It is many years after the triumphant2 return of the Amazons and the Horseshoe Brotherhood3 from the battles in Asia. Avanel and I are walking again along the Great Northwest Road, and we reach the Old Camp Lincoln grounds where the Horseshoe Brotherhood and the Amazons so often drill. But this evening it is deserted4, with neither tent nor horse nor rider to be seen. It is autumn and leaves whirl between me and the Lady Avanel and too often hide her from me. Many leaders of various sects5 of the city are moving 319about or assembled. It has always been the holy region of the city, near the Gardens of the Flower Religions and the Grave of Lincoln and of Hunter Kelly.
Avanel and I are in the spirit on this evening. We walk, as though upon carpets of glory, and we hear from the black lips of the humble6 earth the cry: “Springfield Awake, Springfield Aflame.”
The old giant toy globe, that used to be in the center of this field, is long gone. And where it stood, there has come up, since The Golden Book appeared, a great Apple-Amaranth Vine, coming as it were, like Jack’s beanstalk, suddenly.
It is autumn and the whole air is fragrant7 with the honey of the fruit of this Apple-Amaranth, and bees are busy with the rich fruit.
Every highest, furtherest bud that opens day after tomorrow, or in a thousand years, will flash with a spark and a flame, that has climbed up hundreds and thousands of miles from the roots that touch all the gardens of our city, up the old streets of Heaven, where this vine blooms today.
In the twinkling of an eye, while the star chimes of Springfield are ringing new tunes8, from the dimmest stars of the blue, from east, 320west, north and south, magic boats sweep down to the Amazonian field.
It is happiness to be even the oldest of the prophets, who wait exhausted9, after ages of service, praying and dreaming, stretched out on the decks of their swift boats, consumed with beautiful sorrow and hope. The honey of each different Amaranth, growing through the stars, has burnt all the strength of their bodies away, yet it gives to them stronger courage, hour by hour. When it touches their lips, all else is vanity. It is the live coal from the altar and is their new Heaven.
The boats are now above the field, and some of them have rested near the earth, and some of the prophets are standing10 round the tree. Among them is that wild ancient man Isaiah. He gathers the whole company of Springfield people who are there on the edges of the field. Then there join, from the invisible world, many of the long dead Saints of Springfield and many saints from other capitals of this land.
Isaiah speaks to us in words, such as he spoke11 to the Jews, when the earthly Jerusalem had fallen, but they are words that shall ever be new till the last millennium12 is achieved. He stretches forth13 his hand and blesses our kneeling company and, with the 321honey of this new Amaranth Flower still burning on his lips, like visible fire, he cries in a loud voice his old prophecies of the coming of the restored and redeemed14 Zion.
Avanel and I are now in our ship above the town, and looking down on the sea of dim fleets. Avanel whispers: “There are prophets in those boats from all the hermit15 caves and all the shrines16 in the moon and all the planets and all the suns. There are prophets that once walked the innermost streets of the far jungles of Heaven.
“Yet the song that comes up from that sea and shakes our sails is: ‘Springfield Awake, Springfield Aflame,’ because the song and heart and blood of any prophet are for the city that will receive them.”
The boats are ranged in three great circles beneath us round the new Amaranth Vine. These ride on invisible sea-levels. They are not air ships with modern wings and propellers17, but boats of the ancient type, such as were used by Hiram, King of Tyre, when he brought the wood to build the temple of Solomon, such as St. Peter used on Lake Galilee, such as bore St. Paul to the ends of the world.
While the star chimes of the city ring new tunes, the weird18 sailors below us pour down a crimson19 wine from the sides of the boats, 322that mixes with the autumn leaves of the Amaranth Vine that swirl20 now between us and the whole towered city below. The wine and the leaves turn to crimson mist and crimson storm, filling the city canyons21 with rolling rivers of storm to the top of the Sunset Towers.
The boats rise, sailing as though travelling of their own knowledge. Even those that are empty and have no prophet sailors in them are up and away. Some of them seem like exhalations from the perfume and gleam of the gigantic vine or from the light and mist of the city below. And so out to the stars scatter22 all these purposeful ships, some empty, some with prophet crews, and every boat has blazing at its masthead the red and white star of Springfield and Illinois.
