The Blue Flower [8]
passers-by
seemed in haste and wore weary countenances, until I came to
the house where I had lodged. There was a little basin here
against the wall, with a slender stream of water still flowing
into it, and a group of children standing near with their
pitchers, waiting to fill them.
The door of the house was closed; but when I knocked, it
opened and a maiden came forth. She was pale and sad in
aspect, but a light of joy dawned over the snow of her face,
and I knew by the youth in her eyes that it was Ruamie, who
had walked with me through the vineyards long ago.
With both hands she welcomed me, saying: "You are
expected. Have you found the Blue Flower?"
"Not yet," I answered, "but something drew me back to you.
I would know how it fares with you, and I would go again with
you to visit the Source."
At this her face grew bright, but with a tender, half-sad
brightness.
"The Source!" she said. "Ah, yes, I was sure that you would
remember it. And this is the hour of the visitation. Come, let
us go up together."
Then we went alone through the busy and weary multitudes
of the city toward the mountain-path. So forsaken was it and
so covered with stones and overgrown with wire-grass that I
could not have found it but for her guidance. But as we
climbed upward the air grew clearer, and more sweet, and I
questioned her of the things that had come to pass in my
absence. I asked her of the kind old man who had taken me
into his house when I came as a stranger. She said, softly,
"He is dead."
"And where are the men and women, his friends, who once
thronged this pathway? Are they also dead?"
"They also are dead."
"But where are the younger ones who sang here so gladly as
they marched upward? Surely they, are living?"
"They have forgotten."
"Where then are the young children whose fathers taught
them this way and bade them remember it. Have they forgotten?"
"They have forgotten."
"But why have you alone kept the hour of visitation? Why
have you not turned back with your companions? How have you
walked here solitary day after day?"
She turned to me with a divine regard, and laying her hand
gently over mine, she said, "I remember always."
Then I saw a few wild-flowers blossoming beside the path.
We drew near to the Source, and entered into the chamber
hewn in the rock. She kneeled and bent over the sleeping
spring. She murmured again and again the beautiful name of
him who had died to find it. Her voice repeated the song that
had once been sung by many voices. Her tears fell softly on
the spring, and as they fell it seemed as if the water stirred
and rose to meet her bending face, and when she looked up it
was as if the dew had fallen on a flower.
We came very slowly down the path along the river Carita,
and rested often beside it, for surely, I thought, the rising
of the spring had sent a`little more water down its dry bed, and
some of it must flow on to the city. So it was almost evening
when we came back to the streets. The people were hurrying to
and fro, for it was the day before the choosing of new Princes of
Water; and there was much dispute about them, and strife over the
building of new cisterns to hold the stores of rain which might
fall in the next year. But none cared for us, as we passed by
like strangers, and we came unnoticed to the door of the house.
Then a great desire of love and sorrow moved within my
breast, and I said to Ruamie, "You are the life of the city,
for you alone remember. Its secret is in your heart, and your
faithful keeping of the hours of visitation is the only cause
why the river has not failed altogether and the curse of
desolation returned. Let me stay with you, sweet soul of all
the flowers that are dead, and I will cherish you forever.
Together we will visit the Source every day; and we shall turn
the people, by our lives and by our words, back to that which
they have forgotten."
There was a smile in her eyes so deep that its meaning cannot
be spoken, as she lifted
seemed in haste and wore weary countenances, until I came to
the house where I had lodged. There was a little basin here
against the wall, with a slender stream of water still flowing
into it, and a group of children standing near with their
pitchers, waiting to fill them.
The door of the house was closed; but when I knocked, it
opened and a maiden came forth. She was pale and sad in
aspect, but a light of joy dawned over the snow of her face,
and I knew by the youth in her eyes that it was Ruamie, who
had walked with me through the vineyards long ago.
With both hands she welcomed me, saying: "You are
expected. Have you found the Blue Flower?"
"Not yet," I answered, "but something drew me back to you.
I would know how it fares with you, and I would go again with
you to visit the Source."
At this her face grew bright, but with a tender, half-sad
brightness.
"The Source!" she said. "Ah, yes, I was sure that you would
remember it. And this is the hour of the visitation. Come, let
us go up together."
Then we went alone through the busy and weary multitudes
of the city toward the mountain-path. So forsaken was it and
so covered with stones and overgrown with wire-grass that I
could not have found it but for her guidance. But as we
climbed upward the air grew clearer, and more sweet, and I
questioned her of the things that had come to pass in my
absence. I asked her of the kind old man who had taken me
into his house when I came as a stranger. She said, softly,
"He is dead."
"And where are the men and women, his friends, who once
thronged this pathway? Are they also dead?"
"They also are dead."
"But where are the younger ones who sang here so gladly as
they marched upward? Surely they, are living?"
"They have forgotten."
"Where then are the young children whose fathers taught
them this way and bade them remember it. Have they forgotten?"
"They have forgotten."
"But why have you alone kept the hour of visitation? Why
have you not turned back with your companions? How have you
walked here solitary day after day?"
She turned to me with a divine regard, and laying her hand
gently over mine, she said, "I remember always."
Then I saw a few wild-flowers blossoming beside the path.
We drew near to the Source, and entered into the chamber
hewn in the rock. She kneeled and bent over the sleeping
spring. She murmured again and again the beautiful name of
him who had died to find it. Her voice repeated the song that
had once been sung by many voices. Her tears fell softly on
the spring, and as they fell it seemed as if the water stirred
and rose to meet her bending face, and when she looked up it
was as if the dew had fallen on a flower.
We came very slowly down the path along the river Carita,
and rested often beside it, for surely, I thought, the rising
of the spring had sent a`little more water down its dry bed, and
some of it must flow on to the city. So it was almost evening
when we came back to the streets. The people were hurrying to
and fro, for it was the day before the choosing of new Princes of
Water; and there was much dispute about them, and strife over the
building of new cisterns to hold the stores of rain which might
fall in the next year. But none cared for us, as we passed by
like strangers, and we came unnoticed to the door of the house.
Then a great desire of love and sorrow moved within my
breast, and I said to Ruamie, "You are the life of the city,
for you alone remember. Its secret is in your heart, and your
faithful keeping of the hours of visitation is the only cause
why the river has not failed altogether and the curse of
desolation returned. Let me stay with you, sweet soul of all
the flowers that are dead, and I will cherish you forever.
Together we will visit the Source every day; and we shall turn
the people, by our lives and by our words, back to that which
they have forgotten."
There was a smile in her eyes so deep that its meaning cannot
be spoken, as she lifted