the eating. Yet thou shalt also eat of many; but have a care, I pray thee, and grasp not those that were best left untouched; and yet? and yet?

"When I look back I know it all had some meaning behind it--something that was but a link of one long chain, and the chain is so long that the links are but of small importance, although each link deems itself the one which holds all the chain together; and it is better it should be so, because the long chain needs each separate link. My talk is dark to thee," added the old man, laying his hand on Eric's.

"Forgive an old man whose thoughts ramble along; seest thou, up here in this wild solitude amongst the clouds and eagles, one learns to look down upon things and to realize their value; but it is useless to begin such knowledge too soon, for we, the weary ones, need all thy joy, all thy careless happiness, we need thy efforts, thy hopes, thy dreams, thy tears; none are wasted; they all go to make one great whole! Life is long and yet it is short, and many roads there are, but they all, without exception, lead to the same end. I am very near that end now; some reach it sooner than I. I know not what thou seekest, but all men are running after the same thing, though they call it by different names, not knowing that they can grasp but its shadow, because the thing itself is God's.

"I have given it a name. I call it Happiness; but truly this I can tell thee: men know not when they have it ... they see it before them, and then they turn round and they see it far behind ... but whilst it is theirs they are blind. Dark are my words to thee, but I love thee the more, because I read within thy eyes that all I am saying is without sense to thee, dear beginner of Life."

"But thou hast not told me," queried Eric, "why these phantoms hope to find salvation through me, and why with thy great wisdom thou canst do less for them than I with my foolish youth?"

Sadly the old man replied:

"Because, my son, youth and innocence have a strength that all the wisdom from over the seven seas cannot equal. Indeed, we who have lived and now look back, are far more willing to stretch out our hands in help; our hearts are larger, our patience greater, our understanding deeper; but it has thus been decreed that all this cannot be weighed against one little drop of thy pure innocence or of the faith thou hast, that removeth mountains."

The old head bowed itself over the clasped hands, and on the long grey locks lay a mist that was silvery and lustreless, as if some one had breathed over a mirror.

The sad, tired eyes gazed with a far-off look into space, following forgotten visions of long ago.

There was a deep silence which the young man did not try to break. He bowed in awe before this gaunt old figure, and longed to hear more, to drink in the wise words that fell from his lips.

Although many were quite incomprehensible to him, his instinct told him that he could learn much wisdom if he listened with all his soul. Strange it was that such a man should call himself a sinner when such a delightful peace filled Eric's whole being as he sat there close beside him.

The old man turned his head and looked into the young man's eyes.

"Fair thou art in thy glorious untouched youth. I did not hope to look again on so good a sight. I wish I could give thee some of my wisdom to keep thee from harm, but a loving, pure heart is also a shield, perhaps even better than any I could give thee; and yet when old age lifts its eyes to look upon youth, and sees it beautiful, a prayer comes to its lips that it may remain thus unsoiled for ever!

"Thou must go forth without fear; and have patience, dear youth, with those quiet followers of thine. If thou art strong enough thou mayest lead them to peace; for this I must tell thee: thy way will be hard and long till thou reachest the end which is thy desire; but by the love of my snowy hair I entreat thee climb to the highest summit, let not thy soul be satisfied till thou hast scaled the last, steepest peak.

"There may be easier roads, but take them not; others may tempt thee from thy giddy path, but listen not to their talk. I shall put all my faith in thee, and I will not that thou disappoint me. Before I die, I want to know that one has reached the greatest height."

"But tell me," cried the youth, "will I find at the end that for which I am seeking, which I am wandering after all the world over?"

"That I cannot answer thee now, my son," replied his companion. "Come with me to my dwelling; I shall gaze into my magic stone and perchance I shall be able to tell thee. Give me thy hand, for I am weary; we have not far to go, and it will be sweet to me to lean upon thy youth."

With great care and solicitude Eric helped the feeble old hermit to his feet, and following the gentle pressure of his hand, he let himself be directed to the mouth of a dark cave, hewn out of the rock, close to where they had been sitting.

"What a lonely place to live in!" cried the young man. "In truth it is like an eagle's nest hung on the very edge of the precipice!"

"It is a good dwelling for me, who only want to look backwards and not forwards," said the old man.

"Here I live in peace away from the clamouring of the crowd; I live with the thought of what has been, and what was evil drops away from what was good.

"I remember far more clearly the sun that shone than the days that were dark. I see faces I loved, and those I hated have no more power over me. Even strange it seems that once I could hate; yet well do I remember how I loved; for this also shalt thou learn: that Love is the beginning and end of all things.

"Love is the key that opens every door. Love is the answer to all questions. Love is the very centre of the heart of the universe. Love is the voice of God, the punishment and the recompense He gives to His people.

"Love carries the heart to the verge of the unknown. In Love all is contained: joy and pain, hope and despair, the night and the day; what was, what is, and what shall be ... but again my tongue wanders away with me, soon thou shalt weary of my talk.

"Look about thee and tell me if my dwelling is to thy liking."

The cave in which they stood was dark; but when Eric's eyes had got accustomed to the dimness he saw that indeed it was but a poor abode.

His host lit a small ancient oil lamp which spread a feeble light around. He placed it upon a table hewn out of the root of a tree, and sat heavily down on a stool near by, resting his head in his hand, his still keen eyes following the young man's movements as he looked about him.

The cave was not large, and the sides were of bare stone. A cavity had been cut out at the farther end where a few rough skins were spread, and that was the bed, indeed more like a grave than a resting-place.