Searchable Theosophical Texts
Theosophy House
Dreams and
Dream-Stories
by
Anna Kingsford
M.D. of
Author of "The Perfect Way; or the
finding of Christ."
Edited by Edward Maitland
The Secret Doctrine by H P Blavatsky
Return to Searchable Text Index
Published in
“For He so giveth
unto His Beloved in Sleep.”
Ps. cxxvii.
(Marginal
CONTENTSPage
PREFACE7
Part 1 DREAMS
1THE DOOMED TRAIN 15
2THE WONDERFUL SPECTACLES 19
3THE COUNCIL OF PERFECTION21
5THE BIRD AND THE CAT24
6THE TREASURE IN THE LIGHTED HOUSE25
7THE
8THE ENCHANTED WOMAN30
9THE BANQUET OF THE GODS 38
10THE DIFFICULT PATH 39
11A LION IN THE WAY41
12A DREAM OF DISEMBODIMENT41
13THE
14THE LABORATORY UNDERGROUND 44
15THE OLD YOUNG MAN45
16THE METEMPSYCHOSIS49
17THE THREE KINGS51
18THE ARMED GODDESS 54
19THE GAME OF CARDS 56
20THE PANIC-STRUCK PACK-HORSE59
21THE HAUNTED
22AN
23A HAUNTED HOUSE INDEED !64
24THE SQUARE IN THE HAND 70
DREAM VERSES
1THROUGH THE AGES77
2A FRAGMENT -1- 80
3A FRAGMENT -2-80
4SIGNS OF THE TIMES81
5WITH THE GODS 81
PART IIDREAM - STORIES
1A
2STEEPSIDE; A GHOST STORY 116
3BEYOND THE SUNSET 147
4A TURN OF LUCK169
5NOÉMI182
6THE LITTLE OLD MAN'S STORY212
7THE NIGHTSHADE242
8ST GEORGE THE CHEVALIER270
PREFACE
[Written in 1886.
Some of the experiences in this volume were subsequent to that
date. This
publication is made in accordance with the author’s last wishes.
(Ed.)]
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[Page 7 ]
THE chronicles
which I am about to present to the reader are not the result of
any conscious
effort of the imagination. They are, as the title-page indicates,
records of dreams,
occurring at intervals during the last ten years, and
transcribed,
pretty nearly in the order of their occurrence, from my Diary.
Written down as
soon as possible after awaking from the slumber during which
they presented
themselves, these narratives, necessarily unstudied in style and
wanting in elegance
of diction, have at least the merit of fresh and vivid
colour, for they
were committed to paper at a moment when the effect and impress
of each successive
vision were strong and forceful in the mind, and before the
illusion of
reality conveyed by the scenes witnessed and the sounds heard in
sleep had had time
to pass away.
I do not know
whether these experiences of mine are unique. So far, I have not
yet met with any
one in whom the dreaming faculty appears to be either so
strongly or so
strangely developed as in myself. Most dreams, even when of
unusual vividness
and lucidity, betray a want of coherence in their action, and
an incongruity of
detail and dramatis persona that stamp
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[Page 8] them as the
product of
incomplete and disjointed cerebral function. But the most remarkable
features of the
experiences I am about to record are the methodical
consecutiveness of
their sequences, and the intelligent purpose disclosed alike
in the events
witnessed and in the words heard or read. Some of these last,
indeed, resemble,
for point and profundity, the apologues of Eastern scriptures;
and, on more than
one occasion, the scenery of the dream has accurately
portrayed
characteristics of remote regions, city, forest and mountain, which in
this existence at
least I have never beheld, nor, so far as I can remember, even
heard described,
and yet, every feature of these unfamiliar climes has revealed
itself to my
sleeping vision with a splendour of colouring and distinctness of
outline which made
the waking life seem duller and less real by contrast. I know
of no parallel to
this phenomenon unless in the pages of Bulwer Lytton's romance
entitled — The
Pilgrims of the
student endowed
with so marvellous a faculty of dreaming, that for him the
normal conditions
of sleeping and waking became reversed, his true life was that
which he lived in
his slumbers, and his hours of wake-fulness appeared to him as
so many uneventful
and inactive intervals of arrest occurring in an existence of
intense and vivid
interest which was wholly passed in the hypnotic state. Not
that to me there
is any such inversion of natural conditions. On the contrary,
the priceless
insights and illuminations I have acquired by means of my dreams
have gone far to
elucidate for me many difficulties and enigmas of life, and
even of religion,
which might otherwise have remained dark to me, and to throw
upon the events
and vicissitudes of a career
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[Page 9] filled with bewildering
situations, a
light which, like sunshine, has penetrated to the very causes and
springs of
circumstance, and has given meaning and fitness to much in my life
that would else
have appeared to me incoherent or inconsistent.
I have no theory
to offer the reader in explanation of my faculty, — at least in
so far as its
physiological aspect is concerned. Of course, having received a
medical education,
I have speculated about the modus operandi of the phenomenon,
but my
speculations are not of such a character as to entitle them to
presentation in
the form even of an hypothesis. I am tolerably well acquainted
with most of the
propositions regarding unconscious cerebration, which have been
put forward by men
of science, but none of these propositions can, by any
process of
reasonable expansion or modification, be made to fit my case.
Hysteria, to the
multiform and manifold categories of which, medical experts are
wont to refer the
majority of the abnormal experiences encountered by them, is
plainly inadequate
to explain or account for mine. The singular coherence and
sustained dramatic
unity observable in these dreams, as well as the poetic
beauty and tender
subtlety of the instructions and suggestions conveyed in them
do not comport
with the conditions characteristic of nervous disease. Moreover,
during the whole
period covered by these dreams, I have been busily and almost
continuously
engrossed with scientific and literary pursuits demanding accurate
judgment and
complete self-possession and rectitude of mind. At the time when
many of the most
vivid and remarkable visions occurred, I was following my
course as a
student at the Paris Faculty of Medicine, preparing for
examinations,
daily visiting hospital wards as dresser, and attending lectures.
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[Page 10] Later, when I had taken my
degree, I was engaged in the duties of my
profession and in
writing for the press on scientific subjects. Neither have I
ever taken opium,
hashish or other dream-producing agent. A cup of tea or coffee
represents the
extent of my indulgences in this direction. I mention these
details in order
to guard against inferences which otherwise might be drawn as
to the genesis of
my faculty.
With regard to the
interpretation and application of particular dreams, I think
it best to say
nothing. The majority are obviously allegorical, and although
obscure in parts,
they are invariably harmonious, and tolerably clear in meaning
to persons
acquainted with the method of Greek and Oriental myth. I shall not,
therefore, venture
on any explanation of my own, but shall simply record the
dreams as they
passed before me, and the impressions left upon my mind when I
awoke.
Unfortunately, in
some instances, which are not, therefore, here transcribed, my
waking memory
failed to recall accurately, or completely, certain discourses
heard or written
words seen in the course of the vision, which in these cases
left but a
fragmentary impression on the brain and baffled all waking endeavour
to recall their
missing passages.
These imperfect
experiences have not, however, been numerous; on the contrary,
it is a perpetual
marvel to me to find with what ease and certainty I can, as a
rule, on
recovering ordinary consciousness, recall the picture witnessed in my
sleep, and
reproduce the words I have heard spoken or seen written.
Sometimes several
interims of months occur during which none of these
exceptional visions
visit me, but only ordinary dreams, incongruous and
insignificant
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[Page 11] after their kind. Observation,
based on an experience of
considerable
length, justifies me, I think, in saying that climate, altitude,
and electrical
conditions are not without their influence in the production of
the cerebral state
necessary to the exercise of the faculty I have described.
Dry air, high
levels, and a crisp, calm, exhilarating atmosphere favour its
activity; while,
on the other hand, moisture, proximity to rivers, cloudy skies,
and a depressing,
heavy climate, will, for an indefinite period, suffice to
repress it
altogether. It is not, therefore, surprising that the greater number
of these dreams,
and, especially, the most vivid, detailed and idyllic, have
occurred to me
while on the continent. At my own residence on the banks of the
Severn, in a
humid, low-lying tract of country, I very seldom experience such
manifestations,
and sometimes, after a prolonged sojourn at home, am tempted to
fancy that the
dreaming gift has left me never to return. But the results of a
visit to Paris or
to Switzerland always speedily reassure me; the necessary
magnetic or
psychic tension never fails to reassert itself; and before many
weeks have elapsed
my Diary is once more rich with the record of my nightly
visions.
Some of these
phantasmagoria have furnished me with the framework, and even
details, of stories
which from time to time I have contributed to various
magazines. A ghost
story, [Steepside] published some years ago in a London
magazine, and much
commented on because of its peculiarly weird and startling
character, had
this origin; so had a fairy tale, [Beyond the Sunset] which
appeared in a
Christmas Annual last year, and which has recently been re-issued
in German by the
editor of a foreign periodical. Many of my more
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[Page 12]
serious
contributions to literature have been similarly initiated; and, more
than once,
fragments of poems, both in English and other languages, have been
heard or read by
me in dreams. I regret much that I have not yet been able to
recover any one
entire poem. My memory always failed before I could finish
writing out the
lines, no matter how luminous and recent the impressions made by
them on my
mind.[The poem entitled A Discourse on the Communion of Souls or the
Uses of love
between Creature and Creature, Being a part of the Golden Book of
Venus which forms
one of the appendices to The Perfect Way would be an exception
to this rule but
that it was necessary for the dream to be repeated before the
whole poem could
be recalled. (Ed)] However, even as regards verses, my
experience has
been far richer and more successful than that of Coleridge, the
only product of
whose faculty in this direction was the poetical fragment Kubla
Khan, and there
was no scenic dreaming on the occasion, only the verses were
thus obtained; and
I am not without hope that at some future time, under more
favourable
conditions than those I now enjoy, the broken threads may be resumed
and these chapters
of dream verse perfected and made complete.
It may, perhaps,
be worthy of remark that by far the larger number of the dreams
set down in this
volume, occurred towards dawn; sometimes even, after sunrise,
during a second
sleep. A condition of fasting, united possibly, with some subtle
magnetic or other
atmospheric state, seems therefore to be that most open to
impressions of the
kind. And, in this connection, I think it right to add that
for the past
fifteen years I have been an abstainer from flesh-meats; not a
Vegetarian,
because during the whole of that period I have used such
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[Page 13]
animal produce as
butter, cheese, eggs, and milk. That the influence of fasting
and of sober fare
upon the perspicacity of the sleeping brain was known to the
ancients in times
when dreams were far more highly esteemed than they now are,
appears evident
from various passages in the records of theurgy and mysticism.
Philostratus, in
his Life of Apollonius Tyaneus, represents the latter as
informing King
Phraotes that " the Oneiropolists, or Interpreters of Visions,
are wont never to
interpret any vision till they have first inquired the time at
which it befell;
for, if it were early, and of the morning sleep, they then
thought that they
might make a good interpretation thereof (that is, that it
might be worth the
interpreting), in that the soul was then fitted for
divination, and disincumbered.
But if in the first sleep, or near midnight,
while the soul was
as yet clouded and drowned in libations, they, being wise,
refused to give
any interpretation. Moreover, the gods themselves are of this
opinion, and send
their oracles only into abstinent minds. For the priests,
taking him who
doth so consult, keep him one day from meat and three days from
wine, that he may
in a clear soul receive the oracles." And again, lamblichus,
writing to
Agathocles, says: — "There is nothing unworthy of belief in what you
have been told
concerning the sacred sleep, and seeing by means of dreams. I
explain it thus: —
The soul has a twofold life, a lower and a higher. In sleep
the soul is
liberated from the constraint of the body, and enters, as an
emancipated being,
on its divine life of intelligence. Then, as the noble
faculty which
beholds objects that truly are — the objects in the world of
intelligence —
stirs within, and awakens to its power, who can be astonished
that the mind
which contains in itself the principles of
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[Page 14] all events,
should, in this
its state of liberation, discern the future in those antecedent
principles which
will constitute that future ? The nobler part of the mind is
thus united by
abstraction to higher natures, and becomes a participant in the
wisdom and
foreknowledge of the gods. . . . The night-time of the body is the
daytime of the
soul."
But I have no
desire to multiply citations, nor to vex the reader with
hypotheses
inappropriate to the design of this little work. Having, therefore,
briefly recounted
the facts and circumstances of my experience so far as they
are known to
myself, I proceed, without further commentary, to unroll my chart
of dream-pictures,
and leave them to tell their own tale.
A. B. K.
DREAMS
- 1 - THE DOOMED
TRAIN
[This narrative
was addressed to the friend particularly referred to in it. The
dream occurred
near the close of 1876, and on the eve, therefore, of the
Russo-Turkish war,
and was regarded by us both as having relation to a national
crisis, of a moral
and spiritual character, our interest in which was so
profound as to be
destined to dominate all our subsequent lives and work
(Author’s Note.)]
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[Page 15]
I WAS visited last
night by a dream of so strange and vivid a kind that I feel
impelled to
communicate it to you, not only to relieve my own mind of the
impression which
the recollection of it causes me, but also to give you an
opportunity of
finding the meaning, which I am still far too much shaken and
terrified to seek
for myself.
