UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 
 UNIVERSITY of CALIFOKN 
 AT 
 LOS ANGELES 
 LIBRARY
 
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 I k
 
 ,*.* 
 
 tCiC-t^^_
 
 DREAMS 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVE SCHREINER 
 
 AUTHOR'S EDITION 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 1892
 
 Pkesswork by John Wilson and Sort, 
 Untversitt Press. 
 
 • • • .• .•• •*. 
 
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 317 3 
 
 1^8:1
 
 
 A SMALL GIRL-CHILD, 
 
 WHO MAY LIVE TO GRASP 
 
 SOMEWHAT OF THAT WHICH FOR US 
 
 IS YET SIGHT, NOT TOUCH.
 
 THE STORY OF AN AFRICAN 
 FARM 
 
 BY RALPH IRON 
 {Olive Schreiner) 
 
 Price, 60 cents.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 <T^HESE Di'eams are printed in the 
 
 order in which they were written. 
 
 In the case of two there was a lapse 
 
 of some year's between the writing of the 
 
 first and last parts ; these are placed 
 
 according to the date of the first part. 
 
 Olive Schreiner. 
 Matjesfontein, 
 
 Cape Colony, 
 
 South Africa. 
 
 November, 1890.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CRAP. 
 
 "(^ I. THE LOST JOY . . , 
 
 II. THE HUNTER , 
 
 (From " The Story of an African Farm.") 
 v^ III. THE GARDENS OF PLEASURE , 
 ^ IV. IN A FAR-OFF WORLD . , 
 
 V. THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT . 
 VI. A DREAM OF WILD BEES . , 
 
 (Written as a letter to a friend.) 
 VII. IN A RUINED CHAPEL . 
 ^VIII. life's GIFTS . , 
 
 **^X. THE artist's SECRET , , 
 
 ^ X. I THOUGHT I STOOD . , 
 
 ^ XI. THE SUNLIGHT LAV ACROSS MY BED , 
 
 FAGB 
 II 
 
 23 
 
 57 
 
 65 
 
 87 
 
 97 
 
 "3 
 117 
 123 
 
 131
 
 I
 
 THE LOST JOY.
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 THE LOST JOY. 
 
 LL day, where the sunlight 
 played on the sea-shore, Life 
 sat. 
 
 All day the soft wind 
 played with her hair, and the young, 
 young face looked out across the water. 
 She was waiting — she was waiting ; but 
 she could not tell for what. 
 
 All day the waves ran up and up on 
 the sand, and ran back again, and the 
 pink shells rolled. Life sat waiting ; all 
 day, with the sunlight in her eyes, she
 
 14 THE LOST JOY. 
 
 sat there, till, grown weary, she laid her 
 head upon her knee and fell asleep, 
 waiting still. 
 
 Then a keel grated on the sand, and 
 then a step was on the shore — Life 
 awoke and heard it. A hand was laid 
 upon her, and a great shudder passed 
 through her. She looked up, and saw 
 over her the strange, wide eyes of Love 
 — and Life now knew for whom she had 
 sat there waiting. 
 
 And Love drew Life up to him. 
 
 And of that meeting was born a thing 
 rare and beautiful — Joy, First-Joy was 
 it called. The sunlightwhen.it shines 
 upon the merry water is not so glad ; 
 the rosebuds, when they turn back their 
 lips for the sun's first kiss, are not so 
 ruddy. Its tiny pulses beat quick. It 
 was so warm, so soft ! It never spoke, 
 but it laughed and played in the sun- 
 shine : and Love and Life rejoiced ex-
 
 THE LOST JOY. 15 
 
 ceedingly. Neither whispered it to the 
 other, but deep in its own heart each 
 said, "It shall be ours for ever." 
 
 Then there came a time — was it after 
 weeks ? was it after months ? (Love and 
 Life do not measure time) — when the 
 thing was not as it had been. 
 
 Still it played; still it laughed; still 
 it stained its mouth with purple berries ; 
 but sometimes the little hands hung 
 weary, and the little eyes looked out 
 heavily across the water. 
 
 And Life and Love dared not look 
 into each other's eyes, dared not say, 
 " What ails our darling ? " Each heart 
 whispered to itself, " It is nothing, it is 
 nothing, to-morrow it will laugh out 
 clear." But to-morrow and to-morrow 
 came. They journeyed on, and the 
 child played beside them, but heavily, 
 more heavily. 
 
 One day Life and Love lay down to
 
 i6 THE LOST JOY, 
 
 sleep ; and when they awoke, it was 
 gone : only, near them, on the grass, 
 sat a little stranger, with wide-open 
 eyes, very soft and sad. Neither 
 noticed it ; but they walked apart, 
 weeping bitterly, " Oh, our Joy ! our 
 lost Joy ! shall we see you no more 
 for ever ? " 
 
 The little soft and sad-eyed stranger 
 slipped a hand into one hand of each, 
 and drew them closer, and Life and 
 Love walked on with it between them. 
 And when Life looked down in anguish, 
 she saw her tears reflected in its soft 
 eyes. And when Love, mad with pain, 
 cried out, " I am weary, I am weary ! I 
 can journey no further. The light is all 
 behind, the dark is all before," a little 
 rosy finger pointed where the sunlight 
 lay upon the hill-sides. Always its large 
 eyes were sad and thoughtful : always the 
 little brave mouth was smiling quietly.
 
 1 8 THE LOST JOY. 
 
 land of sunshine and flowers, strangely 
 the great eyes lit up, and dimples broke 
 out upon the face. Brightly laughing, 
 it ran over the soft grass ; gathered 
 honey from the hollow tree, and brought 
 it them on the palm of its hand ; carried 
 them water in the leaves of the lily, and 
 gathered flowers and wreathed them 
 round their heads, softly laughing all 
 the while. He touched them as their 
 Joy had touched them, but his fingers 
 clung more tenderly. 
 
 So they wandered on, through the 
 dark lands and the light, always with 
 that little brave smiling one between 
 them. Sometimes they remembered 
 that first radiant Joy, and whispered 
 to themselves, " Oh ! could we but 
 find him also ! *' 
 
 At last they came to where Reflection 
 sits ; that strange old woman who has 
 always one elbow on her knee, and her
 
 THE LOST JOY. 17 
 
 When on the sharp stones Life cut 
 her feet, he wiped the blood upon his 
 garments, and kissed the wounded feet 
 with his little lips. When in the desert 
 Love lay down faint (for Love itself 
 grows faint), he ran over the hot sand 
 with his little naked feet, and even there 
 in the desert found water in the holes in 
 the rocks to moisten Love's lips with. 
 He was no burden — he never weighted 
 them ; he only helped them forward on 
 their journey. 
 
 When they came to the dark ravine 
 where the icicles hang from the rocks — 
 for Love and Life must pass through 
 strange drear places — there, where all is 
 cold, and the snow lies thick, he took 
 their freezing hands and held them 
 against his beating little heart, and 
 warmed them — and sofdy he drew them 
 on and on. 
 
 And when they came beyond, into the
 
 THE LOST JOY. ig 
 
 chin in her hand, and who steals light 
 out of the past to shed it on the future. 
 
 And Life and Love cried out, " O 
 wise one ! tell us : when first we met, 
 a lovely radiant thing belonged to us — 
 gladness without a tear, sunshine with- 
 out a shade. Oh ! how did we sin that 
 we lost it ? Where shall we go that we 
 may find it ?" 
 
 And she, the wise old woman, an- 
 swered, " To have it back, will you 
 give up that which walks beside you 
 
 And in agony Love and Life cried, 
 "No!" 
 
 " Give up this ! " said Life. " When 
 the thorns have pierced me, who will 
 suck the poison out ? When my head 
 throbs, who will lay his tiny hands upon 
 it and still the beating ? In the cold 
 and the dark, who will warm my freezing 
 heart ? "
 
 20 THE LOST JOY. 
 
 And Love cried out, " Better let me 
 die ! Without Joy I can live ; without 
 this I cannot. Let me rather die, not 
 lose it!" 
 
 And the wise old woman answered, 
 " O fools and blind ! What you once had 
 is that which you have now ! When 
 Love and Life first meet, a radiant 
 thing is born, without a shade. When 
 the roads begin to roughen, when the 
 shades begin to darken, when the days 
 are hard, and the nights cold and long — 
 then it begins to change. Love and 
 Life will not see it, will not know it — 
 till one day they start up suddenly, 
 crying, ' O God ! O God ! we have lost 
 it ! Where is it ? ' They do not un- 
 derstand that they could not carry the 
 laughing thing unchanged into the desert, 
 and the frost, and the snow. They do 
 not know that what walks beside them 
 still is the Joy grown older. The grave,
 
 THE LOST JOY. 
 
 21 
 
 sweet, tender thing — warm in the coldest 
 snows, brave in the dreariest deserts — 
 its name is Sympathy ; it is the Perfect 
 Love." 
 
 South Africa.
 
 THE HUNTER^
 
 THE HUNTER. 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 N certain valleys there was 
 a hunter. Day by day he 
 went to hunt for wild-fowl in 
 the woods ; and it chanced 
 that once he stood on the shores of a 
 large lake. While he stood waiting in 
 the rushes for the coming of the birds, a 
 great shadow fell on him, and in the 
 water he saw a reflection. He looked 
 up to the sky ; but the thing was gone. 
 Then a burning desire came over him to 
 see once agfain that reflection in the 
 water, and all day he watched and 
 waited ; but night came, and it had not
 
 26 THE HUNTER. 
 
 returned. Then he went home with his 
 empty bag, moody and silent. His 
 comrades came questioning about him 
 to know the reason, but he answered 
 them nothing ; he sat alone and brooded. 
 Then his friend came to him, and to 
 him he spoke. 
 
 "" ** I have seen to-day," he said, "that 
 which I never saw before — a vast white 
 bird, with silver wings outstretched, 
 sailing in the everlasting blue. And 
 now it is as though a great fire burnt 
 within my breast. It was but a sheen, 
 a shimmer, a reflection in the water ; 
 but now I desire nothing more on earth 
 than to hold her." 
 
 His friend lauQfhed. 
 
 " It was but a beam playing on the 
 water, or the shadow of your own head. 
 To-morrow you will forget her," he said. 
 
 But to-morrow, and to-morrow, and 
 to-morrow the hunter walked alone. Pie
 
 THE HUNTER. 27 
 
 sought In the forest and in the woods, 
 by the lakes and among the rushes, but 
 he could not find her. He shot no 
 more wild-fowl ; what were they to 
 him ? 
 
 " What ails him ? " said his comrades. 
 
 *' He is mad," said one. 
 
 *' No, but he is worse," said another ; 
 •* he would see that which none of us 
 have seen, and make himself a wonder." 
 
 " Come, let us forswear his company," 
 said all. 
 
 So the hunter walked alone. 
 
 One night, as he wandered in the 
 shade, very heart-sore and weeping, an 
 old man stood before him, grander and 
 taller than the sons of men. 
 
 "Who are you ? " asked the hunter. 
 
 ** I am Wisdom," answered the old 
 man ; " but some men called me Know- 
 ledge. All my life I have grown in 
 these valleys ; but no man sees me till
 
 28 THE HUNTER. 
 
 he has sorrowed much. The eyes must 
 be washed with tears that are to behold 
 me ; and, according' ^is a man has suf- 
 fered, I speak." 
 
 And the hunter cried — 
 
 •' Oh, you who have Hved here so 
 long, tell me, what is that great wild 
 bird I have seen sailing in the blue ? 
 They would have me believe she is 
 a dream ; the shadow of my own head." 
 
 The old man smiled. 
 
 " Her name is Truth. He who has 
 once seen her never rests again. Till 
 death he desires her." 
 
 And the hunter cried — 
 
 " Oh, tell me where I may find 
 her." 
 
 But the man said, 
 
 " You have not suffered enough," and 
 went. 
 
 Then the hunter took from his breast 
 the shuttle of Imagination, and wound
 
 THE HUNTER. 70 
 
 on it the thread of his Wishes ; and all 
 night he sat and wove a net. 
 
 In the morning he spread the golden 
 net open on the ground, and into it he 
 threw a few grains of creaulityfwhich 
 his father had left him, and which he 
 kept in his breast-pocket. They were 
 Hke white puff-balls, and when you trod 
 on them a brown dust flew out Then 
 he sat by to see what would happen. 
 The first that came into the net was 
 a snow-white bird, with dove's eyes, and 
 he sang a beautiful song — " A human- 
 God ! a human-God 1 a human-God ! "' it 
 sang. The second that came was black 
 and mystical, with dark, lovely eyes, 
 that looked into the depths of your soul, 
 and he sang only this — " Immortality ! " 
 
 And the hunter took them both in his 
 arms, for he said — 
 
 "They are surely of the beautiful 
 family of Truth."
 
 30 THE HUNTER. 
 
 Then came another, green and gold, 
 who sang in a shrill voice, like one cry- 
 ing in the market-place, — " Reward after 
 Death ! Reward after Death 1 '* 
 
 And he said — 
 
 " You are not so fair ; but you are 
 fair too," and he took it. 
 
 And others came, brightly coloured, 
 singing pleasant songs, till all the grains 
 were finished. And the hunter gathered 
 all his birds together, and built a strong 
 iron cage called a new creed, and put all 
 his birds in it. 
 
 Then the people came about dancing 
 and singing. 
 
 " Oh, happy hunter ! " they cried. 
 " Oh, wonderful man ! Oh, delightful 
 birds ! Oh, lovely songs ! " 
 
 No one asked where the birds had 
 come from, nor how they had been 
 caught ; but they danced and sang 
 before them. And the hunter too was 
 glad, for he said —
 
 THE HUNTER. 31 
 
 "Surely Truth is among them. In 
 time she will moult her feathers, and I 
 shall see her snow-white form." 
 
 But the time passed, and the people 
 sang and danced ; but the hunter's heart 
 grew heavy. He crept alone, as of 
 old, to weep ; the terrible desire had 
 awakened again in his breast. One day, 
 as he sat alone weeping, it chanced that 
 Wisdom met him. He told the old man 
 what he had done. 
 
 And Wisdom smiled sadly. 
 
 " Many men," he said, " have spread 
 that net for Truth ; but they have never 
 found her. On the grains of credulity 
 she will not feed ; in the net of wishes 
 . her feet cannot be held ; in the air of 
 these valleys she will not breathe. The 
 birds yon have caught are of the brood 
 of Lies. Lovely and beautiful, but still 
 lies ; Truth knows them not." 
 
