Ninth vibration and other stories — The Ninth Vibration Part 03

“That is the true reason.

” But he drew it away and was vaguely troubled, for her words, he knew not why, reminded him of the Far Away Princess and of things he had long forgotten, and he said; “What does a slave know of the hearts of Kings?

” And that night he slept or waked alone.

Winter was at hand with its blue and cloudless days, and she was commanded to meet the King where the lake lay still and shining like an ecstasy of bliss, and she waited with her chin dropped into the cup of her hands, looking over the water with eyes that did not see, for her whole soul said; “How long O my Sovereign Lord, how long before you know the truth and we enter together into our Kingdom?

” As she sat she heard the King’s step, and the colour stole up into her face in a flush like the earliest sunrise.

“He is coming,” she said; and again; “He loves me.

” So he came beside the water, walking slowly.

But the King was not alone.

His arm embraced the latest-come beauty from Samarkhand, and, with his head bent, he whispered in her willing ear.

Then clasping her hands, the Princess drew a long sobbing breath, and he turned and his eyes grew hard as blue steel.

“Go, slave,” he cried.

“What place have you in Kings’ gardens?

Go.

Let me see you no more.

” (The man lying at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights, raised a heavy arm and flung it above his head, despairing, and it fell again on the cross of his torment.

And the voice went on.

) And as he said this, her heart broke; and she went and her feet were weary.

So she took the wise book she loved and unrolled it until she came to a certain passage, and this she read twice; “If the heart of a slave be broken it may be mended with jewels and soft words, but the heart of a Princess can be healed only by the King who broke it, or in Yamapura, the City under the Sunset where they make all things new.

Now, Yama, the Lord of this City, is the Lord of Death.

” And having thus read the Princess rolled the book and put it from her.

And next day, the King said to his women; “Send for her,” for his heart smote him and he desired to atone royally for the shame of his speech.

And they sought and came back saying;

“Maharaj, she is gone.

We cannot find her.

” Fear grew in the heart of the King--a nameless dread, and he said, “Search.

” And again they sought and returned and the King was striding up and down the great hall and none dared cross his path.

But, trembling, they told him, and he replied; “Search again.

I will not lose her, and, slave though be, she shall be my Queen.

” So they ran, dispersing to the Four Quarters, and King strode up and down the hall, and Loneliness kept step with him and clasped his hand and looked his eyes.

Then the youngest of the women entered with a tale to tell.

“Majesty, we have found her.

She lies beside the lake.

When the birds fled this morning she fled with them, but upon a longer journey.

Even to Yamapura, the City under the Sunset.

” And the King said; “Let none follow.

” And he strode forth swiftly, white with thoughts he dared not think.

The Princess lay among the gold of the fallen leaves.

All was gold, for her bright hair was out-spread in shining waves and in it shone the glory of the hidden crown.

On her face was no smile--only at last was revealed the patience she had covered with laughter so long that even the voice of the King could not now break it into joy.

The hands that had clung, the swift feet that had run beside his, the tender body, mighty to serve and to love, lay within touch but farther away than the uttermost star was the Far Away Princess, known and loved too late.

And he said; “My Princess--O my Princess!

” and laid his head on her cold bosom.

“Too late!

” a harsh Voice croaked beside him, and it was the voice of the Jester who mocks at all things.

“Too late!

O madness, to despise the blood royal because it humbled itself to service and so was doubly royal.

The Far Away Princess came laden with great gifts, and to her the King’s gift was the wage of a slave and a broken heart.

Cast your crown and sceptre in the dust, O King--O King of Fools.

” (The man at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights moved.

Some dim word shaped upon his locked lips.

She listened in a divine calm.

It seemed that the very Gods drew nearer.

Again the man essayed speech, the body dead, life only in the words that none could hear.

The voice went on.

) But the Princess flying wearily because of the sore wound in her heart, came at last to the City under the Sunset, where the Lord of Death rules in the House of Quiet, and was there received with royal honours for in that land are no disguises.

And she knelt before the Secret One and in a voice broken with agony entreated him to heal her.

And with veiled and pitying eyes he looked upon her, for many and grievous as are the wounds he has healed this was more grievous still.

And he said;

“Princess, I cannot, But this I can do--I can give a new heart in a new birth--happy and careless as the heart of a child.

Take this escape from the anguish you endure and be at peace.