It seemed to me
that you and I were two of a vast company of men and women, upon
all of whom, with
the exception of myself — for I was there voluntarily —
sentence of death
had been passed. I was sensible of the knowledge — how
obtained I know
not — that this terrible doom had been pronounced by the
official agents of
some new reign of terror. Certain I was that none of the
party had really
been guilty of any crime deserving of death; but that the
penalty had been
incurred through
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[Page 16] their connection with some
regime,
political, social
or religious, which was doomed to utter destruction. It became
known among us
that the sentence was about to be carried out on a colossal
scale; but we
remained in absolute ignorance as to the place and method of the
intended
execution. Thus far my dream gave me no intimation of the horrible
scene which next
burst on me, — a scene which strained to their utmost tension
every sense of
sight, hearing and touch, in a manner unprecedented in any dream
I have previously
had.
It was night, dark
and starless, and I found myself, together with the whole
company of doomed
men and women who knew that they were soon to die, but not how
or where, in a
railway train hurrying through the darkness to some unknown
destination. I sat
in a carriage quite at the rear end of the train, in a corner
seat, and was
leaning out of the open window, peering into the darkness, when,
suddenly, a voice,
which seemed to speak out of the air, said to me in a low,
distinct, intense
tone, the mere recollection of which makes me shudder, — "The
sentence is being
carried out even now. You are all of you lost. Ahead of the
train is a
frightful precipice of monstrous height, and at its base beats a
fathomless sea.
The railway ends only with the abyss. Over that will the train
hurl itself into
annihilation. THERE is NO ONE ON THE ENGINE !"
At this I sprang
from my seat in horror, and looked round at the faces of the
persons in the
carriage with me. No one of them had spoken, or had heard those
awful words. The
lamplight from the dome of the carriage flickered oN the forms
about me. I looked
from one to the other, but saw no sign of alarm given by any
of them. Then
again the voice out of the
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[Page 17] air spoke to me, — "There
is
but one way to be
saved. You must leap out of the train !"
In frantic haste I
pushed open the carriage door and stepped out on the
footboard. The
train was going at a terrific pace, swaying to and fro as with
the passion of its
speed; and the mighty wind of its passage beat my hair about
my face and tore
at my garments.
Until this moment
I had not thought of you, or even seemed conscious of your
presence in the
train. Holding tightly on to the rail by the carriage door, I
began to creep
along the footboard towards the engine, hoping to find a chance
of dropping safely
down on the line. Hand over hand I passed along in this way
from one carriage
to another; and as I did so I saw by the light within each
carriage that the
passengers had no idea of the fate upon which they were being
hurried. At
length, in one of the compartments, I saw you. "Come out!" I cried;
"come out!
Save yourself! In another minute we shall be dashed to pieces !"
You rose
instantly, wrenched open the door, and stood beside me outside on the
footboard. The
rapidity at which we were going was now more fearful than ever.
The train rocked
as it fled onwards. The wind shrieked as we were carried
through it.
"Leap down", I cried to you; "save yourself! It is certain death
to
stay here. Before
us is an abyss; and there is no one on the engine!"
At this you turned
your face full upon me with a look of intense earnestness,
and said,
"No, we will not leap down. We will stop the train".
With these words
you left me, and crept along the footboard towards the front of
the train. Full of
half-angry anxiety at what seemed to me a Quixotic act, I
followed.
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[Page 18] In one of the carriages we
passed I saw my mother and eldest
brother,
unconscious as the rest. Presently we reached the last carriage, and
saw by the lurid
light of the furnace that the voice had spoken truly, and that
there was no one
on the engine.
You continued to
move onwards. "Impossible! Impossible!" I cried; "it cannot be
done. O, pray,
come away!"
Then you knelt
upon the footboard, and said, — "You are right. It cannot be done
in that way; but
we can save the train. Help me to get these irons asunder".
The engine was
connected with the train by two great iron hooks and staples. By
a tremendous
effort, in making which I almost lost my balance, we unhooked the
irons and detached
the train; when, with a mighty leap as of some mad
supernatural
monster, the engine sped on its way alone, shooting back as it went
a great flaming
trail of sparks, and was lost in the darkness. We stood together
on the footboard,
watching in silence the gradual slackening of the speed. When
at length the
train had come to a standstill, we cried to the passengers, "Saved
! saved !"
and then amid the confusion of opening the doors and descending and
eager talking, my
dream ended, leaving me shattered and palpitating with the
horror of it.
LONDON, Nov. 1876
- 2 - THE
WONDERFUL SPECTACLES
[From another
letter to the friend mentioned in the note appended to the Doomed
Train. (Author’s
Note)]
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[Page 19]
I was walking
alone on the sea-shore. The day was singularly clear and sunny.
Inland lay the
most beautiful landscape ever seen; and far off were ranges of
tall hills, the
highest peaks of which were white with glittering snows. Along
the sands by the
sea came towards me a man accoutred as a postman. He gave me a
letter. It was
from you. It ran thus: —
"I have got
hold of the earliest and most precious book extant. It was written
before the world
began. The text is easy enough to read; but the notes, which
are very copious
and numerous, are in such minute and obscure characters that I
cannot make them
out. I want you to get for me the spectacles which Swedenborg
used to wear; not
the smaller pair — those he gave to Hans Christian Andersen —
but the large
pair, and these seem to have got mislaid. I think they are
Spinoza's make.
You know he was an optical-glass maker by profession, and the
best we have ever
had. See if you can get them for me."
When I looked up
after reading this letter, I saw the postman hastening away
across the sands,
and I cried out to him, " Stop ! how am I to send the answer ?
Will you not wait
for it ?"
He looked round,
stopped, and came back to me.
"I have the
answer here," he said, tapping his letter-bag, " and I shall deliver
it
immediately."
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[Page 20]
"How can you
have the answer before I have written it?" I asked. "You are making
a mistake".
"No", he
said. "In the city from which I come, the replies are all written at
the office, and
sent out with the letters themselves. Your reply is in my bag".
"Let me see
it", I said. He took another letter from his wallet and gave it to
me. I opened it,
and read, in my own handwriting, this answer, addressed to
you:—
"The
spectacles you want can be bought in London. But you will not be able to
use them at once,
for they have not been worn for many years, and they sadly
want cleaning. This
you will not be able to do yourself in London, because it is
too dark there to
see well, and because your fingers are not small enough to
clean them
properly. Bring them here to me, and I will do it for you."
I gave this letter
back to the postman. He smiled and nodded at me; and I then
perceived to my
astonishment that he wore a camels-hair tunic round his waist. I
had been on the
point of addressing him — I know not why — as Hermes. But I now
saw that he must
be John the Baptist; and in my fright at having spoken with so
great a saint, I
awoke.[The dreamer knew nothing of Spinoza at this time, and
was quite unaware
that he was an optician. Subsequent experience made it clear
that the
spectacles in question were intended to represent her own remarkable
faculty of
intuitional and interpretive perception (Ed)]
LONDON, Jan. 31,
1877.
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[Page 21]
- 3 - THE COUNSEL
OF PERFECTION
I dreamed that I
was in a large room, and there were in it seven persons, all
men, sitting at
one long table; and each of them had before him a scroll, some
having books also;
and all were grey-headed and bent with age save one, and this
was a youth of
about twenty without hair on his face. One of the aged men, who
had his finger on
a place in a book open before him, said:
"This spirit,
who is of our order, writes in this book, — Be ye perfect,
therefore, as your
Father in heaven is perfect. How shall we understand this
word perfection
?" And another of the old men, looking up, answered, " It must
mean wisdom, for
wisdom is the sum of perfection." And another old man said,
"That cannot
be; for no creature can be wise as God is wise. Where is he among
us who could
attain to such a state ? That which is part only, cannot comprehend
the whole. To bid
a creature to be wise as God is wise would be mockery."
Then a fourth old
man said: — " It must be Truth that is intended. For truth
only is
perfection. "But he who sat next the last speaker answered, "Truth
also
is partial; for
where is he among us who shall be able to see as God sees?"
And the sixth
said, " It must surely be Justice; for this is the whole of
righteousness."
And the old man who had spoken first, answered him: — "Not so;
for justice
comprehends vengeance, and it is written that vengeance is the
Lord's
alone."
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[Page 22]
Then the young man
stood up with an open book in his hand and said: —" I have
here another
record of one who likewise heard these words. Let us see whether
his rendering of
them can help us to the knowledge we seek." And he found a
place in the book
and read aloud: —
"Be ye
merciful, even as your Father is merciful."
And all of them
closed their books and fixed their eyes upon me.
LONDON, April 9,
1877
- 4- THE CITY OF
BLOOD
I dreamed that I
was wandering along a narrow street of vast length, upon either
hand of which was
an unbroken line of high straight houses, their walls and
doors resembling
those of a prison. The atmosphere was dense and obscure, and
the time seemed
that of twilight; in the narrow line of sky visible far overhead
between the two
rows of house-roofs, I could not discern sun, moon, or stars, or
colour of any
kind. All was grey, impenetrable, and dim. Under foot, between the
paving-stones of
the street, grass was springing. Nowhere was the least sign of
life: the place
seemed utterly deserted. I stood alone in the midst of profound
silence and
desolation. Silence ? No! As I listened, there came to my ears from
all sides, dully
at first and almost imperceptibly, a low creeping sound like
subdued moaning; a
sound that never ceased, and that was so native to the place,
I had at first
been unaware of it. But now I clearly gathered in the sound and
recognised it as
expressive of the intensest physical suffering. Looking
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[Page
23] steadfastly
towards one of the houses from which the most distinct of these
sounds issued, I
perceived a stream of blood slowly oozing out from beneath the
door and trickling
down into the street, staining the tufts of grass red here
and there, as it
wound its way towards me. I glanced up and saw that the glass
in the closed and
barred windows of the house was flecked and splashed with the
same horrible dye.
"Some one has
been murdered in this place !" I cried, and flew towards the door.
Then, for the
first time, I perceived that the door had neither lock nor handle
on the outside,
but could be opened only from within. It had, indeed, the form
and appearance of
a door, but in every other respect it was solid and impassable
as the walls
themselves. In vain I searched for bell or knocker, or for some
means of making
entry into the house. I found only a scroll fastened with nails
upon a crossbeam
over the door, and upon it I read the words: — This is the
Laboratory of a
Vivisector. As I read, the wailing sound redoubled in intensity,
and a noise as of
struggling made itself audible within, as though some new
victim had been
added to the first. I beat madly against the door with my hands
and shrieked for
help; but in vain. My dress was reddened with the blood upon
the door step. In
horror I looked down upon it, then turned and fled. As I
passed along the
street, the sounds around me grew and gathered volume,
formulating
themselves into distinct cries and bursts of frenzied sobbing. Upon
the door of every
house some scroll was attached, similar to that I had already
seen. Upon one was
inscribed: — "Here is a husband murdering his wife:" upon
another: —
"Here is a mother beating her child to death:" upon a third:
"This is
a
slaughter-house."
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[Page 24]
Every door was
impassable; every window was barred. The idea of interference
from without was
futile. Vainly I lifted my voice and cried for aid. The street
was desolate as a
graveyard; the only thing that moved about me was the stealthy
blood that came
creeping out from beneath the doors of these awful dwellings.
Wild with horror I
fled along the street, seeking some outlet, the cries and
moans pursuing me
as I ran. At length the street abruptly ended in a high dead
wall, the top of
which was not discernible; it seemed, indeed, to be limitless
in height. Upon
this wall was written in great black letters —There is no way
out.
Overwhelmed with
despair and anguish, I fell upon the stones of the street,
repeating aloud —
There is no way out.
HlNTON. Jan 1877
- 5- THE BIRD AND
THE CAT
[This dream and
the next occurred at a moment when it had almost been decided to
relax the rule of
privacy until then observed in regard to our psychological
experiences, among
other ways, by submitting them to some of the savants of the
Paris Faculté, — a
project of which these dreams at once caused the abandonment.
This was not the
only occasion on which a dream bore a twofold aspect, being a
warning or a
prediction, according to the heed given to it. (ED.)]
I dreamt that I
had a beautiful bird in a cage, and that the cage was placed on
a table in a room
where there was a cat. I took the bird out of the cage and put
him on the table.
