by Jesse Roarke
glad. And so he walked north, beforesunrise. For this direction he was conscious of no particular reason;but he felt it to be as good as any other.
He passed a farm or two, skirting them carefully, and breakfasted onthe sunrise alone. It was so beautiful, thus breaking, rose and golden,over the hills. He remembered the last poet that he had read, beforehis deliverance: the great Sidney Lanier. "The Georgia gold mine," hethought facetiously; and was at once sorry, for his shallowness. No morewould successive suns blaze upon the soft southern beauty. The warm blueAtlantic waves rolled over the home of this poet-prophet; whose promise,he fervently hoped, was not yet drowned. He also would be Lit with theSun. He stretched out his arms to the streaming gold, and then walkedon vigorously, with a new purpose not yet defined.
* * * * *
He was getting into ruggeder country, and the going was more difficult.But yet he felt no inclination to break his fast, or to slacken hispace. The air was fresh, and good. He climbed around the spur of ahill, and found himself entering a wild valley with no sign of humanhabitation. There was a small stream close by, rippling down from thesolitudes. He went to it, and knelt to drink.
As he arose, two ropes descended upon him, from opposite sides, and hisarms were firmly pinioned. He looked around, and saw two bearded youngmen, of not unprepossessing aspect. Each wore tight-fitting clothing anda peaked hat with a long feather, and was armed with knife and sword.One of them motioned into the valley.
"Come on, thou varlet!" he said.
They proceeded, and were soon immersed in the rippling and jutting hills.
Near the head of the valley, and up a hollow to the side, they came toan expansive and well populated clearing. Many men, bearded and heavilyarmed, were lounging about, dressed fancifully, but for action. Therewere women also, sturdy and for the most part quite attractive. He foundhimself speculating briefly on the fierce joy of their dalliance inthese invigorating wilds. Then his attention was abruptly drawn ahead,and he was forced to his knees before one who was obviously the leader.
He was in his middle years, and bore a long flaxen beard and leoninemane of hair; his eyes were large, and of a piercing but softlyreassuring green. He sat, still and lordly, and surveyed his captive.
At length: "Arise!"
He obeyed, and stood calmly.
The leader continued, "Thou art doubtless but lately from the City, ofabhorred name. Thou art but little acquainted with the usages of life.Do not speak! I know 'tis true."
* * * * *
He paused for a while, then went on with ruminative authority.
"Know that thou hast come into the hands of the Knights of Eld," hesaid. "As our name implies, and indeed our visible delimitationsproclaim, we are no cut-throats, or vulgar brawlers. Thou art safe here.
"But thou art not one of us. Though thou art healthy and strong, andmight well prove a formidable adversary, thou takest no delight incombat. Do I speak sooth? Proclaim!"
He proclaimed that it was sooth indeed; with the silent reservationthat, if the combat were sufficiently noble, and profound, and really,fundamentally necessary--but his thoughts were cut short.
"Then thou hast no place here, unless perchance thou comest for succour,or for sanctuary."
His answer being negative, the leader continued:
"Know that our life is combat. There be many bands, against whom westrive. We have made good escape from the emasculate life of yon City,and we have vowed not to let the spirit of gentle manhood perish. Theelements strive together, and yet the strife is co-operative: and soshould it be with men.
"I like thee," he continued, with a smile. "Say if thou wilt stay withus, and learn our ways. There is much that we can rede thee, and thebenefit will be mutual, and I trust great."
He was briefly tempted, but still, clearly and promptly, he declined.The leader frowned slightly, and was silent. Then the imperious tonesrang out:
"Thou art strong! And thou shalt be stronger, if ought of ours can aidto the achievement of this result, so much to be desired.
"Then hearken well. Thy food shall be taken from thee."
His knapsack was ripped rudely from his back.
