An Allegory

Journey To Singing Mountain

The autumn air was crisp and cool. The moon shone brightly and the stars twinkled merrily. Far off in the distance the Castle of the Great King on Singing Mountain was clearly evident in the moonlight. As the young man and woman walked slowly among the trees, the newly fallen leaves swirled playfully at their feet. “Good night, dear Alice,” said the young man. “I must hurry or I shall be late arriving home, and my father will again be displeased.” He kissed her gently on the cheek. “Tomorrow night at the same time.” With that he turned and ran quickly toward the lights of a cottage twinkling in the distance through the trees.

As young Charles neared the cottage he was surprised to see it brightly lighted. “Father must have started fires in both fireplaces,” Charles thought, something done only on the coldest days of winter. Suddenly he realized that his father was standing at the door waiting for him. “Charles,” said his father gravely, “there is a visitor to see you.” He had never seen his father look quite this way. “The Great King himself from the Castle on Singing Mountain has come to see you. I do not know exactly why. Remember to act as is fitting to his dignity.” The best Charles could manage was a feeble nod of the head. With that his father turned and led him into the brightly lighted room.

Entering the room Charles saw three men, dressed in the clothes of travelers. They looked much alike; yet somehow he had no doubt that the one seated nearest the fire was the Great King. He took several steps toward him until he remembered. “My Lord,” he said, and bowed a bit clumsily. “I am Charles, thy faithful servant.” To his great surprise the king rose from his chair and walked to where Charles was still attempting to bow.

“Rise, my son, and sit here by me near the fire, for I have come to talk with thee.” Later Charles could remember little that the Great King had said to him. He remembered only that it had been a rather frightening experience, sitting that close to the Great King. Not that the king had been unkind. He was, to be sure, a stern and dignified man. And yet there was always a slight twinkle in his eyes, not the sort to make one take liberties or speak out of turn, but the sort that hints at untapped resources of good will.

One thing from that conversation Charles did remember for as long as he lived. “Charles, my son, I have come to call thee to my castle. No, thou canst not travel with me; for I have other tasks to fulfill before I return to the Castle on Singing Mountain. The task of journeying is thine, and the trip must be thine alone. But be assured, I shall be there when thy journey ends.” Charles did not understand. He glanced quickly at his father, but his father’s gaze was fixed firmly on the Great King. Charles had felt his heart leap at the words of the Great King. For what could be better than to travel to the castle? But still, he could not understand why the king had come to him and called upon him to make this journey. Then he remembered that it was not his place to keep the king waiting.

“If that is thy wish, my Lord, then I shall travel to thy castle.”

“Good. Thou must leave at once. Thy father has packed food for thee. The moon will light thy way by night. Travel quickly, for the journey is not a short one.”

“Tonight, my Lord?” Suddenly Charles’s joy had vanished. What of Alice? Surely he could not leave without telling her why and bidding her farewell.

“Thou wishest to say goodbye to the fair maiden Alice, dost thou not?” Charles was so startled to find that the king knew his thoughts that he forgot all about using language appropriate to the dignity of the Great King. “Yes sir,” he said, as if he were talking to the grocer—and blushing at the same time.

“Nevertheless, thou must leave tonight. But be of good cheer. For as surely as I am the Great King, thou hast my promise that the maiden Alice shall be thine.” Then the Great King rose and turned to address Charles’s father. “Well, good sir, canst thou provide lodging this night for me and my men? It appears that thou wilt have at least one extra room.” With that he glanced at Charles, his eyes twinkling merrily.

“My Lord,” said Charles’s father, “to have thee lodge with us is both our bounden duty and our delight.”

“Excellent,” replied the Great King. “But first thou must say farewell to young Charles and bid him Godspeed on his journey.”

That was all Charles could remember. The firm handshake of his father as he bade him travel quickly and safely. The gentle and tearful embrace of his mother. It had been four days since Charles had set out from the cottage, and soon he would be entering the foothills of Singing Mountain. The nearer he came the more his joy increased. The trees, the wind, the lakes, the leaves—all appeared to join in a song that seemed to Charles to be coming from the Castle of the Great King. Yet there was always a touch of sadness in his joy. What must Alice be thinking of him? Would she imagine that he had forgotten the promises he had made to her?

