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secret sanctuaries were opened that I and I alone might commune with
the gods； I who in the flesh and after it myself was worshipped as a
god。
Well； of this forgotten Royalty of whom little is known save what a
few inscriptions have to tell； there remains a portrait statue in the
British Museum。 Sometimes I go to look at that statue and try to
recall exactly under what circumstances I caused it to be shaped；
puzzling out the story bit by bit。
Not long ago I stood thus absorbed and did not notice that the hour of
the closing of the great gallery had come。 Still I stood and gazed and
dreamt till the policeman on duty； seeing and suspecting me； came up
and roughly ordered me to begone。
The man's tone angered me。 I laid my hand on the foot of the statue；
for it had just come back to me that it was a 〃Ka〃 image； a sacred
thing； any Egyptologist will know what I mean； which for ages had sat
in a chamber of my tomb。 Then the Ka that clings to it eternally awoke
at my touch and knew me； or so I suppose。 At least I felt myself
change。 A new strength came into me； my shape； battered in this
world's storms； put on something of its ancient dignity； my eyes grew
royal。 I looked at that man as Pharaoh may have looked at one who had
done him insult。 He saw the change and trembledyes； trembled。 I
believe he thought I was some imperial ghost that the shadows of
evening had caused him to mistake for man； at any rate he gasped out
〃I beg your pardon； I was obeying orders。 I hope your Majesty won't
hurt me。 Now I think of it I have been told that things come out of
these old statues in the night。〃
Then turning he ran； literally ran； where to I am sure I do not know；
probably to seek the fellowship of some other policeman。 In due course
I followed； and； lifting the bar at the end of the hall； departed
without further question asked。 Afterwards I was very glad to think
that I had done the man no injury。 At the moment I knew that I could
hurt him if I would； and what is more I had the desire to do so。 It
came to me； I suppose； with that breath of the past when I was so
great and absolute。 Perhaps I； or that part of me then incarnate； was
a tyrant in those days； and this is why now I must be so humble。 Fate
is turning my pride to its hammer and beating it out of me。
For thus in the long history of the soul it serves all our vices。
THE GREAT WHITE ROAD
Now； as I have hinted； under the teaching of Jorsen； who saved me from
degradation and self…murder； yes； and helped me with money until once
again I could earn a livelihood； I have acquired certain knowledge and
wisdom of a sort that are not common。 That is； Jorsen taught me the
elements of these things； he set my feet upon the path which
thenceforward； having the sight； I have been able to follow for
myself。 How I followed it does not matter； nor could I teach others if
I would。
I am no member of any mystic brotherhood； and； as I have explained； no
Mahatma； although I have called myself thus for present purposes
because the name is a convenient cloak。 I repeat that I am ignorant if
there are such people as Mahatmas； though if so I think Jorsen must be
one of them。 Still he never told me this。 What he has told is that
every individual spirit must work out its own destiny quite
independently of others。 Indeed； being rather fond of fine phrases； he
has sometimes spoken to me of； or rather； insisted upon what he called
〃the lonesome splendour of the human soul；〃 which it is our business
to perfect through various lives till I can scarcely appreciate and am
certainly unable to describe。
To tell the truth； the thought of this 〃lonesome splendour〃 to which
it seems some of us may attain； alarms me。 I have had enough of being
lonesome； and I do not ask for any particular splendour。 My only
ambitions are to find those whom I have lost； and in whatever life I
live to be of use to others。 However； as I gather that the exalted
condition to which Jorsen alludes is thousands of ages off for any of
us； and may after all mean something quite different to what it seems
to mean； the thought of it does not trouble me over much。 Meanwhile
what I seek is the vision of those I love。
Now I have this power。 Occasionally when I am in deep sleep some part
of me seems to leave my body and to be transported quite outside the
world。 It travels； as though I were already dead； to the Gates that
all who live must pass； and there takes its stand； on the Great White
Road； watching those who have been called speed by continually。 Those
upon the earth know nothing of that Road。 Blinded by their pomps and
vanities； they cannot see； they will not see it always growing towards
the feet of every one of them。 But I see and know。 Of course you who
read will say that this is but a dream of mine； and it may be。 Still；
if so； it is a very wonderful dream； and except for the change of the
passing people； or rather of those who have been people； always very
much the same。
There； straight as the way of the Spirit and broad as the breast of
Death； is the Great White Road running I know not whence； up to those
Gates that gleam like moonlight and are higher than the Alps。 There
beyond the Gates the radiant Presences move mysteriously。 Thence at
the appointed time the Voice cries and they are opened with a sound
like to that of deepest thunder； or sometimes are burned away； while
from the Glory that lies beyond flow the sweet…faced welcomers to
greet those for whom they wait； bearing the cups from which they give
to drink。 I do not know what is in the cups； whether it be a draught
of Lethe or some baptismal water of new birth； or both； but always the
thirsting； world…worn soul appears to change； and then as it were to
be lost in the Presence that gave the cup。 At least they are lost to
my sight。 I see them no more。
Why do I watch those Gates； in truth or in dream； before my time？ Oh！
You can guess。 That perchance I may behold those for whom my heart
burns with a quenchless； eating fire。 And once I beheldnot the
mother but the child； my child； changed indeed； mysterious； wonderful；
gleaming like a star； with eyes so deep that in their depths my
humanity seemed to swoon。
She came forward； she knew me； she smiled and laid her finger on her
lips。 She shook her hair about her and in it vanished as in a cloud。
Yet as she vanished a voice spoke in my heart； her voice； and the
words it said were
〃Wait； our Beloved！ Wait！〃
Mark well。 〃Our Beloved；〃 not 〃My Beloved。〃 So there are others by
whom I am beloved； or at least one other； and I know well who that one
must be。
*****
After this dream； perhaps I had better call it a dream； I was ill for
a long while； for the joy and the glory of it overpowered me and
brought me near to the death I had always sought。 But I recovered； for
my hour is not yet。 Moreover； for a long while as we reckon time； some
years indeed； I obeyed the injunction and sought the Great White Road
no more。 At length the longing grew too strong for me and I returned
thither； but never again did the vision come。 Its word was spoken； its
mission was fulfilled。 Yet from time to time I； a mortal； seem to