” But the Princess, white with pain, asked only;

“In this new heart and birth, is there room for the King?

” And the Lord of Peace replied;

“None.

He too will be forgotten.

” Then she rose to her feet.

“I will endure and when he comes I will serve him once more.

If he will he shall heal me, and if not I will endure for ever.

” And He who is veiled replied;

“In this sacred City no pain may disturb the air, therefore you must wait outside in the chill and the dark.

Think better, Princess!

Also, he must pass through many rebirths, because he beheld the face of Beauty unveiled and knew her not.

And when he comes he will be weary and weak as a new-born child, and no more a great King.

” And the Princess smiled;

“Then he will need me the more,” she said; “I will wait and kiss the feet of my King.

” “And the Lord of Death was silent.

So she went outside into the darkness of the spaces, and the souls free passed her like homing doves, and she sat with her hands clasped over the sore wound in her heart, watching the earthward way.

And the Princess is keeping still the day of her long patience.

” The voice ceased.

And there was a great silence, and the listening faces drew nearer.

Then the Dweller in the Heights spoke in a voice soft as the falling of snow in the quiet of frost and moon.

I could have wept myself blind with joy to hear that music.

More I dare not say.

“He is in the Lower State of Perception.

He sorrows for his loss.

Let him have one instant’s light that still he may hope.

” She bowed above the man, gazing upon him as a mother might upon her sleeping child.

The dead eyelids stirred, lifted, a faint gleam showed beneath them, an unspeakable weariness.

I thought they would fall unsatisfied.

Suddenly he saw What looked upon him, and a terror of joy no tongue can tell flashed over the dark mirror of his face.

He stretched a faint hand to touch her feet, a sobbing sigh died upon his lips, and once more the swooning sleep took him.

He lay as a dead man before the Assembly.

“The night is far spent,” a voice said, from I know not where.

And I knew it was said not only for the sleeper but for all, for though the flying feet of Beauty seem for a moment to outspeed us she will one day wait our coming and gather us to her bosom.

As before, the vision spread outward like rings in a broken reflection in water.

I saw the girl beside me, but her hand grew light in mine.

I

felt it no longer.

I heard the roaring wind in the trees, or was it a great voice thundering in my ears?

Sleep took me.

I waked in my little room.

Strange and sad--I saw her next day and did not remember her whom of all things I desired to know.

I remembered the vision and knew that whether in dream or waking I had heard an eternal truth.

I longed with a great longing to meet my beautiful companion, and she stood at my side and I was blind.

Now that I have climbed a little higher on the Mount of Vision it seems even to myself that this could not be.

Yet it was, and it is true of not this only but of how much else!

She knew me.

I learnt that later, but she made no sign.

Her simplicities had carried her far beyond and above me, to places where only the winged things attain--“as a bird among the bird-droves of God.

” I have since known that this power of direct simplicity in her was why among the great mountains we beheld the Divine as the emanation of the terrible beauty about us.

We cannot see it as it is--only in some shadowing forth, gathering sufficient strength for manifestation from the spiritual atoms that haunt the region where that form has been for ages the accepted vehicle of adoration.

But I was now to set forth to find another knowledge--to seek the Beauty that blinds us to all other.

Next day the man who was directing my preparations for travel sent me word from Simla that all was ready and I could start two days later.

I

told my friends the time of parting was near.

“But it was no surprise to me,” I added, “for I had heard already that in a very few days I should be on my way.

” Mrs. Ingmar was more than kind.

She laid a frail hand on mine.

“We shall miss you indeed.

If it is possible to send us word of your adventures in those wild solitudes I hope you will do it.

Of course aviation will soon lay bare their secrets and leave them no mysteries, so you don’t go too soon.

One may worship science and yet feel it injures the beauty of the world.

But what is beauty compared with knowledge?

” “Do you never regret it?

” I asked.

“Never, dear Mr. Ormond.

I am a worshipper of hard facts and however hideous they may be I prefer them to the prismatic colours of romance.

” Brynhild, smiling, quoted;

“Their science roamed from star to star And than itself found nothing greater.

What wonder?

In a Leyden jar They bottled the Creator?

” “There is nothing greater than science,” said Mrs. Ingmar with soft reverence.

“The mind of man is the foot-rule of the universe.

