Over brown moors and mountains green the wanderer clambers, and sighs his soul to the goal that for the present stands before all others in the sky. Over the ridges he passes and surmounts the rocks and passes with light steps along the higher slopes, and then arduously battles among crag and boulder, abyss and great rock....
And the conqueror is at last ascending the final darkest, highest crag of all; only blackness is before him, and adamantine rock. All horizon is gone; there is no future but the future in his heart. Then suddenly the worst becomes the best; the darkest the brightest; the narrowest the widest; the shortest the furthest. The conqueror stands with his foot upon the mountain’s brow, and all the kingdoms of the world lie beneath him. He has risen as a sun upon his own world, the dawn whereby he sees his life has come. Now dwells he in the eternal blue of ether, and looks down with pity to the clouds below and the mists of fields and fogs of cities, to the places where those live who did not believe in their quests or in his. Now he learns the utmost limit of the meaning of human life, and he can renounce beyond knowledge in his sufficiency. In nothing more shall he ever be surprised. Life is revealed, the woman who fled is won. Now is the horizon removed to its utmost possibility—further than that grey-blue line he cannot pass. He may descend the mountain, but the horizon will narrow on—narrow in, and even though it widen out again, and although he run his life’s journey along the way, he will win no further than these, for that is the shore of life itself, on which rolls the grey sea of Death.
As he descends into the plains, happiness remains his, and the mountain vision remains in his heart. Life has been revealed; now it shall be explored. Now he shall learn in detail the mystery in each contribution of each little plot to that grand mountain harmony that flashed before his vision as he reaches his topmost peak. He shall learn in detail the meaning of those distant greys and blues. He may take what path he chooses—north or east, or south or west; one path is his and he will choose it. He may meet his old acquaintances of the road, but will have no problems for them to solve. He may see the old villages and cities, but without impatience will he dwell in them, for he has the satisfaction required.
The youth stands and gazes, and all sinks into him. Softly his eyes rest on the herds grazing in the valley, on the great highway, on church and village, on many a green and brown and golden acre lying open to the full kiss of the sky, and many a misty moor and jagged sultry headland—looks over a long grey ridge marked with steeples here and there, and beyond these, to new blues and greys and purples. He measures life; the present to the ultimate future, “the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself,” all these to the insubstantial pageant fading in the sleep of dreams.
APPENDIX
HOW TO GET ABOUT
A Chapter for Prospective Tourists
HERE seems to me to be every reason why Englishmen should visit the Caucasus and see what it is like for themselves. There is no likelihood of the place being overrun, or of ordinary pleasure-seekers invading it. The Caucasus is a preserved Alps.
I propose to write a few words on the facilities for seeing the country in the hope that they may be of use to some who think of touring there.
The fare from London to Vladikavkaz is: