Henry Brocken
X
... _Large draughts of intellectual day._
--RICHARD CRASHAW.
"Believe me, neighbours," said Malice softly, when this uproar was alittle abated, "there is nought so strange in the question. It meanethonly that this young gentleman hath not enjoyed the pleasure of yourcompany before. Will it amaze you to learn, my friends, that Christianis like to be immortal only because you _talk_ him out of the grave?One brief epitaph, gentlemen, would let him rot."
"Nay, but I'll tell the gentleman who Christian was, and withpleasure," cried a lucid, rather sallow little man that had satquietly smiling and listening. "My name, let me tell you, is Atheist,sir; and Christian was formerly a very near neighbour of an old friendof my family's--Mr. Sceptic. They lived, sir--at least in thosedays--opposite to one another."
"He is a great talker," whispered Reverie in my ear. But the companyevidently found his talk to their taste. They sat as still andattentive around him, as though before an extemporary preacher.
"Well, sir," continued Atheist, "being, in a sense, neighbours,Christian in his youth would often confide in my friend; though,assuredly, Sceptic never sought his confidences. And it seemeth hebegan to be perturbed and troubled over the discovery that it isimpossible--at least in this plain world--to eat your cake, yet haveit. And by some ill chance he happened at this time on a mouldy oldfolio in my friend's house that had been the property of his maternalgrandmother--the subtlest old tome you ever set eyes on, thoughsomewhat too dark and extravagant and heady for a sober man of theworld like me. 'Twas called the Bible, sir--a collection of legendsand fables of all times, tongues, and countries threaded together,mighty ingeniously I grant, and in as plausible a style as any Iknow, if a little lax and flowery in parts.
"Well, Christian borroweth the book of my friend--never to return it.And being feeble and credulous, partly by reason of his simple wits,and partly by reason of the sad condition a froward youth had reducedhim to, he accepts the whole book--from Apple to Vials--for truth. Infact, 'he ate the little book,' as one of the legendary kings itcelebrates had done before him."
"Ay," broke in Cruelty wildly, "and has ever since gotten the gripes."
Atheist inclined his head. "Putting it coarsely, gentlemen, such wasthe case," he said. "And away at his wit's end he hasteneth, waningand shivering, to a great bog or quagmire--that my friend Pliable willanswer to--and plungeth in. 'Tis the same story repeated. He could betemperate in nought. _I_ knew the bog well; but I knew thestepping-stones better. Believe me, I have traversed the narrow waythis same Christian took, seeking the harps and pearls and the _elixirvitae_, these many years past. The book inciteth ye to it. It sets aman's heart on fire--that's weak enough to read it--with its pomp, andrhetoric, and far-away promises, and lofty counsels. Oh, fine words,who is not their puppet! I climbed 'Difficulty.' I snapped my fingersat the grinning Lions. I passed cautiously through the 'Valley of theShadow'--wild scenery, sir! I visited that prince of bubbles also,Giant Despair, in his draughty castle. And--though boasting be farfrom me!--fetched Liveloose's half-brother out of a certaincharnel-house near by.
"_Thus far_, sir, I went. But I have not yet found the world so barrenof literature as to write a book about it. I have not yet found theworld so barren of ingratitude as to seek happiness by stabbing in theback every friend I ever had. I have not yet forsaken wife andchildren; neighbours and kinsmen; home, ease, and tenderness, for awhim, a dream, a passing qualm. No, sir; 'tis this Christian'signorant hardness-of-heart that is his bane. Knowing little, heprateth much. He would pinch and contract the Universe to his ownfantastical pattern. He is tedious, he is pragmatical, and--I affirmit in all sympathy and sorrow--he is crazed. Malice, haply, is alittle sharp at times. And neighbour Obstinate dealeth full weightwith his opinions. But this Christian Flown-to-Glory, as the urchinssay, pinks with a bludgeon. He cannot endure an honest doubt. Hedistorteth a mere difference of opinion into a roaring Tophet. Andbecause he is helpless, solitary, despised in the world; because he isimpotent to refute, and too stubborn to hear and suffer people alittle higher and weightier, a leetle wiser than he--why, beyond thegrave he must set his hope in vengeance. Beyond the grave--bliss forhis own shade; fire and brimstone, eternal woe for theirs. Ay, and'tis not but for a season will he vex us, but for ever, and for ever,and for ever--if he knoweth in the least what he meaneth by thephrase. And this he calls 'Charity.'
"Yes, sirs, beyond the grave he would condemn us, beyond the grave--aplace of peace whereto I deem there are not many here but will becontent at length to come; and I not least content, when my duty isdone, my children provided for, and my last suspicion of fear andfolly suppressed.
"To conclude, sir--and beshrew me, gentlemen, how time doth fly intalk!--this Christian goeth his way. We, each in accord with hiscaprice and conscience, go ours. We envy him not his vapours, histerrors, or his shameless greed of reward. Why, then, doth he envy usour wealth, our success, our gaiety, our content? He raves. He ishaunted. What is man but as grass, and the flower of grass? Come thesickle, he is clean gone. I can but repeat it, sir, our poor neighbourwas crazed: 'tis Christian in a word."
A sigh, a murmur of satisfaction and relief, rose from the company, asif one and all had escaped by Mr. Atheist's lucidity out of a veryreal peril.
I thanked him for his courtesy, and in some confusion turned toReverie with the remark that I thought I now recollected to have heardChristian's name, but understood he had indeed arrived, at last, atthe Celestial City for which he had set out.
