the story of an african farm-第68章
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To the son heaven will be no heaven if the sweet worn face is not in one of
the choirs； he will look for it through the phalanx of God's glorified
angels； and the youth will look for the maid； and the mother for the baby。
'And whose then shall she be at the resurrection of the dead？'〃
〃Ah； God！ ah； God！ a beautiful dream；〃 he cried； 〃but can any one dream it
not sleeping？〃
Waldo paced on； moaning in agony and longing。
He heard the Transcendentalist's high answer。
〃What have you to do with flesh； the gross and miserable garment in which
spirit hides itself？ You shall see her again。 But the hand； the foot； the
forehead you loved； you shall see no more。 The loves； the fears； the
frailties that are born with the flesh； with the flesh they shall die。 Let
them die！ There is that in man that cannot diea seed； a germ an embryo；
a spiritual essence。 Higher than she was on earth； as the tree is higher
than the seed； the man than the embryo； so shall you behold her； changed；
glorified！〃
High words； ringing well； they are the offering of jewels to the hungry； of
gold to the man who dies for bread。 Bread is corruptible； gold is
incorruptible； bread is light； gold is heavy； bread is common； gold is
rare； but the hungry man will barter all your mines for one morsel of
bread。 Around God's throne there may be choirs and companies of angels；
cherubim and seraphim； rising tier above tier； but not for one of them all
does the soul cry aloud。 Only perhaps for a little human woman full of
sin； that it once loved。
〃Change is death； change is death！〃 he cried。 〃I want no angel； only she；
no holier and no better； with all her sins upon her； so give her me or give
me nothing！〃
And； truly； does not the heart love its own with the strongest passion for
their very frailties？ Heaven might keep its angels if men were but left to
men。
〃Change is death；〃 he cried； 〃change is death！ Who dares to say the body
never dies； because it turns again to grass and flowers？ And yet they dare
to say the spirit never dies； because in space some strange unearthly being
may have sprung up upon its ruins。 Leave me！ Leave me！〃 he cried in
frantic bitterness。 〃Give me back what I have lost； or give me nothing。〃
For the soul's fierce cry for immortality is thisonly this： Return to me
after death the thing as it was before。 Leave me in the Hereafter the
being that I am today。 Rob me of the thoughts； the feelings； the desires
that are my life； and you have left nothing to take。 Your immortality is
annihilation； your Hereafter is a lie。
Waldo flung open the door； and walked out into the starlight； his pain…
stricken thoughts ever driving him on as he paced there。
〃There must be a Hereafter because man longs for it！〃 he whispered。 〃Is
not all life from the cradle to the grave one long yearning for that which
we never touch？ There must be a Hereafter because we cannot think of any
end to life。 Can we think of a beginning？ Is it easier to say 'I was not'
than to say 'I shall not be'？ And yet； where were we ninety years ago？
Dreams； dreams！ Ah； all dreams and lies！ No ground anywhere。〃
He went back into the cabin and walked there。 Hour after hour passed； and
he was dreaming。
For； mark you； men will dream； the most that can be asked of them is but
that the dream be not in too glaring discord with the thing they know。 He
walked with bent head。
All dies； all dies！ the roses are red with the matter that once reddened
the cheek of the child； the flowers bloom the fairest on the last year's
battleground； the work of death's finger cunningly wreathed over is at the
heart of all things； even of the living。
Death's finger is everywhere。 The rocks are built up of a life that was。
Bodies； thoughts； and loves die： from where springs that whisper to the
tiny soul of man； 〃You shall not die〃？ Ah； is there no truth of which this
dream is shadow？
He fell into perfect silence。 And； at last； as he walked there with his
bent head； his soul passed down the steps of contemplation into that vast
land where there is always peace； that land where the soul； gazing long；
loses all consciousness of its little self； and almost feels its hand on
the old mystery of Universal unity that surrounds it。
〃No death； no death；〃 he muttered； 〃there is that which never dieswhich
abides。 It is but the individual that perishes； the whole remains。 It is
the organism that vanishes； the atoms are there。 It is but the man that
dies； the Universal Whole of which he is part reworks him into its inmost
self。 Ah； what matter that man's day be short！that the sunrise sees him；
and the sunset sees his grave； that of which he is but the breath has
breathed him forth and drawn him back again。 That abideswe abide。〃
For the little soul that cries aloud for continued personal existence for
itself and its beloved； there is no help。 For the soul which knows itself
no more as a unit； but as a part of the Universal Unity of which the
Beloved also is a part； which feels within itself the throb of the
Universal Life； for that soul there is no death。
〃Let us die； beloved； you and I； that we may pass on forever through the
Universal Life！ In that deep world of contemplation all fierce desires die
out； and peace comes down。 He； Waldo； as he walked there； saw no more the
world that was about him； cried out no more for the thing that he had lost。
His soul rested。 Was it only John； think you； who saw the heavens open？
The dreamers see it every day。
Long years before the father had walked in the little cabin； and seen
choirs of angels； and a prince like unto men； but clothed in immortality。
The son's knowledge was not as the father's； therefore the dream was new…
tinted； but the sweetness was all there； the infinite peace that men find
not in the little cankered kingdom of the tangible。 The bars of the real
are set close about us； we cannot open our wings but they are struck
against them； and drop bleeding。 But； when we glide between the bars into
the great unknown beyond； we may sail forever in the glorious blue； seeing
nothing but our own shadows。
So age succeeds age； and dream succeeds dream； and of the joy of the
dreamer no man knoweth but he who dreameth。
Our fathers had their dream； we have ours； the generation that follows will
have its own。 Without dreams and phantoms man cannot exist。
Chapter 2。XIV。 Waldo Goes Out to Sit in the Sunshine。
It had been a princely day。 The long morning had melted slowly into a rich
afternoon。 Rains had covered the karoo with a heavy coat of green that hid
the red earth everywhere。 In the very chinks of the stone walls dark green
leaves hung out； and beauty and growth had crept even into the beds of the
sandy furrows and lined them with weeds。 On the broken sod walls of the
old pigsty chick…weeds flourished； and ice…plants lifted heir transparent
leaves。 Waldo was at work in the wagon…house again。 He was making a
kitchen table for Em。 As the long curls gathered in heaps before his
plane； he paused for an instant now and again to throw one down to a small
naked nigger； who had crept from its mother； who stood churning in the
sunshine； and had crawled into the wagon…house。
From time to time the little animal lifted its fat hand as it expected a
fresh shower of curls； till Doss； jealous of his master's noticing any
other small creature but himself； would catch the curl in his mouth and
roll the little Kaffer over in the sawdust； much to that small animal's
contentment。 It was too lazy an afternoon to be really ill…natured； so
Doss satisfied himself with snapping at the little nigger's fingers； and
sitting on him till he laughed。 Waldo； as he worked； glanced down at them
now and then； and smiled； but he never looked out across the plain。 He was
conscious without looking of that broad green earth； it made his work