And the song goes up with them to the stars: “Springfield Awake, Springfield Aflame.” Avanel says, “That song comes because the song and heart and blood of the proudest prophets from the proudest suns, are for the city that will receive them.”
We let our ship blow and drift as it will. But it sweeps up and up, with the swiftness of light. In less time than it takes a flower to open, we are carried to the parapets of ancient Heaven. We find our great-leaved, heavy-fruited 323Amaranth Vine, climbing up over the closed gates and high wall-towers of Heaven and winding23 a long way into the old forest that has overgrown the streets. We find the new all conquering Springfield vine, spreading branches through the forest like a banyan tree.
As this Amaranth from our little earthly village grows thicker, we see by its light a bit of what the ancient Heaven has been. And it is still a solid place of soil and rock and metal. Where the Springfield Amaranth blooms thickest, shedding luminous24 glory from the petals25 in the starlight, this Heaven is shown to be an autumn forest, yet with the cedars26 of Lebanon, and sandalwood thickets27, and the million tropic trees whose seeds have blown here from strange zones of the planets, and whose patterns are not the patterns of those of our world. Among these, vine-clad pillars and walls are still standing, roofed palaces, so gigantic that, when our boat glides28 down the great streets between them, they overhang our masts.
And from branches above us these strange manners of fruits tumble upon our decks for our feasting and delight. And there are beneath our ship, as it sails on as it will, little 324fields long cleared in the forest, where grows weedy ungathered grain.
Through hours and hours of the night our boat goes on, whether we will or no, through starlight and through storm-clouds and through flower-light. And the red star at the masthead and the sight of the proud face of Avanel keeps laughter in my bosom29, and the heavenly breeze that blows on the flowers still sings to our hearts: “Springfield Awake, Springfield Aflame.”
Out of the storm now, three great rocks appear, giving forth white light there on the far horizon, and this light burns on and on. At last our ship approaches. We see the great rocks are three empty thrones.
These are the thrones of the Trinity, empty for these many years, just as the Ark of the Covenant30 and the Holy of Holies were bereft31 of the Presence, when Israel sinned.
And now we are near, and see that the light that hangs round these mountain thrones is because of the vines of gigantic Amaranths, of strange design and of many colors, that bloom upon them. These vines have journeyed up through the ether and great spaces from many cities and many stars.
Our boat sweeps to the side of the thrones, and we look down on what was once the 325crystal sea, a wild green water now, with great fleets of idle boats, moored32 by its marshy33 banks, the boats of dead prophets and angels who lie turned to stone on their strange and beautiful decks. “These are the souls who sinned by refusing to enlist34 in the crusade against world wars,” or, at least, so Avanel tells me from her heart.
And this is all her dream, none of it mine, and without her all this is nothing.
There are boats of the older days, galleons35 of rotted magnificence, wrecked36 and high and dry upon the sand bars, and the skeletons and driftwood of boats are scattered37 in the marshes38 by long forgotten storms and cyclones39.
We disembark and tread our perilous40 way among these strange appearances. Sometimes they are as seemingly material as earth. Sometimes we are but walking on the dust of nebulae.
Then we walk into the vine-clad forest that covers the pass between the nearest throne mountains, where broken steps are still to be found in the moss41, and whisper to us to follow. There are many butterflies and bees that have taken too much of the blood of the fruit of the Amaranth Flower and are fallen down and some of them dead.
326The stair leads us up and through a dark pass and down into a deeper twilight42. And the stair, slowly descending43, whispers to us: “Follow.” And thus we go, into the most abysmal44 and curious of valleys, whence, perhaps, ages ago, many spirits fled affrighted because of the loneliness.
We walk amid rich ruins, miles and miles of vaulted45 halls, deep sheltered recesses46, heaped with the purple dust of dead tapestries47, mouldering48 porticos shaken by the wind. Avanel, fearing not, follows the steps that still call: “Follow, follow.” She is eating of the Amaranth that still blooms and bears fruit, eating the fruit from many stars, breathing strange perfume, humming her old songs and new songs, with heart aflame, a dauntless prophetess, prodigal49 and guide.