"Thou shalt wander without guide, and no one of us shall take, in anycase, further heed of thee. Go with our respect. And may it be that thoufallest not into the hands of those ruder and less magnanimous, likeas the Snakes, perdie, or the Mountain Lions. Thou hast been honorablyreceived, and thou art warned. Begone!"
* * * * *
He left with as much alacrity as he thought became him, and continued onhis way. For the remainder of the day he wandered, without attempting tofix a course, or to avoid anything that might come to him. He was lostin thought, with a great sense of well-being that he felt that nothingcould overcome.
As the shadows of evening began to lengthen, and the first stars toshine, he found himself ascending the side of a small but respectablyrugged mountain. By the time of total darkness, he had reached the top,and seated himself beneath a redwood tree. He began to feel hungry, butnot faint, and with a slight effort of his will the hunger passed away.He sank into a revery, he sat still and thought and contemplated throughthe long night hours. The cool dews came upon him, and the light windswere whispering in the pale first light, and he was undisturbed.
He remained on the mountain for three days, eating nothing, and notthinking of food. He felt the opposing forces of life within, throughand around him. The harmonious, continually pulsing tension of existencebecame in a manner clear to him, its great necessity indubitable. Heknew that the battle of opposites, the co-operative strife of elements,abilities, tendencies, must be fought within himself; he foresaw nogain from the struggle's objectification, or its transferral to hisassociations with others. He would have peaceful, profoundly and highlyaspiring, adequate companions, or he would remain alone.
During the fourth night, just before the dawn, he saw a shimmering lightover a higher crest in the distance. For an instant it seemed to becomea finger, pointing; and then it faded. He arose, light but unfaint fromfasting, and set out for the indicated mountain. He encountered no otherperson along the way.
* * * * *
It was in the late afternoon that he arrived. It was a large andbeautiful valley, into which he slowly descended. It was thicklypopulated, and filled with a seething, a tremendous activity. Wavesof immense, ardent energy enveloped him, compound of great joy andgreat despair; heart-ravishing music, barely audible, came to him,spasmodically, on the faint breezes. And the weariness and the weaknesscame to him also, strongly, the exhaustion of his great efforts of thepast several days. He lost consciousness, and sank in a seemingly almostboneless heap to the side of the mountain.
He awoke the following morning in a small hut, secluded, in the shade ofa large tree and beside a stream. A spare old man, with a slight beardand twinkling eyes, nodded to him.
"Smells good, does it?" he asked.
It smelled very good, and it looked better when the old man brought himan ample breakfast, well prepared. He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful.
"If you don't know where you are," said the old man, "this is acommunity of artists. We don't always get along very well together," hesmiled, "but usually we're minding our own business anyway; and it'sgood to exchange ideas and insights now and then, and see each other'swork. And we co-operate too, especially on the stage productions, likeNoh plays, or Wagner, or something contemporary. I can introduce you toa young man who has written some very powerful and apt music for theAeschylean choruses.
"I'm a poet myself," he continued, "and a dramatist now and then. I'mpretty modest and easy-going, compared to most of the people here, butI have my moments, and I've done some pretty good things in my life.I'll probably show you some later on. It's a good thing for you I'm in asilent period just now: if the old touch had been on my lyre, I'd neverhave noticed you; or if I had, I'd not have attended to you. B
ut comeon, you look healthy enough: let me show you around."
He arose to dress, and the old man looked him over with frank admiration.
"You're a fine figure," he said. "And the beard does you justice: or youdo justice to the beard. You're like one of the old Biblical patriarchs.Or like my idea of them, anyway; which may be far enough from the truth."
They left the hut, and walked beside the stream into the main valley.
* * * * *
They passed an occasional distracted figure, who paid them no heed.Painters were numerous: one of them, burly and covered with paint,had ostentatiously affixed his canvas to a rock wall, and was facingaway from all the beauties of the scenery: with furious strokes he wasnearing the completion of his vivid abstraction. One sat cross-legged,quite self-contained, and with a few strokes of the brush, black