Part 14 (1/2)
”No, nothing will ever come, nothing can come....”
”Can't it?”
”No, how could it?”
”If you had the strength and courage not to give in, Marianne, there would be happiness for you in days to come.”
”But I have neither courage, Auntie, nor strength. What am I? Nothing.
There is a great, big river, which rushes and flows, carrying everything, everything with it, like a deluge. And then there is ... a tiny twig, a leaf. That's what I am, Auntie.... How can I hope to...?”
”You're talking in parables, my child. Shall I do the same?”
”Do, Auntie.”
”Come and sit here beside me. Put your head on my shoulder. There. And now listen to my parable.... There was once a soul, a very small soul, like yours, Marianne. A very small soul it was, quite an insignificant little soul. It knew nothing about anything, it seemed to be walking blindly, walking in a dream, a child's dream, light and airy and fragile. There was water and there were flowers ... and there was a far-away light, towards which it moved. As the soul went on, the flowers and the trees disappeared; and in their stead a palace and every sort of pomp and vanity gleamed in front of the small soul.... But all that glitter was just as much a dream as the water and the flowers; and the small soul ... made its second mistake. It walked blindly in that dream of pomp and vanity and thought that it _saw_ all that radiance. It gave itself away, Marianne, gave everything it had to any one who might make it s.h.i.+ne still more brilliantly ... gave away everything it possessed, for nothing ... for an illusion. And it already felt unhappy, thinking, 'There is nothing more coming; I've had everything now.' It thought that, even before its fate arrived. It saw its fate arrive and could still have avoided it, but did not, remained blind, blind to everything.
Its fate swept it along; and it thought, Marianne, that everything was over, over for good and all; that it would wither like a flower, like a twig, like a leaf; and that the river would carry it along with it. And then, Marianne, then something else came, after it had been swept along by fate: there came a great revelation, a vision of rapture, an ecstasy of glory. And the small soul saw that it was _that_; but its fate forbade it to accept that great happiness, that vision of ecstasy....
And once again it thought, 'Now, _now_, I have really had everything.
After _that_, nothing more can possibly come.' And yet something did come. And, after that revelation, it was no longer a dream, but a reality, as tangible as it could hope to be ... for such a poor small soul.... What came, Marianne, was not so very much; but the small soul does not want much: an atom, a grain of absolute truth and reality; a tiny grain, but all-sufficing.... For small souls do not need much....
Just an atom, a grain. And of that grain, Marianne, it even communicated a part ... to others. My child, that is the whole secret: to share your grain, to give, though it be but of your superfluity, to others. But, Marianne, you will have to wait for that grain; it will only come later; and, before you can possess it ... you must first go through everything ... you must pa.s.s through all that unreality, that vain dreaming....”
”And, Auntie, have you the grain?”
”Oh, child, the grain is so small, so small! So tiny, so wee, such a very little grain! But what are we ourselves? And, we being what we are, is not that little tiny grain enough?...”
”For happiness ... some day, later, much later, after long, long years?...”
”Happiness? Happiness?... Yes, the happiness of knowing, of understanding; the happiness of resignation; the happiness of accepting one's own smallness ... and of not being angry and bitter because of all the mistakes ... and of being grateful for, what is beautiful and clear and true....”
”Grateful....”
”For the great dream.... And the happiness of satisfying hunger and thirst ... with that one, solitary little grain ... and of no longer yearning for the great, great dream!”
”But yet remaining grateful....”
”Yes, grateful that the dream has been vouchsafed to us, that its radiance ever smiled upon us....”
”But, Auntie, suppose it was no dream ... but the very bread of life!”
”My child, who can tell you _now_ what is the only bread of life? Now, you are only hungry for your dream ... and, later, much later....”
”Have I hungered then ... after nothing?”
”Perhaps.”
”After nothing? Oh no!”
”Who can tell?”