And, to tell the truth, Alice did not quite understand. She had waited long for Charles the next evening. Again the following evening she had waited. Finally, on the fourth day of his absence, plucking up her courage, she had spoken to Charles’s father as he worked in the fields. It had been a brief conversation, but his father had been surprisingly gentle and kind—as if he understood her grief only too well. He told her, as simply as he could, the story of the visit of the Great King.

“But why could not Charles have come to bid me farewell, even as he did to you and his mother? Is his love for the king so great that it destroys his love for me?”

Charles’s father was silent, and Alice blurted out: “No doubt the king warned him not to love me too much.”

“Alice,” said Charles’s father, “you are young, and you must learn to speak with greater care. Yet I understand what you say. Do you not think that his mother and I are sad to see him leave so hurriedly?”

“But then the same is true in your case,” Alice said, feeling more insistent all the time. “For it seems that in order to love the Great King, Charles must love you and me and his mother less. If that is true, I do not know why we should love the Great King at all.”

“Careful, Alice.” Charles’s father had himself thought many of the things that Alice now put into words. “These are deep questions you ask, and I do not know the answers. I can only tell you what I think, for the king has not explained these matters to me. To love you without loving the Great King would be to love you not like a maiden but rather like a king. I do not think it is possible for Charles to love you too much, nor do I think the Great King wants him to love you less than he does. No, Alice, that cannot be. It is not possible for Charles to love you too much. It is only possible for him to love the King too little. That is what I think.”

“And yet,” said Alice, a bit more slowly and thoughtfully, “the king does not really need Charles. And I do need him—very much.” Blushing, she glanced quickly to the ground.

“True,” said Charles’s father, “the Great King does not need him. But Charles needs the king.” Then he bent over and picked up his tools. “And now, Alice, I must get back to my work, for the sun will soon be setting.”

As the sun finished its journey to western lands on that fourth day, Charles entered the foothills of Singing Mountain. Suddenly he realized that two men were traveling with him. No one said a word for a long time; all attention was fixed on the Castle of the Great King, which now seemed much nearer.

“Stupidity!” The word startled Charles out of his reverie. It had been spoken by the stranger on his left, the man whom Charles ever after called simply “the terrible stranger.” Here in the foothills of the mountain, where everything seemed alive with song, it sounded to Charles worse by far than any curse word he had ever heard.

“Stupidity!” repeated the terrible stranger. “And to think that fools actually imagine the singing comes from the castle.”

“And dost thou not, my friend?” asked the other traveler, the one whom Charles called simply “the kind stranger.”

“Of course not,” replied the other, “for I know where it comes from. I have been there—to the cave of many delights by a lake near here. There one can find dancing and singing and reveling all night long. That is where the song comes from. There by the lake the ground is lush and fertile. Why would anyone want to go up the mountain to that castle where all is cold and barren?”

“Mayhap that shall prove true. But methinks the song in the cave may prove to be but an echo of music from the castle and the reveling but figures of shadows on the wall of the cave.”

The terrible stranger looked as if he would curse, but just then Charles spoke for the first time. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, addressing the kind stranger, “but why do you speak in that manner when the Great King is not here?”

“We are in the foothills of Singing Mountain, my son,” he replied. “And I never speak any other way here. It is a sign of respect for the Great King.”

“He has called me to his castle, you know,” Charles said. “He visited me at my father’s cottage and told me to come to him at his castle.” And then, as the words rushed out, Charles told the strangers about the visit of the king, about his joy, and about his love for Alice and his sorrow at leaving her.

“It doth not surprise me,” said the kind stranger.

“Well,” broke in the terrible stranger, “I don’t understand anything about late-night visits of the Great King or about song coming from this castle, but I do understand the sorrow of the boy at leaving a beautiful young damsel. In fact, I too have left my wife for the sake of my calling. It was a tearful farewell, but I was firm. One must be strong and pitiless if one hopes to achieve noble deeds.”

