A Little Pilgrim - Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant
And then he told them the story of one who had lived in the old time; and
in that air, which seemed to be made of sunshine, and amid all those
stately palaces, he described to them the little earth which they had
left behind--the skies that were covered with clouds, and the ways that
were so rough and stony, and the cruelty of the oppressor, and the cries
of those that were oppressed. And he showed the sickness and the
troubles, and the sorrow and danger; and how Death stalked about, and
tore heart from heart; and how sometimes the strongest would fail, and
the truest fall under the power of a lie, and the tenderest forget to be
kind; and how evil things lurked in every corner to beguile the dwellers
there; and how the days were short and the nights dark, and life so
little that by the time a man had learned something it was his hour to
die. "What can a soul do that is born there?" he cried; "for war is there
and fighting, and perplexity and darkness; and no man knows if that
which he does will be for good or evil, or can tell which is the best
way, or know the end from the beginning; and those he loves the most are
a mystery to him, and their thoughts beyond his reach. And clouds are
between him and the Father, and he is deceived with false gods and false
teachers, who make him to love a lie." The people who were listening held
their breath, and a shadow like a cloud fell on them, and they remembered
and knew that it was true. But the next moment their hearts rebelled, and
one and another would have spoken, and the little Pilgrim herself had
almost cried out and made her plea for the dear earth which she loved;
when he suddenly threw forth his voice again like a great song. "Oh, dear
mother earth," he cried; "oh, little world and great, forgive thy son!
for lovely thou art and dear, and the sun of God shines upon thee, and
the sweet dews fall; and there were we born, and loved and died, and are
come hence to bless the Father and the Son. For in no other world, though
they are so vast, is it given to any to know the Lord in the darkness,
and follow him groping, and make way through sin and death, and overcome
the evil, and conquer in his name." At which there was a great sound of
weeping and of triumph, and the little Pilgrim could not contain herself,
but cried out too in joy as if for a deliverance. And then the poet told
his tale. And as he told them of the man who was poor and sorrowful and
alone, and how he loved and was not loved again, and trusted and was
betrayed, and was tempted and drawn into the darkness, so that it seemed
as if he must perish; but when hope was almost gone, turned again from
the edge of despair, and confronted all his enemies, and fought and
conquered--the people followed every word with great outcries of love and
pity and wonder. For each one as he listened remembered his own career
and that of his brethren in the old life, and admired to think that all
the evil was past, and wondered that out of such tribulation and through
so many dangers all were safe and blessed here. And there were others
that were not of them, who listened, some seated at the windows of the
palaces and some standing in the great square,--people who were not like
the others, whose bearing was more majestic, and who looked upon the
crowd all smiling and weeping, with wonder and interest, but had no
knowledge of the cause, and listened as it were to a tale that is told.
The poet and his audience were as one, and at every period of the story
there was a deep breathing and pause, and every one looked at his
neighbor, and some grasped each other's hands as they remembered all that
was in the past; but the strangers listened and gazed and observed all,
as those who listen and are instructed in something beyond their
knowledge. The little Pilgrim stood all this time not knowing where she
was, so intent was she upon the tale; and as she listened it seemed to
her that all her own life was rolling out before her, and she remembered
the things that had been, and perceived how all had been shaped and
guided, and trembled a little for the brother who was in danger, yet knew
that all would be well.
The woman who had been at her side listened too with all her heart,
saying to herself, as she stood in the crowd, "He has left nothing out!
The little days they were so short, and the skies would change all in a
moment and one's heart with them. How he brings it all back!" And she put
up her hand to dry away a tear from her eyes, though her face all the
time was shining with the recollection. The little Pilgrim was glad to be
by the side of a woman after talking with so many men, and she put out
her hand and touched the cloak that this lady wore, and which was white
and of the most beautiful texture, with gold threads woven in it, or
something that looked like gold.
"Do you like," she said, "to think of the old time?"
