The Uncrowned King | Page 2

before the sacred object of his
Pilgrimage.
At last, with earnest step, the worshiper approached the holy edifice.
But when he would have passed through the high arched door, his way
was barred by one whose garments were white even as the whiteness of
the Temple, whose eyes were clear even as the skies, and whose face
shone even as the shining Beautiful Sea.
The Pilgrim, hesitating, spoke: "You are?"
The other answered in a voice that was even as the soft wind that
stirred the leaves of the forest: "I am Thyself."
Then the Pilgrim--"And your office?"
"I am the appointed Keeper of the Temple of Truth; save by my
permission none may enter here."
Cried the Pilgrim eagerly: "But I? I may enter? Surely I have fulfilled
The Law! Surely I have paid The Price!"
"What law have you fulfilled? What price have you paid?" gently asked
he in the garments of white.

Proudly now the other answered: "I have accomplished alone the long
journey through the Desert of Facts. Alone I have endured the days
under the sky of brass; alone I have borne the awful solitude of the
nights. I was not drawn aside by the lovely scenes that tempted me. I
was not turned back by the dreadful Shapes that threatened me. And so
I have attained the Outer-Edge-Of-Things."
"You have indeed fulfilled The Law," said he of the shining face. "And
The Price?"
The Pilgrim answered sadly: "I left behind all things dearest to the heart
of man--Wealth of Traditions inherited from the Long Ago, Holy
Prejudices painfully gathered through the ages of the past, Sacred
Opinions, Customs, Favors and Honors of the World that is, in the
times that are."
"You have indeed paid The Price," said the soft voice of the other, "but
still, still there is one thing more."
"And the one thing more?" asked the Pilgrim, "I knew not that there
could be one thing more."
The Keeper of the Temple was silent for a little, then said very gently:
"Is there nothing, O Hadji, that you would ask Thyself?"
Then all at once the Pilgrim understood. Said he slowly: "There is still
one thing more. Tell me, tell me--Why? Why The Law of the
Pilgrimage? Why the journey so long? Why the way so hard? Why is
the Temple of Truth here on the Outer-Edge-Of-Things?"
And Thyself answered clearly: "He who lives always within Things can
never worship in Truth. Eyes blinded by the fog of Things cannot see
Truth. Ears deafened by the din of Things cannot hear Truth. Brains
bewildered by the whirl of Things cannot think Truth. Hearts deadened
by the weight of Things cannot feel Truth. Throats choked by the dust
of Things cannot speak Truth. Therefore, O Hadji, is the Temple of
Truth here on the Outer-Edge-Of-Things; therefore is The Law of the
Pilgrimage."

"And The Price?" asked the Pilgrim; "It was so great a price. Why?"
Thyself answered: "Found you no bones in the Desert? Found you no
graves by the way?"
The other replied: "I saw the Desert white with bones--I found the way
set among many graves."
"And the hands of the dead?"--asked Thyself, in that voice so like the
wind that stirred the leaves of the forest--"And the hands of the dead?"
And the Pilgrim answered now with understanding: "The hands of the
dead held fast to their treasures--held fast to their Wealth of Traditions,
to their Holy Prejudices, to the Sacred Opinions, Customs, Favors and
Honors of Men."
Then Thyself, the appointed Keeper of the Temple of Truth, went
quietly aside from the path. With slow and reverent step, with bowed
uncovered head, the Pilgrim crossed the threshold and through the high
arched doorway entered the sacred corridors.
But within the Temple, before approaching the altar with his offering,
the Pilgrim was constrained to retire to The Quiet Room, there to spend
the hours until a new day in prayerful meditation. It was there that this
Tale of The Uncrowned King came to him--came to him at the end of
his long pilgrimage across the Desert of Facts--came to him after he
had paid The Price, after he had fulfilled The Law, after he had asked
of Thyself, the Keeper of the Temple, "Why?"
There, in The Quiet Room in the Temple of Truth on the
Outer-Edge-Of-Things, the Voices to the Pilgrim told this Tale of The
Uncrowned King.
* * * * *
AND THE FIRST VOICE WAS THE VOICE OF THE WAVES
[Illustration: And the First Voice was the Voice of the Waves (see

king004.png)]
It was nearing the fall of day when first the Pilgrim laid himself to
meditate upon his couch in The Quiet Room.
Without the Temple, the tall trees rustled softly their glossy leaves and
over