the ninth vibration-第5章

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n　one　would　choose　as　a　companion　in　the　great　mountain　country。　But　what　is　germane　to　my　purpose　must　be　told；　and　of　this　a　part　is　the　per…　sonality　of　Brynhild　Ingmar。　That　she　was　beautiful　I　never　doubted；　though　I　have　heard　it　disputed　and　smiled　inwardly　as　the　disputants　urged　lip　and　cheek　and　shades　of　rose　and　lily；　weighing　and　appraising。　Let　me　describe　her　as　I　saw　her　or；　rather；　as　I　can；　adding　that　even　without　all　this　she　must　still　have　been　beautiful　because　of　the　deep　significance　to　those　who　had　eyes　to　see　or　feel　some　mysterious　element　which　mingled　itself　with　her　presence　comparable　only　to　the　delight　which　the　power　and　spiritual　essence　of　Nature　inspires　in　all　but　the　dullest　minds。　I　know　I　cannot　hope　to　convey　this　in　words。　It　means　little　if　I　say　I　thought　of　all　quiet　lovely　solitary　things　when　I　looked　into　her　calm　eyes；　…　that　when　she　moved　it　was　like　clear　springs　renewed　by　flowing；　that　she　seemed　the　perfect　flowering　of　a　day　in　June；　for　these　are　phrases。　Does　Nature　know　her　wonders　when　she　shines　in　her　strength？　Does　a　woman　know　the　infinite　meanings　her　beauty　may　have　for　the　beholder？　I　cannot　tell。　Nor　can　I　tell　if　I　saw　this　girl　as　she　may　have　seemed　to　those　who　read　only　the　letter　of　the　book　and　are　blind　to　its　spirit；　or　in　the　deepest　sense　as　she　really　was　in　the　sight　of　That　which　created　her　and　of　which　she　was　a　part。　Surely　it　is　a　proof　of　the　divinity　of　love　that　in　and　for　a　moment　it　lifts　the　veil　of　so…called　reality　and　shows　each　to　the　other　mysteriously　perfect　and　inspiring　as　the　world　will　never　see　them；　but　as　they　exist　in　the　Eternal；　and　in　the　sight　of　those　who　have　learnt　that　the　material　is　but　the　dream；　and　the　vision　of　love　the　truth。

I　will　say　then；　for　the　alphabet　of　what　I　knew　but　cannot　tell；　that　she　had　the　low　broad　brows　of　a　Greek　Nature　Goddess；　the　hair　swept　back　wing…like　from　the　temples　and　massed　with　a　noble　luxuriance。　It　lay　like　rippled　bronze；　suggesting　something　strong　and　serene　in　its　essence。　Her　eyes　were　clear　and　gray　as　water；　the　mouth　sweetly　curved　above　a　resolute　chin。　It　was　a　face　which　recalled　a　modelling　in　marble　rather　than　the　charming　pastel　and　aquarelle　of　a　young　woman's　colouring；　and　somehow　I　thought　of　it　less　as　the　beauty　of　a　woman　than　as　some　sexless　emanation　of　natural　things；　and　this　impression　was　strengthened　by　her　height　and　the　long　limbs；　slender　and　strong　as　those　of　some　youth　trained　in　the　pentathlon；　subject　to　the　severest　discipline　until　all　that　was　superfluous　was　fined　away　and　the　perfect　form　expressing　the　true　being　emerged。　The　body　was　thus　more　beautiful　than　the　face；　and　I　may　note　in　passing　that　this　is　often　the　case；　because　the　face　is　more　directly　the　index　of　the　restless　and　unhappy　soul　within　and　can　attain　true　beauty　only　when　the　soul　is　in　harmony　with　its　source。

She　was　a　little　like　her　pale　and　wearied　mother。　She　might　resemble　her　still　more　when　the　sorrow　of　this　world　that　worketh　death　should　have　had　its　will　of　her。　I　had　yet　to　learn　that　this　would　never　be　…　that　she　had　found　the　open　door　of　escape。

We　three　spent　much　time　together　in　the　days　that　followed。　I　never　tired　of　their　company　and　I　think　they　did　not　tire　of　mine；　for　my　wanderings　through　the　world　and　my　studies　in　the　ancient　Indian　literatures　and　faiths　with　the　Pandit　Devaswami　were　of　interest　to　them　both　though　in　entirely　different　ways。　Mrs。　Ingmar　was　a　woman　who　centred　all　her　interests　in　books　and　chiefly　in　the　scientific　forms　of　occult　research。　She　was　no　believer　in　anything　outside　the　range　of　what　she　called　human　experience。　The　evidences　had　convinced　her　of　nothing　but　a　force　as　yet　unclassified　in　the　scientific　categories　and　all　her　interest　lay　in　the　undeveloped　powers　of　brain　which　might　be　discovered　in　the　course　of　ignorant　and　credulous　experiment。　We　met　therefore　on　the　common　ground　of　rejection　of　the　so…called　occultism　of　the　day；　though　I　knew　even　then；　and　how　infinitely　better　now；　that　her　constructions　were　wholly　misleading。