The woman turned and looked down upon her, for she was tall and stately,
and immediately took the hand of the little Pilgrim into hers, and held
it without answering, till the poet had ended and come down from the
place where he had been standing. He came straight through the crowd to
where this lady stood, and said something to her. "You did well to tell
me," looking at her with love in his eyes,--not the tender sweetness
of all those kind looks around, but the love that is for one. The little
Pilgrim looked at them with her heart beating, and was very glad for
them, and happy in herself; for she had not seen this love before since
she came into the city, and it had troubled her to think that perhaps it
did not exist any more. "I am glad," the lady said, and gave him her
other hand; "but here is a little sister who asks me something, and I
must answer her. I think she has but newly come."
"She has a face full of the morning," the poet said. It did the little
Pilgrim good to feel the touch of the warm, soft hand; and she was not
afraid, but lifted her eyes and spoke to the lady and to the poet. "It is
beautiful what you said to us. Sometimes in the old time we used to look
up to the beautiful skies and wonder what there was above the clouds; but
we never thought that up here in this great city you would be thinking of
what we were doing, and making beautiful poems all about us. We thought
that you would sing wonderful psalms, and talk of things high, high above
us."
"The little sister does not know what the meaning of the earth is," the
poet said. "It is but a little speck, but it is the centre of all. Let
her walk with us, and we will go home, and you will tell her, Ama, for I
love to hear you talk."
"Will you come with us?" the lady said.
And the little Pilgrim's heart leaped up in her, to think she was now
going to see a home in this wonderful city; and they went along, hand in
hand, and though they were three together, and many were coming and
going, there was no difficulty, for every one made way for them. And
there was a little murmur of pleasure as the poet passed, and those who
had heard his poem made obeisance to him, and thanked him, and thanked
the Father for him that he was able to show them so many beautiful
things. And they walked along the street which was shining with color,
and saw as they passed how the master painter had come to his work, and
was standing upon the balcony where the little Pilgrim had been, and
bringing out of the wall, under his hand, faces which were full of life,
and which seemed to spring forth as if they had been hidden there. "Let
us wait a little and see him working," the poet said; and all round about
the people stopped on their way, and there was a soft cry of pleasure and
praise all through the beautiful street. And the painter with whom the
little Pilgrim had talked before came, and stood behind her as if he had
been an old friend, and called out to her at every new touch to mark how
this and that was done. She did not understand as he did, but she saw how
beautiful it was, and she was glad to have seen the great painter, as she
had been glad to hear the great poet. It seemed to the little Pilgrim as
if everything happened well for her, and that no one had ever been so
blessed before. And to make it all more sweet, this new friend, this
great and sweet lady, always held her hand, and pressed it softly when
something more lovely appeared; and even the pictured faces on the wall
seemed to beam upon her, as they came out one by one like the stars in
the sky. Then the three went on again, and passed by many more beautiful
palaces, and great streets leading away into the light, till you could
see no further; and they met with bands of singers who sang so sweetly
that the heart seemed to leap out of the Pilgrim's breast to meet with
them, for above all things this was what she had loved most. And out of
one of the palaces there came such glorious music that everything she had
seen and heard before seemed as nothing in comparison. And amid all these
delights they went on and on, but without wearying, till they came out of
the streets into lovely walks and alleys, and made their way to the banks
of a great river, which seemed to sing, too, a soft melody of its own.
And here there were some fair houses surrounded by gardens and flowers
that grew everywhere, and the doors were all open, and within everything
was lovely and still, and ready for rest if you were weary. The little
Pilgrim was not weary; but the lady placed her upon a couch in the porch,
where the pillars and the roof were all formed of interlacing plants and
flowers; and there they sat with her, and talked, and explained to her
many things. They told her that the earth though so small was the place
in all the world to which the thoughts of those above were turned. "And
not only of us who have lived there, but of all our brothers in the other
worlds; for we are the race which the Father has chosen to be the
example. In every age there is one that is the scene of the struggle and
the victory, and it is for this reason that the chronicles are made, and
that we are all placed here to gather the meaning of what has been done
among men. And I am one of those," the lady said, "that go back to the
dear earth and gather up the tale of what our little brethren are doing.