But now even her spirit is weary and her soul has earth thoughts again, as we wander through the echoing throne rooms. She tries in vain to laugh in the desolate50 halls. In a fever and a fret51 and in unutterable, earthly weariness, we shuffle52 amid heaps of old shields of blackened silver, amid helmets of brass53 and iron, amid ivory chariots and rotted harps54 and broken crowns and swords of rusted55 gold. And then we see a campfire we know and smell the familiar fragrance56 of 327pine wood and, in the crossing of two tremendous grass grown streets, we find him we found, first in a dream in springtime, and then at midsummer midnight of a far off June at Fifth and Monroe. The Handsome Medicine Man, Devil’s Gold, is saying to us, as though resuming a conversation in which he had quite the best of us a moment ago:
“After all, people are ranked in Springfield according to their money. People with six thousand dollars apiece a year are considered decent and no questions are asked. People with a million in buried gold or alcohol are on a level of righteousness with the world saints, who are, of course, admitted to their class by generous dispensation. Heaven may be a jungle but nothing will ever alter this great law,” and the handsome jester, Devil’s Gold, is shaking his bead-covered rattle57, making medicine and calling us by name. We are so tired from our long walk that we cannot but admire his gilded58 face and his yellow magic blanket. And, holding each other’s hands like lovers, we stoop and admire ourselves in the golden pool that flickers59 in the great campfire he has impudently60 built at the crossing of two streets in Heaven.
But we do not step into the pool as before-time. Our boat is beside us, it has overtaken 328us like some faithful tame giant swan, and Avanel whispers: “Take us where The Golden Book was written.” And thus we are up and away. The boat carries us deeper, down the valley. We find the cell of Hunter Kelly,—St. Scribe of the Shrines. Only his handiwork remains61 to testify of him. Upon the walls of his cell he has painted many an illumination he afterward62 painted on The Golden Book margins63 and, in a loose pile of old torn and unbound pages, the first draft of many a familiar text is to be found. His dried paint jars are there and his ink and on the wall hangs the empty leather sack of Johnny Appleseed, from which came the first sowing of all the Amaranths of our little city, and the Amaranth that led us here.
And Avanel whispers:—“I ask my heart:—Where is Hunter Kelly, and my heart speaks to me as though commanded: ‘The Hunter is again pioneering for our little city in the little earth. He is reborn as the humblest acolyte64 of the Cathedral, a child that sings tonight with the star chimes, a red-cheeked boy, who shoes horses at the old forge of the Iron Gentleman. Let us also return’.”
It is eight o’clock in the evening, at Fifth and Monroe. It is Saturday night, and the 329crowd is pouring toward The Majestic65, and Chatterton’s, and The Vaudette, and The Princess and The Gaiety.
It is a lovely, starry66 evening, in the spring. The newsboys are bawling67 away, and I buy an Illinois State Register. It is dated March 1, 1920.
Avanel of Springfield is one hundred years away.
The Register has much news of a passing nature. I am the most interested in the weather report, that tomorrow will be fair.
Written in Washington Park Pavilion, Springfield, Illinois.
The End
The End
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1
banyan
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| n.菩提树，榕树 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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6
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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8
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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11
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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14
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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15
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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17
propellers
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器( propeller的名词复数 ) | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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21
canyons
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| n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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24
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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25
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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26
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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27
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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28
glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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29
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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31
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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32
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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galleons
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| n.大型帆船( galleon的名词复数 ) | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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38
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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39
cyclones
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| n.气旋( cyclone的名词复数 )；旋风；飓风；暴风 | |
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40
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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41
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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42
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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43
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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44
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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45
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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46
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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47
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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49
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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50
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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51
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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52
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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53
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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54
harps
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| abbr.harpsichord 拨弦古钢琴n.竖琴( harp的名词复数 ) | |
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55
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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57
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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58
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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59
flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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60
impudently
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61
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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62
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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63
margins
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| 边( margin的名词复数 )； 利润； 页边空白； 差数 | |
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64
acolyte
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| n.助手，侍僧 | |
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65
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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66
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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67
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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