AN ALLEGORY

BY

EVELYN R. GARRATT,

AUTHOR OF "The Cry," "The Old Square Pew," "Meg of the Heather," etc.

WITH PREFACE

BY THE

REV. PREBENDARY FOX.

Third Edition (Second Impression).

Tenth Thousand.

IPSWICH: SMITHS, PUBLISHERS, SUITALL.

LONDON: SIMPKIN MARSHALL, AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.

1924.

(Copyright.)

THE RADIANT CITY.

First Edition, Nov. 3, 1911, First Thousand.

Second Edition, Aug. 1, 1913, Third Thousand.

Third Edition, 2/-, May 2, 1922, Fifth Thousand.

Fourth Edition, Edition de Luxe, 2/6, Jan. 21, 1923.

Third Edition (Second Impression), 2/-, Sept. 20, 1924, Tenth Thousand.

Fifth Edition, Illustrated, 3/-, Oct. 1, 1924.

SMITHS,

PRINTERS, BOOKBINDERS, AND PUBLISHERS.

SUITALL, IPSWICH.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

Though the following pages, at the first glance, naturally recall the famous allegory, which after two and a half centuries is still a world-wide classic, the reader will at once perceive an originality of treatment and an adaptation to modern conditions which give Miss Garratt's book a character and usefulness of its own. The writer shows an intelligent perception of the spiritual dangers in the present day, and describes how they may be met by the same weapons as those which gave the victory so often to Christian and Faithful. The characters are drawn with skill, and the dangers which befall the travellers on their way to the Radiant City, are those which probably the conscience of every reader will recognize. An important and valuable feature is the constant reference to the "Guide Book." It has just the teaching to be put into the hands of young people entering life, and yet has ample lessons for their elders.

H. E. Fox.

"It shone with a radiance like that of a very precious

stone, such as Jasper, bright and transparent."

—Rev. xxi. II. (Weymouth Version).

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. THE BANQUET

CHAPTER II. THE VOICE

CHAPTER III. THE KING'S MARK

CHAPTER IV. DONNING THE ARMOUR

CHAPTER V. ENEMIES OF THE ROAD

CHAPTER VI. THE BATTLE OF THE BOOK

CHAPTER VII. THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT

CHAPTER VIII. STRAYING FROM THE PATH

CHAPTER IX. A FIERCE CONFLICT

CHAPTER X. THE PASSING OF HEMAN

CHAPTER XI. THE DARK FOREST

CHAPTER XII. DANGEROUS HEIGHTS

CHAPTER XIII. THE CROSS IN THE VALLEY

CHAPTER XIV. THE LAND OF INDIFFERENCE

CHAPTER XV. THE SINGERS

CHAPTER XVI. THE BRINK OF THE RIVER

CHAPTER XVII. "TILL HE COME"

CHAPTER I.

THE BANQUET

Darkness had settled down upon the town of Punon.* The streets, which were crowded with men and women, were only lit by unsatisfactory lamps, which made the darkness more visible, and cast gloomy shadows on every side. The sound of revelry which issued from open doors was in strange contrast with the sad gloomy faces of many of the passers-by.

Some looked hopeless and dreary, as if no gleam of sunshine had ever penetrated their souls; others wore an expression of deep despair, which did not change even when the passers-by looked at them with amusement, flinging a derisive laugh after them as they twitted them with their misery. For among the many were those who did not seem conscious of the gloom, or were indifferent to it, and these went by gaily chatting, intent on their business or pleasure.

A sound of music and revelry issued from the window of a large building in one of the principal streets, and through the open door could be seen a number of people seated around a table laden with luxuries of all kinds, and gleaming with silver and glass.

At its head sat a young man whose expression of face did not exactly harmonize with his gay surroundings, or with the words that fell from his lips, for the words were full of mirth and jollity, and caused hilarious laughter from the assembled guests, among whom he was evidently a favourite. There was an amount of daring in his conversation that made the elders occasionally shake their heads as if only half approving of what they heard, but which caused cheers of approbation from the younger members of the community.

"Amer is not improving," said one of the guests in a low voice to his neighbour, "and now that he is on his way to make such a fortune no doubt he will grow more arrogant than he is already."