I have not to succor like some others, but only to see and bring the
news; and he makes them into great poems, as you have heard; and
sometimes the master painter will take one and make of it a picture; and
there is nothing that is so delightful to us as when we can bring back
the histories of beautiful things."
"But, oh," said the little Pilgrim, "what can there be on earth so
beautiful as the meanest thing that is here?"
Then they both smiled upon her and said, "It is more beautiful than the
most beautiful thing here to see how, under the low skies and in the
short days, a soul will turn to our Father. And sometimes," said Ama,
"when I am watching, one will wander and stray, and be led into the
dark till my heart is sick; then come back and make me glad. Sometimes I
cry out within myself to the Father, and say, 'O my Father, it is
enough!' and it will seem to me that it is not possible to stand by and
see his destruction. And then while you are gazing, while you are
crying, he will recover and return, and go on again. And to the angels it
is more wonderful than to us, for they have never lived there. And all
the other worlds are eager to hear what we can tell them. For no one
knows except the Father how the battle will turn, or when it will all be
accomplished; and there are some who tremble for our little brethren. For
to look down and see how little light there is, and how no one knows what
may happen to him next, makes them afraid who never were there."
The little Pilgrim listened with an intent face, clasping her hands, and
said,--
"But it never could be that our Father should be overcome by evil. Is not
that known in all the worlds?"
Then the lady turned and kissed her; and the poet broke forth in singing,
and said, "Faith is more heavenly than heaven; it is more beautiful than
the angels. It is the only voice that can answer to our Father. We praise
him, we glorify him, we love his name; but there is but one response to
him through all the worlds, and that is the cry of the little brothers,
who see nothing and know nothing, but believe that he will never fail."
At this the little Pilgrim wept, for her heart was touched; but she
said,--
"We are not so ignorant; for we have our Lord who is our Brother, and he
teaches us all that we require to know."
Upon this the poet rose and lifted up his hands and sang again a great
song; it was in the other language which the little Pilgrim still did not
understand, but she could make out that it sounded like a great
proclamation that He was wise as he was good, and called upon all to see
that the Lord had chosen the only way: and the sound of the poet's voice
was like a great trumpet sounding bold and sweet, as if to tell this to
those who were far away.
"For you must know," said the Lady Ama, who all the time held the
Pilgrim's hand, "that it is permitted to all to judge according to the
wisdom that has been given them. And there are some who think that our
dear Lord might have found another way, and that wait, sometimes with
trembling, lest he should fail; but not among us who have lived on earth,
for we know. And it is our work to show to all the worlds that his way
never fails, and how wonderful it is, and beautiful above all that heart
has conceived. And thus we justify the ways of God, who is our Father.
But in the other worlds there are many who will continue to fear until
the history of the earth is all ended and the chronicles are made
complete."
"And will that be long?" the little Pilgrim cried, feeling in her heart
that she would like to go to all the worlds and tell them of our Lord,
and of his love, and how the thought of him makes you strong; and it
troubled her a little to hear her friends speak of the low skies, and the
short days, and the dimness of that dear country which she had left
behind, in which there were so many still whom she loved.
Upon this Ama shook her head, and said that of that day no one knew, not
even our Lord, but only the Father; and then she smiled and answered the
little Pilgrim's thought. "When we go back," she said, "it is not as when
we lived there; for now we see all the dangers of it and the mysteries
which we did not see before. It was by the Father's dear love that we did
not see what was around us and about us while we lived there, for then
our hearts would have fainted; and that makes us wonder now that any one
endures to the end."
"You are a great deal wiser than I am," said the little Pilgrim; "but,
though our hearts had fainted, how could we have been overcome? For He
was on our side."