 And the hunter ciied out in bitterness—
 
 32 THE HUNTER. 
 
 " And must I then sit still to be 
 devoured of this great burning ? " 
 
 And the old man said — 
 
 " Listen, and in that you have suffered 
 much and wept much, I will tell you 
 \ what I know. He who sets out to 
 search for Truth must leave these val- 
 leys of superstition for ever, taking with 
 him not one shred that has belonged to 
 them. Alone he must wander down 
 into the Land of Absolute Negation 
 and Denial ; he must abide there ; he 
 must resist_temptation ; when the light 
 breaks he must arise and follow it into 
 the country of dry sunshine. The 
 [ mountains of stern reality will rise 
 \ before him ; he must climb them ; 
 beyond them lies Truth." 
 
 " And he will hold her fast ! he will 
 Kold her in his hands ! " the hunter 
 cried. 
 
 Wisdom shook his head. 
 
 /
 
 THE HUNTER. 33 
 
 "He will never see her, never hold 
 her. The time is not yet." 
 
 "Then there is no hope?" cried the 
 hunter. 
 
 " There is this," said Wisdom. " Some 
 men have climbed on those mountains ; 
 circle above circle of bare rock they 
 have scaled ; and, wandering there, in 
 those high regions, some have chanced 
 to pick up on the ground, one white, 
 silver feather dropped from the wing of ' 
 Truth. And it shall come to pass," said ' 
 the old man, raising himself prophetically 
 and pointing with his finger to the sky, 
 " it shall come to pass, that, when 
 enough of those silver feathers shall 
 have been gathered by the hands of 
 men, and shall have been woven into a 
 cord, and the cord into a net, that in 
 that net Truth may be captured. Noth- 
 ing but Truth can hold Truth. 
 
 The hunter arose. " I will go," he said, 
 
 3 
 
 \ 
 \
 
 34 THE HUNTER. 
 
 But Wisdom detained him. 
 
 " Mark you well — who leaves these 
 valleys never returns to them. Though 
 he should weep tears of blood seven 
 days and nights upon the confines, he 
 can never put his foot across them. 
 Left — they are left for ever. Upon 
 the road which you would travel there 
 is no reward offered. Who goes, goes 
 freely — for the gi-eat love that is in him. 
 The work is his reward." 
 
 " I go," said the hunter ; " but upon 
 the mountains, tell me, which path shall 
 I take ? " 
 
 " I am the child of The-Accumulated- 
 Knowledge-of-Ages," said the man ; " I 
 can walk only where many men have 
 trodden. On these mountains few feet 
 have passed ; each man strikes out a 
 path for himself He goes at his own 
 peril : my voice he hears no more, I 
 may follow after him, but I cannot go 
 before him."
 
 THE HUNTER. 35 
 
 Then Knowledgfe vanished. 
 
 And the hunter turned. He went to 
 his cage, and with his hands broke down 
 the bars, and the jagged iron tore his 
 flesh. It is sometimes easier to build 
 than to break. 
 
 One by one he took his plumed birds 
 and let them fly. But, when he came 
 to his dark-plumed bird, he held it, and 
 looked into its beautiful eyes, and the 
 bird uttered its low deep cry — " Im- 
 mortality !** 
 
 And he said quickly, " I cannot part 
 with it. It is not heavy ; it eats no 
 food. I will hide it in my breast : I 
 will take it with me." And he buried 
 it there, and covered it over with his 
 cloak. 
 
 But the thing he had hidden grew 
 heavier, heavier, heavier — till it lay on 
 his breast like lead. He could not move 
 with it. He could not leave those
 
 36 THE HUNTER. 
 
 valleys with it. Then again he took 
 it out and looked at it. 
 
 " Oh, my beautiful, my heart's own ! " 
 he cried, " may I not keep you ? " 
 
 He opened his hands sadly. 
 
 '* Go," he said. " It may happen that 
 in Truth's song one note is like to yours ; 
 but / shall never hear it." 
 
 Sadly he opened his hand, and the 
 bird flew from him for ever. 
 
 Then from the shuttle of Imagination 
 he took the thread of his wishes, and 
 threw it on the ground ; and the empty 
 shuttle he put into his breast, for the 
 thread was made in those valleys, but 
 the shuttle came from an unknown 
 ^pouQtry, He turned to go, but now the 
 people came about him, howling. 
 
 "Fool, hound, demented lunatic!" 
 they cried. " How dared you break 
 your cage and let the birds fly } " 
 
 The hunter spoke ; but they would 
 not hear him.
 
 THE HUNTER. 37 
 
 " Truth ! who is she ? Can you eat 
 her ? can you drink her ? Who has 
 ever seen her ? Your birds were real : 
 all could hear them sing ! Oh, fool ! 
 vile reptile ! atheist ! " they cried, " you 
 pollute the air." ' 
 
 " Come, let us take up stones and 
 stone him," cried some. 
 
 " What affair is it of ours ? " said 
 others, "Let the idiot go; "and went 
 away. But the rest gathered up stones 
 and mud and threw at him. At last, 
 when he was bruised and cut, the hunter 
 crept away into the woods. And it was 
 evening about him. 
 
 He wandered on and on, and the 
 shade grew deeper. He was on 
 the borders now of the land where 
 it is always night. Then he stepped 
 into it, and there was no light there. 
 With his hands he groped ; but 
 each branch as he touched it broke
 
 38 THE HUNTER. 
 
 " off, and the earth was covered with 
 cinders. At every step his foot sank 
 in, and a fine cloud of impalpable ashes 
 flew up into his face ; and it was dark. 
 So he sat down upon a stone and 
 buried his face in his hands, to wait 
 in that Land of Negation and Denial 
 till the light came. 
 
 ^ And it was night in his heart also. 
 
 Then from the marshes to his right 
 and left cold mists arose and closed 
 about him. A fine, imperceptible rain 
 fell in the dark, and great drops gathered 
 on his hair and clothes. His heart beat 
 slowly, and a numbness crept through 
 all his limbs. Then, looking up, two 
 merry wisp lights came dancing. He 
 lifted his head to look at them. Nearer, 
 nearer they came. So warm, so bright, 
 they danced like stars of fire. They 
 stood before him at last. From the 
 centre of the radiating flame in one
 
 THE HUNTER. 39 
 
 looked out a woman's face, laughing, 
 dimpled, with streaming yellow hair. 
 In the centre of the other were merry 
 laughing ripples, like the bubbles on 
 a glass of wine. They danced before 
 him. 
 
 " Who are you," asked the hunter, 
 " who alone come to me in my solitude 
 and darkness ?" 
 
 " We are the twins Sensuality," they 
 cried " Our father's name is Human- 
 Nature, and our mother's name is 
 Excess. We are as old as the hills 
 and rivers, as old as the first man ; but 
 we never die," they laughed. 
 
 " Oh, let me wrap my arms about 
 you ! " cried the first ; " they are soft 
 and warm. Your heart is frozen now, but 
 I will make it beat. Oh, come to me ! " 
 
 " I will pour my hot life into 3^ou," 
 said the second ; " your brain is numb, 
 and your limbs are dead now ; but they
 
 40 THE HUNTER. 
 
 shall live with a fierce free life. Oh, 
 let me pour it in ! " 
 
 " Oh, follow us," they cried, " and 
 live with us. Nobler hearts than yours 
 have sat here in this darkness to wait, 
 and they have come to us and we to 
 them ; and they have never left us, 
 never. All else is a delusion, but we 
 are real, we are real. Truth is a 
 shadow ; the valleys of superstition are 
 a farce ; the earth is of ashes, the trees 
 all rotten ; but we — feel us — we live ! 
 You cannot doubt us. Feel us, how 
 warm we are ! Oh, come to us ! Come 
 with us ! " 
 
 Nearer and nearer round his head 
 they hovered, and the cold drops melted 
 on his forehead. The bright light shot 
 into his eyes, dazzling him, and the 
 frozen blood began to run. And he 
 said — 
 
 *' Yes ; why should I die here in this
 
 THE HUNTER. ' 41 
 
 awful darkness ? They are warm, they 
 melt my frozen blood ! " and he stretched 
 out his hands to take tliem. 
 
 Then in a moment there arose before 
 him the image of the thing he had 
 loved, and his hand dropped to his 
 side. 
 
 " Oh, come to us ! " they cried. 
 
 But he buried his face. 
 
 " You dazzle my eyes," he cried, 
 " you make my heart warm ; but you 
 cannot give me what I desire. I will 
 wait here — wait till I die. Go ! " 
 
 He covered his face with his hands 
 and would not listen ; and when he 
 looked up again they were two twink- 
 ling stars, that vanished in the distance. 
 
 And the long, long night rolled 
 on. 
 
 All who leave the valley of supersti- 
 tion pass through that dark land ; but 
 some go through it in a few days, some
 
 42 . THE HUNTER. 
 
 linger there for months, some for years, 
 and some die there. 
 
 At last for the hunter a faint light 
 played along the horizon, and he rose 
 to follow it ; and he reached that light 
 at last, and stepped into the broad 
 sunshine. Then before him rose the 
 almighty mountains of Dry-facts and 
 Realities. The clear sunshine played 
 on them, and the tops were lost in 
 the clouds. At the foot many paths 
 ran up. An exultant cry burst from 
 the hunter. He chose the straightest 
 and began to climb ; and the rocks and 
 ridges resounded with his song. They 
 had exaggerated ; after all, it was not 
 so high, nor was the road so steep ! 
 A few days, a few weeks, a few months 
 at most, and then the top ! Not one 
 feather only would he pick up ; he 
 would gather all that other men had 
 found — weave the net — capture Truth
 
 THE HUNTER. 43 
 
 — hold her fast — touch her with his 
 hands — clasp her ! 
 
 He laughed in the merry sunshine, 
 and sang loud. Victory was very near. 
 Nevertheless, after a while the path 
 grew steeper. He needed all his breath 
 for climbing, and the singing died away. 
 On the right and left rose huge rocks, 
 devoid of lichen or moss, and in the 
 lava-like earth chasms yawned. Here 
 and there he saw a sheen of white 
 bones. Now too the path began to 
 grow less and less marked ; then it 
 became a mere trace, with a foot-mark 
 here and there ; then it ceased alto- 
 gether. He sang no more, but struck 
 forth a path for himself, until he reached 
 a mighty wall of rock, smooth and 
 without breaks stretching as far as the 
 eye could see. *' I will rear a stair 
 against it ; and, once this wall climbed, 
 I shall be almost there," he said
 
 44 THE HUNTER. 
 
 bravely; and worked. With his shuttle 
 of imagination he dug out stones ; but 
 half of them would not fit, and half a 
 month's work would roll down because 
 those below were ill chosen. But the 
 hunter worked on, saying always to 
 to himself, " Once this wall climbed, 
 I shall be almost there. This great 
 work ended ! " 
 
 At last he came out upon the top, 
 and he looked about him. Far below 
 rolled the white mist over the valleys 
 of superstition, and above him towered 
 the mountains. They had seemed low 
 before ; they were of an immeasurable 
 height now, from crown to foundation 
 surrounded by walls of rock, that rose 
 tier above tier in mighty circles. Upon 
 them played the eternal sunshine. He 
 uttered a wild cry. He bowed himself 
 on to the earth, and when he rose his 
 face was white. In absolute silence he
 
 THE HUNTER. " - 45 
 
 walked on. He was very silent now. 
 In those high regions the rarefied air: 
 is hard to breathe by those born in the 
 valleys ; every breath he drew hurt him, . 
 and the blood oozed out from the tips 
 of his fingers. Before the next wall of 
 rock he began to work. The height 
 of this seemed infinite, and he said 
 nothing. The sound of his tool rang 
 night and day upon the iron rocks into 
 which he cut steps. Years passed over 
 him, yet he worked on ; but the wall 
 towered up always above him t^ heaveru 
 Sometimes he prayed that a little moss 
 or lichen might spring up on those bare 
 walls to be a companion to him ; but 
 it never came. 
 
 And the years rolled on : he counted 
 them by the steps he had cut — a few 
 for a year — only a few. He sang no 
 more ; he said no more, " I will do this 
 or that " — he only worked. And at night,
 
 46 THE HUNTER. 
 
 ^ 
 
 swhen the twilight settled down, there 
 looked out at him from the holes and 
 crevices in the rocks strange wild faces. 
 
 *' Stop your work, you lonely man, 
 and speak to us," they cried. 
 
 " My salvation is in work. If I 
 should stop but for one moment you 
 would creep down upon me," he replied. 
 And they put out their long necks 
 further. 
 
 " Look down into the crevice at your 
 feet," they said. " See what lie there — 
 white bones ! As brave and strong a 
 man as you climbed to these rocks. 
 And he looked up. He saw there was 
 no use in striving ; he would never hold 
 Truth, never see her, never find her. 
 So he lay down here, for he was very 
 tired. He went to sleep for ever. He 
 put himself to sleep. Sleep is very 
 tranquil. You are not lonely when 
 you are asleep, neither do your hands
 
 THE HUNTER. 47 
 
 ache, nor your heart." And the hunter 
 laughed between his teeth. 
 
 " Have I torn from my heart all that 
 was dearest ; have I wandered alone 
 in the land of night ; have I resisted 
 temptation ; have I dwelt where the 
 voice of my kind is never heard, and 
 laboured alone, to lie down and be food 
 for you, ye harpies ? " 
 
 He laughed fiercely ; and the Echoes 
 of Despair slunk away, for the laugh 
 of a brave, strong heart is as a death- 
 blow to them. 
 
 Nevertheless they crept out again 
 and looked at him. 
 
 " Do you know that your hair is 
 white ? " they said, " that your hands 
 begin to tremble like a child's ? Do 
 you see that the point of your shuttle 
 is gone ? — it is cracked already. If 
 you should ever climb this stair," they 
 said, " it will be your last. You will 
 never climb another."
 
 48 THE HUNTER. 
 
 And he answered, "I know it/" and 
 worked on. 
 
 The old, thin hands cut the stones 
 . ill and jaggedly, for the fingers were 
 stiff and bent. The beauty and the 
 strength of the man was gone. 
 
 At last, an old, wizened, shrunken 
 face looked out above the rocks. It 
 saw the eternal mountains rise with 
 walls to the white clouds ; but its work 
 was done. 
 