"Nevertheless, he is a nice fellow, and a great favourite," answered the one addressed, "and he has a generous hand so that he will share his fortune with his friends. There is something taking about the lad."

"I don't understand him," said the first speaker, "his face belies his words, from his conversation you would think him the happiest man alive, but his eyes tell a different tale."

His friend sighed heavily.

"Is there truly a happy man in this dark place?" he asked sadly, "to my mind all is vanity and vexation of spirit."

"Away with pessimism," cried the other, "look! our host demands silence while he delivers himself of the speech which if I mistake not he has been preparing for the occasion ever since he came of age. Hark! what is he saying?"

But the lad's first words were drowned by the prolonged cheers and clanging of the glasses of his guests, and he had to wait patiently for a hearing. And when at last the speech was made it was disappointing to some who had expected greater things from the speaker. He was evidently not in good form, for he paused again and again with a far away look in his eyes as if he heard some voice calling him, and had difficulty in concentrating his attention. As he closed however with a joke amid the cheers of his companions, there was suddenly a dead silence, as across the street came the loud and piercing sound of a trumpet.

"It is the herald again," someone exclaimed.

"Aye, It is the herald! He won't leave us alone, what do we want with him here?" grumbled another.

"He's enough to throw a gloom over the merriest feast," cried a third.

"Right you are. I could not sleep the other night for thinking of his prophecies about Punon. All are doomed to death who stay here," said the first speaker.

"We need not believe every fool who prates," cried Amer, "come and let's hear the man again and get some fun by questioning him as to the truth of his words."

"'Why, Amer, I began to think you half believed in him," laughed one of his companions as a stir began and a hasty exit was made from the house.

The herald was standing in the market-place.

"Come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord," he cried.

Amer found his way to the front of the crowd in the masterful manner that was natural to him, his satellites surrounding him on every side.

And then began a volley of mocking questions and raillery, led by Amer and his companions, and aided by the lighter spirits among those present. Some of the questions the herald answered quietly and patiently, others he answered not at all, but stood and looked at the young men with sorrow and deep compassion written across his face. At last seeing that the people were demoralized by this band of intruders, he turned quietly away, saying in a solemn voice that rang loud and clear above the noise of the crowd—

"Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

Slowly the crowd broke up, and Amer's friends parted from him with laughter and congratulations as to the success of his banquet, leaving him at last to find his way home alone.

"Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

The words rang in the lad's head. The feast, his companions, the fun, all forgotten: the words, together with the gentle sternness of the face of the herald, alone filling his mind.

"Ah!" he cried, "It is the Voice again. I hoped it was stifled! I will not listen."

But the words would not leave him alone.

Amer had heard them the day before, from the lips of the herald, who had looked him straight in the face with his penetrating eyes, and they had cast a strange kind of spell over him. He had hoped that his coming of age feast would have dispelled the remembrance of them, but even in the middle of the speech, with which he had taken such pains, the Voice had been heard, causing him to stammer and forget what he had intended to say.

The Voice was insistent, compelling.

Suddenly a sweet vision met his eyes.

At the gate of a house he was passing stood a young girl dressed in white, who, at the sight of him, ran forward with outstretched hands.

"Amer," she cried, "have you had a happy day, has the feast gone off well?"

For the moment, at the touch of her hands and the sight of her sweet eyes, even the Voice was forgotten, and Amer eagerly told her of the delight of his companions and of the nice words they had said to him, but in answering her eager questions as to his speech, he paused in slight confusion.

"No," he said, "I did not excel as I had hoped. It was lame and I was hesitating."

"But why?" cried Gabrielle, "when you rehearsed it to me you never paused for a word; how was it, Amer?"

"I will tell you some day," he answered, "perhaps to-morrow."

He had an instinctive feeling that Gabrielle would not understand him or sympathize with his strange thoughts.

Gabrielle pouted, but his refusal was soon forgotten and they walked towards the house hand in hand.

Her eyes shone as stars in the gloom and her smile was better than sunshine to the lad who loved her with his whole soul. So happy was he in her presence that the sad forebodings that had interfered even with the joy of his feast were forgotten. They talked of the doings of the day; of to-morrow, when he was to be made partner in a great business transaction which promised an immense return; of the possibility of soon being able to fix upon the day which was to crown their love and to make them man and wife; and at last, with a joyful wave of the hand, he parted from her, crying—

"To-morrow, Gabrielle, we will meet again, to-morrow."