Instantly the cat sprang upon
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[Page 25] him and seized him in
her mouth. I threw
myself upon her and strove to wrest away her prey, loading
her with
reproaches and bewailing the fate of my beautiful bird. Then suddenly
some one said to
me, "You have only yourself to blame for this misfortune. While
the bird remained
in his cage he was safe. Why should you have ' taken him out
before the eyes of
the cat ? "
- 6- THE TREASURE
IN THE LIGHTED HOUSE
A second time I
dreamt, and saw a house built in the midst of a forest. It was
night, and all the
rooms of the house were brilliantly illuminated by lamps. But
the strange thing
was that the windows were without shutters, and reached to the
ground. In one of
the rooms sat an old man counting money and jewels on a table
before him. I
stood in the spirit beside him, and presently heard outside the
windows a sound of
footsteps and of men's voices talking together in hushed
tones. Then a face
peered in at the lighted room, and I became aware that there
were many persons
assembled without in the darkness, watching the old man and
his treasure. He
also heard them, and rose from his seat in alarm, clutching his
gold and gems and
endeavouring to hide them. " Who are they ? " I asked him. He
answered, his face
white with terror; "They are robbers and assassins. This
forest is their
haunt. They will murder me, and seize my treasure". "If this be
so", said I,
"why did you build your house in the midst of this forest, and why
are there no
shutters to the windows ? Are you mad, or
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[Page 26] a fool, that
you do not know
every one can see from without into your lighted rooms ? " He
looked at me with
stupid despair. "I never thought of the shutters", said he.
As we stood
talking, the robbers outside congregated in great numbers, and the
old man fled from
the room with his treasure bags into another apartment. But
this also was
brilliantly illuminated within, and the windows were shutterless.
The robbers
followed his movements easily, and so pursued him from room to room
all round the
house. Nowhere had he any shelter. Then came the sound of gouge
and mallet and
saw, and I knew the assassins were breaking into the house, and
that before long,
the owner would have met the death his folly had invited, and
his treasure would
pass into the hands of the robbers.
PARIS, August 3,
1877.
- 7 - THE FOREST CATHEDRAL
I found myself —
accompanied by a guide, a young man of Oriental aspect and
habit — passing
through long vistas of trees which, as we advanced, continually
changed in
character. Thus we threaded avenues of English oaks and elms, the
foliage of which
gave way as we proceeded to that of warmer and moister climes,
and we saw
overhead the hanging masses of broad-leaved palms, and enormous trees
whose names I do
not know, spreading their fingered leaves over us like great
green hands in a
manner that frightened me. Here also I saw
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[Page 27] huge
grasses which rose
over my shoulders, and through which I had at times to beat
my way as through
a sea; and ferns of colossal proportions; with every possible
variety and mode
of tree-life and every conceivable shade of green, from the
faintest and
clearest yellow to the densest blue-green. One wood in particular I
stopped to admire.
It seemed as though every leaf of its trees were of gold, so
intensely yellow
was the tint of the foliage.
In these forests
and thickets were numerous shrines of gods such as the Hindus
worship. Every now
and then we came upon them in open spaces. They were uncouth
and rudely
painted; but they all were profusely adorned with gems, chiefly
turquoises, and
they all had many arms and hands, in which they held lotus
flowers, sprays of
palms, and coloured berries.
Passing by these
strange figures, we came to a darker part of our course, where
the character of
the trees changed and the air felt colder. I perceived that a
shadow had fallen
on the way; and looking upwards I found we were passing
beneath a massive
roof of dark indigo-coloured pines, which here and there were
positively black
in their intensity and depth. Intermingled with them were firs,
whose great,
straight stems were covered with lichen and mosses of beautiful
variety, and some
looking strangely like green ice-crystals.
Presently we came
to a little broken-down rude kind of chapel in the midst of
the wood. It was
built of stone; and masses of stone, shapeless and moss-grown,
were lying
scattered about on the ground around it. At a little rough-hewn altar
within it stood a
Christian priest, blessing the elements. Overhead, the great
dark sprays of the
larches and cone-laden firs swept its roof.
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[Page 28] I sat
down to rest on
one of the stones, and looked upwards a while at the foliage.
Then turning my
gaze again towards the earth, I saw a vast circle of stones,
moss-grown like
that on which I sat, and ranged in a circle such as that of
Stonehenge. It
occupied an open space in the midst of the forest; and the
grasses and
climbing plants of the place had fastened on the crevices of the
stones.
One stone, larger
and taller than the rest, stood at the junction of the circle,
in a place of
honour, as though it had stood for a symbol of divinity. I looked
at my guide, and
said, "Here, at least, is an idol whose semblance belongs to
another type than
that of the Hindus." He smiled, and turning from me to the
Christian priest
at the altar, said aloud, "Priest, why do your people receive
from sacerdotal
hands the bread only, while you yourselves receive both bread
and wine?"
And the priest answered, "We receive no more than they. Yes, though
under another
form, the people are partakers with us of the sacred wine with its
particle. The
blood is the life of the flesh, and of it the flesh is formed, and
without it the
flesh could not consist. The communion is the same".
Then the young man
my guide turned again to me and waved his hand towards the
stone before me.
And as I looked the stone opened from its summit to its base;
and I saw that the
strata within had the form of a tree: and that every minute
crystal of which
it was formed, — particles so fine that grains of sand would
have been coarse
in comparison with them, — and every atom composing its mass,
were stamped with
this same tree-image, and bore the shape of the ice-crystals,
of the ferns and
of the colossal palm-leaves I had seen. And my guide
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[Page 29]
said, "Before
these stones were, the Tree of Life stood in the midst of the
Universe".
And again we
passed on, leaving behind us the chapel and the circle of stones,
the pines and the
firs: and as we went the foliage around us grew more and more
stunted and like
that at home. We travelled quickly; but now and then, through
breaks and
openings in the woods, I saw solitary oaks standing in the midst of
green spaces, and
beneath them kings giving judgment to their peoples, and
magistrates
administering laws.
At last we came to
a forest of trees so enormous that they made me tremble, to
look at them. The
hugeness of their stems gave them an unearthly appearance; for
they rose hundreds
of feet from the ground before they burst out far, far above
us, into colossal
masses of vast-leaved foliage. I cannot sufficiently convey
the impressions of
awe with which the sight of these monster trees inspired me.
There seemed to me
something pitiless and phantom-like in the severity of their
enormous bare
trunks, stretching on without break or branch into the distance
overhead, and
there at length giving birth to a sea of dark waving plumes, the
rustle of which
reached my ears as the sound of tossing waves.
Passing beneath
these vast trees we came to others of smaller growth, but still
of the same type,
— straight-stemmed, with branching foliage at their summit.
Here we stood to
rest, and as we paused I became aware that the trees around me
were losing their
colour, and turning by imperceptible degrees into stone. In
nothing was their
form or position altered; only a cold, grey hue overspread
them, and the intervening
spaces between their stems became filled up, as though
by a cloud which
gradually grew substantial. Presently I raised my eyes,
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[Page
30] and lo !
overhead were the arches of a vast cathedral, spanning the sky and
hiding it from my
sight. The tree stems had become tall columns of grey stone;
and their plumed
tops, the carven architraves and branching spines of Gothic
sculpture. The
incense rolled in great dense clouds to their outstretching arms,
and, breaking
against them, hung in floating, fragrant wreaths about their
carven sprays.
Looking downwards to the altar, I found it covered with flowers
and plants and
garlands, in the midst of which stood a great golden crucifix,
and I turned to my
guide wishing to question him, but he had disappeared, and I
could not find
him. Then a vast crowd of worshippers surrounded me, a priest
before the altar
raised the pyx and the patten in his hands. The people fell on
their knees, and
bent their heads, as a great field of corn over which a strong
wind passes. I
knelt with the rest, and adored with them in silence.
PARIS, July 1877
- 8- THE ENCHANTED
WOMAN
[On the night
previous to this dream, Mrs Kingsford was awoke by a bright light,
and beheld a hand
holding out towards her a glass of foaming ale, the action
being accompanied
by the words, spoken with strong emphasis, You must drink
this. It was not
her usual beverage, but she occasionally yielded to pressure
and took it when
at home. In consequence of the above prohibition she abstained
for that day, and
on the following night received this vision, in order to fit
her for which the
prohibition had apparently been imposed. It was originally
entitled a Vision
of the World’s Fall, on the supposition that it represented
the loss of the
Intuition, mystically called the Fall of the Woman, through the
sorceries of
priestcraft. (Ed)]
The first
consciousness which broke my sleep last night was one of floating, of
being carried
swiftly by some invisible force through a vast space; then, of
being gently
lowered; then of light, until, gradually, I found myself on
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[Page
31] my feet in a
broad noon-day brightness, and before me an open country.
Hills, hills, as
far as the eye could reach, — hills with snow on their tops,
and mists around
their gorges. This was the first thing I saw distinctly. Then,
casting my eyes
towards the ground, I perceived that all about me lay huge
masses of grey
material which, at first, I took for blocks of stone, having the
form of lions; but
as I looked at them more intently, my sight grew clearer, and
I saw, to my
horror, that they were really alive. A panic seized me, and I tried
to runaway; but on
turning, I became suddenly aware that the whole country was
filled with these
awful shapes; and the faces of those nearest to me were most
dreadful, for
their eyes, and something in the expression, though not in the
form, of their
faces, were human. I was absolutely alone in a terrible world
peopled with
lions, too, of a monstrous kind. Recovering myself with an effort,
I resumed my
flight, but, as I passed through the midst of this concourse of
monsters, it
suddenly struck me that they were perfectly unconscious of my
presence. I even
laid my hands, in passing, on the heads and manes of several,
but they gave no
sign of seeing me or of knowing that I touched them. At last I
gained the
threshold of a great pavilion, not, apparently, built by hands, but
formed by Nature.
The walls were solid, yet they were composed of huge trees
standing close
together, like columns; and
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[Page 32] the roof of the pavilion
was formed by
their massive foliage, through which not a ray of outer light
penetrated. Such
light as there was seemed nebulous, and appeared to rise out of
the ground. In the
centre of this pavilion I stood alone, happy to have got
clear away from
those terrible beasts and the gaze of their steadfast eyes.
As I stood there,
I became conscious of the fact that the nebulous light of the
place was
concentrating itself into a focus on the columned wall opposite to me.
It grew there,
became intenser, and then spread, revealing, as it spread, a
series of moving
pictures that appeared to be scenes actually enacted before me.
For the figures in
the pictures were living, and they moved before my eyes,
though I heard
neither word nor sound. And this is what I saw. First there came
a writing on the
wall of the pavilion: —This is the History of our World. These
words, as I looked
at them, appeared to sink into the wall as they had risen out
of it, and to
yield place to the pictures which then began to come out in
succession, dimly
at first, then strong and clear as actual scenes.
First I beheld a
beautiful woman, with the sweetest face and most perfect form
conceivable. She
was dwelling in a cave among the hills with her husband, and
he, too, was
beautiful, more like an angel than a man. They seemed perfectly
happy together;
and their dwelling was like Paradise. On every side was beauty,
sunlight, and
repose. This picture sank into the wall as the writing had done.
And then came out
another; the same man and woman driving together in a sleigh
drawn by reindeer
over fields of ice; with all about them glaciers and snow, and
great mountains
veiled in wreaths of
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[Page 33] slowly moving mist. The sleigh
went at a rapid pace,
and its occupants talked gaily to each other, so far as I
could judge by
their smiles and the movement of their lips. But, what caused me
much surprise was
that they carried between them, and actually in their hands, a
glowing flame, the
fervour of which I felt reflected from the picture upon my
own cheeks. The
ice around shone with its brightness. The mists upon the snow
mountains caught
its gleam. Yet, strong as were its light and heat, neither the
man nor the woman
seemed to be burned or dazzled by it. This picture, too, the
beauty and
brilliancy of which greatly impressed me, sank and disappeared as the
former.
Next, I saw a
terrible looking man clad in an enchanter's robe, standing alone
upon an ice-crag.
In the air above him, poised like a dragon-fly, was an evil
spirit, having a
head and face like that of a human being. The rest of it
resembled the tail
of a comet, and seemed made of a green fire, which flickered
in and out as
though swayed by a wind. And as I looked, suddenly, through an
opening among the
hills, I saw the sleigh pass, carrying the beautiful woman and
her husband; and
in the same instant the enchanter also saw it, and his face
contracted, and
the evil spirit lowered itself and came between me and him. Then
this picture sank
and vanished.
I next beheld the
same cave in the mountains which I had before seen, and the
beautiful couple
together in it. Then a shadow darkened the door of the cave;
and the enchanter
was there, asking admittance; cheerfully they bade, him enter,
and, as he came
forward with his snake-like eyes fixed on the fair woman, I
understood that he
wished to have her for his own, and was even then devising
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[Page 34] how to bear her away. And the
spirit in the air beside him seemed busy
suggesting schemes
to this end. Then this picture melted and became confused,
giving place for
but a brief moment to another, in which I saw the enchanter
carrying the woman
away in his arms, she struggling and lamenting, her long
bright hair
streaming behind her. This scene passed from the wall as though a
wind had swept
over it, and there rose up in its place a picture, which
impressed me with
a more vivid sense of reality than all the rest.