 The old hunter folded his tired hands 
 and lay down by the precipice where 
 he had worked away his life. It was 
 the sleeping time at last. Below him 
 over the valleys rolled the thick white 
 mist. Once it broke ; and through the 
 gap the dying eyes looked down on 
 the trees and fields of their childhood. 
 From afar seemed borne to him the 
 cry of his own wild birds, and he heard 
 the noise of people singing as they
 
 THE HUNTER. 49 
 
 danced. And he thought he heard , 
 among them the voices of his old corfi- . 
 rades ; and he saw far off the sunlight 
 shine on his early home. And great 
 tears gathered in the hunter's eyes. 
 
 " Ah ! they who die there do not 
 die alone," he cried. 
 
 Then the mists rolled together again ; 
 and he turned his eyes away. i 
 
 "I have sought," he said, "for long ". 
 years I have laboured ; but I have not \ 
 found her. I have not rested, I have \ 
 not repined, and I have not seen her ; j 
 .now my strength is gone. Where I 1 
 lie down worn out, other men will 
 stand, young and fresh. By the steps 
 that I have cut they will climb ; b) 
 the stairs that I have built, they will 
 mount. They will never know the 
 name of the man who made them. 
 At the clumsy work they will laugh ; 
 when the stones roll they will curse 
 
 4
 
 50 THE HUNTER. 
 
 me. But they will mount, and on tny 
 work ; they will climb, and by my stair ! 
 They will find her, and through me ! 
 And no man liveth to himself, and 
 no man dieth to himself." 
 
 The tears rolled from beneath the 
 shrivelled eyelids. If Truth had ap- 
 peared above him in the clouds now 
 he could not have seen her, the mist 
 of death was in his eyes. 
 
 " My soul hears their glad step 
 coming," he said; "and they shall 
 mount! they shall mount! " He raised 
 
 . his shrivelled hand to his eves. 
 
 ^ Then slowly from the white sky 
 above, through the still air, came some- 
 thing falling, falling, falling. Softly it 
 fluttered down, and dropped on to the 
 breast of the dying man. He felt it 
 with his hands. It was a feather. He 
 died holding it.
 
 ♦"« 
 
 THE GARDENS OF PLEASURE.
 
 THE GARDENS OF PLEASURE. 
 
 HE walked upon the beds, 
 and the sweet rich scent 
 arose ; and she gathered her 
 hands full of flowers. Then 
 Duty, with his white clear features, came 
 and looked at her. Then she ceased 
 from gathering, but she walked away 
 among the flowers, smiling, and with her 
 hands full. 
 
 Then Duty, with his still white face, 
 came again, and looked at her ; but she, 
 she turned her head away from him. 
 At last she saw his face, and she drop-
 
 54 THE GARDENS OF PLEASURE. 
 
 ped tho fairest of the flowers she had 
 held, and walked silently away. 
 
 Then again he came to her. And she 
 moaned, and bent her head low, and 
 turned to the gate. But as she went 
 out she looked back at the sunliorht on 
 the faces of the flowers, and wept in 
 anguish. Then she went out, and it 
 shut behind her for ever ; but still in her 
 hand she held of the buds she had 
 gathered, and the scent was very sweet 
 in the lonely desert. 
 
 But he followed her. Once more he 
 stood before her with his still, white, 
 death-like face. And she knew what 
 he had come for : she unbent the fingers, 
 and let the flowers drop out, the flowers 
 she had loved so, and walked on without 
 them, with dry, -aching eyes. Then for 
 the last time he came. And she showed 
 him her empty hands, the hands that 
 held nothing now. But still he looked.
 
 THE GARDENS OF PLEASURE. 55 
 
 Then at length she opened her bosom 
 and took out of it one small flower she 
 had hidden there, and laid it on the 
 sand. She had nothing more to give 
 now, and she wandered away, and the 
 grey sand whirled about her. 
 
 ^^
 
 IN A FAR-OFF WORLD.
 
 ^
 
 IN A FAR-OFF WORLD. 
 
 1 
 
 .^ 
 E 
 
 
 HERE is a world in one of 
 the far-off stars, and things 
 do not happen here as they 
 happen there. 
 In that world were a man and woman; 
 they had one work, and they walked 
 together side by side on many days, and 
 were friends — and that i^ a_ thing that 
 happens now and th£n in this world 
 also 
 
 But there was something in that star- 
 world that there is not here. There 
 was a thick wood : where the trees grew
 
 6o IN A FAR-OFF WORLD. 
 
 closest, and the stems were interlocked, 
 and the summer sun never shone, there 
 stood a shrine. In the day all was 
 quiet, but at night, when the stars shone 
 or the moon glinted on the tree- tops, 
 and all was quiet below, if one crept 
 here quite alone and knelt on the steps 
 of the stone altar, and uncovering one's 
 breast, so wounded it that the blood fell 
 down on the altar steps, then whatever 
 he who knelt there wished for was 
 granted him. And all this happens, 
 as I said, because it is a far-off world, 
 and things often happen there as they 
 do not happen here. 
 
 Now, the man and woman walked 
 together ; and the woman wished well 
 to the man. One night when the moon 
 was shining so that the leaves of all the 
 trees glinted, and the waves of the sea 
 were silvery, the woman walked alone 
 to the forest. It was dark there; the
 
 JN A FAR-OFF WORLD. 6l 
 
 moonlight fell only in little flecks on the 
 dead leaves under her feet, and the 
 branches were knotted tight overhead. 
 Farther in it got darker, not even a 
 fleck of moonlight shone. Then she 
 came to the shrine ; she knelt down 
 before it and prayed ; there came no 
 answer. Then she uncovered her 
 breast ; with a sharp two-edged stone 
 that lay there she wounded it. The 
 drops dripped slowly down on to the 
 stone, and a voice cried, " What do you 
 seek } " 
 
 She answered, " There is a man ; I 
 hold him nearer than anything. I would 
 give him the best of all blessings." 
 
 The voice said, " What is it } " 
 
 The girl said, " I know not, but that 
 which is most good for him I A^ish him 
 to have." 
 
 The voice said, "Your prayer is 
 answered ; he shall have it."
 
 62 IN A FAR-OFF WORLD. 
 
 Then she stood up. She covered her 
 breast and held the garment tight upon 
 it with her hand, and ran out of the 
 forest, and the dead leaves fluttered 
 under her feet. Out in the moonlight 
 the soft air was blowing, and the sand 
 glittered on the beach. She ran along 
 the smooth shore, then suddenly she 
 stood still. Out across the water there 
 was something moving. She shaded 
 her eyes and looked. It was a boat ; 
 it was sliding swiftly over the moonlit 
 water out to sea. One stood upright in 
 it ; the face the moonlight did not show, 
 but the figure she knew. It was pass- 
 ing swiftly ; it seemed as if no one 
 propelled it ; the moonlight's shimmer 
 did not let her see clearly, and the boat 
 was far from shore, but it seemed almost 
 as if there was another figure sitting in 
 the stern. Faster and faster it glided 
 over the water away, away. She ran
 
 IN A FAR-OFF WORLD. 63 
 
 alonof the shore ; she came no nearer it 
 The garment she had held closed flut- 
 tered open ; she stretched out her arms, 
 and the moonlight shone on her long 
 loose hair. 
 
 Then a voice beside her whispered, 
 - What is it ? " 
 
 She cried, " With my blood I bought 
 the best of all gifts for him. I have 
 come to bring it him ! He is going 
 from me ! " 
 
 The voice whispered sofdy, " Your 
 prayer was answered. It has been given 
 him." 
 
 She cried, "What is it?" 
 
 The voice answered, " It is that he 
 might leave you." 
 
 The girl stood still. 
 
 Far out at sea the boat was lost to 
 sight beyond the moonlight sheen. 
 
 The voice spoke sofdy, "Art thou 
 contented } "
 
 64 IN A FAR-OFF WORLD. 
 
 She said, " I am contented." 
 At her feet the waves broke in long 
 ripples softly on the shore.
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESER2
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT, 
 
 UNDER A MIMOSA-TREE. 
 
 S I travelled across an African 
 plain the sun shone down 
 hotly. Then I drew my 
 horse up under a mimosa- 
 tree, and I took the saddle from him 
 and left him to feed among the parched 
 bushes. And all to right and to left 
 stretched the brown earth. And I sat 
 down under the tree, because the heat 
 beat fiercely, and all along the horizon 
 the air throbbed. And after a while a 
 heavy drowsiness came over me, and I 
 laid my head down against my saddle,
 
 68 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 and I fell asleep there. And, in my 
 sleep, I had a curious dream. 
 
 I thought I stood on the border of a 
 great desert, and the sand blew about 
 everywhere. And I thought I saw two 
 great figures like beasts of burden of 
 the desert, and one lay upon the sand 
 with its neck stretched out, and one 
 stood by it. And I looked curiously at 
 the one that lay upon the ground, for it 
 had a great burden on its back, and the 
 sand was thick about it, so that it 
 seemed to have piled over it for 
 centuries. 
 
 And I looked very curiously at it. 
 And there stood one beside me watch- 
 ing. And I said to him, " What is this 
 huofe creature who lies here on the sand?" 
 
 And he said, " This is woman ; she 
 that bears men in her body," 
 
 And I said, ** Why does she lie here
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 69 
 
 motionless with the sand piled round 
 her ? " 
 
 And he answered, " Listen, I will tell 
 you ! Ages and ages long she has lain 
 here,^and the wind has blown over her. 
 The oldest, oldest, oldest man living has 
 never seen her move : the oldest, oldest 
 book records that she lay here then, as 
 she lies here now, with the sand about 
 her. But listen ! Older than the oldest 
 book, older than the oldest recorded 
 memory of man, on the Rocks of 
 Language, on the hard-baked clay of 
 Ancient Customs, now crumbling to 
 decay, are found the marks of her 
 footsteps ! Side by side with his who 
 stands beside her you may trace them ; 
 and you know that she who now lies 
 there once wandered free over the rocks 
 with him." 
 
 And I said, " Why does she lie there 
 now ? "
 
 ^o THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 And he said, " I take it, ages ago the 
 Age-of-dominion-of-muscular- force found 
 her, and when she stooped low to give 
 suck to her young, and her back was 
 broad, he put his burden of subjection 
 on to it, and tied it on with the broad 
 band of Inevitable Necessity. Then 
 she looked at the earth and the sky, 
 and knew there was no hope for her ; 
 and she lay down on the sand with the 
 burden she could not loosen. Ever 
 since she has lain here. And the ag-es 
 have come, and the ages have gone, 
 but the band of Inevitable Necessity 
 has not been cut." 
 ^ And I looked and saw in her eyes 
 
 * the terrible patience of the centuries ; 
 
 the ground was wet with her tears, and 
 *"* her nostrils blew up the sand. 
 
 And I said, " Has she ever tried to 
 move i 
 
 And he said, " Sometimes a limb has
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 7' 
 
 quivered. But she is wise ; she knows 
 she cannot rise with the burden on her." 
 
 And I said, " Why does not he who 
 stands by her leave her and go on ? " 
 
 And he said, "He cannot. Look " 
 
 And I saw a broad band passing 
 along the ground from one to the other, 
 and it bound them together. 
 
 He said, "While she lies there he 
 must stand and look across the desert." 
 
 And I said, " Does he know why he 
 cannot move ? " 
 
 And he said, " No." 
 
 And I heard a sound of something 
 cracking, and I looked, and I saw the 
 band that bound the burden on to her 
 back broken asunder ; and the burden 
 rolled on to the ground. 
 
 And I said, " What is this ? " 
 
 And he said, " The Age-of-muscular- 
 force is dead. The Age-of-nervous- 
 force has killed him with the knife he
 
 72 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 holds in his hand ; and silently and 
 invisibly he has crept up to the woman, 
 and with that knife of Mechanical 
 Invention he has cut the band that 
 bound the burden to her back. The 
 Inevitable Necessity is broken. She 
 miofht rise now." 
 
 And I saw that she still lay motion- 
 less on the sand, with her eyes open 
 and her neck stretched out. And she 
 seemed to look for something on the 
 far-off border of the desert that never 
 came. And I wondered if she were 
 awake or asleep, And as I looked her 
 body quivered, and a light came into 
 her eyes, like when a sunbeam breaks 
 into a dark room. 
 
 I said, "What is it?" 
 
 He whispered " Hush ! the thought 
 has come to her, ' Might I not rise ? ' " 
 
 And I looked. And she raised her 
 head from the sand, and I saw the dent
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. y^ 
 
 where her neck had lain so long. And 
 she looked at the earth, and she looked 
 at the sky, and she looked at him who 
 stood by her : but he looked out across 
 the desert. 
 
 And I saw her body quiver ; and she 
 pressed her front knees to the earth, 
 and veins stood out ; and I cried, " She 
 is going to rise ! " 
 
 But only her sides heaved, and she 
 lay still where she was. 
 
 But her head she held up ; she did 
 not lay it down again. And he beside 
 me said, " She ia very weak. See, her legs 
 have been crushed under her so long." 
 
 And I saw the creature struggle : and 
 the drops stood out on her. 
 
 And I said, " Surely he who stands 
 beside her will help her } " 
 
 And he beside me answered, "He 
 cannot help her : she must help herself. 
 Let her struggle till she is strong."
 
 74 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 And I cried, "At least he will not 
 hinder her ! See, he moves farther 
 from her, and tightens the cord between 
 them, and he drags her down." 
 
 And he answered, " He does not 
 understand. When she moves she draws 
 the band that binds them, and hurts him, 
 and he moves farther from her. The 
 day will come when he will understand, 
 and will know what she is doing. Let 
 her once stag-orer on to her knees. In 
 that day he will stand close to her, and 
 look into her eyes with sympathy." 
 
 And she stretched her neck, and the 
 drops fell from her. And the creature 
 rose an inch from the earth and sank back. 
 
 And I cried, " Oh, she is too weak ! 
 she cannot walk ! The long years have 
 taken all her strength from her. Can 
 she never move ? " 
 
 And he answered me, " See the light 
 in her eyes I "
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 75 
 
 And slowly the creature staggered on 
 to its knees. 
 
 And I awoke : and all to the east and 
 to the west stretched the barren earth, 
 with the dry bushes on it. The ants 
 ran up and down in the red sand, and 
 the heat beat fiercely. I looked up 
 through the thin branches of the tree 
 at the blue sky overhead. I stretched 
 myself, and I mused over the dream I 
 had had. And I fell asleep again, with 
 my head on my saddle. And in the 
 fierce heat I had another dream. 
 