Nearly　all　day　she　would　lie　in　her　chair　under　the　deodars　by　the　delicate　splash　and　ripple　of　the　stream。　Living　imprisoned　in　the　crystal　sphere　of　the　intellect　she　saw　the　world　outside；　painted　in　few　but　distinct　colours；　small；　comprehensible；　moving　on　a　logical　orbit。　I　never　knew　her　posed　for　an　explanation。　She　had　the　contented　atheism　of　a　certain　type　of　French　mind　and　found　as　much　ease　in　it　as　another　kind　of　sweet　woman　does　in　her　rosary　and　confessional。

〃I　cannot　interest　Brynhild；〃　she　said；　when　I　knew　her　better。　〃She　has　no　affinity　with　science。　She　is　simply　a　nature　worshipper；　and　in　such　places　as　this　she　seems　to　draw　life　from　the　inanimate　life　about　her。　I　have　sometimes　wondered　whether　she　might　not　be　developed　into　a　kind　of　bridge　between　the　articulate　and　the　inarticulate；　so　well　does　she　understand　trees　and　flowers。　Her　father　was　like　that　…　he　had　all　sorts　of　strange　power　with　animals　and　plants；　and　thought　he　had　more　than　he　had。　He　could　never　realize　that　the　energy　of　nature　is　merely　mechanical。〃

〃You　think　all　energy　is　mechanical？〃

〃Certainly。　We　shall　lay　our　finger　on　the　mainspring　one　day　and　the　mystery　will　disappear。　But　as　for　Brynhild　…　I　gave　her　the　best　education　possible　and　yet　she　has　never　understood　the　conception　of　a　universe　moving　on　mathematical　laws　to　which　we　must　submit　in　body　and　mind。　She　has　the　oddest　ideas。　I　would　not　willingly　say　of　a　child　of　mine　that　she　is　a　mystic；　and　yet　…〃

She　shook　her　head　compassionately。　But　I　scarcely　heard。　My　eyes　were　fixed　on　Brynhild；　who　stood　apart；　looking　steadily　out　over　the　snows。　It　was　a　glorious　sunset；　the　west　vibrating　with　gorgeous　colour　spilt　over　in　torrents　that　flooded　the　sky；　Terrible　splendours　…　hues　for　which　we　have　no　thought　…　no　name。　I　had　not　thought　of　it　as　music　until　I　saw　her　face　but　she　listened　as　well　as　saw；　and　her　expression　changed　as　it　changes　when　the　pomp　of　a　great　orchestra　breaks　upon　the　silence。　It　flashed　to　the　chords　of　blood…red　and　gold　that　was　burning　fire。　It　softened　through　the　fugue　of　woven　crimson　gold　and　flame；　to　the　melancholy　minor　of　ashes…of…roses　and　paling　green；　and　so　through　all　the　dying　glories　that　faded　slowly　to　a　tranquil　grey　and　left　the　world　to　the　silver　melody　of　one　sole　star　that　dawned　above　the　ineffable　heights　of　the　snows。　Then　she　listened　as　a　child　does　to　a　bird；　entranced；　with　a　smile　like　a　butterfly　on　her　parted　lips。　I　never　saw　such　a　power　of　quiet。

She　and　I　were　walking　next　day　among　the　forest　ways；　the　pine…scented　sunshine　dappling　the　dropped　frondage。　We　had　been　speaking　of　her　mother。　〃It　is　such　a　misfortune　for　her；〃　she　said　thoughtfully；　〃that　I　am　not　clever。　She　should　have　had　a　daughter　who　could　have　shared　her　thoughts。　She　analyses　everything；　reasons　about　everything；　and　that　is　quite　out　of　my　reach。〃

She　moved　beside　me　with　her　wonderful　light　step　…　the　poise　and　balance　of　a　nymph　in　the　Parthenon　frieze。

〃How　do　you　see　things？〃

〃See？　That　is　the　right　word。　I　see　things　…　I　never　reason　about　them。　They　are。　For　her　they　move　like　figures　in　a　sum。　For　me　every　one　of　them　is　a　window　through　which　one　may　look　to　what　is　beyond。〃

〃To　where？〃

〃To　what　they　really　are　…　not　what　they　seem。〃

I　looked　at　her　with　interest。

〃Did　you　ever　hear　of　the　double　vision？〃

For　this　is　a　subject　on　which　the　spiritually　learned　men　of　India；　like　the　great　mystics　of　all　the　faiths；　have　much　to　say。　I　had　listened　with　bewilderment　and　doubt　to　the　expositions　of　my　Pandit　on　this　very　head。　Her　simple　words　seemed　for　a　moment　the　echo　of　his　deep　and　searching　thought。　Yet　it　surely　could　not　be。　Impossible。

〃Never。　What　does　it　mean？〃　She　raised　clear　unveiled　eyes。　〃You　must　forgive　me　for　being　so　stupid；　but　it　is　my　mother　who　is　at　home　with　all　these　scientific　phrases。　I　know　none　of　them。〃

〃It　means　that　for　some　people　the　material　universe　…　the　things　we　see　with　our　eyes　…　is　only　a　mirage；　or　say；　a　symbol；　which　either　hides　or　shadows　fort