But no sooner had he left her to make his way towards his own home than his gay spirits departed, and the sound of the Voice seemed to thunder in his ear—

"Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

Suddenly Amer turned round and making his way back towards the market-place, he enquired where he could find the herald.

CHAPTER II.

THE VOICE.

"The boy is mad," cried Anthony Hershall, bringing down his fist with an angry movement on to his knee, "the herald has turned his head."

"What is it?" asked his wife anxiously, as she looked up at her husband, who had just come in from his ride and had sat down heavily on the large chair by the fire.

"What is it?" he repeated fiercely, "why he refuses to have anything to do with the business I have bought for him, and declares he must start at once for the Radiant City. Radiant City, indeed! Why everyone knows that the herald is no true prophet; there is no such place. Belief in it has long ago vanished."

"It is only a passing fancy of the boy's," said his wife, "he said something to me about it last night, but I made little of it, and told him to get rid of the nonsense as soon as he could. He won't be driven, Anthony; we can only persuade him. It has been so with him ever since he was a child; the boy will not be talked out of it."

"Aye, he was always a stubborn lad and went his own way; but this is passing all bounds, after the trouble I have taken to set him up in life, and with the prospect of making a large fortune."

"Has he scruples about the business, then?"

"Scruples? He says he will have nothing to do with it; that he would be getting rich at the expense of other men's souls, or some such nonsense. Besides which he is starting out at once for the Radiant City."

"He won't do that," said his wife, smiling, "he won't leave Gabrielle, and certainly Gabrielle is not one to go on that mad journey with him. She is too fond of Punon. Do not fear, Anthony. The boy is devoted heart and soul to Gabrielle, and nothing would induce him to give her up."

"Mark my word, she will go with him. A woman is easily persuaded by the man she loves."

"Gabrielle is much too fond of her comforts and luxuries to give them up even for Amer. She loves herself better than him; I have noticed this in a hundred ways. No, she will never start on that long and hazardous journey, and if the boy does he will have to go without her. It will be hard for him, poor lad, if he keeps to his resolution, but he won't."

Half comforted, her husband rose up, determined to seek his son once more and to bring before him all the strongest arguments he could think of to turn his mind before it was too late.

His wife let her work drop on to her knee after he had left the room, and her eyes peered out into the twilight with a somewhat mournful expression in them.

So Amer, poor boy, was going through all the agony of mind that had once been hers. Once, long, long ago, she herself had heard the Voice. The remembrance of strange longings, strange fears, began to haunt her soul. She had believed in the Radiant City in those days, and had more than once made up her mind to journey towards it, but something had always come in the way to induce her to put off the decision; some important engagement in the town which she felt she could not give up; some friend who had influenced her to postpone thinking about it for at least a month or two; some occupation which she could not forsake even for the Radiant City; and finally her husband had come across her path, and the thought of him, her love for him, had at first put the subject out of her mind, and when after a while she mentioned to him that she had thought of setting out for the Radiant City before her marriage, he laughed at her, telling her that great and wise people had come to the conclusion that there was no such place, and that those who set out for

it were only following a mirage and would be disappointed at last. Was this true? Was there no Radiant City? Was the City of Punon the only reality? Or was Amer right and her husband wrong?

"Mother," said a voice by her side, "has my father told you of my decision?"

"Yes, dear lad," she answered, "but I am not going to think about it, it cannot be. You could not give up all your bright prospects, specially after the pains your father has taken to secure them for you."

"But I have heard the Voice, Mother, and I must obey."

"I heard the Voice once, Amer, and almost made up my mind to set out on the journey myself. But had I done so I should have lost a great deal that makes life delightful to me, and I should have had to start out alone. So will you my boy. Gabrielle will not go with you. You will have to leave her behind."

A spasm of pain crossed the boy's face.

"You do not know that, Mother," he said, "I have hopes of Gabrielle."

"I have none," answered his Mother quietly.

"She loves me," said Amer, "and I know I have influence with her. I believe she will set out on the journey with me."

"I think not," said his Mother.