 I saw a desert and I saw a woman 
 coming out of it. And she came to the 
 bank of a dark river ; and the bank 
 was steep and high.^ And on it an old 
 
 * The banks of an African river are sometimes 
 a hundred feet high, and consist of deep shifting 
 sands, through which in the course of ages the 
 river has worn its gigantic bed.
 
 76 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 man met her, who had a long white 
 beard ; and a stick that curled was in 
 his hand, and on it was written Reason. 
 And he asked her what she wanted ; 
 and she said " I am woman ; and I am 
 seeking for the land of Freedom." 
 And he said, " It is before you." 
 And she said, " I see nothing before 
 me but a dark flowing river, and a bank 
 steep and high, and cuttings here and 
 there with heavy sand in them." 
 And he said, " And beyond that } " 
 She said, ** I see nothing, but some- 
 times, when I shade my eyes with my 
 hand, I think I see on the further bank 
 trees and hills, and the sun shining on 
 them ! " 
 
 He said, " That is the Land of 
 Freedom." 
 
 She said, " How am I to get there .'*" 
 
 He said, " There is one way, and one 
 
 only. Down the banks of Labour,
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 77 
 
 through the water of Suffering. There 
 
 is no other." 
 
 She said, ** Is there no bridge } " 
 
 He answered. *' None." 
 
 She said, " Is the water deep ? " 
 
 He said, " Deep." 
 
 She said, " Is the floor worn ? " 
 
 He said, "It is. Your foot may shp 
 
 at any time, and you may be lost." 
 She said, "Have any crossed already .f*" 
 He said, " Some have tried ! " 
 She said, " Is there a track to show 
 
 where the best fording is ?" 
 He said, " It has to be made." 
 She shaded her eyes with her hand ; 
 
 and she said, " I will go." 
 
 And he said, " You must take off the 
 
 clothes you wore in the desert : they are 
 
 dragged down by them who go into the 
 
 water so clothed." 
 
 And she threw from her gladly the 
 
 mantle of Ancient-received-opinions she
 
 78 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 wore, for it was worn full of holes. 
 And she took the girdle from her waist 
 that she had treasured so long, and the 
 moths flew out of it in a cloud. And 
 he said, " Take the shoes of dependence 
 off your feet." 
 
 And she stood there naked, but for 
 one white garment that clung close to 
 her. 
 
 And he said, *' That you may keep. 
 So they wear clothes in the Land of 
 Freedom. In the water it buoys ; it 
 always swims." 
 
 And I saw on its breast was written 
 Truth ; and it was white ; the sun had 
 not often shone on it ; the other clothes 
 had covered it up. And he said, " Take 
 this stick; hold it fast. In that day 
 when it slips from your hand you are 
 lost. Put it down before you ; feel 
 your way : where it cannot find a 
 bottom do not set your foot "
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 79 
 
 And she said, '* I am ready ; let me 
 
 go." 
 
 And he said, " No — but stay ; what 
 is that — in your breast ? " 
 She was silent. 
 
 He said, " Open it, and let me see." 
 And she opened it. And against 
 her breast was a tiny thing, who 
 drank from it, and the yellow curls 
 above his forehead pressed against 
 it ; and his knees were drawn up to 
 her, and he held her breast fast with 
 his hands. 
 
 And Reason said, " Who is he, and 
 what is he doing here ? " 
 
 And she said, "See his little wings " 
 
 And Reason said, " Put him down." 
 And she said, *' He is asleep, and he 
 is drinking ! I will carry him to the 
 Land of Freedom. He has been a 
 child so long, so long, I have carried 
 him. In the Land of Freedom he will
 
 8o THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 be a man. We will walk together 
 there, and his great white wings will 
 overshadow me. He has lisped one 
 word only to me in the desert — 
 • Passion ! ' I have dreamed he might 
 learn to say * Friendship ' in that land." 
 And Reason said, " Put him down I " 
 And she said, " I will carry him so — 
 with one arm, and with the other I will 
 fight the water." 
 
 He said, " Lay him down on the 
 ground. When you are in the water 
 you will forget to fight, you will think 
 only of him. Lay him down." He 
 said, " He will not die. When he finds 
 you have left him alone he will open 
 his wings and fly. He will be in the 
 Land of Freedom before you. Those 
 who reach the Land of Freedom, the 
 first hand they see stretching down the 
 bank to help them shall be Love's. He 
 will be a man then, not a child. In
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 8i 
 
 your breast he cannot thrive ; put him 
 down that he may grow." 
 
 And she took her bosom from his 
 mouth, and he bit her, so that the blood 
 ran down on to the ground. And she 
 laid him down on the earth ; and she 
 covered her wound. And she bent and 
 stroked his wings. And I saw the hair 
 on her forehead turned white as snow, 
 and she had changed from youth to 
 age. 
 
 And she stood far off on the bank of 
 the river. And she said, " For what do 
 I go to this far land which no one has 
 ever reached } Oh, I am alone / I am 
 utterly alone I " 
 
 And Reason, that old man, said 
 to her, " Silence ! what do you 
 hear ? " 
 
 And she listened intently, and she 
 said, " I hear a sound of feet, a 
 thousand times ten thousand and 
 
 6
 
 82 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 
 
 thousands of thousands, and they beat 
 this way ! " 
 
 He said, " They are the feet of those 
 that shall follow you. Lead on ! make 
 a track to the water's edge ! Where 
 you stand now, the ground will be 
 beaten flat by ten thousand times ten 
 thousand feet." And he said, " Have 
 you seen the locusts how they cross a 
 stream ? First one comes down to the 
 water-edge, and it is swept away, and 
 then another comes and then another, 
 and then another, and at last with their 
 bodies piled up a bridge is built and the 
 rest pass over." 
 
 She said, "And, of those that come 
 first, some are swept away, and are 
 heard of no more ; their bodies do not 
 even build the bridge ? " 
 
 " And are swept away, and are heard 
 of no more — and what of that ?" he 
 said.
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 83 
 
 " And what of that — " she said. 
 
 " They make a track to the water's 
 edge." 
 
 " They make a track to the water's 
 
 edge ." And she said, " Over that 
 
 bridgfe which shall be built with our 
 bodies, who will pass ? " 
 
 He said, " The enthx human race!' 
 
 And the woman grasped her staff. 
 
 And I saw her turn down that dark 
 path to the river. 
 
 And I awoke ; and all about me was 
 the yellow afternoon light : the sinking 
 sun lit up the fingers of the milk bushes ; 
 and my horse stood by me quietly feed- 
 ing. And I turned on my side, and I 
 watched the ants run bv thousands in 
 the red sand. I thought I would go on 
 my way now — the afternoon was cooler. 
 Then a drowsiness crept over me again, 
 and I laid back my head and fell asleep.
 
 84 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT 
 
 And I dreamed a dream. 
 
 I dreamed I saw a land. And on the 
 hills walked brave women and brave 
 men, hand in hand. And they looked 
 into each other's eyes, and they were not 
 afraid. 
 
 And I saw the women also hold each 
 other's hands. 
 
 And I said to him beside me, " What 
 place is this ? " 
 
 And he said, " This is heaven." 
 
 And I said, "Where is it .?" 
 
 And he answered, " On earth." 
 
 And I said, "When shall these things 
 be?" 
 
 And he answered, "In the Future." 
 
 And I awoke, and all about me was 
 the sunset light ; and on the low hills the 
 sun lay, and a delicious coolness had 
 crept over everything ; and the ants 
 were going slowly home. And I walked
 
 THREE DREAMS IN A DESERT. 85 
 
 towards my horse, who stood quietly 
 feeding. Then the sun passed down 
 behind the hills ; but I knew that the 
 next day he would arise again.
 
 A BREAM OF WILD BEES.
 
 ^ 
 
 
 =v^,fsr5 
 
 <^s3~<^..^'i^& #£^ 
 
 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 
 
 MOTHER sat alone at an 
 open window. Through it 
 came the voices of the chil- 
 dren as they played under the 
 acacia-trees, and the breath of the hot 
 afternoon air. In and out of the room 
 flew the bees, the wild bees, with their 
 legs yellow with pollen, going to and 
 from the acacia-trees, droning all the 
 while. She sat on a low chair before 
 the table and darned. She took her 
 work from the great basket that stood 
 before her on the table : some lay on 
 her knee and half covered the book that
 
 90 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 
 
 rested there. She watched the needle 
 go in and out ; and the dreary hum of 
 the bees and the noise of the children's 
 voices became a confused murmur in her 
 ears, as she worked slowly and more 
 slowly. Then the bees, the long-legged 
 wasp-like fellows who make no honey, 
 flew closer and closer to her head, 
 droning. Then she grew more and 
 more drowsy, and she laid her hand, 
 with the stocking over it, on the edge. 
 of the table, and leaned her head upon 
 it. And the voices of the children out- 
 side grew more and more dreamy, came 
 now far, now near ; then she did not 
 hear them, but she felt under her heart 
 where the ninth child lay. Bent forward 
 and sleeping there, with the bees flying 
 about her head, she had a weird brain- 
 picture ; she thought the bees lengthene"d 
 and lengthened themselves out and be- 
 came human creatures and moved round
 
 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 91 
 
 and round her. Then one came to her 
 softly, saying, " Let me lay my hand 
 upon thy side where the child sleeps. 
 If I shall touch him he shall be as I." 
 
 She asked, " Who are you ? " 
 
 And he said, " I am Health. Whom 
 I touch will have always the red blood 
 dancing in his veins ; he will not know 
 weariness nor pain ; life will be a long 
 lauQ^h to him." 
 
 " No," said another, " let me touch ; 
 for I am Wealth. If I touch him 
 material care shall not feed on him. 
 He shall live on the blood and sinews 
 of his fellow-men, if he will ; and what 
 his eye lusts for, his hand will have. 
 He shall not know ' I want.' " And the 
 child lay still like lead. 
 
 And another said, " Let me touch 
 him : I am Fame. The man I touch, 
 I lead to a high hill where all men may 
 see him. When he dies he is not for-
 
 )2 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 
 
 gotten, his name rings down the cen- 
 turies, each echoes it on to his fellows. 
 Think — not to be forgotten throuo^h the 
 ages ! " 
 
 And the mother lay breathing steadily, 
 but in the brain-picture they pressed 
 closer to her. 
 
 " Let me touch the child," said one, 
 " for I am Love. If I touch him he 
 shall not walk through life alone. In 
 the greatest dark, when he puts out his 
 hand he shall find another hand by it. 
 When the world is against him, another 
 shall say, ' You and /.' " And the child 
 trembled. 
 
 But another pressed close and said, 
 " Let me touch ; for I am Talent. I 
 can do all things — that have been done 
 before. I touch the soldier, the states- 
 man, the thinker, and the politician who 
 succeed ; and the writer who is never 
 before his time, and never behind it. If
 
 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 93 
 
 I touch the child he shall not weep for 
 failure." 
 
 About the mother's head the bees 
 were flying, touching her with their long 
 tapering limbs ; and, in her brain-picture, 
 out of the shadow of the room came 
 one with sallow face, deep-lined, the 
 cheeks drawn into hollows, and a mouth 
 smiling quiveringly. He stretched out 
 his hand. And the mother drew back, 
 and cried, " Who are you ? " He an- 
 swered nothing ; and she looked up 
 between his eyelids. And she said, 
 " What can you give the child — health } " 
 And he said, " The man I touch, there 
 wakes up in his blood a burning fever, 
 that shall lick his blood as fire. The 
 fever that I will give him shall be cured 
 when his life is cured." 
 
 " You give wealth ?" 
 
 He shook his head. " The man 
 whom I touch, when he bends to pick
 
 )4 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 
 
 up gold, he sees suddenly a light over 
 his head in the sky ; while he looks up 
 to see it, the gold slips from between 
 his fingers, or sometimes another pass- 
 in gf takes it from them." 
 
 " Fame ? " 
 
 He answered, " Likely not. For the 
 man I touch there is a path traced out in 
 the sand by a finger which no man sees. 
 That he must follow. Sometimes it 
 leads almost to the top, and then turns 
 down suddenly into the valley. He 
 must follow it, though none else sees 
 the tracing." 
 
 "Love?" 
 
 He said, '* He shall hunger for it — 
 but he shall not find it. When he 
 stretches out his arms to it, and would 
 lay his heart against a thing he loves, 
 then, far off along the horizon he shall 
 see a light play. He must go towards 
 it. The thing he loves will not journey
 
 A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 95 
 
 with him ; he must travel alone. When 
 he presses somewhat to his burning 
 heart, crying, * Mine, mine, my own ! ' he 
 shall hear a voice — 'Renounce! re- 
 nounce ! this is not thine ! ' " 
 
 " He shall succeed ? " 
 
 He said, " He shall fail. When he 
 runs with others they shall reach the 
 goal before him. For strange voices 
 shall call to him and strange lights shall 
 beckon him, and he must wait and listen. 
 And this shall be the strangest : far off 
 across the burning sands where, to other 
 men, there is only the desert's waste, he 
 shall see a blue sea ! On that sea the sun 
 shines always, and the water is blue as 
 burning amethyst, and the foam is white 
 on the shore. A great land rises from 
 it, and he shall see upon the mountain 
 tops burning gold." 
 
 The mother said, " He shall reach 
 it?"
 
 96^ A DREAM OF WILD BEES. 
 
 And he smiled curiously. 
 
 She said, " It is real ? " 
 
 And he said, " What is real ?" 
 
 And she looked up between his half- 
 closed eyelids, and said, " Touch." 
 
 And he leaned forward and laid his 
 hand upon the sleeper, and whispered to 
 it, smiling ; and this only she heard — 
 " This shall be thy reward— that the 
 ideal shall be real to thee!' 
 
 And the child trembled ; but the 
 mother slept on heavily and her brain- 
 picture vanished. But deep within her 
 the antenatal thing that lay here had a 
 dream. In those eyes that had never 
 seen the day, in that half-shaped brain 
 was a sensation of light! Light — that 
 it never had seen. Light — that perhaps 
 it never should see. Light — that existed 
 somewhere ! 
 
 And already it had its reward : the 
 Ideal was real to it. 
 
 London.
 
 JN A RUINED CHAPEL.
 