At this neither of them made any reply at first, but looked at her; and
at length the poet said that she had brought many thoughts back to his
mind, and how he had himself been almost worsted when one like her came
to him and gave strength to his soul. "For that He was on our side was
the only thing she knew," he said, "and all that could be learned or
discovered was not worthy of naming beside it. And this I must tell when
next I speak to the people, and how our little sister brought it to my
mind."
And then they paused from this discourse, and the little Pilgrim looked
round upon the beautiful houses and the fair gardens, and she said,--
"You live here? and do you come home at night?--but I do not mean at
night, I mean when your work is done. And are they poets like you that
dwell all about in these pleasant places, and the--"
She would have said the children, but stopped, not knowing if perhaps it
might be unkind to speak of the children when she saw none there.
Upon this the lady smiled once more, and said,--
"The door stands open always, so that no one is shut out, and the
children come and go when they will. They are children no longer, and
they have their appointed work like him and me."
"And you are always among those you love?" the Pilgrim said; upon which
they smiled again and said, "We all love each other;" and the lady held
her hand in both of hers, and caressed it, and softly laughed and said,
"You know only the little language. When you have been taught the other
you will learn many beautiful things."
She rested for some time after this, and talked much with her new
friends; and then there came into the heart of the little Pilgrim a
longing to go to the place which was appointed for her, and which was her
home, and to do the work which had been given her to do. And when the
lady saw this she rose and said that she would accompany her a little
upon her way. But the poet bid her farewell and remained under the porch,
with the green branches shading him, and the flowers twining round the
pillars, and the open door of this beautiful house behind him. When
she looked back upon him he waved his hand to her as if bidding her
God-speed, and the lady by her side looked back too and waved her hand,
and the little Pilgrim felt tears of happiness come to her eyes; for she
had been wondering with a little disappointment to see that the people in
the city, except those who were strangers, were chiefly alone, and not
like those in the old world where the husband and wife go together. It
consoled her to see again two who were one. The lady pressed her hand in
answer to her thought, and bade her pause a moment and look back into the
city as they passed the end of the great street out of which they came.
And then the Pilgrim was more and more consoled, for she saw many who
had before been alone now walking together hand in hand.
"It is not as it was," Ama said. "For all of us have work to do which is
needed for the worlds, and it is no longer needful that one should sit at
home while the other goes forth; for our work is not for our life as of
old, or for ourselves, but for the Father who has given us so great a
trust. And, little sister, you must know that though we are not so great
as the angels, nor as many that come to visit us from the other worlds,
yet we are nearer to him. For we are in his secret, and it is ours to
make it clear."
The little Pilgrim's heart was very full to hear this; but she said,--
"I was never clever, nor knew much. It is better for me to go away to my
little border-land, and help the strangers who do not know the way."
"Whatever is your work is the best," the lady said; "but though you are
so little you are in the Father's secret too, for it is nature to you to
know what the others cannot be sure of, that we must have the victory at
the last: so that we have this between us, the Father and we. And though
all are his children, we are of the kindred of God, because of our Lord
who is our Brother." And then the Lady Ama kissed her, and bade her when
she returned to the great city, either for rest or for love, or because
the Father sent for her, that she should come to the house by the river.
"For we are friends for ever," she said, and so threw her white veil over
her head, and was gone upon her mission, whither the little Pilgrim did
not know.
