What a stammerer! Not only blind and deaf, but _mad_--mad in the
world's eyes, for fifty, a hundred, a thousand years. Time is nothing;
but that score will survive....
He will die of it, of course; and when he dies and comes to us, there
will be joy from here to Sirius, and beyond.
And one day they will find out on earth that he was only deaf and
blind--not mad at all. They will hear and _understand_--they will know
that he saw and heard as none had ever heard or seen before!
* * * * *
For 'as we sow we reap'; that is a true saying, and all the sowing is
done here on earth, and the reaping beyond. Man is a grub; his dead
clay, as he lies coffined in his grave, is the left-off cocoon he has
spun for himself during his earthly life, to burst open and soar from
with all his memories about him, even his lost ones. Like the
dragon-fly, the butterfly, the moth ... and when _they_ die it is the
same, and the same with a blade of grass. We are all, _tous tant que
nous sommes_, little bags of remembrance that never dies; that's what
we're _for_. But we can only bring with us to the common stock what
we've got. As Pere Francois used to say, 'La plus belle fille au monde
ne peut donner que ce qu'elle a.
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