 1 cannot forgive — I love.
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL, 
 
 HERE are four bare walls; 
 there is a Christ upon the 
 walls, in red, carrying his 
 cross ; there is a Blessed 
 Bambino with the face rubbed out ; 
 there is Madonna in blue and red ; 
 there are Roman soldiers and a Christ 
 with tied hands. All the roof is gone ; 
 overhead is the blue, blue Italian sky ; 
 the rain has beaten holes in the walls, 
 and the plaster is peeling from it. The 
 chapel stands here alone upon the pro- 
 montory, and by day and by night the 
 sea breaks at its feet. Some say that it
 
 loo IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 was set here by the monks from the 
 island down below, that they might 
 bring their sick here in times of deadly 
 plague. Some say that it was set here 
 that the passing monks and friars, as 
 they hurried by upon the roadway, 
 might stop and say their prayers here. 
 Now no one stops to pray here, and 
 the sick come no more to be healed. 
 
 Behind it runs the old Roman road. 
 If you climb it and come and sit there 
 alone on a hot sunny day you may 
 almost hear at last the clink of the 
 Roman soldiers upon the pavement, and 
 the sound of that older time, as you sit 
 there in the sun, when Hannibal and 
 his men broke through the brushwood, 
 and no road was. 
 
 Now it is very quiet. Sometimes a 
 peasant girl comes riding by betweer 
 her panniers, and you hear the mule's 
 feet beat npon the bricks of the pave-
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. loi 
 
 ment ; sometimes an old woman oroes 
 past with a bundle of weeds upon her 
 head, or a brigand-looking man hurries 
 by with a bundle of sticks in his hand ; 
 but for the rest the Chapel lies here 
 alone upon the promontory, between 
 fhc two bays and hears the sea break 
 Q,. IlS leet. 
 
 I came here one winter's day when 
 the midday sun shone hot on the bricks 
 of the Roman road. I was weary, and 
 the way seemed steep. I walked into 
 the chapel to the broken window, 
 and looked out across the bay. Far 
 off, across the blue, blue water, were 
 towns and villages, hanging white and 
 red dots, upon the mountain-sides, and 
 the blue mountains rose up into the sky, 
 and now stood out from it and now 
 melted back again. 
 
 The mountains seemed calling to me,
 
 I02 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 but I knew there would never be a 
 bridge built from them to me ; never, 
 never, never ! I shaded my eyes with 
 my hand and turned away. I could 
 not bear to look at them. 
 
 I walked through the ruined Chapel, 
 and looked at the Christ in red carrying 
 his cross, and the Blessed rubbed-out 
 Bambino, and the Roman soldiers, and 
 the folded hands, and the reed ; and I 
 went and sat down in the open porch 
 upon a stone. At my feet was the 
 small bay, with its white row of houses 
 buried among the olive trees ; the water 
 broke in a long, thin, white line of foam 
 along the shore ; and I leaned my 
 elbows on my knees. I was tired, very 
 tired ; tired with a tiredness that seemed 
 older than the heat of the day and the 
 shining of the sun on the bricks of the 
 Roman road ; and I lay my head upon 
 my knees ; I heard the breaking of the
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 103 
 
 water on the rocks three hundred feet 
 below, and the rustling of the wind 
 amone the olive trees and the ruined 
 arches, and then I fell asleep there. I 
 had a dream. 
 
 A man cried up to God, and God 
 sent down an angel to help him ; and 
 the angel came back and said, " I cannot 
 help that man." 
 
 God said, " How is it with him ? " 
 
 And the angel said, " He cries out 
 continually that one has injured him; and 
 he would forgive him and he cannot." 
 
 God said, *' What have you done for 
 him ? " 
 
 The angel said, "All . I took 
 
 him by the hand, and 1 said, ' See, 
 when other men speak ill of that man 
 do you speak well of him ; secretly, in 
 ways he shall not know, serve him ; if 
 you have anything you value share it 
 with him, so, serving him, you will at
 
 T04 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 last come to feel possession in him, and 
 you will forgive.' And he said, ' I will 
 do it' Afterwards, as I passed by in 
 the dark of night, I heard one crying 
 out, ' I have done all. It helps nothing! 
 My speaking well of him helps me 
 nothing! If I share my heart's blood 
 with him, is the burning within me less } 
 I cannot forgive ; I cannot forgive ! Oh, 
 God, I cannot forgive ! ' 
 
 *' I said to him, ' See here, look back 
 on all your past. See from your child- 
 hood all smallness, all indirectness that 
 has been yours ; look well at it, and in 
 its light do you not see every man your 
 brother ? ^Vre you so sinless you have 
 right to hate .'* ' 
 
 " He looked, and said, * Yes, you are 
 right ; I too have failed, and I forgive 
 my fellow. Go, I am satisfied ; I have 
 forgiven ; ' and he laid him down peace- 
 fully and folded his hands on his breast,
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 105 
 
 and I thouirht it was well with him. 
 But scarcely had my wings rustled 
 and I turned to come up here, when 
 I heard one crying out on earth again, 
 ' I cannot forgive ! I cannot forgive ! 
 Oh, God, God, I cannot forgive ! It 
 is better to die than to hate ! I can- 
 not forgive ! I cannot forgive ! * And 
 I went and stood outside his door in 
 the dark, and I heard him cry, ' I have 
 not sinned so, not so ! If I have torn 
 my fellows' flesh ever so little, I have 
 kneeled down and kissed the wound 
 with my mouth till it was healed. I 
 have not willed that any soul should 
 be lost through hate of me. If they 
 have but fancied that I wrongred them 
 I have lain down on the ground before 
 them that they might tread on me, and 
 so, seeing my humiliation, forgive and 
 not be lost through hating me ; they 
 have not cared that my soul should 
 
 
 \
 
 io6 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 be lost ; they have not willed to save 
 me ; they have not tried that I should 
 forgive them ! ' 
 
 " I said to him, ' See here, be thou 
 content ; do not forgive : forget this 
 soul and its injury ; go on your way. 
 In the next world perhaps ' 
 
 ** He cried, ' Go from me, you under- 
 stand nothinor I What is the next world 
 to me ! I am lost now, to-day. I 
 cannot see the sunlight shine^ the dust 
 is in my throat, the sand is in my eyes ! 
 Go from me, you know nothing ! Oh, 
 once again before I die to see that the 
 world is beautiful ! Oh, God, God, 
 I cannot live and not love. I cannot 
 live and hate. Oh, God, God, God ! ' 
 So I left him crying out and came back 
 here." 
 
 God said, " This man's soul must be 
 saved." ' 
 
 And the angel said " How ? '*
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 107 
 
 God said, " Go down you, and save 
 it. 
 
 The angel said, ** What more shall I 
 
 do?" 
 
 Then God bent down and whispered 
 in the angel's ear, and the angel spread 
 out its wingfs and went down to earth. 
 
 't>- 
 
 And pardy I woke, sitting there upon 
 the broken stone with my head on my 
 knee ; but I was too weary to rise. I 
 heard the wind roam through the olive 
 trees and among the ruined arches, and 
 then I slept again. 
 
 The anofel went down and found the 
 man with the bitter heart and took him 
 by the hand, and led him to a certain 
 spot. 
 
 Now the man wist not where it was the 
 angel would take him nor what he would 
 show him there. And when they came
 
 io8 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 the angel shaded the man's e^^es with his 
 wing, and when he moved it the man 
 saw somewhat on the earth before them. 
 For God had given it to that angel to 
 unclothe a human soul ; to take from it 
 all those outward attributes of form, and 
 colour, and age, and sex, whereby one 
 man is known from among his fellows 
 and is marked off from the rest, and 
 the soul lay before them, bare, as a man 
 turning his eye inwards beholds himself. 
 They saw its past, its childhood, the 
 tiny life with the dew upon it ; they saw 
 its youth when the dew was melting, 
 and the creature raised its Lilliputian 
 mouth to drink from a cup too large for 
 it, and they saw how the water spilt ; 
 they saw its hopes that were never 
 realized ; they saw its hours of intel- 
 lectual blindness, men call sin ; they 
 saw its hours of all-radiating insight, 
 which men call righteousness ; they saw
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL, 109 
 
 its hour of strength, when it leaped to 
 its feet crying, " I am omnipotent ; " its 
 hour of weakness, when it fell to the earth 
 and grasped dust only ; they saw what it 
 might have been, but never would be. 
 The man bent forward. 
 And the angel said, " What is it ? " 
 He answered, "It is /./ it is myself!" 
 And he went forward as if he would 
 have lain his heart against it ; but the 
 angel held him back and covered his eyes. 
 Now God had given power to the 
 ancrel further to unclothe that soul, to 
 take from it all those outward attributes 
 of time and place and circumstance 
 whereby the individual life is marked 
 off from the life of the whole. 
 
 Again the angel uncovered the man's 
 eyes, and he looked. He saw before 
 him that which in its tiny drop reflects 
 the whole universe ; he saw that which 
 marks within itself the step of the
 
 no IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 furthest star, and tells how the crystal 
 grows under ground where no eye has 
 seen it ; that which is where the germ 
 in the eee stirs ; which moves the 
 outstretched fincrers of the little new- 
 born babe, and keeps the leaves of the 
 trees pointing upward ; which moves 
 where the jelly-fish sail alone on the 
 sunny seas, and is where the lichens 
 form on the mountains' rocks. 
 
 And the man looked. 
 
 And the angel touched him. 
 
 But the man bowed his head and 
 shuddered. He whispered — ''It is God!''' 
 
 And the anofel re-covered the man's 
 eyes. And when he uncovered them 
 there was one walking from them a 
 little way off; — for the angel had re- 
 clothed the soul in its outward form and 
 vesture — and the man knew who it was. 
 
 And the angel said, " Do you know 
 him ."*"
 
 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. iii 
 
 And the man said, " I know him," 
 and he looked after the figure. 
 
 And the angel said, " Have you for- 
 given him ? " 
 
 But the man said, " How beautiful 
 iny brother is /" 
 
 And the angel looked into the man's 
 eyes, and he shaded his own face with 
 his wing from the light. He laughed 
 softly and went up to God. 
 
 But the men were together on earth. 
 
 I awoke. 
 
 The blue, blue sky was over my head, 
 and the waves were breaking below on 
 the shore. I walked through the little 
 chapel, and I saw the Madonna in blue 
 and redj and the Christ carrying his 
 cross, and the Roman soldiers with the 
 rod, and the Blessed Bambino with its 
 broken face; and then I walked down 
 the sloping rock to the brick pathway.
 
 112 IN A RUINED CHAPEL. 
 
 The olive trees stood up on either side 
 of the road, their black berries and pale- 
 green leaves stood out against the sky ; 
 and the little ice-plants hung from the 
 crevices in the stone wall. It seemed 
 to me as if it must have rained while 
 I was asleep. I thought I had never 
 seen the heavens and the earth look 
 so beautiful before. I walked down the 
 road. The old, old, old tiredness was 
 gone. 
 
 Presently there came a peasant boy 
 down the path leading his ass ; she had 
 two large panniers fastened to her sides ; 
 and they went down the road before me. 
 
 I had never seen him before; but 
 I should have liked to walk by him and 
 
 to have held his hand only, he would 
 
 not have known why, 
 
 Alassio, Italy,
 
 LIFE'S GIFTS. 
 
 8
 
 LIFE'S GIFTS. 
 
 SAW a woman sleeping. In 
 her sleep she dreamt Life 
 stood before her, and held 
 in each hand a gift — in the 
 one Love, in the other Freedom. And 
 she said to the woman, '* Choose ! " 
 
 And the woman waited long : and she 
 said, " Freedom ! " 
 
 And Life said, " Thou hast well 
 chosen. If thou hadst said, * Love,' I 
 would have given thee that thou didst 
 ask for ; and I would have gone from 
 thee, and returned to thee no more. 
 Now, the day will come when I shall
 
 ii6 
 
 LIFE'S GIFTS. 
 
 return. In that day I shall bear both 
 gifts in one hand." 
 
 I heard the woman laugh in her sleep. 
 
 London.
 
 THE ARTIST'S SECRET,
 
 ^^^^-^ 
 
 ^ft 
 
 ^^^^^^^r 
 
 ^^M 
 
 ^ 
 
 V^^^^^/C^i^j^ft^^^fi^ 
 
 
 
 ^m 
 
 »-. 
 
 ^^T= 
 
 ^^se^^^^/^ii 
 
 
 r//'^ ARTISTS SECRET. 
 
 HERE was an artist once, 
 and he painted a picture. 
 Other artists had colours 
 richer and rarer, and painted 
 more notable pictures. He painted his 
 with one colour, there was a wonderful 
 red j^low on it ; and the people went up 
 and down, saying, " We like the picture, 
 we like the glow." 
 
 The otV _itLibts came and said, 
 " Where does he get his colour from ? " 
 They asked him ; and he smiled and 
 said, " I cannot tell you " ; and worked 
 on with his head bent low.
 
 I20 THE ARTIST'S SECRET. 
 
 And one went to the far East and 
 bought costly pigments, and made a 
 rare colour and painted, but after a 
 time the picture faded. Another read in 
 the old books, and made a colour rich 
 and rare, but when he had put it on the 
 picture it was dead. 
 
 But the artist painted on. Always 
 the work got redder and redder, and the 
 artist grew whiter and whiter. At last 
 one day they found him dead before his 
 picture, and they took him up to bury 
 him. The other men looked about in 
 all the pots and crucibles, but they found 
 nothing they had not. 
 
 And when they undressed him to put 
 his grave-clothes on him, they found 
 above his left breast the mark of a 
 wound — it was an old, old wound, that 
 must have been there all his life, for the 
 edges were old and hardened ; but Death, 
 who seals all things, had drawn the edges 
 together, and closed it up.
 
 THE ARTIST'S SECRET. 
 
 121 
 
 And they buried him. And still the 
 people went about saying, '• Where did 
 he find his colour from ? " 
 
 And it came to pass that after a while 
 the artist was forgotten — but the work 
 
 lived. 
 
 St. Leonards-on-Sea.
 
 "/ THOUGHT I STOOD."*
 
 «/ THOUGHT I stood:' 
 
 I. 
 
 THOUGHT I stood in 
 Heaven before God's throne, 
 and God asked me what I 
 had come for, I said I had 
 come to arraign my brother, Man. 
 God said, *' What has he done ? " 
 I said, "He has taken my sister, 
 Woman, and has stricken her, and 
 wounded her, and thrust her out into the 
 streets ; she Hes there prostrate. His 
 hands are red with blood. / am here 
 to arraign him ; that the kingdom be 
 taken from him, because he is not worthy,
 
 126 "/ THOUGHT I STOOD." 
 
 and given unto me. My hands are. 
 pure." 
 