” She meditated for a moment and then added that my kind interests in their plans decided her to tell me that she would be returning to Europe and then to Canada in a few months with a favourite niece as her companion while Brynhild would remain in India with friends in Mooltan for a time.

I looked eagerly at her but she was lost in her own thoughts and it was evidently not the time to say more.

If I had hoped for a vision before I left the neighbourhood of that strange House of Beauty where a spirit imprisoned appeared to await the day of enlightenment I was disappointed.

These things do not happen as one expects or would choose.

The wind bloweth where it listeth until the laws which govern the inner life are understood, and then we would not choose if we could for we know that all is better than well.

In this world, either in the blinded sight of daily life or in the clarity of the true sight I have not since seen it, but that has mattered little, for having heard an authentic word within its walls I have passed on my way elsewhere.

Next day a letter from Olesen reached me.

“Dear Ormond, I hope you have had a good time at the House in the Woods.

I saw Rup Singh a few days ago and he wrote the odd message I enclose.

You know what these natives are, even the most sensible of them, and you will humour the old fellow for he ages very fast and I think is breaking up.

But this was not what I wanted to say.

I had a letter from a man I had not seen for years--a fellow called Stephen Clifden, who lives in Kashmir.

As a matter of fact I had forgotten his existence but evidently he has not repaid the compliment for he writes as follows--No, I had better send you the note and you can do as you please.

I am rushed off my legs with work and the heat is hell with the lid off.

And-” But the rest was of no interest except to a friend of years’ standing.

I

read Rup Singh’s message first.

It was written in his own tongue.

“To the Honoured One who has attained to the favour of the Favourable.

“You have with open eyes seen what this humble one has dreamed but has not known.

If the thing be possible, write me this word that I may depart in peace.

‘With that one who in a former birth you loved all is well.

Fear nothing for him.

The way is long but at the end the lamps of love are lit and the Unstruck music is sounded.

He lies at the feet of Mercy and there awaits his hour.

’ And if it be not possible to write these words, write nothing, O Honoured, for though it be in the hells my soul shall find my King, and again I shall serve him as once I served.

” I understood, and wrote those words as he had written them.

Strange mystery of life--that I who had not known should see, and that this man whose fidelity had not deserted his broken King in his utter downfall should have sought with passion for one sight of the beloved face across the waters of death and sought in vain.

I thought of those Buddhist words of Seneca--“The soul may be and is in the mass of men drugged and silenced by the seductions of sense and the deceptions of the world.

But if, in some moment of detachment and elation, when its captors and jailors relax their guard, it can escape their clutches, it will seek at once the region of its birth and its true home.

” Well--the shell must break before the bird can fly, and the time drew near for the faithful servant to seek his lord.

My message reached him in time and gladdened him.

I turned then to Clifden’s letter.

“Dear Olesen, you will have forgotten me, and feeling sure of this I should scarcely have intruded a letter into your busy life were it not that I remember your good-nature as a thing unforgettable though so many years have gone by.

I hear of you sometimes when Sleigh comes up the Sind valley, for I often camp at Sonamarg and above the Zoji La and farther.

I want you to give a message to a man you know who should be expecting to hear from me.

Tell him I shall be at the Tashigong Monastery when he reaches Gyumur beyond the Shipki.

Tell him I have the information he wants and I will willingly go on with him to Yarkhand and his destination.

He need not arrange for men beyond Gyumur.

All is fixed.

So sorry to bother you, old man, but I don’t know Ormond’s address, except that he was with you and has gone up Simla way.

And of course he will be keen to hear the thing is settled.

” Amazing.

I remembered the message I had heard and this man’s words rang true and kindly, but what could it mean?

I really did not question farther than this for now I could not doubt that I was guided.

Stronger hands than mine had me in charge, and it only remained for me to set forth in confidence and joy to an end that as yet I could not discern.

I

turned my face gladly to the wonder of the mountains.

Gladly--but with a reservation.

I was leaving a friend and one whom I dimly felt might one day be more than a friend--Brynhild Ingmar.

That problem must be met before I could take my way.

I thought much of what might be said at parting.

True, she had the deepest attraction for me, but true also that I now beheld a quest stretching out into the unknown which I must accept in the spirit of the knight errant.

Dare I then bind my heart to any allegiance which would pledge me to a future inconsistent with what lay before me?

How could I tell what she might think of the things which to me were now real and external--the revelation of the only reality that underlies all the seeming.

