CHAPTER XXI
HOMEWARDS
There is not much more to write of this expedition, or if that statementbe not strictly true, not much more that I wish to write, though I haveno doubt that Ragnall, if he had a mind that way, could make a good andvaluable book concerning many matters on which, confining myself to thehistory of our adventure, I have scarcely touched. All the affinitiesbetween this Central African Worship of the Heavenly Child andits Guardian and that of Horus and Isis in Egypt from which it wasundoubtedly descended, for instance. Also the part which the greatserpent played therein, as it may be seen playing a part in every tombupon the Nile, and indeed plays a part in our own and other religions.Further, our journey across the desert to the Red Sea was veryinteresting, but I am tired of describing journeys--and of making them.
The truth is that after the death of Hans, like to Queen Sheba when shehad surveyed the wonders of Solomon's court, there was no more spirit inme. For quite a long while I did not seem to care at all what happenedto me or to anybody else. We buried him in a place of honour, exactlywhere he shot Jana before the gateway of the second court, and when theearth was thrown over his little yellow face I felt as though half mypast had departed with him into that hole. Poor drunken old Hans, wherein the world shall I find such another man as you were? Where in theworld shall I find so much love as filled the cup of that strange heartof yours?
I dare say it is a form of selfishness, but what every man desires issomething that cares for him _alone_, which is just why we are so fondof dogs. Now Hans was a dog with a human brain and he cared for mealone. Often our vanity makes us think that this has happened to some ofus in the instance of one or more women. But honest and quiet reflectionmay well cause us to doubt the truth of such supposings. The woman whoas we believed adored us solely has probably in the course of her careeradored others, or at any rate other things.
To take but one instance, that of Mameena, the Zulu lady whom Hansthought he saw in the Shades. She, I believe, did me the honour to bevery fond of me, but I am convinced that she was fonder still of herambition. Now Hans never cared for any living creature, or for any humanhope or object, as he cared for me. There was no man or woman whomhe would not have cheated, or even murdered for my sake. There was noearthly advantage, down to that of life itself, that he would not, andin the end did not forgo for my sake; witness the case of his littlefortune which he invested in my rotten gold mine and thought nothing oflosing--for my sake.
That is love _in excelsis_, and the man who has succeeded in inspiringit in any creature, even in a low, bibulous, old Hottentot, may feelproud indeed. At least I am proud and as the years go by the prideincreases, as the hope grows that somewhere in the quiet of that greatplain which he saw in his dream, I may find the light of Hans's loveburning like a beacon in the darkness, as he promised I should do, andthat it may guide and warm my shivering, new-born soul before I dare theadventure of the Infinite.
Meanwhile, since the sublime and the ridiculous are so very near akin,I often wonder how he and Mameena settled that question of her right tothe royal salute. Perhaps I shall learn one day--indeed already I havehad a hint of it. If so, even in the blaze of a new and universal Truth,I am certain that their stories will differ wildly.