 I showed them. 
 
 God said, " Thy hands are pure. — 
 Lift up thy robe." 
 
 I raised it ; my feet were red, blood- 
 red, as if I had trodden in wine. 
 
 God said, " How is this.-*" 
 
 I said, " Dear Lord, the streets on 
 earth are full of mire. If I should walk 
 straight on in them my outer robe might 
 be bespotted, you see how white it is ! 
 Therefore I pick my way." 
 
 God said, " On what ?" 
 
 I was silent, and I let my robe fall. 
 I wrapped my mantle about my head. 
 I went out softly. I was afraid that the 
 angels would see me. 
 
 H. 
 
 Once more I stood at the gate of 
 Heaven, I and another. We held fast
 
 "/ THOUGHT I STOOD." 127 
 
 by one another ; we were very tired. 
 We looked up at the great gates ; the 
 angels opened them, and we went in. 
 The mud was on our garments. We 
 walked across the marble floor, and up 
 to the great throne. Then the angels 
 divided us. Her, they set upon the top 
 step, but me, upon the bottom ; for, they 
 said, " Last time this woman came here 
 she left red foot-marks on the floor ; we 
 had to wash them out with our tears. 
 Let her not go up." 
 
 Then she, with whom I came, looked 
 back, and stretched out her hand to me ; 
 and I went and stood beside her. And 
 the angels, they, the shining ones who 
 never sinned and never suffered, walked 
 by us to and fro and up and down ; I 
 think we should have felt a little lonely 
 there if it had not been for one another, 
 the angels were so bright. 
 
 God asked me what I had come for ;
 
 128 " / THO UGHT I STOOD:' 
 
 and I drew my sister forward a little that 
 he miorht see her. 
 
 God said, " How is it you are here 
 together to-day ? " 
 
 I said, " She was upon the ground in 
 the street, and they passed over her ; I 
 lay down by her, and she put her arms 
 around my neck, and so I lifted her, and 
 we two rose together." 
 
 God said, " Whom are you now come 
 to accuse before me ? " 
 
 1 said, *'We are come to accuse no 
 man." 
 
 And God bent, and said, *' My chil- 
 dren — what is it that ye seek ?" 
 
 And she beside me drew my hand that 
 I should speak for both. 
 
 I said, " We have come to ask that 
 thou shouldst speak to Man, our 
 brother, and give us a message for 
 him that he might understand, and 
 that he might- 
 
 >)
 
 "/ THOUGHT I STOOD r 129 
 
 God said, " Go, take the message 
 down to him ! " 
 
 I said, " But what is the message ? " 
 
 God said, " Upon your hearts it is 
 written ; take it down to him." 
 
 And we turned to go ; the angels 
 went with us to the door. They looked 
 at us. 
 
 And one said — " Ai ! but their dresses 
 are beautiful ! " 
 
 And the other said, " I thought it was 
 mire when they came in, but see, it is all 
 golden ! " 
 
 But another said, "Hush, it is the 
 liorht from their faces I " 
 
 And we went down to him. 
 
 Alassio^ Italy.
 
 THE SUNLIGHT LAY ACROSS MY 
 BED.
 
 THE SUNLIGHT LAY ACROSS MY 
 BED, 
 
 N the dark one night I lay 
 upon my bed. I heard the 
 policeman's feet beat on the 
 pavement ; I heard the 
 carriages roll home from 
 entertainment : I heard a 
 
 wheels of 
 houses of 
 
 woman's laugh below my window 
 
 and then I fell asleep. And in the dark 
 I dreamt a dream. I dreamt God took 
 my soul to Hell. 
 
 Hell was a fair place ; the water of 
 the lake was blue. 
 
 I said to God, " I like this place."
 
 134 THE SUNLIGHT LAY 
 
 God said, " Ay, dost thou ! " 
 
 Bird", sang, turf came to the water- 
 edge, and trees grew from it. Away 
 off among the trees I saw beautiful 
 women walking. Their clothes were of 
 many delicate colours and clung to them, 
 and they were tall and graceful and had 
 yellow hair. Their robes trailed over 
 the grass. They glided in and out 
 among the trees, and over their heads 
 hung yellow fruit like large pears of 
 melted gold. 
 
 I said, " It is very fair ; I would go 
 up and taste the " 
 
 God said, "Wait." 
 
 And after a while I noticed a very fair 
 woman pass : she looked this way and 
 that, and drew down a branch, and it 
 seemed she kissed the fruit upon it 
 softly, and went on her way, and her 
 dress made no rustle as she passed over 
 the grass. And when I saw her no
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 135 
 
 more, from among the stems came 
 another woman fair as she had been, in 
 a dehcate tinted robe ; she looked this 
 way and that. When she saw no one 
 there she drew down the fruit, and when 
 she had looked over it to find a place, 
 she put her mouth to it softly, and went 
 away. And I saw other and other 
 women come, making no noise, and they 
 glided away also over the grass. 
 
 And I said to God, "What are they 
 doing ? " 
 
 God said, " They are poisoning." 
 
 And I said, •' How ? " 
 
 God said, " They touch it with their 
 lips, when they have made a tiny wound 
 in it with their fore- teeth they set in it 
 that which is under their tongues : they 
 close it with their lip — that no m.an may 
 see the place, and pass on." 
 
 I said to God, " Why do they do it } " 
 
 God said, " That another may not eat."
 
 136 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 I said to God, " But if they poison 
 all then none dare eat ; what do they 
 gain ? " 
 
 God said, " Nothing." 
 
 I said, "Are they not afraid they 
 themselves may bite where another 
 has bitten ? " 
 
 God said, "They are afraid. In Hell 
 all men fear." 
 
 He called me further. And the 
 water of the lake seemed less blue. 
 
 Then, to the right among the trees 
 were men working. And I said to God, 
 " I should like to go and work with them. 
 Hell must be a very fruitful place, the 
 grass is so green." 
 
 God said, " Nothing grows in the 
 garden they are making." 
 
 We stood looking ; and I saw 
 them working among the bushes, 
 digging holes, but in them they set 
 nothing ; and when they had covered
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 137 
 
 them with sticks and earth each went 
 a way off and sat behind the bushes 
 watching; and I noticed that as each 
 walked he set his foot down carefully- 
 looking where he trod. I said to God, 
 '• What are they doing ? " 
 
 God said, *' Making pitfalls into which 
 their fellows may sink," 
 
 I said to God, " Why do they do 
 it?" 
 
 God said, " Because each thinks that 
 when his brother falls he will rise." 
 
 I said to God, " How will he rise .>*" 
 
 God said, " He will not rise." 
 
 And I saw their eyes gleam from 
 behind the bushes. 
 
 I said to God, "Are these men sane?" 
 
 God said, " They are not sane ; there 
 is no sane man in Hell" 
 
 And he told me to come further. 
 ^y^ And I looked where I trod. 
 
 And we came where Hell opened
 
 138 THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 into a plain, and a great house stood 
 there. Marble pillars upheld the roof, 
 and white marble steps led up to it. 
 The wind of heaven blew through it. 
 Only at the back hung a thick curtain. 
 Fair men and women there feasted at 
 long tables. They danced, and I saw 
 the robes of women flutter in the air 
 and heard the laugh of strong men. 
 What they feasted with was wine ; they 
 drew it from large jars which stood 
 somewhat in the background, and I 
 saw the wine sparkle as they drew it. 
 And I said to God, " I should like to go 
 up and drink." And God said, "Wait." 
 And I saw men coming in to the Banquet 
 House ; they came in from the back 
 and lifted the corner of the curtain 
 at the sides and crept in quickly; and 
 they let the curtain fall behind them ; 
 they bore great jars they could 
 hardly carry. And the men and women
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 139 
 
 crowded round them, and the new- 
 comers opened their jars and gave them 
 of the wine to drink ; and I saw that 
 the women drank even more greedily 
 than the men. And when others had 
 well drunken they set the jars among 
 the old ones beside the wall, and took 
 their places at the table. And I saw 
 that some of the jars were very old and 
 mildewed and dusty, but others had still 
 drops of new must on them and shone 
 from the furnace. 
 
 And I said to God, " What is that ?" 
 For amid the sound of the singing, and 
 over the dancing of feet, and over the 
 laughing across the wine-cups I heard 
 a cry. 
 
 And God said, " Stand a way off." 
 
 And he took me where I saw both 
 
 sides of the curtain. Behind the house 
 
 was the wine-press where the wine was 
 
 made. I saw the grapes crushed, and
 
 I40 THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 I heard them cry. I said, " Do not they 
 on the other side hear it ? " 
 
 God said, " The curtain is thick ; they 
 are feasting." 
 
 And I said, " But the men who came 
 in last. They saw ? " 
 
 God said, " They let the curtain fall 
 behind them — and they forget ! " 
 
 I said, " How came they by their jars 
 of wine .-* " 
 
 God said, "In the treading of the 
 press these are they who came to the 
 top ; they have climbed out over the 
 edge, and filled their jars from below, 
 and have gone into the house." 
 
 And I said, " And if they had fallen as 
 they climbed ? " 
 
 God said, " They had been wine." 
 
 I stood a way off watching in the sun- 
 shine, and I shivered. 
 
 God lay in the sunshine watching too. 
 
 Then there rose one among the
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 141 
 
 feasters, who said, " My brethren, let us 
 pray ! 
 
 And all the men and women rose : 
 and strong men bowed their heads, and 
 mothers folded their little children's 
 hands together, and turned their faces 
 upwards, to the roof. And he who first 
 had risen stood at the table head, and 
 stretched out both his hands, and his 
 beard was long and white, and his 
 sleeves and his beard had been dipped 
 in wine ; and because the sleeves were 
 wide and full they held much wine, and 
 it dropped down upon the floor. 
 
 And he cried, " My brothers and my 
 sisters, let us pray." 
 
 And all the men and women answered, 
 " Let us pray." 
 
 He cried, " For this fair banquet- 
 house we thank thee, Lord." 
 
 And all the men and women said 
 "We thank thee. Lord."
 
 142 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 ** Thine is this house, dear Lord." 
 
 " Thine is this house." 
 
 ** For us hast thou made it." 
 
 " For us." 
 
 " Oh, fill our jars with wine, dear Lord." 
 
 " Our jars with wine." 
 
 " Give peace and plenty in our time, 
 dear Lord." 
 
 " Peace and plenty in our time" 
 
 I said to God, " Whom is it they are 
 talking to ? " God said, " Do / know 
 whom they speak of ? " And I saw they 
 were looking up at the roof; but out in 
 the sunshine, God lay. 
 
 *' dear Lord ! " 
 
 " Dear Lord." 
 
 " Our children's children, Lord, shall 
 rise and call thee blessed." 
 
 " Our children's children, Lord." 
 
 I said to God, " The grapes are crying ! '' 
 
 God said, " Still ! / hear them " 
 
 " shall call thee blessed."
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 143 
 
 " Shall call thee blessed." 
 
 " Pour forth more wine upon us, 
 Lord." 
 
 " More wine." 
 
 " More wine." 
 
 " More wine ! " 
 
 " Wine ! ! " 
 
 *' Wine ! ! " 
 
 " Wine ! ! ! " 
 
 " Dear Lord ! " 
 
 Then men and women sat down and 
 the feast went on. And mothers poured 
 out wine and fed their little children 
 with it, and men held up the cup to 
 women's lips and cried, " Beloved ! 
 drink," and women filled their lovers' 
 flagons and held them up ; and yet the 
 feast went on. 
 
 And after a while I looked, and I 
 saw the curtain that hung behind the 
 house moving. 
 
 1 said to God, " Is it a wind? "
 
 144 THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 God said, " A wind." 
 And it seemed to me, that against the 
 curtain I saw pressed the forms of men 
 and women. And after a while the 
 feasters saw it move, and they whispered, 
 one to another. Then some rose and 
 gathered the most worn-out cups, 
 and into them they put what was 
 left at the bottom of other vessels. 
 Mothers whispered to their children, 
 " Do not drink all, save a little drop 
 when you have drunk." And when they 
 had collected all the dregs they slipped 
 the cups out under the bottom of the 
 curtain without lifting it. After a while 
 the curtain left off moving. 
 
 I said to God, " How is it so quiet ?" 
 He said, " They have gone away to 
 drink it." 
 
 I said, " They drink it — their own!'* 
 God said, " It comes from this side of 
 the curtain, and they are very thirsty."
 
 ACROSS M V BED. 145 
 
 Then the feast went on, and after a 
 while I saw a small, white hand slipped in 
 below the curtain's edge along the floor; 
 and it motioned towards the wine jars. 
 
 And I said to God, " Why is that 
 hand so bloodless ? " 
 
 And God said, "It is a wine-pressed 
 hand." 
 
 And men saw it and started to their 
 feet ; and women cried, and ran to the 
 great wine jars, and threw their arms 
 around them, and cried, " Ours, our 
 own, our beloved ! " and twined their 
 long hair about them. 
 
 I said to God, " Why are they fright- 
 ened of that one small hand ? " 
 
 God answered, " Because it is so 
 white." 
 
 And men ran in a great company 
 towards the curtain, and struggled there. 
 I heard them strike upon the floor. And 
 
 when they moved away the curtain hung 
 
 10
 
 146 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 smooth and still ; and there was a small 
 stain upon the floor. 
 
 I said to God, " Why do they not 
 wash it out ? " 
 
 God said, " They cannot." 
 
 And they took small stones and put 
 them down along- the edg^e of the cur- 
 tain to keep it down. Then the men 
 and women sat down again at the tables. 
 
 And I said to God, " Will those 
 stones keep it down ? " 
 
 God said, " What think you ? " 
 
 I said, " If the wind blew " 
 
 God said, " If the wind blew ? " 
 
 And the feast went on. 
 
 And suddenly I cried to God, " If 
 one should rise among them, even of 
 themselves, and start up from the table 
 and should cast away his cup, and cry, 
 ' My brothers and my sisters, stay ! what 
 
 is it that we drink ? ' and with his 
 
 sword should cut in two the curtain,
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 147 
 
 and holding wide the fragments, cry, 
 * Brothers, sisters, see ! it is not wine, 
 not wine! not wine! My brothers, oh, 
 my sisters — ! ' and he should overturn 
 the " 
 
 God said, " Be still ! , see there." 
 
