road became white, very
white. It was like the linen at Holy Communion. To the right and left
hidden springs tinkled like pious bells. And the angel said:

"Do you recognize this part of your life?"

"This is the day of my first communion," answered the poet. "I
remember the church and the happy faces of my mother and grandmother.
I was happy and sad at the same time. With what fervor I knelt!
Thrills ran through my hair. That evening at family supper they kissed
me and said: 'He was the most beautiful.'"

And in recalling this the poet burst into sobs. And as he wept he
became as beautiful as on the day of the blessed ceremony. His tears
flowed through his hands like holy water.

And they went on along the road.

The day waned a little. The supple poplars swayed gently along the
ditches. At a distance one of them in the center of a field looked
like a tall young girl. The sky tinted it so delicately that it was
pale and blue like the temple of a virgin.

And the poet dreamed of the first woman he had loved.

And his guardian-angel said to him:

"This love was so pure and so sad that it did not offend me."

And as they walked along, the shade was sweet. Lambs passed by. And
seeing the sadness of the poet the divine spirit had on his lips a
smile, grave and gentle like that of a dying mother. And the trembling
of his golden wings pursued the whispers of the evening.

* * * * *

Soon the stars were lighted in the silence.

And the sky resembled a father's bed surrounded by wax tapers and dumb
sorrows. And the night seemed like a great widow kneeling upon the
earth.

"Do you recognize this?" asked the angel.

The poet made no answer but knelt down.

* * * * *

Finally they reached the end of the road near the small quiet grave
overgrown with brambles, nettles, and soapwort.

And the angel said to the poet:

"I wished to show you your way. Here you will sleep, not far from the
waters. Every day they will bring you the image of your memories:
the azure of the kingfisher like your mother's eyes, the down of the
turtle-dove like her sweetness, the echo of the leaves like the grave
calm voice of your father, the reflected brightness of the road white
as your first communion, and the form of your beloved supple as a
poplar.

"At last the waters will bring you the great luminous Night."

INTELLIGENCE

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