"Celestial twaddle, sir!" cried Mr. Obstinate hoarsely. "He wentstark, staring mad, and now is dust, as we shall soon all be, that'scertain."
Then Cruelty rose out of his chair and elbowed his way to the door. Heopened it and looked out.
"I would," he said, "I had known of this Christian before he started.Step you down to Vanity Fair, Sir Stranger, if the mood take you; andwe'll show you as pretty a persuasion against pilgrimage as ever yousaw." He opened his mouth where he stood between me and the stars."... There's many more!" he added with difficulty, as if his rage wastoo much for him. He spat into the air and went out.
Presently after Liveloose rose up, smiling softly, and groped afterhim.
A little silence followed their departure.
"You must tell your friend, Mr. Reverie," said Atheistgood-humouredly, "that Mr. Cruelty says more than he means. To my mindhe is mistaken--too energetic; but his intentions are good."
"He's a staunch, dependable fellow," said Obstinate, patting down thewide cuffs he wore.
But even at that moment a stranger softly entered the inn out of thenight. His face was of the grey of ashes, and he looked once round onus all with a still, appalling glance that silenced the words on mylips.
We sat without speech--Obstinate yawning, Atheist smiling lightly,Superstition nibbling his nails, Reverie with chin drawn a littleback, Pliable bolt upright, like a green and white wand, Mistrustblinking his little thin lids; but all with eyes fixed on thisstranger, who deemed himself, it seemed, among friends.
He turned his back on us and sipped his drink under the heedless,deep, untroubled gaze of Mrs. Nature, and passed out softly andharmlessly as he had come in.
Reverie stood up like a man surprised and ill at ease. He turned tome. "I know him only by repute, by hearsay," he said with an effort."He is a stranger to us all, indeed, sir--to all."
Obstinate, with a very flushed face, thrust his hand into hisbreeches' pocket. "Nay, sir," he said, "my purse is yet here. Whatmore would you have?"
At which Pliable laughed, turning to the women.
I put on my hat and followed Reverie to the door.
"Excuse me, sir," I said, "but I have no desire to stay in this houseover-night. And if you would kindly direct me to the nearest way outof the village, I will have my horse saddled now and be off."
And then I noticed that Superstition stood in the light of the doorwaylooking down on us.
"There's Christian's way," he said, as
if involuntarily....
"Lodge with me to-night," Reverie answered, "and in the morning youshall choose which way to go you will."
I thanked him heartily and turned in to find Rosinante.
The night was now fine, but moist and sultry, and misty in thedistance. It was late, too, for few candles gleamed beneath themoonlight from the windows round about the smooth village-green. Evenas we set out, I leading Rosinante by her bridle, and Superstition onmy left hand, out of heavenly Leo a bright star wheeled, fading as itfell. And soon high hedges hid utterly the "World's End" behind us,out of sight and sound.
I observed when the trees had laid their burdened branches overhead,and the thick-flowered bushes begun to straiten our way, that this Mr.Superstition who had desired to accompany us was of a very differentcourage from that his manner at the inn seemed to profess.
He walked with almost as much caution and ungainliness as Mistrust,his deep and shining eyes busily searching the gloom to left and rightof him. Indeed, those same dark eyes of his reminded me not a littleof Mrs. Nature's, they were so full of what they could not tell.
He was on foot; my new friend Reverie, like myself, led his horse, apale, lovely creature with delicate nostrils and deep-smoulderingeyes.
"You must think me very bold to force my company on you," saidSuperstition awkwardly, turning to Reverie, "but my house is never somute with horror as in these moody summer nights when thunder is inthe air. See there!" he cried.
As if the distant sky had opened, the large, bright, harmlesslightning quivered and was gone, revealing on the opposing hillsforest above forest unutterably dark and still.
"Surely," I said, "that is not the way Christian took?"
"They say," Reverie answered, "the Valley of the Shadow of Death liesbetween those hills."
"But Atheist," I said, "_that_ acid little man, did he indeed walkthere alone?"
"I have heard," muttered Superstition, putting out his hand, "'tisfear only that maketh afraid. Atheist has no fear."
"But what of Cruelty," I said, "and Liveloose?"
"Why," answered Superstition, "Cruelty works cunningest when he isafraid; and Liveloose never talks about himself. None the less there'snot a tree but casts a shadow. I met once an earnest yet very popularyoung gentleman of the name of Science, who explained almosteverything on earth to me so clearly, and patiently, and fatherly, Ithought I should evermore sleep in peace. But we met at noon. Believeme, sir, I would have followed Christian and his friend Hopeful verywillingly long since; for as for Cruelty and Obstinate and all thatclumsy rabble, I heed them not. Indeed my cousin Mistrust _did_ go,and as you see returned with a caution; and a poor young school-fellowof mine, Jack Ignorance, came to an awful end. But it is because I owepartly to Christian and not all to myself this horrible solitude inwhich I walk that I dare not risk a deeper. It would be, I feel sure.And so I very willingly beheld Faithful burned; it restored myconfidence. And here, sir," he added, almost with gaiety, "lives myfriend Mrs. Simple, a widow. She enjoys my company and my old fables,and we keep the blinds down against these mountains, and candlesburning against the brighter lightnings."
So saying, Superstition bade us good-night and passed down a littleby-lane on our left towards a country cottage, like a dreaming bowerof roses beneath the moon.
But Reverie and I continued on as if the moon herself as patientlypursued us. And by-and-by we came to a house called Gloom, whosegardens slope down with plashing fountains and glimmering banks offlowers into the shadow and stillness of a broad valley, named beneaththe hills of Silence, Peace.