Life can never be the same for the man who has penetrated to this, and though it may seem a hard saying there can be but a maimed understanding between him and those who still walk amid the phantoms of death and decay.

Her sympathy with nature was deep and wonderful but might it not be that though the earth was eloquent to her the skies were silent?

I was but a beginner myself--I knew little indeed.

Dare I risk that little in a sweet companionship which would sink me into the contentment of the life lived by the happily deluded between the cradle and the grave and perhaps close to me for ever that still sphere where my highest hope abides?

I had much to ponder, for how could I lose her out of my life--though I knew not at all whether she who had so much to make her happiness would give me a single thought when I was gone.

If all this seem the very uttermost of selfish vanity, forgive a man who grasped in his hand a treasure so new, so wonderful that he walked in fear and doubt lest it should slip away and leave him in a world darkened for ever by the torment of the knowledge that it might have been his and he had bartered it for the mess of pottage that has bought so many birthrights since Jacob bargained with his weary brother in the tents of Lahai-roi.

I thought I would come back later with my prize gained and throwing it at her feet ask her wisdom in return, for whatever I might not know I knew well she was wiser than I except in that one shining of the light from Eleusis.

I walked alone in the woods thinking of these things and no answer satisfied me.

I did not see her alone until the day I left, for I was compelled by the arrangements I was making to go down to Simla for a night.

And now the last morning had come with golden sun--shot mists rolling upward to disclose the far white billows of the sea of eternity, the mountains awaking to their enormous joys.

The trees were dripping glory to the steaming earth; it flowed like rivers into their most secret recesses, moss and flower, fern and leaf floated upon the waves of light revealing their inmost soul in triumphant gladness.

Far off across the valleys a cuckoo was calling--the very voice of spring, and in the green world above my head a bird sang, a feathered joy, so clear, so passionate that I thought the great summer morning listened in silence to his rapture ringing through the woods.

I waited until the Jubilate was ended and then went in to bid good-bye to my friends.

Mrs. Ingmar bid me the kindest farewell and I left her serene in the negation of all beauty, all hope save that of a world run on the lines of a model municipality, disease a memory, sewerage, light and air systems perfected, the charted brain sending its costless messages to the outer parts of the habitable globe, and at least a hundred years of life with a decent cremation at the end of it assured to every eugenically born citizen.

No more.

But I have long ceased to regret that others use their own eyes whether clear or dim.

Better the merest glimmer of light perceived thus than the hearsay of the revelations of others.

And by the broken fragments of a bewildered hope a man shall eventually reach the goal and rejoice in that dawn where the morning stars sing together and the sons of God shout for joy.

It must come, for it is already here.

Brynhild walked with me through the long glades in the fresh thin air to the bridle road where my men and ponies waited, eager to be off.

We stood at last in the fringe of trees on a small height which commanded the way;--a high uplifted path cut along the shoulders of the hills and on the left the sheer drop of the valleys.

Perhaps seven or eight feet in width and dignified by the name of the Great Hindustan and Tibet Road it ran winding far away into Wonderland.

Looking down into the valleys, so far beneath that the solitudes seem to wall them in I thought of all the strange caravans which have taken this way with tinkle of bells and laughter now so long silenced, and as I looked I saw a lost little monastery in a giant crevice, solitary as a planet on the outermost ring of the system, and remembrance flashed into my mind and I said;

“I have marching orders that have countermanded my own plans.

I am to journey to the Buddhist Monastery of Tashigong, and there meet a friend who will tell me what is necessary that I may travel to Yarkhand and beyond.

It will be long before I see Kashmir.

” In those crystal clear eyes I saw a something new to me--a faint smile, half pitying, half sad;

“Who told you, and where?

” “A girl in a strange place.

A woman who has twice guided me--” I broke off.

Her smile perplexed me.

I could not tell what to say.

She repeated in a soft undertone;

“Great Lady, be pitiful to the blind eyes and give them light.

” And instantly I knew.

O blind--blind!

Was the unhappy King of the story duller of heart than I?

And shame possessed me.

Here was the chrysoberyl that all day hides its secret in deeps of lucid green but when the night comes flames with its fiery ecstasy of crimson to the moon, and I--I had been complacently considering whether I might not blunt my own spiritual instinct by companionship with her, while she had been my guide, as infinitely beyond me in insight as she was in all things beautiful.

