The Blue Flower [4]
the gardens and orchards and the
streets of the city, men and women and children have gone up
the mountain-path with singing, to rejoice beside the spring
from which the river flows and to remember the one who opened it.
We call it the River Carita. And the name of the city is no more
Ablis, but Saloma, which is Peace. And the name of him who died
to find the Source for us is so dear that we speak it only when
we pray.
"But there are many things yet to learn about our city,
and some that seem dark and cast a shadow on my thoughts.
Therefore, my son, I bid you to be my guest, for there is a
room in my house for the stranger; and to-morrow and on the
following days you shall see how life goes with us, and read,
if you can, the secret of the city."
That night I slept well, as one who has heard a pleasant
tale, with the murmur of running water woven through my
dreams; and the next day I went out early into the streets,
for I was curious to see the manner of the visitation of the
Source.
Already the people were coming forth and turning their
steps upward in the mountain-path beside the river. Some of
them went alone, swiftly and in silence; others were in groups
of two or three, talking as they went; others were in larger
companies, and they sang together very gladly and sweetly.
But there were many people who remained working
in their fields or in their houses, or stayed talking on the
corners of the streets. Therefore I joined myself to one of
the men who walked alone and asked him why all the people did
not go to the spring, since the life of the city depended upon
it, and whether, perhaps, the way was so long and so hard that
none but the strongest could undertake it.
"Sir," said he, "I perceive that you are a stranger, for
the way is both short and easy, so that the children are those
who most delight in it; and if a man were in great haste he
could go there and return in a little while. But of those who
remain behind, some are the busy ones who must visit the
fountain at another hour; and some are the careless ones who
take life as it comes and never think where it comes from; and
some are those who do not believe in the Source and will hear
nothing about it."
"How can that be?" I said; "do they not drink of the
water, and does it not make their fields green?"
"It is true," he said; "but these men have made wells
close by the river, and they say that these wells fill
themselves; and they have digged channels through their
gardens, and they say that these channels would always have
water in them even though the spring should cease to flow.
Some of them say also that it is an unworthy thing to drink
from a source that another has opened, and that every man
ought to find a new spring for himself; so they spend the hour
of the visitation, and many more, in searching among the
mountains where there is no path."
While I wondered over this, we kept on in the way. There
was already quite a throng of people all going in the same
direction. And when we came to the Source, which flowed from
an opening in a cliff, almost like a chamber hewn in the rock,
and made a little garden of wild-flowers around it as it fell,
I heard the music of many voices and the beautiful name of him
who had given his life to find the forgotten spring.
Then we came down again, singly and in groups, following
the river. It seemed already more bright
and full and joyous. As we passed through the gardens I saw
men turning aside to make new channels through fields which
were not yet cultivated. And as we entered the city I saw the
wheels of the mills that ground the corn whirling more
swiftly, and the maidens coming with their pitchers to draw
from the brimming basins at the street corners, and the
children laughing because the marble pools were so full that
they could swim in them. There was plenty of water
everywhere.
For many weeks I stayed in the city of Saloma, going up
the mountain-path in the morning, and returning to the day of
work and the evening of
streets of the city, men and women and children have gone up
the mountain-path with singing, to rejoice beside the spring
from which the river flows and to remember the one who opened it.
We call it the River Carita. And the name of the city is no more
Ablis, but Saloma, which is Peace. And the name of him who died
to find the Source for us is so dear that we speak it only when
we pray.
"But there are many things yet to learn about our city,
and some that seem dark and cast a shadow on my thoughts.
Therefore, my son, I bid you to be my guest, for there is a
room in my house for the stranger; and to-morrow and on the
following days you shall see how life goes with us, and read,
if you can, the secret of the city."
That night I slept well, as one who has heard a pleasant
tale, with the murmur of running water woven through my
dreams; and the next day I went out early into the streets,
for I was curious to see the manner of the visitation of the
Source.
Already the people were coming forth and turning their
steps upward in the mountain-path beside the river. Some of
them went alone, swiftly and in silence; others were in groups
of two or three, talking as they went; others were in larger
companies, and they sang together very gladly and sweetly.
But there were many people who remained working
in their fields or in their houses, or stayed talking on the
corners of the streets. Therefore I joined myself to one of
the men who walked alone and asked him why all the people did
not go to the spring, since the life of the city depended upon
it, and whether, perhaps, the way was so long and so hard that
none but the strongest could undertake it.
"Sir," said he, "I perceive that you are a stranger, for
the way is both short and easy, so that the children are those
who most delight in it; and if a man were in great haste he
could go there and return in a little while. But of those who
remain behind, some are the busy ones who must visit the
fountain at another hour; and some are the careless ones who
take life as it comes and never think where it comes from; and
some are those who do not believe in the Source and will hear
nothing about it."
"How can that be?" I said; "do they not drink of the
water, and does it not make their fields green?"
"It is true," he said; "but these men have made wells
close by the river, and they say that these wells fill
themselves; and they have digged channels through their
gardens, and they say that these channels would always have
water in them even though the spring should cease to flow.
Some of them say also that it is an unworthy thing to drink
from a source that another has opened, and that every man
ought to find a new spring for himself; so they spend the hour
of the visitation, and many more, in searching among the
mountains where there is no path."
While I wondered over this, we kept on in the way. There
was already quite a throng of people all going in the same
direction. And when we came to the Source, which flowed from
an opening in a cliff, almost like a chamber hewn in the rock,
and made a little garden of wild-flowers around it as it fell,
I heard the music of many voices and the beautiful name of him
who had given his life to find the forgotten spring.
Then we came down again, singly and in groups, following
the river. It seemed already more bright
and full and joyous. As we passed through the gardens I saw
men turning aside to make new channels through fields which
were not yet cultivated. And as we entered the city I saw the
wheels of the mills that ground the corn whirling more
swiftly, and the maidens coming with their pitchers to draw
from the brimming basins at the street corners, and the
children laughing because the marble pools were so full that
they could swim in them. There was plenty of water
everywhere.
For many weeks I stayed in the city of Saloma, going up
the mountain-path in the morning, and returning to the day of
work and the evening of