 I looked : before the banquet-house, 
 among the grass, I saw a row of mounds, 
 flowers covered them, and gilded marble 
 stood at their heads. I asked God what 
 they were. 
 
 He answered, "They are the graves 
 of those who rose up at the feast and 
 cried." 
 
 And I asked God how they came 
 there. 
 
 He said, " The men of the banquet- 
 house rose and cast them down back- 
 wards." 
 
 I said, " Who buried them ? " 
 
 God said, "The men who cast them 
 down."
 
 148 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 I said, " How came it that they threw 
 them down, and then set marble over 
 them ? " 
 
 God said, " Because the bones cried 
 out, they covered them." 
 
 And among the grass and weeds I 
 saw an unburied body lying ; and I 
 asked God why it was. 
 
 God said, " Because it was thrown 
 down only yesterday. In a little while, 
 when the flesh shall have fallen from its 
 bones, they will bury it also, and plant 
 flowers over it." 
 
 And still the feast went on. 
 
 Men and women sat at the tables 
 quaffing great bowls. Some rose, and 
 threw their arms about each other, and 
 danced and sang. They pledged each 
 other in the wine, and kissed each 
 other's blood-red lips. 
 
 Higher and higher grew the revels. 
 
 Men, when they had drunk till they
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 149 
 
 could no longer, threw what was left 
 in their glasses up to the roof, and let 
 it fall back in cascades. Women dyed 
 their children's garments in the wine, 
 and fed them on it till their tiny- 
 mouths were red. Sometimes, as the 
 dancers whirled, they overturned a 
 vessel, and their garments were be- 
 spattered. Children sat upon the floor 
 with great bowls of wine, and swam 
 rose-leaves on it, for boats. They 
 put their hands in the wine and blew 
 laro^e red bubbles. 
 
 And higher and higher grew the 
 revels, and wilder the dancing, and 
 louder and louder the singing. But 
 here and there amongf the revellers 
 were those who did not revel. I 
 saw that at the tables here and there 
 were men who sat with their elbows 
 on the board and hands shading the'r 
 eyes ; they looked into the wine-cup
 
 I so THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 beneath them, and did not drink. And 
 when one touched them Hghtly on the 
 shoulder, bidding them to rise and 
 dance and sing, they started, and then 
 looked down, and sat there watching the 
 wine in the cup, but they did not move. 
 
 And here and there I saw a woman 
 sit apart. The others danced and sang 
 and fed their children, but she sat silent 
 with her head aside as though she 
 listened. Her little children plucked 
 her gown ; she did not see them ; she 
 was listening to some sound, but she 
 did not stir. 
 
 The revels grew higher. Men drank 
 till they could drink no longer, and lay 
 their heads upon the table sleeping 
 heavily. Women who could dance no 
 more leaned back on the benches with 
 their heads against their lovers' shoulders. 
 Little children, sick with wine, lay down 
 upon the edges of their mothers' robes.
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 151 
 
 Sometimes, a man rose suddenly, and 
 as he staggered struck the tables and 
 overthrew the benches ; some leaned 
 upon the balustrades sick unto death. 
 Here and there one rose who staggered 
 to the wine jars and lay down beside 
 them. He turned the wine tap, but 
 sleep overcame him as he lay there, 
 and the wine ran out. 
 
 Slowly the thin, red stream ran across 
 the white marbled floor ; it reached the 
 stone steps ; slowly, slowly, slowly it 
 trickled down, from step to step, from 
 step to step : then it sank into the earth. 
 A thin white smoke rose up from it. 
 
 I was silent ; I could not breathe ; 
 but God called me to come further. 
 
 And after I had travelled for a 
 while I came where on seven hills 
 lay the ruins of a mighty banquet- 
 house larger and stronger than the 
 one which I had seen standing.
 
 152 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 I said to God, "What did the men 
 who built it here ? " 
 
 God said, " They feasted." 
 
 I said, "On what?" 
 
 God said, " On wine." 
 
 And I looked ; and it seemed to me 
 that behind the ruins lay still a large 
 circular hollow within the earth where 
 a foot of the wine-press had stood. 
 
 I said to God, " How came it that 
 this large house fell ? " 
 
 God said, " Because the earth was 
 sodden." 
 
 He called me to come further. 
 
 And at last we came upon a hill 
 where blue waters played, and white 
 marble lay upon the earth. I said to 
 God, " What was here once ? " 
 
 God said, *' A pleasure house." 
 
 I looked, and at my feet great pillars 
 lay. I cried aloud for joy to God, 
 " The marble blossoms I "
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 153 
 
 God said, " Ay, 'twas a fairy house. 
 There has not been one Hke to it, nor 
 ever shall be. The pillars and the porti- 
 coes blossomed; and the wine cups were 
 as gathered flowers : on this side all the 
 curtain was broidered with fair designs, 
 the stitching was of gold." 
 
 I said to God, *' How came it that it 
 fell .? " 
 
 God said, ** On the side of the wine- 
 press it was dark." 
 
 And as we travelled, we came where 
 lay a mighty ridge of sand, and a dark 
 river ran there ; and there rose two vast 
 mounds. 
 
 I said to God, " They are very mighty." 
 
 God said, " Ay, exceeding great." 
 
 And I listened. 
 
 God asked me what I was listening to. 
 
 And I said, " A sound of weeping, 
 and I hear the sound of strokes, but I 
 cannot tell whence it comes."
 
 -54 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 God said, "It is the echo of the 
 wine-press Hngering still among the 
 coping-stones upon the mounds. A 
 banquet-house stood here." 
 
 And he called me to come further. 
 
 Upon a barren hill-side, where the 
 soil was arid, God called me to stand 
 still. And I looked around. 
 
 God said, " There was a feasting- 
 house here once upon a time." 
 
 I said to God, " I see no mark of 
 any ! " 
 
 God said, " There was not left one 
 stone upon another that has not been 
 thrown down." And I looked round ; 
 and on the hill-side was a lonely grave. 
 
 I said to God, " What lies there ?" 
 
 He said, "A vine truss, bruised in 
 the wine-press ! " 
 
 And at the head of the grave stood 
 a cross, and on its foot lay a crown of 
 thorns.
 
 A CROSS M Y BED. 1 5 5 
 
 And as I turned to go, I looked 
 backward. The wine-press and the 
 banquet-house were gone ; but the 
 grave yet stood. 
 
 And when I came to the edge of a 
 long ridge there opened out before me 
 a wide plain of sand. And when I 
 looked downward I saw great stones 
 lie shattered ; and the desert sand had 
 half covered them over. 
 
 I said to God, " There is writing on 
 them, but I cannot read it." 
 
 And God blew aside the desert sand, 
 and I read the writing : " Weighed in 
 
 the balance, and found " but the last 
 
 word was wanting. 
 
 And I said to God, " It was a banquet- 
 house .-* " 
 
 God said, " Ay, a banquet-house." 
 I said, "There was a wine-press here?" 
 God said, " There was a wine-press." 
 I asked no further question. I was
 
 1 56 THE S UN LIGHT LA Y 
 
 very weary ; I shaded my eyes with 
 my hand, and looked through the pii.k 
 evening light. 
 
 Far off, across the sand, I saw two 
 figures standing. With wings upfolded 
 high above their heads, and stern faces 
 set, neither man nor beast, they looked 
 out across the desert sand, watching, 
 watching, watching ! I did not ask God 
 what they were, for I knew what the 
 answer would be. 
 
 And, further and yet further, in the 
 evening light, I looked with my shaded 
 eyes. 
 
 Far off, where the sands were thick 
 and heavy, I saw a solitary pillar stand- 
 ing : the crown had fallen, and the sand 
 had buried it. On the broken pillar sat 
 a grey owl-of-the-desert, with folded 
 wings ; and in the evening light I saw 
 the desert fox creep past it, trailing his 
 brush across the sand.
 
 A CROSS MY BED. 157 
 
 Further, yet further, as I looked 
 across the desert, I saw the sand 
 gathered into heaps as though it 
 covered something. 
 
 I cried to God, " Oh, I am so 
 weary." 
 
 God said, " You have seen only one 
 half of Hell." 
 
 I said, " I cannot see more, I am 
 afraid of Hell. In my own narrow little 
 path I dare not walk because I think 
 that one has dug a pitfall for me ; and 
 if I put my hand to take a fruit I draw 
 it back again because I think it has been 
 kissed already. If I look out across the 
 plains, the mounds are burial heaps ; and 
 when I pass among the stones I hear 
 them crying aloud. When I see men 
 dancing I hear the time beaten in with 
 sobs ; and their wine is living ! Oh, I 
 cannot bear HtW !" 
 
 God said, " Where will you go ? "
 
 158 THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 I said " To the earth from which I 
 came ; it was better there." 
 
 And God laughed at me ; and I 
 wondered why he laughed. 
 
 God said, " Come, and I will show 
 you Heaven." 
 
 ^ w w ^ ^ ^ 
 
 And partly I awoke. It was still and 
 dark ; the sound of the carriages had 
 died in the street ; the woman who 
 laughed was gone ; and the policeman's 
 tread was heard no more. In the dark 
 it seemed as if a great hand lay upon 
 my heart, and crushed it. I tried to 
 breathe and tossed from side to side ; 
 and then again I fell asleep, and 
 dreamed. 
 
 God took me to the edge of that 
 world. It ended. I looked down. The 
 gulf, it seemed to me, was fathomless , 
 and then I saw two bridges crossing it 
 that both sloped upwards.
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 159 
 
 I said to God, "Is there no other way 
 by which men cross it ? " 
 
 God said, *' One ; it rises far from 
 here and slopes straight upwards. 
 
 I asked God what the bridges' names 
 were. 
 
 God said, " What matter for the 
 names ? Call them the Good, the 
 True, the Beautiful, if you will — you 
 will yet not understand them." 
 
 I asked God how it was I could not 
 see the third. 
 
 God said, "It is seen only by those 
 who climb it." 
 
 I said, " Do they all lead to one 
 heaven ? " 
 
 God said, " All Heaven is one : 
 nevertheless some parts are higher 
 than others ; those who reach the 
 higher may always go down to rest ii'. 
 the lower ; but those in the lower may 
 not have strength to climb to the
 
 i6o THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 higher ; nevertheless the light is all 
 
 one. 
 
 And I saw over the bridcre nearest 
 me, which was wider than the other, 
 countless footmarks go. I asked God 
 why so many went over it. 
 
 God said, " It slopes less deeply, and 
 leads to the first heaven." 
 
 And I saw that some of the foot- 
 marks were of feet returning. I asked 
 God how it was. 
 
 He said, " No man who has once 
 entered Heaven ever leaves it ; but 
 some, when they have gone half way, 
 turn back, because they are afraid there 
 is no land beyond." 
 
 I said, " Has none ever returned ?" 
 
 God said, " No ; once in Heaven al- 
 ways in Heaven." 
 
 And God took me over. And when 
 we came to one of the great doors — for 
 Heaven has more doors than one, and
 
 ACROSS MY BED. i6i 
 
 they are all open — the posts rose up so 
 hiofh on either side I could not see the 
 top, nor indeed if there were any. 
 
 And it seemed to me so wide that all 
 Hell could go in through it. 
 
 I said to God, " Which is the larger, 
 Heaven or Hell ? " 
 
 God said, " Hell is as wide, but 
 Heaven is deeper. All Hell could be 
 engulfed in Heaven, but all Heaven 
 could not be engulfed in Hell." 
 
 And we entered. It was a still grreat 
 land. The mountains rose on every 
 hand, and there was a pale clear 
 light ; and I saw it came from the 
 rocks and stones. I asked God how 
 it was. 
 
 But God did not answer me. 
 
 I looked and wondered, for I had 
 thouQfht Heaven would be otherwise. 
 And after a while it began to grow 
 brighter, as if the day were breaking,
 
 1 62 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 and I asked God if the sun were not 
 going to rise. 
 
 God said, " No ; we are coming to 
 where the people are." 
 
 And as we went on it grew brighter 
 and brighter till it was burning day ; and 
 on the rock were flowers blooming, and 
 trees blossomed at the roadside ; and 
 streams of water ran everywhere, and I 
 heard the birds singing ; I asked God 
 where they were. 
 
 God said, " It is the people calling to 
 one another." 
 
 And when we came nearer I saw them 
 walking, and they shone as they walked. 
 I asked God how it was they wore no 
 covering. 
 
 God said, *' Because all their body 
 gives the light ; they dare not cover any 
 part." 
 
 And I asked God what they were 
 doing.
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 163 
 
 God said, " Shining on the plants 
 that they may grow," 
 
 And I saw that some were workinof in 
 companies, and some alone, but most 
 were in twos, sometimes two men and 
 sometimes tvv^o women ; but generally 
 there was one man and one woman ; 
 and I asked God how it was. 
 
 God said, " When one man and one 
 woman shine together, it makes the 
 most perfect light. Many plants need 
 that for their growing. Nevertheless, 
 there are more kinds of piants in Heaven 
 than one, and they need many kinds of 
 light." 
 
 And one from among the people came 
 running towards me ; and when he came 
 near it seemed to me that he and I 
 had played together when we were little 
 children, and that we had been born on 
 the same day. And I told God what 
 I felt ; God said. " All men feel so in
 
 l64 THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 Heaven when another comes towards 
 them." 
 
 And he who ran towards me held my 
 hand, and led me throuo-h the brio^ht 
 lio-hts. And when we came amonsf the 
 trees he sang aloud, and his companion 
 answered, and it was a woman, and he 
 showed me to her. She said, " He 
 must have water " ; and she took some 
 in her hands, and fed me (I had been 
 afraid to drink of the water in Hell), 
 and they gathered fruit for me, and 
 gave it me to eat. They said, ** We 
 shone long to make it ripen," and they 
 laughed together as they saw me eat it. 
 
 The man said, "He is very weary ; 
 he must sleep " (for I had not dared to 
 sleep in Hell), and he laid my head on 
 his companion's knee and spread her 
 hair out over me. I slept, and all the 
 while in my sleep I thought I heard 
 the birds calling: across me. And when
 
 ACROSS MY JOED. 165 
 
 I woke it was like early morning, with 
 the dew on everything. 
 
