Aye, full of youth and with
an adventurous and yet half-fearful heart. And in my brain was, as I have told, the knowledge that had come to me
in all the years of my life in the Redoubt; and yet until that moment,
this _Man of this Present Time_ had no knowledge of that future
existence; and now I stood and had suddenly the knowledge of a life
already spent in that strange land, and deeper within me the misty
knowings of this our present Age, and, maybe, also of some others. To the North-West I looked through the queer spy-glass, and saw a
landscape that I had looked upon and pored upon through all the years of
that life, so that I knew how to name this thing and that thing, and
give the very distances of each and every one from the "Centre-Point" of
the Pyramid, which was that which had neither length nor breadth, and
was made of polished metal in the Room of Mathematics, where I went
daily to my studies. To the North-West I looked, and in the wide field of my glass, saw plain
the bright glare of the fire from the Red Pit, shine upwards against the
underside of the vast chin of the North-West Watcher--The Watching Thing
of the North-West.... "That which hath Watched from the Beginning, and
until the opening of the Gateway of Eternity" came into my thoughts, as
I looked through the glass ... the words of Aesworpth, the _Ancient_
Poet (though incredibly _future_ to this our time). And suddenly they
seemed at fault; for I looked deep down into my being, and saw, as
dreams are seen, the sunlight and splendour of _this_ our Present Age. And I was amazed. And here I must make it clear to all that, even as I waked from _this_
Age, suddenly into _that_ life, so must I--_that_ youth there in the
embrasure--have awakened then to the knowledge of _this_ far-back life
of ours--seeming to him a vision of the very beginnings of eternity, in
the dawn of the world. Oh! I do but dread I make it not sufficient clear
that I and he were both _I_--the same soul. He of that far date seeing
vaguely the life that _was_ (that I do now live in this present Age);
and I of this time beholding the life that I yet shall live. How utterly
strange! And yet, I do not know that I speak holy truth to say that I, in that
future time, had _no_ knowledge of _this_ life and Age, before that
awakening; for I woke to find that I was one who stood apart from the
other youths, in that I had a dim knowledge--visionary, as it were, of
the past, which confounded, whilst yet it angered, those who were the
men of learning of that age; though of this matter, more anon. But this
I do know, that from that time, onwards, my knowledge and assuredness of
the Past was tenfold; for this my memory of that life told me. And so to further my telling. Yet before I pass onwards, one other thing
is there of which I shall speak--In the moment in which I waked out of
that youthfulness, into the assured awaredness of _this_ our Age, in
that moment the hunger of this my love flew to me across the ages; so
that what had been but a memory-dream, grew to the pain of _Reality_,
and I knew suddenly that I _lacked_; and from that time onwards, I went,
listening, as even now my life is spent. And so it was that I (fresh-born in that future time) hungered strangely
for My Beautiful One with all the strength of that new life, knowing
that she had been mine, and might live again, even as I. And so, as I
have said, I hungered, and found that I listened. And now, to go back from my digression, it was, as I have said, I had
amazement at perceiving, in memory, the unknowable sunshine and
splendour of this age breaking so clear through my hitherto most vague
and hazy visions; so that the ignorance of, Aesworpth was shouted to me
by the things which now I _knew_. And from that time, onward, for a little space, I was stunned with all
that I knew and guessed and felt; and all of a long while the hunger
grew for that one I had lost in the early days--she who had sung to me
in those faery days of light, that _had been_ in verity. And the
especial thoughts of that age looked back with a keen, regretful wonder
into the gulf of forgetfulness. But, presently, I turned from the haze and pain of my dream-memories,
once more to the inconceivable mystery of the Night Land, which I viewed
through the great embrasure. For on none did it ever come with weariness
to look out upon all the hideous mysteries; so that old and young
watched, from early years to death, the black monstrosity of the Night
Land, which this our last refuge of humanity held at bay. To the right of the Red Pit there lay a long, sinuous glare, which I
knew as the Vale of Red Fire, and beyond that for many dreary miles the
blackness of the Night Land; across which came the coldness of the light
from the Plain of Blue Fire. And then, on the very borders of the Unknown Lands, there lay a range of
low volcanoes, which lit up, far away in the outer darkness, the Black
Hills, where shone the Seven Lights, which neither twinkled nor moved
nor faltered through Eternity; and of which even the great spy-glass
could make no understanding; nor had any adventurer from the Pyramid
ever come back to tell us aught of them. And here let me say, that down
in the Great Library of the Redoubt, were the histories of all those,
with their discoveries, who had ventured out into the monstrousness of
the Night Land, risking not the life only, but the spirit of life. And surely it is all so strange and wonderful to set out, that I could
almost despair with the contemplation of that which I must achieve; for
there is so much to tell, and so few words given to man by which he may
make clear that which lies beyond the sight and the present and general
knowings of Peoples. How shall you ever know, as I know in verity, of the greatness and
reality and terror of the thing that I would tell plain to all; for we,
with our puny span of recorded life must have great histories to tell,
but the few bare details we know concerning years that are but a few
thousands in all; and I must set out to you in the short pages of this
my life there, a sufficiency of the life that had been, and the life
that was, both within and without that mighty Pyramid, to make clear to
those who may read, the truth of that which I would tell; and the
histories of that great Redoubt dealt not with odd thousands of years;
but with very millions; aye, away back into what they of that Age
conceived to be the early days of the earth, when the sun, maybe, still
gloomed dully in the night sky of the world. But of all that went
before, nothing, save as myths, and matters to be taken most cautiously,
and believed not by men of sanity and proved wisdom. And I, ...how shall I make all this clear to you who may read? The thing
cannot be; and yet I must tell my history; for to be silent before so
much wonder would be to suffer of too full a heart; and I must even ease
my spirit by this my struggle to tell to all how it was with me, and how
it will be.