a small gift
or
The Angel of Simplicity
The Angel of Simplicity
There was a certain Scribe who was held in great honour in academic circles, and by the so called important critics, but who, in spite of all this favour, felt a constant dissatisfaction with his written word.
"I would like to reach the hearts of the common people of the world," he complained, " but this I have never been able to do."
The studio of the scribe was the envy of all the other writers in the land. It was centred by a beautiful mahogany desk which was surrounded by a library containing every reference book any man needed in this man's profession. Dictionaries, encyclopedias and books of synonyms were there, and he had a secretary who took from his shoulders all the burdens of research and detail. But with all these aids he had not been able to accomplish the greatest desire of his life, which was to enter the hearts of the common people.
As he was reaching for his Thesaurus his hand was stayed by a voice which came from directly behind him.
Turning around he saw a woman who was arrayed in pure white, the draping of which was lovelier than any garment that he had ever looked upon. She wore no ribbon at her throat or in her hair and the yellow gold of the earth was not upon her fingers.
"I have noticed your discontent for a long time, " said the woman.
"Who are you, and why do you ask after my welfare ?" replied the Scribe.
"I am the Angel of Simplicity" she explained, "and I am inquiring into your personal affairs because I believe that I can help you."
"My grief," answered the Scribe, "arises from my inability to reach the hearts of the common people with my pen."
The woman looked around the beautifully equipped library before replying. She noted the costly encyclopedia, the vellum-bound dictionary and the well thumbed Thesaurus and her looks told him more than a volume of words would have done.
After a long silence she said: "Truth and Beauty have always worn my robes. Complexity is the garment of half-truths and pseudo-beauty."
"What shall I do ?" asked the Scribe.
....cont'd
Reprinted without permission, an excerpt from
The Angels of the Earth by Wilson MacDonald
Printed by Thomas Nelson & Sons, Limited of Canada
Copyright 1963 by Wilson MacDonald |