It represented a
market place, in the midst of which was a pile of faggots and a
stake, such as
were used formerly for the burning of heretics and witches. The
market place,
round which were rows of seats as though for a concourse of
spectators, yet
appeared quite deserted. I saw only three living beings present,
— the beautiful
woman, the enchanter, and the evil spirit. Nevertheless, I
thought that the
seats were really occupied by invisible tenants, for every now
and then there
seemed to be a stir in the atmosphere as of a great multitude;
and I had,
moreover, a strange sense of facing many witnesses. The enchanter led
the woman to the
stake, fastened her there with iron chains, lit the faggots
about her feet and
withdrew to a short distance, where he stood with his arms
folded, looking on
as the flames rose about her. I understood that she had
refused his love,
and that in his fury he had denounced her as a sorceress. Then
in the fire, above
the pile, I saw the evil spirit poising itself like a fly,
and rising and
sinking and fluttering in the thick smoke. While I wondered what
this meant, the
flames which had concealed the beautiful woman, parted in their
midst, and
disclosed a sight so horrible and unexpected as to thrill me from
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[Page 35] head to foot, and curdle my
blood. Chained to the stake there stood,
not the fair woman
I had seen there a moment before, but a hideous monster, — a
woman still, but a
woman with three heads, and three bodies linked in one. Each
of her long arms
ended, not in a hand, but in a claw like that of a bird of
rapine. Her hair
resembled the locks of the classic Medusa, and her faces were
inexpressibly
loathsome. She seemed, with all her dreadful heads and limbs, to
writhe in the
flames and yet not to be consumed by them. She gathered them in to
herself; her claws
caught them and drew them down; her triple body appeared to
suck the fire into
itself, as though a blast drove it. The sight appalled me. I
covered my face
and dared look no more.
When at length I
again turned my eyes upon the wall, the picture that had so
terrified me was
gone, and instead of it, I saw the enchanter flying through the
world, pursued by
the evil spirit and that dreadful woman. Through all the world
they seemed to go.
The scenes changed with marvellous rapidity. Now the picture
glowed with the
wealth and gorgeousness of the torrid zone; now the ice-fields
of the North rose
into view; anon a pine-forest; then a wild sea-shore; but
always the same
three flying figures; always the horrible three-formed harpy
pursuing the
enchanter, and beside her the evil spirit with the dragon-fly
wings.
At last this
succession of images ceased, and I beheld a desolate region, in the
midst of which sat
the woman with the enchanter beside her, his head reposing in
her lap. Either
the sight of her must have become familiar to him and, so, less
horrible, or she
had subjugated him by some spell. At all events, they were
mated at last, and
their offspring lay around them on the stony ground,
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[Page
36] or moved to
and fro. These were lions, — monsters with human faces, such as
I had seen in the
beginning of my dream. Their jaws dripped blood; they paced
backwards and
forwards, lashing their tails. Then too, this picture faded and
sank into the wall
as the others had done. And through its melting outlines came
out again the
words I had first seen: — This is the History of our World, only
they seemed to me
in some way changed, but how, I cannot tell. The horror of the
whole thing was
too strong upon me to let me dare look longer at the wall. And I
awoke, repeating
to myself the question, " How could one woman become three ? "
HINTON, February
1877.
- 9 - THE BANQUET
OF THE GODS
I saw in my sleep
a great table spread upon a beautiful mountain, the distant
peaks of which
were covered with snow, and brilliant with a bright light. Around
the table reclined
twelve persons, six male, six female, some of whom I
recognised at
once, the others afterwards. Those whom I recognised at once were
Zeus, Hera, Pallas
Athena, Phoebus Apollo, and Artemis. I knew them by the
symbols they wore.
The table was covered with all kinds of fruit, of great size,
including nuts,
almonds, and olives, with flat cakes of bread, and cups of gold
into which, before
drinking, each divinity poured two sorts of liquid, one of
which was wine,
the other water. As I was looking on, standing on a step a
little below the
top of the flight which led to the table, I was startled by
seeing Hera
suddenly fix her eyes on me and say,
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[Page 37] " What seest thou at
the lower end of
the table ?" And I looked and answered, "I see two vacant
seats". Then
she spoke again and said, " When you are able to eat of our food
and to drink of
our cup, you also shall sit and feast with us." Scarcely had she
uttered these
words, when Athena, who sat facing me, added, "When you are able
to eat of our food
and to drink of our cup, then you shall know as you are
known". And
immediately Artemis, whom I knew by the moon upon her head,
continued, "
When you are able to eat of our food and to drink of our cup, all
things shall
become pure to you, and ye shall be made virgins."
Then I said,
"O Immortals, what is your food and your drink, and how does your
banquet differ
from ours, seeing that we also eat no flesh, and blood has no
place in our
repasts ? "
Then one of the
Gods, whom at the time I did not know, but have since recognised
as Hermes, rose
from the table, and coming to me put into my hands a branch of a
fig-tree bearing
upon it ripe fruit, and said, "If you would be perfect, and
able to know and to
do all things, quit the heresy of Prometheus. Let fire warm
and comfort you
externally: it is heaven's gift. But do not wrest it from its
rightful purpose,
as did that betrayer of your race, to fill the veins of
humanity with its
contagion, and to consume your interior being with its breath.
All of you are men
of clay, as was the image which Prometheus made. Ye are
nourished with
stolen fire, and it consumes you. Of all the evil uses of
heaven's good
gifts, none is so evil as the internal use of fire. For your hot
foods and drinks
have consumed and dried up the magnetic power of your nerves,
sealed your
senses, and cut short your lives. Now, you neither see nor hear;
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[Page 38] for the fire in your organs
consumes your senses. Ye are all blind and
deaf, creatures of
clay. We have sent you a book to read. Practise its precepts,
and your senses
shall be opened."
Then, not yet
recognising him, I said, "Tell me your name, Lord." At this he
laughed and
answered, "I have been about you from the beginning. I am the white
cloud on the
noon-day sky". "Do you, then", I asked, "desire the whole
world to
abandon the use of
fire in preparing food and drink ? "
Instead of
answering my question, he said, "We show you the excellent way. Two
places only are
vacant at our table. We have told you all that can be shown you
on the level on
which yoU stand. But our perfect gifts, the fruits of the Tree
of Life, are
beyond your reach now. We cannot give them to you until you are
purified and have
come up higher. The conditions are GOD'S; the will is with
you."
These last words
seemed to be repeated from the sky overhead, and again from
beneath my feet.
And at the instant I fell, as if shot down like a meteor from a
vast height; and
with the swiftness and shock of the fall I awoke.
HINTON, Sept.
1877.
[The book referred
to was a volume entitled Fruit and Bread, which had been sent
anonymously on the
previous morning. The fig-tree, which both with the Hebrews
and the Greeks was
the type of intuitional perception, was a special symbol of
Hermes, called by
the Hebrews Raphael. The plural used by the seer included
myself as the
partner of her literary and other studies. The term virgin in its
mystical sense
signifies a soul pure from admixture of matter. Editor]
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[Page 39]
- 10 - THE
DIFFICULT PATH
Having fallen
asleep last night while in a state of great perplexity about the
care and education
of my daughter, I dreamt as follows.
I was walking with
the child along the border of a high cliff, at the foot of
which was the sea.
The path was exceedingly narrow, and on the inner side was
flanked by a line
of rocks and stones. The outer side was so close to the edge
of the cliff that
she was compelled to walk either before or behind me, or else
on the stones. And,
as it was unsafe to let go her hand, it was on the stones
that she had to
walk, much to her distress. I was in male attire, and carried a
staff in my hand.
She wore skirts and had no staff; and every moment she
stumbled or her
dress caught and was torn by some jutting crag or bramble. In
this way our
progress was being continually interrupted and rendered almost
impossible, when
suddenly we came upon a sharp declivity leading to a steep path
which wound down
the side of the precipice to the beach below. Looking down, I
saw on the shore
beneath the cliff a collection of fishermen's huts, and groups
of men and women
on the shingle, mending nets, hauling up boats, and sorting
fish of various
kinds. In the midst of the little village stood a great crucifix
of lead, so cast
in a mould as to allow me from the elevated position I occupied
behind it, to see
that though in front it looked solid, it was in reality
hollow. As I was
noting this, a voice of some one close at hand suddenly
addressed me; and
on turning my head I found
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[Page 40] standing before me a man
in the garb of a
fisherman, who evidently had just scaled the steep path leading
from the beach. He
stretched out his hand to take the child, saying he had come
to fetch her, for
that in the path I was following there was room only for one.
"Let her come
to us", he added; "she will do very well as a fisherman's
daughter".
Being reluctant to part with her, and not perceiving then the
significance of
his garb and vocation, I objected that the calling was a dirty
and unsavoury one,
and would soil her hands and dress. Whereupon the man became
severe, and seemed
to insist with a kind of authority upon my acceptance of his
proposition. The
child, too, was taken with him, and was moreover anxious to
leave the rough
and dangerous path; and she accordingly went to him of her own
will and, placing
her hand in his, left me without any sign of regret, and I
went on my way
alone. Then lifting my eyes to see whither my path led, I beheld
it winding along
the edge of the cliff to an apparently endless distance, until,
as I gazed
steadily on the extreme limit of my view, I saw the grey mist from
the sea here and
there break and roll up into great masses of slow-drifting
cloud, in the
intervals of which I caught the white gleam of sunlit snow. And
these intervals
continually closed up to open again in fresh places higher up,
disclosing peak
upon peak of a range of mountains of enormous altitude.[Always
the symbol of high
mystical insight and spiritual attainment — Biblically called
the Hill of the
Lord and Mount of God (Ed)]
By a curious
coincidence, the very morning after this dream, a friend, who knew
of my perplexity,
called to
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[Page 41] recommend a school in a
certain convent as
one suitable for
my child. There were, however, insuperable objections to the
scheme.
PARIS, Nov. 3,
1877
- 11 - A LION IN
THE WAY
Owing to the many
and great difficulties thrown in my way, I had been seriously
considering the
advisability of withdrawing, if only for a time, from my course
of medical
studies, when I received the following dream, which determined me to
persevere: —
I found myself on
the same narrow, rugged, and precipitous path described in my
last dream, and
confronted by a lion. Afraid to pass him I turned and fled. On
this the beast
gave chase, when finding escape by flight hopeless, I turned and
boldly faced him.
Whereupon the lion at once stopped and slunk to the side of
the path, and
suffered me to pass unmolested, though I was so close to him that
I could not avoid
touching him with my garments in passing.
[The prognostic
was fully justified by the event. (Ed)]
Paris, Nov 15,
1877
- 12 - A DREAM OF
DISEMBODIMENT
I dreamt that I
was dead, and wanted to take form and appear to C, in order to
converse with him.
And it was suggested by those about me — spirits like myself,
I suppose — that I
might materialize myself through
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[Page 42] the medium of some
man whom they
indicated to me. Coming to the place where he was, I was directed
to throw myself
out forward towards him by an intense concentration of will;
which I
accordingly tried to do, but without success, though the effort I made
was enormous. I
can only compare it to the attempt made by a person unable to
swim, to fling
himself off a platform into deep water. Do all I would, I could
not gather myself
up for it; and although encouraged and stimulated, and assured
I had only to let
myself go, my attempts were ineffectual. Even when I had
sufficiently
collected and prepared myself in one part of my system, the other
part failed me.
At length it was
suggested to me that I should find it easier if I first took on
me the form of the
medium. This I at length succeeded in doing, and, to my
annoyance, so
completely that I materialized myself into the shape not only of
his features, but
of his clothing also. The effort requisite for this exhausted
me to the utmost,
so that I was unable to keep up the apparition for more than a
few minutes, when
I had no choice but to yield to the strain and let myself go
again, only in the
opposite way. So I went out, and mounted like a sudden flame,
and saw myself for
a moment like a thin streak of white mist rising in the air;
while the comfort
and relief I experienced by regaining my light
spirit-condition,
were indescribable. It was because I had, for want of skill,
de-materialized
myself without sufficient deliberation, that I had thus rapidly
mounted in the
air.
After an interval
I dreamt that, wishing to see what A would do in case I
appeared to him
after my death, I went to him as a spirit and called him by his
name. Upon hearing
my voice he rose and went to the window
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[Page 43] and looked
out uneasily. On
my going close to him and speaking in his ear, he was much
disturbed, and ran
his hand through his hair and rubbed his head in a puzzled
and by no means
pleased manner. At the third attempt to attract his attention he
rushed to the door
and, calling for a glass, poured out some wine, which he
drank. On seeing
this, and finding him inaccessible, I desisted, thinking it
must often happen
to the departed to be distressed by the inability or
unwillingness of
those they love to receive and recognize them.
Paris Jan 1878
- 13 - THE PERFECT
WAY WITH ANIMALS
I saw in my sleep
a cart-horse who, coming to me, conversed with me in what
seemed a perfectly
simple and natural manner, for it caused me no surprise that
he should speak.
And this is what he said: —
“Kindness to
animals of the gentler orders is the very foundation of
civilization. For
it is the cruelty and harshness of men towards the animals
under their
protection which is the cause of the present low standard of
humanity itself.
Brutal usage creates brutes; and the ranks of mankind are
constantly
recruited from spirits already hardened and depraved by a long course
of ill-treatment.
