Toward the Gulf Part 28

"Then the bishop said: "'My dream went on. I crossed the stable yard And pa.s.sed into a place of tombs. And look!

Before I knew I stepped into a hole, A sunken grave with just a slab at head, And "Jesus" carven on it, nothing else, No date, no birth, no parentage.'"

"'I lie Tormented by the pictures of this dream.

Woman, take to your death bed with clear mind Of gospel faith, clean conscience, sins forgiven.

The thoughts that we must suffer with and die with Are worth the care of all the days of life.

All life should be directed to this end, Lest when the mind lies fallen, vultures swoop, And with their wings blot out the sun of faith, And with their croakings drown the voice of G.o.d.'

"He ceased, became delirious. So he died, And I still unrepentant buried him There in Montreaux, and with what gold remained Went on to Paris.

"See how I was marked For G.o.d's salvation.

"There I went to see The celebrated teacher Jean Strakosch, Who looked at me with insolent, calm eyes, And face impa.s.sive, let me sing a scale, Then shook his head. A diva, as I thought, Came in just then. They talked in French, and I, p.r.i.c.kling from head to foot with shame, ignored, Left standing like a fool, pa.s.sed from the room.

So music turned on me, but G.o.d received me, And I came back to Springfield. But the Lord Made life too hard for me without the fold.

I was so shunned and scorned, I had no place Save with the fallen, with the mockers, drinkers.

Thus being in conviction, after struggles, And many prayers I found salvation, found My work in life: which is to talk to girls And stand upon this platform and relate My story for their good."

She ceased. Amens Went up about the room. The big drum boomed, And the raucous bra.s.s horns mingled with the cymbals, The silver triangle and the singing voices.

My friend and I arose and left the room.

NEANDERTHAL

"Then what is life?" I cried. And with that cry I woke from deeper slumber--was it sleep?-- And saw a hooded figure standing by The bed whereon I lay.

"Why do you keep, O spirit beautiful and swift, this guard About my slumber? Sh.e.l.ley, from the deep Why do you come with veiled face, mighty bard, As that unearthly shape was veiled to you At Casa Magni?"

Then the room was starred With light as I was speaking, and I knew The G.o.d, my brother, from whose face the veil Melted as mist.

"What mission fair and true, While I am sleeping, brings you? For I pale Amid this solemn stillness, for your face Unutterably majestic."

As when the dale At midnight echoes for a little s.p.a.ce, The night-bird's cry, the G.o.d responded "Come,"

And nothing more. I left my bed apace, And followed him with wings above the gloom Of clouds like chariots driven on to war, Between whose wheels the swift moon raced and swum.

A mile beneath us lay the earth, afar Were mountains which as swift as thought drew near As we pa.s.sed over pines, where many a star And heaven's light made every frond as clear As through a gla.s.s or in the lightning's flash. ...

Yet I seemed flying from an olden fear, A bulk of black that sought to sting or gnash My breast or side--which was myself, it seemed, The flesh or thinking part of me grown rash And violent, a brain soul unredeemed, Which sometime earlier in the grip of Death Forgot its terror when my soul which streamed Like ribbons of silk fire, with quiet breath Said to the body, as it were a thing Separate and indifferent: "How uneath That fellow turns, while I am safe yet cling Close to him, both another and the same."

Now was this mood reversed: That self must wing Its fastest flight to fly him, lest he maim With fleshly hands my better, stronger part, As dragon wings my flap and quench a flame. ...

But as we pa.s.sed o'er empires and athwart A bellowing strait, beholding bergs and floes And running tides which made the sinking heart Rise up again for breath, I felt how close The G.o.d, my brother, was, who would sustain My wings whatever dangers might oppose, And knowing him beside me, like a strain Of music were his thoughts, though nothing yet Was spoken by him.

When as out of rain Suddenly lights may break, the earth was set Beneath us, and we stood and paused to see The Dussel river from a parapet Of earth and rock. Then bending curiously, As reaching, in a moment with his hand He sc.r.a.ped the turf and stones, pried up a key Of harder granite, and at his command, When he had made an opening, I slid And sank, down, down through the Devonian land Until with him I reached a cavern hid From every eye but ours, and where no light But from our faces was, a pyramid Of hills that walled this crypt of soundless night.

Then in a mood, it seemed more fanciful, He bent again and raked, and to my sight Upheaved and held the remnant of a skull-- Gorilla's or a man's, I could not guess.

Yet brutal though it was, it was a hull Too fine and large to house the nakedness Of a beast's mind.

