the mansion-第5节
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thoughtful manhooda medical missionary who had given up
a brilliant career in science to take the charge of a hospital in
darkest Africaa beautiful woman with silver hair who had
resigned her dreams of love and marriage to care for an invalid
father；
and after his death had made her life a long； steady search for
ways of
doing kindnesses to othersa poet who had walked among the
crowded
tenements of the great city； bringing cheer and comfort not only
by
his songs； but by his wise and patient works of practical aida
paralyzed
woman who had lain for thirty years upon her bed； helpless but
not hopeless； succeeding by a miracle of courage in her single
aim；
never to complain； but always to impart a bit of joy and peace to
every one who came near her。 All these； and other persons like
them；
people of little consideration in the world； but now seemingly
all full of
great contentment and an inward gladness that made their steps
light；
were in the company that passed along the road； talking together
of
things past and things to come； and singing now and then with
clear voices from which the veil of age and sorrow was lifted。
John Weightman joined in some of the songswhich were familiar
to him
from their use in the churchat first with a touch of
hesitation；
and then more confidently。 For as they went on his sense of
strangeness and fear at his new experience diminished； and his
thoughts
began to take on their habitual assurance and complacency。 Were
not these
people going to the Celestial City？ And was not he in his right
place
among them？ He had always looked forward to this journey。
If they were sure； each one； of finding a mansion there； could
not he be
far more sure？ His life had been more fruitful than theirs。
He had been a leader； a founder of new enterprises； a pillar of
Church and State； a prince of the House of Israel。 Ten talents
had been
given him； and he had made them twenty。 His reward would be
proportionate。
He was glad that his companions were going to find fit dwellings
prepared for them； but he thought also with a certain pleasure of
the surprise that some of them would feel when they saw
his appointed mansion。
So they came to the summit of the moorland and looked over into
the world beyond。 It was a vast； green plain； softly rounded
like
a shallow vase； and circled with hills of amethyst。 A broad；
shining river flowed through it； and many silver threads of water
were woven across the green； and there were borders of tall trees
on the banks of the river； and orchards full of roses abloom
along
the little streams； and in the midst of all stood the city；
white and wonderful and radiant。
When the travelers saw it they were filled with awe and joy。
They passed over the little streams and among the orchards
quickly and silently； as if they feared to speak lest the city
should vanish。
The wall of the city was very low； a child could see over it；
for it was made only of precious stones； which are never large。
The gate of the city was not like a gate a all； for it was not
barred with iron or wood； but only a single pearl； softly
gleaming；
marked the place where the wall ended and the entrance lay open。
A person stood there whose face was bright and grave； and whose
robe
was like the flower of the lily； not a woven fabric； but a living
texture。
〃Come in；〃 he said to the company of travelers； 〃you are at
your journey's end； and your mansions are ready for you。〃
John Weightman hesitated； for he was troubled by a doubt。
Suppose that he was not really； like his companions； at his
journey's end；
but only transported for a little while out of the regular course
of
his life into this mysterious experience？ Suppose that； after
all；
he had not really passed through the door of death； like these
others；
but only through the door of dreams； and was walking in a vision；
a living man among the blessed dead。 Would it be right for him
to go
with them into the heavenly city？ Would it not be a deception；
a desecration； a deep and unforgivable offense？ The strange；
confusing question had no reason in it； as he very well knew；
for if he was dreaming； then it was all a dream； but if his
companions
were real； then he also was with them in reality； and if they had
died
then he must have died too。 Yet he could not rid his mind of
the sense that there was a difference between them and him；
and it made him afraid to go on。 But； as he paused and turned；
the Keeper of the Gate looked straight and deep into his eyes；
and beckoned to him。 Then he knew that it was not only right but
necessary that he should enter。
They passed from street to street among fair and spacious
dwellings；
set in amaranthine gardens； and adorned with an infinitely varied
beauty of
divine simplicity。 The mansions differed in size； in shape； in
charm：
each one seemed to have its own personal look of loveliness；
yet all were alike in fitness to their place； in harmony with one
another；
in the addition which each made to the singular and tranquil
splendor of
the city。
As the little company came； one by one； to the mansions which
were
prepared for them； and their Guide beckoned to the happy
inhabitant
to enter in and take possession； there was a soft murmur of joy；
half wonder and half recognition； as if the new and immortal
dwelling
were crowned with the beauty of surprise； lovelier and nobler
than
all the dreams of it had been； and yet also as if it were touched
with
the beauty of the familiar； the remembered； the long…loved。
One after another the travelers were led to their own mansions；
and went in gladly； and from within； through the open doorways
came sweet voices of welcome； and low laughter； and song。
At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old
friends；
Doctor McLean and John Weightman。 They were standing in front of
one of the largest and fairest of the houses； whose garden glowed
softly
with radiant flowers。 The Guide laid his hand upon the doctor's
shoulder。
〃This is for you；〃 he said。 〃Go in； there is no more pain here；
no more death； nor sorrow； nor tears； for your old enemies are
all conquered。 But all the good that you have done for others；
all the help that you have given； all the comfort that you have
brought；
all the strength and love that you have bestowed upon the
suffering；
are here； for we have built them all into this mansion for you。〃
The good man's face was lighted with a still joy。 He clasped his
old friend's hand closely； and whispered： 〃How wonderful it is！
Go on； you will come to your mansion next； it is not far away；
and we shall see each other again soon； very soon。〃
So he went through the garden； and into the music within。
The Keeper of the Gate turned to John Weightman with level；
quiet；
searching eyes。 Then he asked； gravely：
〃Where do you wish me to lead you now？〃
〃To see my own mansion；〃 answered the man； with half…concealed
excitement。
〃Is there not one here for me？ You may not let me enter it yet；
perhaps；
for I must confess to you that I am only〃
〃I know；〃 said the Keeper of the Gate〃I know it all。
You are John Weightman。〃
〃Yes；〃 said the man； more firmly than he had spoken at first；
for it gratified him that his name was known。 〃Yes； I am John
Weightman；
Senior Warden of St。 Petronius' Church。 I wish very much to see
my mansion here； if only for a moment。 I believe that you have
one for me。
Will you take me to it？〃
The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book from the breast of his
robe
and turned over the pages。
〃Certainly；〃 he said； with a curious look at the man； 〃your name
is here；
and you shall see your mansion if you will follow me。〃
It seemed as if they must have walked miles and miles； through
the
vast city； passing street after street of houses larger and
smaller；
of gardens richer and poorer； but all full of beauty and delight。
They came into a kind of suburb； where there were many small
cottages；
with plots of flowers； very lowly； but bright and fragrant。
Finally they reached an open field； bare and lonely…looking。
There were two or three little bushes in it； without flowers；
and the grass was sparse and thin。 In the center of the field
was a tiny hut； hardly big enough for a shepherd's shelter。
It looked as if it had been built of discarded things； scraps and
fragments of other buildings； put together with care and pains；
by some one who had tried to make the most of cast…off material。
There was something pitiful and shamefaced about the hut。
It shrank and drooped and faded in its barren field； and seemed
to
cling only by suffer