Nothing develops the spirit as much as sympathy. Nothing
cultivates,
refines, and aids it in its progress towards perfection so much as
kind and gentle
treatment. On the contrary, the brutal usage and want of
sympathy with
which we meet at the hands of men,
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[Page 44] stunt our development
and reverse all
the currents of our nature. We grow coarse with coarseness, vile
with reviling, and
brutal with the brutality of those who surround us. And when
we pass out of
this stage we enter on the next depraved and hardened, and with
the bent of our dispositions
such that we are ready by our nature to do in our
turn that which
has been done to us. The greater number of us, indeed know no
other or better
way. For the spirit learns by experience and imitation, and
inclines
necessarily to do those things which it has been in the habit of seeing
done. Humanity
will never become perfected until this doctrine is understood and
received and made
the rule of conduct.”
Paris, October 28,
1879
- 14 - THE
LABORATORY UNDERGROUND
I dreamed that I
found myself underground in a vault artificially lighted.
Tables were ranged
along the walls of the vault, and upon these tables were
bound down the
living bodies of half-dissected and mutilated animals. Scientific
experts were busy
at work on their victims with scalpel, hot iron and forceps.
But, as I looked
at the creatures lying bound before them, they no longer
appeared to be
mere rabbits, or hounds, for in each I saw a human shape, the
shape of a man,
with limbs and lineaments resembling those of their torturers,
hidden within the
outward form. And when they led into the place an old worn-out
horse, crippled
with age and long
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[Page 45] toil in the service of man,
and
bound him down,
and lacerated his flesh with their knives, I saw the human form
within him stir
and writhe as though it were an unborn babe moving in its
mother’s womb. And
I cried aloud — “Wretches! you are tormenting an unborn man!”
But they heard
not, nor could they see what I saw. Then they brought in a white
rabbit, and thrust
its eyes through with heated irons. And as I gazed, the
rabbit seemed to
me like a tiny infant, with human face, and hands which
stretched
themselves towards me in appeal, and lips which sought to cry for help
in human accents.
And I could bear no more, but broke forth into a bitter rain
of tears,
exclaiming - “O blind! blind” not to see that you torture a child, the
youngest of your
own flesh and blood!”
And with that I
woke, sobbing vehemently.
Paris, February 2,
1880
- 15 - THE OLD
YOUNG MAN
I dreamed that I
was in Rome with C., and a friend of his called on us there,
and asked leave to
introduce to us a young man, a student of art, whose history
and condition were
singular. They came together in the evening. In the room
where we sat was a
kind of telephonic tube, through which, at intervals, a voice
spoke to me. When
the young man entered, these words were spoken in my ear
through the tube:
—
“You have made a
good many diagnoses lately of
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[Page 46] cases of physical
disease; here is a
curious and interesting type of spiritual pathology, the like
of which is rarely
met with. Question this young man.”
Accordingly I did
so, and drew from him that about a year ago he had been
seriously ill of
Roman fever; but as he hesitated, and seemed unwilling to speak
on the subject, I
questioned the friend. From him I learnt that the young man
had formerly been
a very proficient pupil in one of the best-known studios in
Rome, but that a
year ago he had suffered from a most terrible attack of
malaria, in
consequence of his remaining in Rome to work after others had found
it necessary to go
into the country, and that the malady had so affected the
nervous system
that since his recovery he had been wholly unlike his former
self. His great
aptitude for artistic work, from which so much had been
expected, seemed
to have entirely left him; he was no longer master of his
pencil; his former
faculty and promise of excellence had vanished. The physician
who had attended
him during his illness affirmed that all this was readily
accounted for by
the assumption that the malaria had affected the cerebral
centers, and in
particular, the nerve-cells of the memory; that such
consequences of
severe continuous fever were by no means uncommon, and might
last for an
indefinite period. Meanwhile the young man was now, by slow and
painful
application, doing his utmost to recover his lost power and skill.
Naturally the
subject was distasteful to him, and he shrank from discussing it.
Here the voice
again spoke to me through the tube, telling me to observe the
young man, and
especially his face. On this I scanned his countenance with
attention, and
remarked that it wore a singularly old look, — the look of a man
advanced in years
and
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[Page 47] experience. But that I
surmised to be a not
unusual effect of
severe fever.
“How old do you
suppose the patient to be?” asked the interrogative voice.
“About twenty
years old, I suppose” said I.
“He is a year
old,” rejoined the voice.
“A year! How can
that be?”
“If you will not
allow that he is only a year old, then you must admit that he
is sixty-five, for
he is certainly either one or the other.”
This enigma so
perplexed me, that I begged my invisible informant for the
solution of the
difficulty, which was at once vouchsafed in the following terms:
—
“Here is the
history of your patient. The youth who was the proficient and
gifted student,
who astonished his masters, and gave such brilliant indications
of future
greatness, is dead. The malaria killed him. But he had a father, who,
while alive, had
loved his son as the apple of his eye, and whose whole being
and desire
centered in the boy. This father died some six years ago, about the
age of sixty.
After his death his devotion to the youth continued, and as a
spirit, he
followed him everywhere, never quitting his side. So entirely was he
absorbed in the
lad and in his career, that he made no advance in his own
spiritual life,
nor, indeed was he fully aware of the fact that he had himself
quitted the
earthly plane. For there are souls which, having been obtuse and
dull in their
apprehension of spiritual things during their existence in the
flesh, and having
neither hopes not aims beyond the body, are very slow to
realize the fact
of their dissolution, and remain, therefore, chained to the
earth by earthly
affections and interests, haunting the places or persons they
have most
affected.
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[Page 48] But the young artist was not
of this order.
Idealist and
genius, he was already highly spiritualized and vitalized even upon
earth, and when
death rent the bond between him and his body, he passed at once
from the
atmosphere of carnal things into a loftier sphere. But at the moment of
his death, the
phantom father was watching beside the son’s sick-bed, and filled
with agony at
beholding the wreck of all the brilliant hopes he had cherished
for the boy,
thought only of preserving the physical life of that dear body,
since the death of
the outward form was still for him the death of all he had
loved. He would
cling to it, preserve it, re-animate it at any cost. The spirit
had quitted it; it
lay before him a corpse. What, then did the father do? With a
supreme effort of
desire, ineffectual indeed to recall the departed ghost, but
potent in its
reaction upon himself, he projected his own vitality into his
son’s dead body,
re-animated it with his own soul, and thus effected the
resuscitation for
which he had so ardently longed. So the body you now behold
is, indeed, the
son’s body, the soul which animates it is that of the father.
And it is a year
since this event occurred. Such is the real solution of the
problem, whose
natural effects the physician attributes to the result of
disease. The
spirit which now tenants this young man’s form had no knowledge of
art when he was so
strangely reborn into the world, beyond the mere rudiments of
drawing which he
had learned while watching his son at work during the previous
six years. What,
therefore seems to the physician to be a painful recovery of
previous aptitude,
is, in fact the imperfect endeavour of a novice entering a
new and unsuitable
career.
“For the father
the experience is by no means an unprofitable one. He would
certainly sooner
or later, have
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[Page 49] resumed existence upon earth
in the
flesh, and it is
as well that his return should be under the actual
circumstances. The
study of art upon which he has thus entered is likely to
prove to him an
excellent means of spiritual education. By means of it his soul
may ascend as it
has never yet done; while the habits of the body he now
possesses, trained
as it is to refined and gentle modes of life, may do much to
accomplish the
purgation and redemption of its new tenant. It is far better for
the father that
this strange event should have occurred, than that he should
have remained an
earth-bound phantom, unable to realize his own position, or to
rise above the
affection which chained him to merely worldly things.”
PARIS, February
21, 1880
- 16 - THE
METEMPSYCHOSIS
I was visited last
night in my sleet by one whom I presently recognized as the
famous Adept and
Mystic of the first century of our era, Apollonius of Tyana,
called the Pagan
Christ. He was clad in a grey linen robe with a hood, like that
of a monk, and had
a smooth, beardless face, and seemed to be between forty and
fifty years of
age. He made himself known to me by asking if I had heard of his
lion. [This was a
tame captive lion, in whom Apollonius is said to have
recognized the
soul of the Egyptian King Amasis, who had lived 500 years
previously. The
lion burst into tears at the recognition, and showed much
misery. (Author’s
Note.) ] He commenced by speaking of Metempsychosis,
concerning which
he informed
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[Page 50] me as follows: — “There are
two streams
or currents, and
upward and a downward one, by which souls are continually
passing and
repassing as on a ladder. The carnivorous animals are souls
undergoing penance
by being imprisoned for a time in such forms on account of
their misdeeds.
Have you not heard the story of my lion?” I said yes, but that I
did not understand
it, because I thought it impossible for a human soul to
suffer the
degradation of returning into the body of a lower creature after once
attaining
humanity. At this he laughed out, and said that the real degradation
was not in the
penance but in the sin. “It is not by the penance, but by
incurring the need
of the penance, that the soul is degraded. The man who
sullies his
humanity by cruelty or lust, is already degraded thereby below
humanity; and the
form which his soul assumes afterwards assumes is the mere
natural
consequence of that degradation. He may again recover humanity, but only
by means of
passing through another form than that of the carnivora. When you
were told [The
reference is to an instruction received by her four years
previously, but in
sleep, and not from Apollonius, though from a source no less
transcendental.
(Ed.)] that certain creatures were redeemable or not redeemable,
the meaning was
this: They who are redeemable may, on leaving their present
form, return
directly into humanity. Their penance accomplished in that form,
and in it,
therefore, they are redeemed. But they who are not redeemable, are
they whose sin has
been too deep or too ingrained to suffer them to return until
they have passed
through other lower forms. They are not redeemable therein, but
will be on
ascending again. Others, altogether vile and past redemption, sink
continually lower
and lower down the stream, until
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[Page 51] at length they burn
out. They shall
neither be redeemed in the form they now occupy, nor in any
other.”
PARIS, May 11,
1880
*** [ Remembering,
on being told this dream, that Eliphas Levi in his Haute
Magie, had
described an interview with the phantom of Apollonius, which he had
evoked, I referred
to the book, and found that he also saw him with a
smooth-shaven
face, but wearing a shroud (linceul) (Ed.)]
- 17 - THE THREE
KINGS
The time was
drawing towards dawn in a wild and desolate region. And I stood
with my genius at
the foot of a mountain the summit of which was hidden in mist.
At a few paces
from me stood three persons, clad in splendid robes and wearing
crowns on their
heads. Each personage carried a casket and a key: the three
caskets differed
from one another, but the keys were all alike. And my genius
said to me, “These
are the three kings of the East, and they journey hither over
the river that is dried
up, to go up into the mountain of Sion and rebuild the
Temple of the Lord
God.” Then I looked more closely at the three royalties, and
I saw that the one
who stood nearest to me on the left hand was a man, and color
of his skin was
dark like that of an Indian. And the second was in form like a
woman, and her
complexion was fair: and the third had the wings of an Angel, and
carried a staff of
gold. And I heard them say one to another, “Brother, what
hast thou in thy
casket?” And the first answered, and the King who bore the
aspect of a woman,
answered, " I am the carp. “I am the Stonelayer,
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[Page 52]
and I carry the
implements of my craft; also a bundle of myrrh for thee and for
me.”I am the
Carpenter, and I bear the instruments of my craft; also a box of
frankincense for
thee and for me.” And the Angel-king answered, “I am the
Measurer, and I
carry the secrets of the living God, and the rod of gold to
measure your work
withal.” Then the first said, “Therefore let us go up into the
hill of the Lord
and build the walls of Jerusalem. And they turned to ascend the
mountain. But they
had not taken the first step when the king, whose name was
Stonelayer, said
to him who was called the Carpenter, “Give me first the
implements of thy
craft, and the plan of thy building, that I may know after
what sort thou
buildest, and may fashion thereto my masonry.” And the other
asked him, “What
buildest thou, brother?” And he answered, “I build the Outer
Court,” Then the
Carpenter unlocked his casket and gave him a scroll written
over in silver,
and a crystal rule, and a carpenter’s plane and a saw. And the
other took them
and put them into his casket. Then the Carpenter said to the
Stonelayer,
“Brother, give me also the plan of thy building, and the tools of
thy craft. For I
build the Inner Place, and must needs fit my designing to thy
foundation.” But
the other answered, “Nay, my brother, for I have promised the
laborers. Build
thou alone. It is enough that I know thy secrets; ask not mine
of me.” And the
Carpenter answered, “How then shall the Temple of the Lord be
built? Are we not
of three Ages, and is the temple yet perfected?” Then the
Angel spoke, and
said to the Stonelayer, “Fear not, brother: freely hast thou
received; freely
give. For except thine elder brother had been first a
Stonelayer, he
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[Page 53] could not now be a Carpenter.
Art thou not of Solomon,
and he of Christ?
Therefore he hath already handled thy tools, and is of thy
craft. And I also,
the Measurer, I know the work of both. But now is that time
when the end
cometh, and that which hath been spoken in the ear in closets, the
same shall be
proclaimed on the housetops.” Then the first king unlocked his
casket, and gave
to the Carpenter a scroll written in red, and a compass and a
trowel. But the
Carpenter answered him: “It is enough. I have seen, and I
remember. For this
is the writing King Solomon gave into my hands when I also
was a Stonelayer,
and when thou wert of the company of them that labor. For I
also am thy
Brother, and that thou knowest I know also.” Then the third king,
the Angel, spoke
again and said, “Now is the knowledge perfected and the bond
fulfilled. For
neither can the Stonelayer build alone, nor the Carpenter
construct apart.