And now she found herself at a distance from the great city, which shone
in the light with its beautiful towers, and roofs, and all its monuments,
softly fringed with trees, and set in a heavenly firmament. And the
Pilgrim thought of those words that described this lovely place as a
bride adorned for her husband, and did not wonder at him who had said
that her streets were of gold and her gates of pearl, because gold and
pearls and precious jewels were as nothing to the glory and the beauty of
her. The little Pilgrim was glad to have seen these wonderful things, and
her mind was like a cup running over with almost more than it could
contain. It seemed to her that there never could be a time when she
should want for wonder and interest and delight, so long as she had this
to think of. Yet she was not sorry to turn her back upon the beautiful
city, but went on her way singing in unutterable content, and thinking
over what the lady had said, that we were in God's secret, more than all
the great worlds above and even the angels, because of knowing how it is
that in darkness and doubt, and without any open vision, a man may still
keep the right way. The path lay along the bank of the river which flowed
beside her and made the air full of music, and a soft air blew across the
running stream and breathed in her face and refreshed her, and the birds
sang in all the trees. And as she passed through the villages the people
came out to meet her, and asked of her if she had come from the city, and
what she had seen there. And everywhere she found friends, and kind
voices that gave her greeting. But some would ask her why she still spoke
the little language, though it was sweet to their ears; and others when
they heard it hastened to call from the houses and the fields some among
them who knew the other tongue but a little, and who came and crowded
round the little Pilgrim, and asked her many questions both about the
things she had been seeing and about the old time. And she perceived that
the village folk were a simple folk, not learned and wise like those she
had left; and that though they lived within sight of the great city, and
showed every stranger the beautiful view of it, and the glory of its
towers, yet few among them had travelled there; for they were so content
with their fields, and their river, and the shade of their trees, and the
birds singing, and their simple life, that they wanted no change; though
it pleased them to receive the little Pilgrim, and they brought her into
their villages rejoicing, and called every one to see her. And they told
her that they had all been poor and labored hard in the old time, and had
never rested; so that now it was the Father's good pleasure that they
should enjoy great peace and consolation among the fresh-breathing fields
and on the riverside, so that there were many who even now had little
occupation except to think of the Father's goodness, and to rest. And
they told her how the Lord himself would come among them, and sit down
under a tree, and tell them one of his parables, and make them all more
happy than words could say; and how sometimes he would send one out of
the beautiful city, with a poem or tale to say to them, and bands of
lovely music, more lovely than anything beside, except the sound of the
Lord's own voice. "And what is more wonderful, the angels themselves come
often and listen to us," they said, "when we begin to talk and remind
each other of the old time, and how we suffered heat and cold, and were
bowed down with labor, and bending over the soil, and how sometimes the
harvest would fail us, and sometimes we had not bread, and sometimes
would hush the children to sleep because there was nothing to give them;
and how we grew old and weary, and still worked on and on." "We are
those who were old," a number of them called out to her, with a murmuring
sound of laughter, one looking over another's shoulder. And one woman
said, "The angels say to us, 'Did you never think the Father had forsaken
you and the Lord forgotten you?'" And all the rest answered as in a
chorus, "There were moments that we thought this; but all the time we
knew that it could not be." "And the angels wonder at us," said another.
All this they said, crowding one before another, every one anxious to say
something, and sometimes speaking together, but always in accord. And
then there was a sound of laughter and pleasure, both at the strange
thought that the Lord could have forgotten them, and at the wonder of the
angels over their simple tales. And immediately they began to remind each
other, and say, "Do you remember?" and they told the little Pilgrim a
hundred tales of the hardships and troubles they had known, all smiling
and radiant with pleasure; and at every new account the others would
applaud and rejoice, feeling the happiness all the more for the evils
that were past. And some of them led her into their gardens to show her
their flowers, and to tell her how they had begun to study and learn
how colors were changed and form perfected, and the secrets of the growth
and of the germ, of which they had been ignorant. And others arranged
themselves in choirs, and sang to her delightful songs of the fields, and
accompanied her out upon her way, singing and answering to each other.
The difference between the simple folk and the greatness of the others
made the little Pilgrim wonder and admire; and she loved them in her
simplicity, and turned back many a time to wave her hand to them, and to
listen to the lovely simple singing as it went further and further away.
It had an evening tone of rest and quietness, and of protection and
peace. "He leadeth me by the green pastures and beside the quiet waters,"
she said to herself; and her heart swelled with pleasure to think that it
was those who had been so old, and so weary and poor, who had this rest
to console them for all their sorrows.