But as I looked the G.o.d Began these words: "Before the iron stress Of the north pole's dominion fell, he trod The wastes of Europe, ere the Nile was made A granary for the east, or ere the clod In Babylon or India baked was laid For hovels, this man lived. Ten thousand years Before the earliest pyramid cast its shade Upon the desolate sands this thing of fears, l.u.s.ts, hungers, lived and hunted, woke and slept, Mated, produced its kind, with hairy ears, And tiger eyes sensed all that you accept In terms of thought or vision as the proof Of immanent Power or Love. But this skull kept The intangible meaning out. This heavy roof Of brutish bone above the eyes was dead Even to lower ethers, no behoof Of seasons, stars or skies took, though they bred Suspicions, fears, or nervous glances, thought, Which silent as a lizard's shadow fled Before it graved itself, pa.s.sed over, wrought No vision, only pain, which he deemed pangs Of hunger or of thirst."

As you have sought The meaning of life's riddle, since it hangs In waking or in slumber just above The highest reach of prophecy, and fangs With poison of despair all moods but love, Behold its secret lettered on this brow Placed by your own!

This is the word thereof: _Change and progression from the glazed slough, Where life creeps and is blind, ascending up The jungled slopes for prey till spirits bow On Calvaries with crosses, take the cup Of martyrdom for truth's sake._

It may be Men of to-day make monstrous war, sleep, sup, Traffic, build shrines, as earliest history Records the earliest day, and that the race Is what it was in virtue, charity, And nothing better. But within this face No light shone from that realm where Hindostan, Delving in numbers, watching stars took grace And inspiration to explore the plan Of heaven and earth. And of the scheme the test Is not five thousand years, which leave the van Just where it was, but this change manifest In fifty thousand years between the mind Neanderthal's and Sh.e.l.ley's.

Man progressed Along these years, found eyes where he was blind, Put instinct under thought, crawled from the cave, And faced the sun, till somewhere heaven's wind Mixed with the light of Lights descending, gave To mind a touch of divinity, making whole An undeveloped growth.

As s.h.i.+ps that brave Great storms at sea on masts a flaming coal From heaven catch, bear on, so man was wreathed Somewhere with lightning and became a soul.

Into his nostrils purer fire was breathed Than breath of life itself, and by a leap, As lightning leaps from crag to crag, what seethed In man from the beginning broke the sleep That lay on consciousness of self, with eyes Awakened saw himself, out of the deep And wonder of the self caught the surmise Of Power beyond this world, and felt it through The flow of living.

And so man shall rise From this illumination, from this clue To perfect knowledge that this Power exists, And what man is to this Power, even as you Have left Neanderthal lost in the mists And ignorance of centuries untold.

What would you say if learned geologists Out of the rocks and caverns should unfold The skulls of greater races, records, books To shame us for our day, could we behold Therein our retrogression? Wonder looks In vain for these, discovers everywhere Proof of the root which darkly bends and crooks Far down and far away; a stalk more fair Upspringing finds its proof, buds on the stalk The eye may see, at last the flowering flare Of man to-day!

I see the things which balk, r.e.t.a.r.d, divert, draw into sluices small, But who beholds the stream turned back to mock, Not just itself, but make equivocal A Universal Reason, Vision? No.

You find no proof of this, but prodigal Proof of ascending Life!

So life shall flow Here on this globe until the final fruit And harvest. As it were until the glow Of the great blossom has the attribute In essence, color of eternal things, And shows no rim between its hues which suit The infinite sky's. Then if the dead earth swings A gleaned and stricken field amid the void What matters it to you, a soul with wings, Whether it be replanted or destroyed?

Has it not served you?"

Now his voice was still, Which in such discourse had been thus employed.

And in that lonely cavern dark and chill I heard again, "Then what is life?" And woke To find the moonlight on the window sill That which had seemed his presence. And a cloak, Whose hood was perked upon the moonbeams, made The skull of the Neanderthal. The smoke Blown from the fireplace formed the cavern's shade.

And roaring winds blew down as they had tuned The voice which left me calm and unafraid.

THE END OF THE SEARCH

_There's the dragon banner, says Old King Cole, And the tiger banner, he cries.

Pantagruel breaks into a laugh As the monarch dries his eyes.--The Search_

_"The tiger banyer, that is what you call much Bad men in China, Amelica. The dragon banyer.

That is storm, leprosy, no rice, what you call Nature. See! Nature!"--King Joy_

Said Old King Cole I know the banner Of dragon and tiger too, But I would know the vagrant fellows Who came to my castle with you.

And I would know why they rise in the morning And never take bread or scrip; And why they hasten over the mountain In a sorrowed fellows.h.i.+p.

Then said Pantagruel: Heard you not?

One said he goes to Spain.

One said he goes to Elsinore, And one to the Trojan plain.