Therefore, until this day, is the Temple of the Lord unbuilt.
But now is the
time come, and Salem shall have her habitation on the Hill of the
Lord.”
And there came
down a mist from the mountain, and out of the mist a star. And my
Genius said, “Thou
shalt yet see more on this wise.” But I saw then only the
mist, which filled
the valley, and moistened my hair and my dress; and so I
awoke.
LONDON, April 30,
1882
[ For the full
comprehension of the above dream, it is necessary to be
profoundly versed
at once in the esoteric signification of the Scriptures and in
the mysteries of
Freemasonry. It was the dreamer’s great regret that she neither
knew, nor could
know, the latter, women being excluded from initiation. (Ed.)]
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[Page 54]
- 18 - THE ARMED
GODDESS
I dreamed that I
sat reading in my study, with books lying about all round me.
Suddenly a voice
marvellously clear and silvery, called me by name. Starting up
and turning, I saw
behind me a long vista of white marble columns, Greek in
architecture,
flanking on either side a gallery of white marble. At the end of
this gallery stood
a shape of exceeding brilliancy, the shape of a woman above
mortal height,
clad from head to foot in shining mail armor. In her right hand
was a spear, on
her left arm a shield. Her brow was hidden by a helmet, and the
aspect of her face
was stern, severe even, I thought, I approached her, and as I
went, my body was
lifted up from the earth, and I was aware of that strange
sensation of
floating above the surface of the ground, which is so common with
me in sleep that
at times I can scarce persuade myself after waking that it has
not been a real
experience. When I alighted at the end of the long gallery
before the armed
woman, she said to me:
“Take off the
nightdress thou wearest.”
I looked at my
attire and was about to answer — “This is not a nightdress,” when
she added, as
though perceiving my thought: —
“The woman’s garb
is a nightdress; it is a garment made to sleep in. The man’s
garb is the dress
for the day. Look eastward!”
I raised my eyes
and, behind the mail-clad shape, I saw the draw breaking,
blood-red, and
with great clouds like
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[Page 55] pillars of smoke rolling up on
either side of the
place where the sun was about to rise. But as yet the sun was
not visible. And
as I looked, she cried aloud, and her voice rang through the
air like the clash
of steel: —
“Listen!”
And she struck her
spear on the marble pavement. At the same moment there came
from afar off, a
confused sound of battle. Cries, and human voices in conflict,
and the stir as of
a vast multitude, the distant clang of arms and a noise of
the galloping of
many horses rushing furiously over the ground. And then, sudden
silence.
Again she smote
the pavement, and again the sounds arose, nearer now, and more
tumultuous. Once
more they ceased, and a third time she struck the marble with
her spear.
Then the noises
arose all about and around the very spot where we stood, and the
clang of the arms
was so close that it shook and thrilled the very columns
beside me. And the
neighing and snorting of horses, and the thud of their
ponderous hoofs
flying over the earth made, as it were, a wind in my ears, so
that it seemed as
though a furious battle were raging all around us. But I could
see nothing. Only
the sounds increased, and became so violent that they awoke
me, and even after
waking I still seemed to catch the commotion of them in the
air. [This dream
was shortly followed by Mrs Kingsford’s anti-vivisection
expedition to
Switzerland, the fierce conflict of which amply fulfilled any
predictive
significance it may have had.]
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[Page 56]
PARIS, February
15, 1883
- 19 - THE GAME OF
CARDS
I dreamed I was
playing at cards with three persons, the two opposed to me being
a man and a woman
with hoods pulled over their heads, and cloaks covering their
persons. I did not
particularly observe them. My partner was an old man without
hood or cloak, and
there was about him this peculiarity, that he did not from
one minute to
another appear to remain the same. Sometimes he looked like a very
young man, the
features not appearing to change in order to produce this effect,
but an aspect of
youth and even of mirth coming into the face as though the
features were
lighted from within. Behind me stood a personage whom I could not
see, for his hand
and arm only appeared, handing me a pack of cards. So far as I
discerned, it was
a man’s figure, habited in black. Shortly after the dream
began, my partner
addressed me, saying,
“Do you play by
luck or by skill?”
I answered” “I
play by luck chiefly; I don’t know how to play by skill. But I
have generally
been lucky." In fact I had already, lying by me, several tricks I
had taken. He
answered me: —
“To play by luck
is to trust to without; to play by skill is to trust to within.
In this game,
Within goes further than Without.”
“What are trumps?”
I asked.
“Diamonds are
trumps,” he answered.
I looked at the
cards in my hand and said to him: — “I have more clubs than
anything else.”
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[Page 57]
At this he
laughed, and seemed all at once quite a youth. “Clubs are strong
cards, after all,”
he said. “Don’t despise the black suits. I have known some of
the best games
ever played won by players holding more clubs than you have.”
I examined the
cards and found something very odd about them. There were four
suits, diamonds,
hearts, clubs, and spades. But the picture cards in my hand
seemed different
altogether from any I had ever seen before. One was queen of
Clubs, and her
face altered as I looked at it. First it was dark, — almost
dusky, — with the
imperial crown on the head; then it seemed quite fair, the
crown changing to
a smaller one of English aspect, and the dress also
transforming
itself. There was a queen of Hearts, too, in an antique peasant’s
gown, with brown
hair, and presently this melted into a suit of armor which
shone as if
reflecting fire-light in its burnished scales. The other cards
seemed alive
likewise, even the ordinary ones, just like the court-cards. There
seemed to be pictures
moving inside the emblems on their faces. The clubs in my
hand ran into
higher figures than the spades; these came next in number, and
diamonds next. I
had no picture-cards of diamonds, but I had the Ace. And this
was so bright I
could not look at it. Except the two queens of Clubs and Hearts
I think I had no
picture-cards in my hand, and very few red cards of any kind.
There were high
figures in the spades. It was the personage behind my chair who
dealt the cards
always. I said to my partner: — “It is difficult to play at all,
whether by luck or
by skill, for I get such a bad hand dealt me each time.
“That is your
fault,” he said. “Play your best with what you have, and next time
you will get
better cards.”
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[Page 58]
“How can that be?
I asked.
“Because after
each game, the tricks you take are added to the bottom of the
pack which the
dealer holds, and you get the honors you have taken up from the
table. Play well
and take all you can. But you must put more head into it. You
trust too much to
fortune. Don’t blame the dealer; he can’t see.”
“I shall lose this
game,” I said presently, for the two persons playing against
us seemed to be
taking up all the cards quickly, and the lead never came to my
turn.
“It is because you
don’t count your points before putting down a card,” my
partner said. “If
they play high numbers, you must play higher.”
“But they have all
the trumps,” I said.
“No,” he answered,
“you have the highest trump of all in your own hand. It is
the first and the
last. You may take every card they have with that, for it is
the chief of the
whole series. But you have spades too, and high ones.” (He
seemed to know
what I had.)
“Diamonds are
better than spades,” I answered. “And nearly all my cards are
black ones.
Besides, I can’t count, it wants so much thinking. Can’t you come
over here and play
for me?”
He shook his head,
and I thought that again he laughed. “No,” he replied, “that
is against the law
of the game. You must play for yourself. Think it out.”
He uttered these
words very emphatically and with so strange an intonation that
they dissipated
the rest of the dream, and I remember no more of it.
---------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
[Page 59]
ATCHAM, Dec 7,
1883
- 20 - THE
PANIC-STRUCK PACK-HORSE
Out of a veil of
palpitating mist there arose before me in my sleep the image of
a colossal and
precipitous cliff, standing sheer up against a sky of cloud and
sea-mist, the tops
of the granite peaks being merged and hidden in the vapor. At
the foot of the
precipice beat a wild sea, tossing and flecked with foam; and
out of the flying
spray rose sharp splinters of granite, standing like
spearheads about
the base of the sold rock. As I looked, something stirred far
off in the
distance, like a fly crawling over the smooth crag. Fixing my gaze
upon it I became
aware that there was at a great height above the sea, midway
between sky and
water, a narrow unprotected footpath winding up and down
irregularly along
the side of the mighty cliff; — a slender, sloping path,
horrible to look at,
like a rope or a thread stretched midair, hanging between
heaven and the
hungry foam. One by one, came towards me along this awful path a
procession of
horses, drawing tall narrow carts filled with bales of
merchandise. The
horses moved along the edge of the crag as though they clung to
it, their bodies
aslant towards the wall of granite on their right, their legs
moving with the
precision of creatures feeling and grasping every step. Like
deer they moved, —
not like horses, — and as they advanced, the carts they drew
swayed behind
them, and I thought every jolt would hurl them over the precipice.
Fascinated I
watched, — I could not choose but watch. At length came a grey
horse, not drawing
a cart, but carrying something on his back, — on a
pack-saddle
apparently. Like the rest he
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[Page 60] came on stealthily, sniffing
every inch of the
terrible way, until, just at the worst and giddiest point he
paused, hesitated,
and seemed about to turn. I saw him back himself into a
crouching attitude
against the wall of rock behind him, lowering his haunches,
and rearing his
head in a strange manner. The idea flashed on me that he would
certainly turn,
and then — what could happen? More horses were advancing, and
two beasts could
not possibly pass each other on that narrow ledge! But I was
totally unprepared
for the ghastly thing that actually did happen. The miserable
horse had been
seized with the awful mountain-madness that sometimes overtakes
men on stupendous
heights, — the madness of suicide. With a frightful scream,
that sounded
partly like a cry of supreme desperation, partly like one of
furious and
frenzied joy, the horse reared himself to his full height on the
horrible ledge,
shook his head wildly, and leaped with a frantic spring into the
air, sheer over
the precipice, and into the foam beneath. His eyes glared as he
shot into the
void, a great dark living mass against the white mist. Was he
speared on those
terrible shafts or rock below, or was his life dashed out in
horrible crimson
splashes against the cliff-side? Or did he sink into the
reeling swirl of
the foaming waters, and die more mercifully in their steel-dark
depths? I could
not see. I saw only the flying form dart through the mist like
an arrow from a
bow. I head only the appalling cry, like nothing earthly ever
heard before; and
I woke in a panic, with hands tightly clasped, and my body
damp with
moisture. It was but a dream — this awful picture; it was gone as an
image from a
mirror, and I was awake and gazing only upon blank darkness.
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
[Page
61]
ATCHAM, Sept 15,
1884
- 21 - THE HAUNTED
INN
I seemed in my
vision to be on a long and wearisome journey, and to have arrived
at an Inn, in
which I was offered shelter and rest. The apartment given me
consisted of a
bedroom and parlor, communicating, and furnished in an antique
manner, everything
in the rooms appearing to be worm-eaten, dusty and out of
date. The walls
were bare and dingy; there was not a picture or an ornament in
the apartment. An
extremely dim light prevailed in the scene; indeed, I do not
clearly remember,
whether, with the exception of the fire and a night-lamp, the
rooms were
illumined at all. I seated myself in a chair by the hearth; it was
late, and I
thought only of rest. But, presently, I became aware of strange
things going on
about me. On a table in a corner lay some papers and a pencil.
With a feeling of
indescribable horror I saw this pencil assume an erect
position and begin
of itself to write on the paper, precisely as though an
invisible hand
held and guided it. At the same time, small detonations sounded
in different parts
of the room; tiny bright sparks appeared, burst, and
immediately
expired in smoke. The pencil having ceased to write, laid itself
gently down, and
taking the paper in my hand I found on it a quantity of writing
which at first
appeared to me to be in cipher, but I presently perceived that
the words
composing as it were written backwards, from right to left, exactly as
one sees writing
reflected on a looking glass. What was written made a
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[Page 62]
considerable
impression on me at the time, but I cannot now recall it, I know,
however, that the
dominant feeling I experienced was one of horror.
I called the
owners of the inn and related to them what had taken place. They
received my
statement with perfect equanimity, and told me that in their house
this was the
normal state of things, of which, in fact, they were extremely
proud: and they
ended by congratulating me as a visitor much favored by the
invisible agencies
of the place.
“We call them our
Lights,” they said.
“It is true,” I
observed, “that I saw lights in the air about the room, but they
went out
instantaneously, and left only smoke behind them. And why do they write
backwards? Who are
They?”
As I asked this
question, the pencil on the table rose again, and wrote thus on
the paper: —
“ksatonoD”
Again horror
seized on me, and the air becoming full of smoke I found it
impossible to
breathe. “Let me out!” I cried, “I am stifled here, — the air is
full of smoke!”
Outside, the
people of the house answered, “you will lose your way; it is quite
dark, and we have
no other rooms to let. And, besides, it is the same in all the
other apartments
of the inn.”
“But the place is
haunted!” I cried; and I pushed past them, and burst out of
the house.
Before the doorway
stood a tall veiled figure, like translucent silver. A sense
of reverence
overcame me. The night was balmy, and bright almost as day with
resplendent
starlight. The stars seemed to lean out of heaven; they looked down
on me like living
eyes, full of
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[Page 63] a strange immeasurable
sympathy. I
crossed the
threshold, and stood in the open plain, breathing with rapture and
relief the pure
warm air of that delicious night. How restful, calm, and
glorious was the
dark landscape, outlined in purple against the luminous sky !