Amer answered nothing, for so much did he believe in his love for the girl and in her love for him that he felt it would be easy work for him to persuade her.

"Mother," he said, turning the subject, "do you never long for the sunshine? Punon is dark. I have only noticed it since the herald came and pointed it out to me. How few people there are with sunlight on their faces. I do not know one. And are you not afraid to disobey the Voice as it is the Voice of the Great King of the Radiant City?"

"I used to be afraid," answered his Mother, "and used to long passionately for light and sunshine. But all those longings have fled. I never think of them now. And besides, do you not know that a very large number of our cleverest men have given out the fact that there is no Radiant City and no Great King of the Radiant City? They seem to say that it is only very simple souls that trouble about such things. Amer," she said earnestly, "don't let your Mother have the grow of having it said that her son is a simple, unlike other young men of his age. I have always thought of you with such pride. There is not another Mother that I know who has a son to be more proud of than I. You are the most popular young man in this part of Punon, but once decide to start on that long journey and your popularity will be gone. Men will talk of you with a laugh and a shrug of the shoulder. You will be treated as mad. Think of your Mother, my boy."

"Dear Mother," said the boy sadly, "you will break my heart, but even you cannot make me forget the Voice. I am hearing it continually, and I must obey; besides, I have had such an account given me of the King, that I cannot rest till I am on my journey towards Him. He is the one I have been looking for for years, and Who alone can satisfy the longings of my heart. I am taking Him as my King to-day and I am starting out on my journey to-day. Mother, won't you listen to the Voice and come with me?"

"You dare to break my heart?" said his Mother sternly, "you reward your father's labour for you in getting you this good post in this way?"

"My King must come first," answered the boy, sorrowfully but firmly.

"I think you will find that Gabrielle comes first," was his mother's answer.

"I will go and seek Gabrielle," said Amer. He found her in the honey-suckle arbour of her father's garden. She did not receive him with the same sweet smile as usual: Amer felt instinctively that already the thought of the Radiant City lay between them and estranged them.

"Gabrielle," he said. She moved slightly away from him.

"I have heard strange things about you," she said coldly, "you refuse to take up the post which your father has found for you. Your love for me cannot be so great as you have led me to suppose. My father will not allow me to have anything to do with a man who cannot support his wife."

"You have heard then that I am setting out for the Radiant City?" he questioned.

"I have heard some such nonsense," she answered, turning away her face from his steady gaze, "but you will have to chose between the Radiant City and me, for I will not have a husband who is the laughing stock of everyone, you are mad to give up this post."

"You will have a husband who is more worth having," he answered, "and you will come with me."

The idea was so amusing to the girl that she turned round and laughed at him.

"The journey would not suit me," she said, "neither would the company," and she threw a defiant look up at him; "think of me enduring the hardships which they say await pilgrims to the Radiant City; I should be frightened to death with it all. Besides," she added, with a spice of coquetry in her eyes, "the company would be dull."

Amer looked down upon her with a mystified expression of face. "You do not love me enough then to be willing to leave all besides?" he asked.

"Not if you go on this pilgrimage. Already I find you different to what you were before you heard the herald. You used to say then that you would follow me to the end of Punon, but now you wish me to follow you out of it, you do not love me as you used to do."

In a minute Amer was on his knees beside her, telling her in passionate language that his love was even stronger than it used to be, that it was as strong as death.

"Then," said Gabrielle, "prove it and give up these ridiculous fancies of yours. Why should you set yourself up as better than other people? Think of the many who have gone in for this business; you do not suppose that you are better than they?"

"No," said Amer, "but I have heard the Voice."

"Oh don't," she cried, "when you talk like that I am afraid of you."

"Have you never heard it?"

Gabrielle wrenched her hands from his and covered her pretty little ears with them.

"No, no," she cried, "and I don't want to. If Punon is really doomed, there is still plenty of time. I will not hear the Voice; I could not endure the hardships."

"But the King, I am told, takes care of all those who start on the journey, and at the end we shall see Him in His beauty."

"There is no King and no Radiant City," exclaimed the girl petulantly, "no one believes in that story now; and you have not really heard a Voice; it is only in your imagination."

"But I have heard the Voice," persisted Amer.