 And the man took my hand and led 
 me to a hidden spot among the rocks. 
 The ground was very hard, but out of 
 it were sprouting tiny plants, and there 
 was a little stream running. He said, 
 " This is a garden we are making, no 
 one else knows of it. We shine here 
 every day ; see, the ground has cracked 
 with our shining, and this little stream 
 is bursting out. See, the flowers are 
 
 growmg, 
 
 J' 
 
 And he climbed on the rocks and 
 picked from above two little flowers 
 with dew on them, and gave them to 
 me. And I took one in each hand ; my 
 hands shone as I held them. He said, 
 " This garden is for all when it is 
 finished." And he went away to his 
 companion, and I went out into the 
 great pathway.
 
 i66 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 And as I walked in the liofht I heard 
 a loud sound of much sinofinsjf. And 
 when I came nearer I saw one with 
 closed eyes, singing, and his fellows 
 were standing round him ; and the light 
 on the closed eyes was brighter than 
 anything I had seen in Heaven. I 
 asked one who it was. And he said, 
 " Hush 1 Our sino;inor bird." 
 
 And I asked why the eyes shone so. 
 
 And he said, " They cannot see, and 
 we have kissed them till they shone so." 
 
 And the people gathered closer round 
 him. 
 
 And when I went a little further 
 I saw a crowd crossing among the 
 trees of light with great laughter. 
 When they came close I saw they 
 carried one without hands or feet. 
 And a licrht came from the maimed 
 limbs so bright that I could not look 
 at them.
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 167 
 
 And I said to one, " What is it ? " 
 
 He answered, " This is our brother 
 who once fell and lost his hands and 
 feet, and since then he cannot help him- 
 self ; but we have touched the maimed 
 stumps so often that now they shine 
 brighter than anything in Heaven. 
 We pass him on that he may shine on 
 things that need much heat. No one is 
 allowed to keep him long, he belongs 
 to all " ; and they went on among the 
 trees. 
 
 I said to God, " This is a strange 
 land. I had thought blindness and 
 maimedness were great evils. Here 
 men make them to a rejoicing." 
 
 '* God said, " Didst thou then think 
 that love had need of eyes and hands ! " 
 
 And I walked down the shining way 
 with palms on either hand. I said to 
 God, " Ever since I was a little child 
 and sat alone and cried, I have dreamed
 
 i68 THE SUNLIGHT LAY 
 
 of this land, and now I will not go away 
 again. I will stay here and shine." 
 And I began to take off my garments, 
 that I mii-ht shine as others in that 
 land ; but when I looked down I saw 
 my body gave no light. I said to 
 God, "How is it .?" 
 
 God said, "Is there no dark blood 
 in your heart ; is it bitter against 
 none?" 
 
 And I said, "Yes "; and I 
 
 thought — " Now is the time when I 
 will tell God, that which I have been, 
 meaning to tell him all along, how 
 badly my fellow-m-en have treated me. 
 How they have misunderstood me. 
 How I have intended to be magnani- 
 mous and generous to them, and they 
 
 ." And I began to tell God ; but 
 
 when 1 looked down all the flowers were 
 withering under my breath, and I was 
 silent.
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 169 
 
 And God called me to come up 
 higher, and I gadiered my mantle about 
 me and followed him. 
 
 And the rocks grew higher and 
 steeper on every side ; and we came 
 at last to a place where a great moun- 
 tain rose, whose top was lost in the 
 clouds. And on its side I saw men 
 working ; and they picked at the earth 
 with huge picks ; and I saw that they 
 laboured mightily. And some laboured 
 in companies, but most laboured singly. 
 And I saw the drops of sweat fall from 
 their foreheads, and the muscles of their 
 arms stand out with labour. And I 
 said, " I had not thought in heaven to 
 see men labour so ! " And I thought 
 of the garden where men sang and 
 loved, and I wondered that any should 
 choose to labour on that bare mountain- 
 side. And I saw upon the foreheads 
 of the men as they worked a light, and
 
 I70 THE SUNLIGHT LAY 
 
 the drops which fell from them as they 
 worked had light. 
 
 And I asked God what they were 
 seeking for. 
 
 And God touched my eyes, and I 
 saw that what they found were small 
 stones, which had been too bright for 
 me to see before ; and I saw that the 
 light of the stones and the light on the 
 men's foreheads was the same. And 
 I saw that when one found a stone he 
 passed it on to his fellow, and he to 
 another, and he to another. No man 
 kept the stone he found. And at times 
 they gathered in great company about 
 Vi^hen a large stone was found, and 
 raised a great shout so that the sky 
 rang ; then they worked on again. 
 
 And I asked God what they did with 
 the stones they found at last. Then 
 God touched my eyes again to make 
 them stronger ; and I looked, and nt
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 171 
 
 my very feet was a mighty crown. 
 The licrht streamed out from it. 
 
 God said, " Each stone as they find it 
 is set here." 
 
 And the crown was wrought according 
 to a marvellous pattern ; one pattern 
 ran through all, yet each part was 
 different. 
 
 I said to God, " How does each man 
 know where to set his stone, so that 
 the pattern is worked out ? " 
 
 God said, " Because in the light his 
 forehead sheds each man sees faintly 
 outlined that full crown." 
 
 And I said, " But how is it that each 
 stone is joined along its edges to its 
 fellows, so that there is no seam any- 
 where ? " 
 
 God said, " The stones are alive ; 
 they grow." 
 
 And I said, " But what does each man 
 gain by his working .^"
 
 172 THE SUNLIGHT LAY. 
 
 God says, " He sees his outline filled." 
 
 I said, " But those stones vvhicli are 
 last set cover those which were first ;' 
 and those will again be covered by those 
 which come later." 
 
 God said, " They are covered, but not 
 hid. The liizht is the liuht of all. With- 
 out the first, no last." 
 
 And I said to God, " When will this 
 crown be ended t " 
 
 And God said, " Look up ! " 
 
 I looked up ; and I saw the n:ountain 
 tower above me, but its summit I could 
 not see ; it was lost in the clouds. 
 
 God said no more. 
 
 And I looked at the crown : then a 
 longing seized me. Like the passion of 
 a mother for the child whom death has 
 taken ; like the yearning of a friend for 
 the friend whom life has buried ; like 
 the hunger of dying eyes for a life that 
 is slipping; like the thirst of a soul for
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 173 
 
 iove at its first spring waking-, so, but 
 fiercer was the lonQin:^ in me. 
 
 I cried to God, " I too will work here; 
 I too will set stones in the wonderful 
 pattern ; it shall grow beneath 7ny hand. 
 And if it be that, labouring here for 
 y^-ars, I should not find one stone, at 
 least I will be with the men that labour 
 here. I shall hear their shout of joy 
 when each stone is found ; I shall join in 
 their triumph I shall shout among them; 
 I shall see the crown grow." So great 
 was my longing as I looked at the 
 crown, I thou'j^ht a faint lioht fell from 
 my forehead also. 
 
 God said, " Do you not hear the 
 sinLiinof in the rardens ?" 
 
 I said, " No, I hear nothing ; I see 
 only the crown." And I was dumb 
 with longing ; I forgot all the flowers of 
 the lower Heaven and the singing there. 
 And I ran forward, and threw my mantle
 
 174 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 on the earth and bent to seize one of the 
 mighty tools which lay there. I could 
 not lift it from the earth. 
 
 God said, " Where hast i/iou earned 
 the strength to raise it ? Take up thy 
 mantle." 
 
 And I took up my mantle and fol- 
 lowed where God called me ; but I 
 looked back, and I saw the crown 
 burning, my crown that I had loved. 
 
 Higher and higher we climbed, and the 
 air grew thinner. Not a tree or plant 
 was on the bare rocks, and the stillness 
 was unbroken. My breath came hard 
 and quick, and the blood crept within 
 my finger-tips. I said to God, " Is this 
 Heaven?" 
 
 God said, " Yes ; it is the highest." 
 
 And still we climbed. I said to God, 
 " I cannot breathe so high." 
 
 God said, " Because the air is pure ? " 
 
 And my head grew dizzy, and as I
 
 ACROSS MV BED. 175 
 
 climbed the blood burst from my finger- 
 tips. 
 
 Then we came out upon a lonely 
 mountain-top. 
 
 No living being moved there ; but 
 far off on a solitary peak I saw a 
 lonely figure standing. Whether it were 
 man or woman I could not tell ; for 
 partly it seemed the figure of a woman, 
 but its limbs were the mighty limbs of 
 a man. I asked God whether it was 
 man or woman. 
 
 God said, " In the least Heaven sex 
 reigns supreme ; in the higher it is not 
 noticed ; but in the highest it does not 
 exist." 
 
 And I sav/ the figure bend over its 
 work, and labour mightily, but what it 
 laboured at I could not see. 
 
 I said to God, " How came it here ?" 
 
 God said, " By a bloody stair. Step 
 by step it mounted from the lowest Hell,
 
 176 THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 and day by day as Hell grew farther 
 and Heaven no nearer, it hung alone 
 between two worlds. Hour by hour in 
 that bitter struggle its limbs grew larger, 
 till there fell from it rag by rag the gar- 
 ments which it started with. Drops frll 
 from its eyes as it strained them ; each 
 step it climbed was wet with blood. 
 Then it came out here." 
 
 And I thought of the garden where men 
 sanpf with their arms around one another; 
 and the mountain-side where they 
 worked in company. And I shuddered. 
 
 And I said, " Is it not terribly alone 
 here ? " 
 
 God said, " It is never alone ! " 
 
 I said, " What has it for all its labour ? 
 I see nothing return to it." 
 
 Then God touched my eyes, and I 
 saw stretched out beneath us the plains 
 of Heaven and Hell, and all that was 
 within them.
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 177 
 
 God said, " From that lone height on 
 which he stands, all things are open. 
 To him is clear the shining in the 
 garden, he sees the flower break forth 
 and the streams sparkle ; no shout is 
 raised upon the mountain-side but his ear 
 may hear it. He sees the crown grow 
 and the light shoot from it. All Hell is 
 open to him. He sees the paths mount 
 upwards. To him, Hell is the seed 
 ground from which Heaven springs. 
 He sees the sap ascending." 
 
 And I saw the ficrure bend over its 
 work, and the light from its face fell 
 upon it. 
 
 And I said to God, "What is it 
 making ? 
 
 And God said, "Music!" 
 
 And he touched my ears, and I heard 
 it. 
 
 And after a long while I whispered to 
 God, " This is Heaven." 
 
 12
 
 178 THE SUNLIGHT LA V 
 
 And God asked me why I was crying. 
 But I could not answer for joy. 
 
 And the face turned from its work, 
 and the light fell upon me. Then it 
 grew so bright I could not see things 
 separately ; and which were God, or the 
 man, or I, I could not tell ; we were all 
 blended. I cried to God, "Where are 
 you ? " but there was no answer, only 
 music and light. 
 
 Afterwards, when it had grown so 
 dark again that I could see things 
 separately, I found that I was standing 
 there wrapped tight in my litde old, 
 brown, earthly cloak, and God and 
 the man were separated from each 
 other, and from me. 
 
 I did not dare say I would go and 
 make music beside the man. I knew I 
 could not reach even to his knee, nor 
 move the instrument he played. But I 
 thought I would stand there on my
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 179 
 
 little peak and sing an accompaniment 
 to that great music. And I tried ; but 
 my voice failed. It piped and qua- 
 vered. I could not sing that tune. I 
 was silent. 
 
 Then God pointed to me, that I 
 should go out of Heaven. 
 
 And I cried to God, " Oh, let me 
 stay here ! If indeed it be, as I know- 
 it is, that I am not great enough to sing 
 upon the mountain, nor strong enough to 
 labour on its side, nor bright enough to 
 shine and love within the garden, at 
 least let me go down to the great 
 gateway ; humbly I will kneel there 
 sweeping ; and, as the saved pass in, 
 I will see the light upon their faces. 
 I shall hear the singing in the garden, 
 and the shout upon the hillside " 
 
 God said, "It may not be;" he 
 pointed. 
 
 And I cried, " If I may not stay in
 
 i8o THE SUNLIGHT LA Y 
 
 Heaven, then let me go down to Hell, 
 and I will grasp the hands of men 
 and women there ; and slowly, holding 
 one another's hands, we will work our 
 way upwards." 
 
 Still God pointed. 
 
 And I threw myself upon the earth 
 and cried, " Earth is so small, so 
 mean ! It is not meet a soul should 
 see Heaven and be cast out again ! " 
 
 And God laid his hand on me, and 
 said, " Go back to earth : tJiat which 
 you seek is there!' 
 
 I awoke : it was mornino^. The silence 
 and darkness of the night were gone. 
 Through my narrow attic window I saw 
 the light of another day. I closed my 
 eyes and turned towards the wall : I 
 could not look upon the dull grey world. 
 
 In the streets below, men and women 
 streamed past by hundreds ; I heard the
 
 ACROSS MY BED. 
 
 beat of their feet on the pavement. 
 Men on their way to business ; servants 
 on errands ; boys hurrying to school ; 
 weary professors pacing slowly the old 
 street ; prostitutes, men and women, 
 dragging their feet wearily after last 
 night's debauch ; artists with quick, 
 impatient footsteps ; tradesmen for 
 orders ; children to seek for bread. I 
 heard the stream beat by. And at 
 the alley's mouth, at the street corner, 
 a broken barrel-organ was playing ; 
 sometimes it quavered and almost 
 stopped, then went on again, like a 
 broken human voice. 
 
 I listened : my heart scarcely moved ; 
 it was as cold as lead. I could not bear 
 the long day before me ; and I tried to 
 sleep again ; yet still I heard the feet 
 upon the pavement. And suddenly I 
 heard them cry loud as they beat, 
 " We are seeking ! — we are seeking !
 
 1 82 SUNLIGHT LA V ACROSS MY BED. 
 
 — we are seeking ! " and the broken 
 barrel-organ at the street corner sobbed, 
 " The Beautiful ! — the Beautiful ! — the 
 Beautiful ! " And my heart, which had 
 been dead, cried out with every throb, 
 " Love ! — Truth ! — the Beautiful ! — the 
 Beautiful ! " It was the music I had 
 heard in Heaven that I could not sing 
 there. 
 
 And fully I awoke. 
 
 Upon the faded quilt, across my bed 
 a long yellow streak of pale London 
 sunlight was lying. It fell through my 
 narrow attic window. 
 
 I laughed. I rose. 
 
 I was glad the long day was before 
 me. 
 
 Paris and London. 
 
 
 9
 
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