And what a
consciousness of vastness and immensity above and around me ! " Where
am I ? " I
cried.
The silver figure
stood beside me, and lifted its veil. It was Pallas Athena.
"Under the Stars of the East", she
answered me, " the true eternal Lights of
the World."
After I was awake,
a text in the Gospels was vividly brought to my mind: —
"There was no
room for them in the Inn." What is this Inn, I wondered, all the
rooms of which are
haunted, and in which the Christ cannot be born ? And this
open country under
the eastern night, — is it not the same in which they were "
abiding," to
whom that Birth was first angelically announced ?
ATCHAM, Nov. 5,
1885.
*** [ The solution
of the enigma was received subsequently in an instruction,
also imparted in
sleep, in which it was said, " If Occultism were all, and held
the key of heaven,
there would be no need of Christ."(ED.)]
- 22 - AN EASTERN
APOLOGUE.
The following was
read by me during sleep, in an old book printed in archaic
type. As with many
other things similarly read by me, I do not know whether it
is to be found in
any book: —
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
[Page 64] "After Buddha had been
ten years in
retirement,
certain sages sent their disciples to him, asking him, —
' What dost thou
claim to be, Gautama ?' "
Buddha answered
them, ' I claim to be nothing.'
" Ten years
afterwards they sent again to him, asking the same question, and
again Buddha
answered: — ' I claim to be nothing.'
"Then after
yet another ten years had passed, they sent a third time, asking, '
What dost thou
claim to be, Gautama ?'
"And Buddha
replied, ' I claim to be the utterance of the most high God.'
" Then they
said to him: ' How is this, that hitherto thou hast proclaimed
thyself to be
nothing, and now thou declarest thyself to be the very utterance
of God ?'
" Buddha
answered: ' Either I am nothing, or I am the very utterance of God, for
between these two
all is silence.'"
ATCHAM, March 5,
1885.
- 23 - A HAUNTED
HOUSE INDEED
I dreamt that
during a tour on the Continent with my friend C. we stayed in a
town wherein there
was an ancient house of horrible reputation, concerning which
we received the
following account. At the top of the house was a suite of rooms,
from which no one
who entered at night ever again emerged. No corpse was ever
found; but it was
said by some that the victims were absorbed bodily by the
walls; by others
that there
---------Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales-------
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
[Page 65] were in the rooms a number of
pictures in
frames, one frame,
however, containing a blank canvas, which had the dreadful
power, first, of
fascinating the beholder, and next of drawing him towards it,
so that he was
compelled to approach and gaze at it. Then, by the same hideous
enchantment, he
was forced to touch it, and the touch was fatal. For the canvas
seized him as a
devil-fish seizes its prey, and sucked him in, so that he
perished without
leaving a trace of himself, or of the manner of his death. The
legend said
further that if any person could succeed in passing a night in these
rooms and in
resisting their deadly influence, the spell would for ever be
broken, and no one
would thenceforth be sacrificed.
Hearing all this,
and being somewhat of the knight-errant order, C. and I
determined to face
the danger, and, if possible, deliver the town from the
enchantment. We
were assured that the attempt would be vain, for that it had
already been many
times made, and the Devils of the place were always
triumphant. They
had the power, we were told, of hallucinating the senses of
their victims; we
should be subjected to some illusion, and be fatally deceived.
Nevertheless, we
were resolved to try what we could do, and in order to acquaint
ourselves with the
scene of the ordeal, we visited the place in the daytime. It
was a
gloomy-looking building, consisting of several vast rooms, filled with
lumber of old
furniture, worm-eaten and decaying; scaffoldings, which seemed to
have been erected
for the sake of making repairs and then left; the windows were
curtainless, the
floors bare, and rats ran hither and thither among the rubbish
accumulated in the
corners. Nothing could possibly look more desolate and
gruesome. We saw
no pictures; but as we
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[Page 66] did not explore every part of
the rooms, they
may have been there without our seeing them.
We were further
informed by the people of the town that in order to visit the
rooms at night it
was necessary to wear a special costume, and that without it
we should have no
chance whatever of issuing from them alive. This costume was
of black and white,
and each of us was to carry a black stave. So we put on this
attire, — which
somewhat resembled the garb of an ecclesiastical order, — and
when the appointed
time came, repaired to the haunted house, where, after
toiling up the
great staircase in the darkness, we reached the door of the
haunted apartments
to find it closed. But light was plainly visible beneath it,
and within was the
sound of voices. This greatly surprised us; but after a short
conference we
knocked. The door was presently opened by a servant, dressed as a
modern indoor
footman usually is, who civilly asked us to walk in. On entering
we found the place
altogether different from what we expected to find, and had
found on our
daylight visit. It was brightly lighted, had decorated walls,
pretty ornaments,
carpets, and every kind of modern garnishment, and, in short,
bore all the
appearance of an ordinary well-appointed private flat. While we
stood in the
corridor, astonished, a gentleman in evening dress advanced towards
us from one of the
reception rooms. As he looked interrogatively at us, we
thought it best to
explain the intrusion, adding that we presumed we had either
entered the wrong
house, or stopped at the wrong apartment.
He laughed
pleasantly at our tale, and said, "I don't know anything about
haunted rooms,
and, in fact, don't believe in anything of the kind. As for these
rooms, they have
for a long time been let for two or three nights
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[Page 67]
every week to our
Society for the purpose of social reunion. We are members of a
musical and
literary association, and are in the habit of holding conversaziones
in these rooms on
certain evenings, during which we entertain ourselves with
dancing, singing,
charades, and literary gossip. The rooms are spacious and
lofty, and exactly
adapted to our requirements. As you are here, I may say, in
the name of the
rest of the members, that we shall be happy if you will join
us." At this
I glanced at our dresses in some confusion, which being observed by
the gentleman, he
hastened to say: " You need be under no anxiety about your
appearance, for
this is a costume night, and the greater number of our guests
are in
travesty." As he spoke he threw open the door of a large drawing-room and
invited us in. On
entering we found a company of men and women, well-dressed,
some in ordinary
evening attire and some costumed. The room was brilliantly
lighted and
beautifully furnished and decorated. At one end was a grand piano,
round which
several persons were grouped; others were seated on ottomans taking
tea or coffee; and
others strolled about, talking. Our host, who appeared to be
master of the ceremonies,
introduced us to several persons, and we soon became
deeply interested
in a conversation on literary subjects. So the evening wore on
pleasantly, but I
never ceased to wonder how we could have mistaken the house or
the staircase
after the precaution we had taken of visiting it in the daytime in
order to avoid the
possibility of error.
Presently, being
tired of conversation, I wandered away from the group with
which C. was still
engaged, to look at the beautiful decorations of the great
salon, the walls
of which were covered with artistic designs in
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[Page 68]
fresco. Between
each couple of panels, the whole length of the salon, was a
beautiful
painting, representing a landscape or a sea-piece. I passed from one
to the other,
admiring each, till I had reached the extreme end, and was far
away from the rest
of the company, where the lights were not so many or so
bright as in the
centre. The last fresco in the series then caught my attention.
At first it
appeared to me to be unfinished; and then I observed that there was
upon its
background no picture at all, but only a background of merging tints
which seemed to
change, and to be now sky, now sea, now green grass. This empty
picture had,
moreover, an odd metallic colouring which fascinated me; and saying
to myself "
Is there really any painting on it ? " I mechanically put out my
hand and touched
it. On this I was instantly seized by a frightful sensation, a
shock that ran
from the tips of my fingers to my brain, and steeped my whole
being.
Simultaneously I was aware of an overwhelming sense of sucking and
dragging, which,
from my hand and arm, and, as it were, through them, seemed to
possess and
envelop my whole person. Face, hair, eyes, bosom, limbs, every
portion of my body
was locked in an awful embrace which, like the vortex of a
whirlpool, drew me
irresistibly towards the picture. I felt the hideous impulse
clinging over me
and sucking me forwards into the wall. I strove in vain to
resist it. My
efforts were more futile than the flutter of gossamer wings. And
then there rushed
upon my mind the consciousness that all we had been told about
the haunted rooms
was true; that a strong delusion had been cast over us; that
all this brilliant
throng of modern ladies and gentlemen were fiends
masquerading,
prepared beforehand for our coming; that all the beauty and
splendour of our surroundings
were mere glamour; and
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206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24-1DL
[Page 69] that in reality
the rooms were
those we had seen in the daytime, filled with lumber and rot and
vermin. As I
realised all this, and was thrilled with the certainty of it, a
sudden access of
strength came to me, and I was impelled, as a last desperate
effort, to turn my
back on the awful fresco, and at least to save my face from
coming into
contact with it and being glued to its surface. With a shriek of
anguish I wrenched
myself round and fell prostrate on the ground, face
downwards, with my
back to the wall, feeling as though the flesh had been torn
from my hand and
arm. Whether I was saved or not I knew not. My whole being was
overpowered by the
realisation of the deception to which I had succumbed. I had
looked for
something so different, — darkness, vacant, deserted rooms, and
perhaps a tall,
white, empty canvas in a frame, against which I should have been
on my guard. Who
could have anticipated or suspected this cheerful welcome,
these entertaining
literati, these innocent-looking frescoes ? Who could have
foreseen so deadly
a horror in such a guise? Was I doomed? Should I, too, be
sucked in and
absorbed, and perhaps C. after me, knowing nothing of my fate? I
had no voice; I
could not warn him; all my force seemed to have been spent on
the single shriek
I had uttered as I turned my back on the wall. I lay prone
upon the floor,
and knew that I had swooned.
And thus, on
seeking me, C. would doubtless have found me, lying insensible
among the rubbish,
with the rooms restored to the condition in which we had seen
them by day, my
success in withdrawing myself having dissolved the spell and
destroyed the
enchantment. But as it was, I awoke from my swoon only to find
that I had been
dreaming.
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[Page 70]
- 24 - THE SQUARE
IN THE HAND
The foregoing
dream was almost immediately succeeded by another, in which I
dreamt that I was
concerned in a very prominent way in a political struggle in
France for liberty
and the people's rights. My part in this struggle was,
indeed, the
leading one, but my friend C. had been drawn into it at my instance,
and was implicated
in a secondary manner only. The government sought our arrest,
and, for a time,
we evaded all attempts to take us, but at last we were
surprised and
driven under escort in a private carriage to a military station,
where we were to
be detained for examination. With us was arrested a man
popularly known as
Fou, a poor weakling whom I much pitied. When we arrived at
the station which
was our destination, Fou gave some trouble to the officials. I
think he fainted,
but at all events his conveyance from the carriage to the
caserne needed the
conjoined efforts of our escort, and some commotion was
caused by his
appearance among the crowd assembled to see us. Clearly the crowd
was sympathetic
with us and hostile to the military. I particularly noticed one
woman who pressed
forward as Fou was being carried into the station, and who
loudly called on
all present to note his feeble condition and the barbarity of
arresting a
witless creature such as he. At that moment C. laid his hand on my
arm and whispered:
"Now is our time; the guards are all occupied with Fou; we
are left alone for
a minute; let us jump out of the carriage and run !" As he
said this
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[Page 71] he opened the carriage door on
the side opposite to the
caserne and
alighted in the street. I instantly followed, and the people
favouring us, we
pressed through them and fled at the top of our speed down the
road. As we ran I
espied a pathway winding up a hill-side away from the town,
and cried, "
Let us go up there; let us get away from the street!" C. answered,
"No, no; they
would see us there immediately at that height, the path is too
conspicuous. Our
best safety is to lose ourselves in the town. We may throw them
off our track by
winding in and out of the streets." Just then a little child,
playing in the
road, got in our way, and nearly threw us down as we ran. We had
to pause a moment
to recover ourselves. " That child may have cost us our
lives,"
whispered C., breathlessly. A second afterwards we reached the bottom of
the street which
branched off right and left. I hesitated a moment; then we both
turned to the
right. As we did so — in the twinkling of an eye — we found
ourselves in the
midst of a group of soldiers coming round the corner. I ran
straight into the
arms of one of them, who the same instant knew me and seized
me by throat and
waist with a grip of iron. This was a horrible moment! The iron
grasp was sudden
and solid as the grip of a vice; the man's arm held my waist
like a bar of
steel. " I arrest you !" he cried, and the soldiers immediately
closed round us.
At once I realised the hopelessness of the situation, — the
utter futility of
resistance. " Vous n’avez pas besoin de me tenir ainsi," I
said to the
officer; "j’irai tranquillement." He loosened his hold and we were
then marched off
to another military station, in a different part of the town
from that whence
we had escaped. The man who had arrested me was a sergeant or
some officer
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[Page 72] in petty command. He took me
alone with him into the
guardroom, and
placed before me on a wooden table some papers which he told me
to fill in and
sign. Then he sat down opposite to me and I looked through the
papers. They were
forms, with blanks left for descriptions specifying the name,
occupation, age,
address and so forth of arrested persons. I signed these, and
pushing them
across the table to the man, asked him what was to be done with us.
