On Walking in Black Darkness

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12406, 27 March 1926, Page 12

On Walking in Black Darkness

Those who live in cities rarely realise how black darkness can be. Even on a lonely suburban road there are lamps at intervals. BuT darkness in remote country places, wllere there are no lamps; on a night when there is no moon, no stars, and mists are rising from water-logged meadows; the darkness can then almost be felt.

Such a walk was mine last week (writes J. Lewis Hind in the “Chronicle”), and I should have been scared bad I not fixed my mind—Agoing, on a Poem; returning, on a Legend. -T It was a prosaic walk, one I have often taken m daylight, merely to the village post office, through twisty lanes; but I lost my way, and stumbled here and thege. Everything seemed shrouded with a pall; and I should have often gone astray had not the camber of the road retained a pale, winding whiteness, and had not I passed a cottage with a lighted, window-. I wanted to knock and say, “Please reassure me that man is still inhabiting this planet.” - Once I stumbled into the hedge at the approach of a brillaintly-lamped motor-car, apd all the road was momentarily illuminated. Then all became black again—deep darkness. It seemed as if X was alone in the night. Presently a cyclist went by withotii a light—reprehensible risk. Again I Bought the and while I was extricating myself, aware of a bootful of water, there was a horrid screech from some unhappy night bird—a prolonged screech. Then it was that I felt scared, for the post office was still far ahead in the shapeless darkness; then it was that I pulled myself together and etr.ed my silly fear by repeating the Poem. : It wns by the Qnaker-post Whittier. The poem was “The Eternal Goodness,” twenty-two stanzas; but I repeated two only. ' Th'Jy produced an abiding Comfort. In this, the last month of the year, the realisation of that poem seemed curiously the last lap in my journeyings with Whittier. They began last spring when I wrote of him as a supreme Second Best Poet, and quoted parts of his “At Last,” written in 1832, and recited by the little group bf relations who stood by his bedside as the end approached in 1892. 1 also referred to his poem about the “frondcd paints” and—it happens so—since then I have had many applications foj their exact text. So to ease my mind 1 bought “The Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier” (Oxford • Un'-rer city Press), nearly 600 pages and I came to “Poems: Subjective and Religious,” and there I found the three that have brought consolation to - so many: “My Psalm,” “At Last,” and “The Eternal Goodness.” It was “The Eternal Goodness” that eased me. How quietening, how refreshing to dwell on the .absolute faith, the absolute trust of these two stanzas;—

I long for household voices gone, For vanished smiles I long, But God hath led my dear ones on, And He can; do no wrong. 1 know not where His islands lift Their fronded-palms in an; 1 only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care. Through the darkness I went on my way rejoicing, and gaily struck matches to find the orifice of the village post office. On the walk hon^e —at the beginning it seemed darker and lonelier "than over— l ! diverted apprehension by recalling the Legend. It was in my mind because that morifTng I had been looking through a . little Christmas, play that I wrote a few years ■'ago' round the Legend. It is an old Volga legend. Balzac used it in his story “Clirist m Flanders.” Tolstoy amplified it in “The Three Hermits”: Frank Harris, re-told the Tolstoy tale, and told it hottei, in “The Holy Man.” The Legend recalls how a young, ardent Bishop df the Greek Church sets out from the hanks of the Volga to visit his diocese by the shores ofthe Caspian Sea. After three months of arduous travelling he bears of a remote settlement hidden in the mountains, unknown, unvisited by living man. The Bishop insists on visiting the settlement—-a difficult journey. He finds there a Bmall community, loving Dno another, living, on the soil, looked after by . the Holy Man, their chosen thief. The Bishop learns to his astonishment that they have never even heard of the words—-Christian, Church ■and Priest. He tells them the story of Jesus and he recites the Lord’s Prayer. The Holy Man'is much impressed by its beauty and is sad when the Bishop must depart. “I will send you a priest,” says the Bishop, afeetionntely. The Holy Man rejoices. Next morning at dawn, when tho ship is about to weigh anchor, a strange thing— indeed, a miracle happens. The Holy Man is seen walking with a lantern, on the water towards the ship. The crew fall upon their knees in terror.- The Holy Man climbs Over the bulwarks and explains timidly that he has forgotten a passage in the beautiful Lord’s Prayer. “But,” asks the amazed Bishop, “how did you walk on the water?” “Oh, that’s quite .easy,” replies the Holy Man. “If ypu love things very mnch you can do what yriu like with them. We all love the water.”

Says the Bishop: “My friend, it is not necessary to send you a Priest.”

I nrrived home in darkness, yet in light illuminated by a Poem and a Legend.

John Masefield’s novel in the vein of “Sard Harker,” entitled “Odtaa; or Change for Threepence,” is to lie published shortly. A now novel by Mr Horace Aunesley Vacliell. entitled, “After Much Tribulation,” is announced bv Hutchinson. Tbe "English men of Letters” series, begun in 1878, is being resumed. Macmillan's nnnounce the following volumes, either published or arranged for:—. "Herman Melville.” by John Freeman; “George Meredith,” bv J. B. Priestley; "Swinburne.” by Harold Nieolson; "Walt Whitman,” by John Bailey; "Blake." by Osbert Burdett; "Conrad,” liy E. Ellis Roberts: "Donne," by Geoffrey Scott; "Poe,” bv Edward Shanks; "R. L Stevenson.” by Robert Lvnd; "Francis Thompson.” by J. C. Seuire; "Anthony Trollope,” by' Hugh Walpole. Margaret Kennedy has finished a new novel, “The Ash Grove.”