I

could have kissed her feet in my deep repentance.

True it is that the gateway of the high places is reverence and he who cannot bow his head shall receive no crown.

I saw that my long travel in search of knowledge would have been utterly vain if I had not learnt that lesson there and then.

In those moments of silence I learnt it once and for ever.

She stood by me breathing the liquid morning air, her face turned upon the eternal snows.

I caught her hand in a recognition that might have ended years of parting, and its warm youth vibrated in mine, the foretaste of all understanding, all unions, of love that asks nothing, that fears nothing, that has no petition to make.

She raised her eyes to mine and her tears were a rainbow of hope.

So we stood in silence that was more than any words, and the golden moments went by.

I knew her now for what she was, one of whom it might have been written;

“I come from where night falls clearer Than your morning sun can rise;

From an earth that to heaven draws nearer Than your visions of Paradise,-- For the dreams that your dreamers dream We behold them with open eyes.

” With open eyes!

Later I asked the nature of the strange bond that had called her to my side.

“I do not understand that fully myself,” she said--“That is part of the knowledge we must wait for.

But you have the eyes that see, and that is a tie nothing can break.

I had waited long in the House of Beauty for you.

I guided you there.

But between you and me there is also love.

” I stretched an eager hand but she repelled it gently, drawing back a little.

“Not love of each other though we are friends and in the future may be infinitely more.

But--have you ever seen a drawing of Blake’s--a young man stretching his arms to a white swan which flies from him on wings he cannot stay?

That is the story of both our lives.

We long to be joined in this life, here and now, to an unspeakable beauty and power whose true believers we are because we have seen and known.

There is no love so binding as the same purpose.

Perhaps that is the only true love.

And so we shall never be apart though we may never in this world be together again in what is called companionship.

” “We shall meet,” I said confidently.

She smiled and was silent.

“Do we follow a will-o’-the wisp in parting?

Do we give up the substance for the shadow?

Shall I stay?

” She laughed joyously;

“We give a single rose for a rose-tree that bears seven times seven.

Daily I see more, and you are going where you will be instructed.

As you know my mother prefers for a time to have my cousin with her to help her with the book she means to write.

So I shall have time to myself.

What do you think I shall do?

” “Blow away on a great wind.

Ride on the crests of tossing waves.

Catch a star to light the fireflies!

” She laughed like a bird’s song.

“Wrong--wrong!

I shall be a student.

All I know as yet has come to me by intuition, but there is Law as well as Love and I will learn.

I have drifted like a happy cloud before the wind.

Now I will learn to be the wind that blows the clouds.

” I looked at her in astonishment.

If a flower had desired the same thing it could scarcely have seemed more incredible, for I had thought her whole life and nature instinctive not intellective.

She smiled as one who has a beloved secret to keep.

“When you have gained what in this country they call The Knowledge of Regeneration, come back and ask me what I have learnt.

” She would say no more of that and turned to another matter, speaking with earnestness;

“Before you came here I had a message for you, and Stephen Clifden will tell you the same thing when you meet.

Believe it for it is true.

Remember always that the psychical is not the mystical and that what we seek is not marvel but vision.

These two things are very far apart, so let the first with all its dangers pass you by, for our way lies to the heights, and for us there is only one danger--that of turning back and losing what the whole world cannot give in exchange.

I have never seen Stephen Clifden but I know much of him.

He is a safe guide--a man who has had much and strange sorrow which has brought him joy that cannot be told.

He will take you to those who know the things that you desire.

I

wish I might have gone too.

” Something in the sweetness of her voice, its high passion, the strong beauty of her presence woke a poignant longing in my heart.

I said;

“I cannot leave you.

You are the only guide I can follow.

Let us search together--you always on before.

” “Your way lies there,” she pointed to the high mountains.

“And mine to the plains, and if we chose our own we should wander.

But we shall meet again in the way and time that will be best and with knowledge so enlarged that what we have seen already will be like an empty dream compared to daylight truth.

If you knew what waits for you you would not delay one moment.

” She stood radiant beneath the deodars, a figure of Hope, pointing steadily to the heights.

I knew her words were true though as yet I could not tell how.

I knew that whereas we had seen the Wonderful in beautiful though local forms there is a plane where the Formless may be apprehended in clear dream and solemn vision-the meeting of spirit with Spirit.