“Ah, but dost thou truly think the cases to be similar?” interjected the other stranger. “For the Great King hath not asked young Charles to give up his love for fair Alice. In fact, it seemeth that he hath expressly promised that the maiden shall be his. No, methinks the cases are quite unalike.”

“But noble sir,” broke in Charles, beginning like the kind stranger to talk as if the Great King were present, “dost thou truly think the Great King wishest me to love fair Alice? For it seemeth that I dare not love her too much if I am to love him as he hath commanded.”

“My son, I tell thee truly, thou canst not love dear Alice too much. Thou canst only love the Great King too little.”

At this the terrible stranger could restrain himself no longer. “Fools’ talk! Fools’ talk! The only thing to be loved is life at the cave of many delights. There life is good—not cold and barren as on the mountain.”

“Perhaps,” said the kind stranger, “but it is not to the cave that young Charles hath been called. The Great King is not to be found there. And I should think that the most lovely place in the world would be void and bare were not the Great King there with me.”

“Come, come,” said the terrible stranger, with a very funny (but also a little frightening) look on his face. “Let us not argue. It is dark. Shall we not make camp together tonight? Let us sit by the fire, and I shall tell you some stories about the cave of many delights.” Even as he spoke he was guiding Charles off the path into a small clearing among the trees. Charles had not really intended to stop. He was eager to push on and finish his journey to the castle. But the stranger’s hand was strong and firm, and Charles felt he had almost no choice. He was glad to see that the kind stranger had joined them.

For several hours at least they sat by the fire and—true to his word—the terrible stranger told story after story of the happy life to be found at the cave. And always as he talked he looked directly at Charles. Finally, weary from the long journey, Charles lay down beneath an ancient oak tree and was quickly fast asleep.

How long he slept he never knew. He woke suddenly in the darkness to hear the kind stranger saying to him, “quickly now, my son. Quickly. Do not stop until thou hast reached the castle. It will not be far.”

“Why? Will you come along, good sir?” asked Charles. Yet even as he spoke he knew that this could not be.

“No, my son. The Great King hath not called me to the castle just yet. I must stay here to deal with our traveling companion.” At that Charles thought he heard someone coming toward them. “Now, off with thee. And do not stop no matter what thou hearest. Farewell, my son, and God speed thee to the castle.”

Charles was on his feet and running before he realized what was happening. He thought he heard behind him the sound of men struggling, but, finding the path, he ran straight toward the castle.

As he approached the gate of the castle, Charles saw the sentry standing guard. He tried to decide how to explain that he had been called to the castle by the Great King, but before he could decide the gate swung open. Charles entered the courtyard, breathless from his run. Immediately he saw another member of the palace guard who said to him, “This way, sir. They await thee in the great banquet hall.”

He led Charles to a magnificent oak door and swung it open. The room was flooded with light, and for a moment Charles was dazzled by it. Inside the banquet room were countless guests, all dressed in beautiful garments. As Charles entered, a man—who he later learned was a steward—stepped up and put on him too a beautiful garment. At that moment the Great King saw Charles, and he came across the banquet hall, walking quickly, yet in a very stately manner. All eyes turned to gaze at Charles as he bowed before the king.

“Rise, my son. Thou hast come even as I asked of thee. Welcome to the banquet hall of the Castle on Singing Mountain. Dost thou know why thou art here? We have called thee here so that we may celebrate with thee. For in this castle there must always be singing. And what better occasion for merriment shall we find than that of thy marriage to lovely Alice?”

Charles did not know why he had not seen her sooner. Perhaps it was because his attention had been focused on the Great King. But it was true. There beside the king stood Alice, looking lovelier than ever before. “I have promised her to thee, my son,” said the Great King, “and she shall be thine.”

“And now,” he said, in a voice that was suddenly very loud and very regal, “now, my guests, let there be singing and merriment.”

And very solemnly but very joyously Charles said to no one in particular, “And may the Great King be praised forever.”

GILBERT MEILAENDER, JR.Gilbert Meilaender, Jr., is a graduate student in religion at Princeton University and part-time assistant pastor at Lutheran Church of the Messiah in Princeton.

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