"You will be
shot", he replied, quickly and decisively. "Both of us ? " I
asked.
"Both",
he replied. " But", said I, "my companion has done nothing to
deserve
death. He was
drawn into this struggle entirely by me. Consider, too, his
advanced age. His
hair is white; he stoops, and, had it not been for the
difficulty with
which he moves his limbs, both of us would probably be at this
moment in a place
of safety. What can you gain by shooting an old man such as he
? " The
officer was silent. He neither favoured nor discouraged me by his
manner. While I
sat awaiting his reply, I glanced at the hand with which I had
just signed the
papers, and a sudden idea flashed into my mind. "At least", I
said, "grant
me one request. If my companion must die, let me die first." Now I
made this request
for the following reason. In my right hand, the line of life
broke abruptly
halfway in its length, indicating a sudden and violent death. But
the point at which
it broke was terminated by a perfectly marked square,
extraordinarily
clear-cut and distinct. Such a square, occurring at the end of a
broken line means
rescue, salvation. I had long been aware of this strange
figuration in my
hand, and had often wondered what it presaged. But now, as once
more I looked at
it, it came upon me with sudden conviction that in some way I
was
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[Page 73] destined to be delivered from
death at the last moment, and I
thought that if
this be so it would be horrible should C. have been killed
first. If I were
to be saved. I should certainly save him also, for my pardon
would involve the
pardon of both, or my rescue the rescue of both. Therefore it
was important to
provide for his safety until after my fate was decided. The
officer seemed to
take this last request into more serious consideration than
the first. He said
shortly: " I may be able to manage that for you," and then at
once rose and took
up the papers I had signed. " When are we to be shot ? " I
asked him.
"Tomorrow morning", he replied, as promptly as before. Then he went
out, turning the
key of the guard-room upon me.
The dawn of the
next day broke darkly. It was a terribly stormy day; great black
lurid
thunderclouds lay piled along the horizon, and came up slowly and awfully
against the wind.
I looked upon them with terror; they seemed so near the earth,
and so like
living, watching things. They hung out of the sky, extending long
ghostly arms
downwards, and their gloom and density seemed supernatural. The
soldiers took us
out, our hands bound behind us, into a quadrangle at the back
of their barracks.
The scene is sharply impressed on my mind. A palisade of two
sides of a square,
made of wooden planks, ran round the quadrangle. Behind this
palisade, and
pressed up close against it, was a mob of men and women — the
people of the town
— come to see the execution. But their faces were
sympathetic; an
unmistakable look of mingled grief and rage, not unmixed with
desperation — for
they were a down-trodden folk — shone in the hundreds of eyes
turned towards us.
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[Page 74] I was the only woman among the
condemned. C. was
there, and poor
Fou, looking bewildered, and one or two other prisoners. On the
third and fourth
sides of the quadrangle was a high wall, and in a certain place
was a niche partly
enclosing the trunk of a tree, cut off at the top. An iron
ring was driven
into the trunk midway, evidently for the purpose of securing
condemned persons
for execution. I guessed it would be used for that now. In the
centre of the
square piece of ground stood a file of soldiers, armed with
carbines, and an
officer with a drawn sabre. The palisade was guarded by a row
of soldiers
somewhat sparsely distributed, certainly not more than a dozen in
all. A Catholic
priest in a black cassock walked beside me, and as we were
conducted into the
enclosure, he turned to me and offered religious consolation.
I declined his
ministrations, but asked him anxiously if he knew which of us was
to die first. You
he replied; "the officer in charge of you said you wished it,
and he has been
able to accede to your request." Even then I felt a singular joy
at hearing this,
though I had no longer any expectation of release. Death was, I
thought, far too
near at hand for that. Just then a soldier approached us, and
led me,
bareheaded, to the tree trunk, where he placed me with my back against
it, and made fast
my hands behind me with a rope to the iron ring. No bandage
was put over my
eyes. I stood thus, facing the file of soldiers in the middle of
the quadrangle,
and noticed that the officer with the drawn sabre placed himself
at the extremity
of the line, composed of six men. In that supreme moment I also
noticed that their
uniform was bright with steel accoutrements. Their helmets
were of steel, and
their carbines, as they raised them and pointed them at me,
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[Page 75] ready cocked, glittered in a
fitful gleam of sunlight with the same
burnished metal.
There was an instant's stillness and hush while the men took
aim; then I saw
the officer raise his bared sabre as the signal to fire. It
flashed in the
air; then, with a suddenness impossible to convey, the whole
quadrangle blazed
with an awful light, — a light so vivid, so intense, so
blinding, so
indescribable that everything was blotted out and devoured by it.
It crossed my
brain with instantaneous conviction that this amazing glare was
the physical
effect of being shot, and that the bullets had pierced my brain or
heart, and caused
this frightful sense of all-pervading flame. Vaguely I
remembered having
read or having been told that such was the result produced on
the nervous system
of a victim to death from firearms. " It is over", I said, "
that was the
bullets". But presently there forced itself on my dazed senses a
sound — a
confusion of sounds — darkness succeeding the white flash — then
steadying itself
into gloomy daylight; a tumult; a heap of stricken, tumbled men
lying stone-still
before me; a fearful horror upon every living face; and then
... it all burst
on me with distinct conviction. The storm which had been
gathering all the
morning had culminated in its blackest and most electric point
immediately
overhead. The file of soldiers appointed to shoot us stood exactly
under it.
Sparkling with bright steel on head and breast and carbines, they
stood shoulder to
shoulder, a complete lightning conductor, and at the end of
the chain they
formed, their officer, at the critical moment, raised his
shining, naked
blade towards the sky. Instantaneously heaven opened, and the
lightning fell,
attracted by the burnished steel. From blade to carbine, from
helmet to
breastplate it ran, smiting every man dead as he stood.
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[Page 76] They
fell like a row of
ninepins, blackened in face and hand in an instant, — in the
twinkling of an
eye. Dead. The electric flame licked the life out of seven men
in that second;
not one moved a muscle or a finger again. Then followed a wild
scene. The crowd,
stupefied for a minute by the thunderbolt and the horror of
the devastation it
had wrought, presently recovered sense, and with a mighty
shout hurled
itself against the palisade, burst it, leapt over it and swarmed
into the
quadrangle, easily overpowering the unnerved guards. I was surrounded;
eager hands
unbound mine; arms were thrown about me; the people roared, and
wept, and
triumphed, and fell about me on their knees praising Heaven. I think
rain fell, my face
was wet with drops, and my hair, — but I knew no more, for I
swooned and lay
unconscious in the arms of the crowd. My rescue had indeed come,
and from the very
Heavens!
ROME, April 12,
1887.
DREAM-VERSES
THROUGH THE AGES
WAKE, thou that
sleepest! Soul, awake !
Thy light is come,
arise and shine !
For darkness
melts, and dawn divine
Doth from the holy
Orient break;
Swift-darting down
the shadowy ways
And misty deeps of
unborn Time,
God's Light, God's
Day, whose perfect prime
Is as the light of
seven days.
Wake,
prophet-soul, the time draws near,
The God who knows
within thee stirs
And speaks, for
His thou art, and Hers
Who bears the
mystic shield and spear.
The hidden secrets
of their shrine
Where thou,
initiate, didst adore,
Their quickening
finger shall restore
And make its
glories newly thine.
A touch divine
shall thrill thy brain,
Thy soul shall
leap to life, and lo !
What she has
known, again shall know;
What she has seen,
shall see again;
The ancient Past
through which she came,—
A cloud across a
sunset sky,—
A cactus flower of
scarlet dye,—
A bird with throat
and wings of flame;—
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[Page 78]
A red wild roe,
whose mountain bed
Nor ever hound or
hunter knew,
Whose flying
footprint dashed the dew
In nameless
forests, long since dead.
And ever thus in
ceaseless roll
The wheels of
Destiny and Time
Through changing
form and age and clime
Bear onward the
undying Soul:
Till now a Sense,
confused and dim,
Dawns in a shape
of nobler mould,
Less beast, scarce
human; uncontrolled,
With free fierce
life in every limb;
A savage youth, in
painted gear,
Foot fleeter than
the summer wind;
Scant speech for
scanty needs designed,
Content with
sweetheart, spoil and spear:
And, passing
thence, with burning breath,
A fiery Soul that
knows no fear,
The arméd hosts of
Odin hear
Her voice amid the
ranks of death;
There, where the
sounds of war are shrill,
And clarion
shrieks, and battle roars,
Once more set
free, she leaps and soars
A Soul of flame,
aspiring still !
Till last, in
fairer shape she stands
Where
lotos-scented waters glide,
A Theban Priestess,
dusky-eyed,
Barefooted on the
golden sands;
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[Page 79]
Or, prostrate, in
the Temple-halls,
When Spirits wake,
and mortals sleep,
She hears what
mighty Voices sweep
Like winds along
the columned walls.
A Princess then
beneath the palms
Which wave o'er
Afric's burning plains,
The blood of Afric
in thy veins,
A golden circlet
on thine arms.
By sacred Ganges'
sultry tide,
With dreamy gaze
and claspéd hands
Thou walkst a
Seeress in the lands
Where holy Buddha
lived and died.
Anon, a
sea-bleached mountain cave
Makes shelter for
thee, grave and wan,
Thou solemn,
solitary Man,
Who, nightly, by
the star-lit wave
Invokest with
illumined eyes
The steadfast
Lords who rule and wait
Beyond the heavens
and Time and fate.
Until the perfect
Dawn shall rise,
And oracles,
through ages dumb,
Shall wake, and
holy forms shall shine
On mountain peaks
in light divine,
When mortals bid
God's kingdom come !
So turns the wheel
of thy [keen] soul;
From birth to
birth her ruling stars,
Swift Mercury and
fiery Mars,
In ever changing
orbits roll!
PARIS, May 1880.
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[Page 80]
FRAGMENT - 1 -
A jarring note, a
chord amiss —
The music's
sweeter after,
Like wrangling
ended with a kiss,
Or tears, with
silver laughter.
The high gods have
no joys like these,
So sweet in human
story;
No tempest rends
their tranquil seas
Beyond the sunset
glory.
The whirling
wheels of Time and Fate
FRAGMENT 2
[These are not
properly dream-verses, having been suddenly presented to the
waking vision one
day in Paris while gazing at the bright sky. (Ed)]
I thank Thee,
Lord, who hast through devious ways
Led me to know Thy
Praise,
And to this
Wildernesse
Hast brought me
out, Thine Israel to blesse.
If should faint
with Thirst, or weary, sink,
To these my Soule
is Drink,
To these the
Majick Rod
Is Life, and mine
is hid with Christ in God.
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[Page 81]
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Eyes of the
dawning in heaven ?
Sparks from the
opening of hell ?
Gleams from the
altar-lamps seven ?
Can you tell ?
Is it the glare of
a fire ?
Is it the breaking
of day ?
Birth-lights, or
funeral pyre?
Who shall say ?
April 19, 1886.
WITH THE GODS
Sweet lengths of
shore with sea between,
Sweet gleams of
tender blue and green,
Sweet wind
caressive and unseen,
Soft breathing
from the deep;
What joy have I in
all sweet things;
How clear and
bright my spirit sings;
Rising aloft on
mystic wings;
While sense and body sleep.
In some such dream
of grace and light,
My soul shall pass
into the sight
Of the dear Gods
who in the height
Of inward being
dwell;
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[Page 82]
And joyful at Her
perfect feet
Whom most of all I
long to greet,
My soul shall lie
in meadow sweet
All white with
asphodel.
August 31, 1887
[Pages 83 - 85]
PART II
DREAM-STORIES
- 1 - A VILLAGE OF
SEERS
A CHRISTMAS STORY
A DAY or two
before Christmas, a few years since, I found myself compelled by
business to leave
England for the Continent.
I am an American,
junior partner in a London mercantile house having a large
Swiss connection;
and a transaction — needless to specify here — required
immediate and
personal supervision abroad, at a season of the year when I would
gladly have kept
festival in London with my friends. But my journey was destined
to bring me an adventure
of a very remarkable character, which made me full
amends for the
loss of Christmas cheer at home.
I crossed the
Channel at night from Dover to Calais. The passage was bleak and
snowy, and the
passengers were very few. On board the steamboat I remarked one
traveller whose
appearance and manner struck me as altogether unusual and
interesting, and I
deemed it by no means a disagreeable circumstance that, on
arriving at
Calais, this man entered the compartment of the railway carriage in
which I had
already seated myself.
So far as the dim
light permitted me a glimpse of the
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[Page 86] stranger's face,
I judged him to be
about fifty years of age. The features were delicate and
refined in type,
the eyes dark and deep-sunken, but full of intelligence and
thought, and the
whole aspect of the man denoted good birth, a nature given to
study and
meditation, and a life of much sorrowful experience.
Two other
travellers occupied our carriage until Amiens was reached. They then
left us, and the
interesting stranger and I remained alone together.
" A bitter
night", I said to him, as I drew up the window, " and the worst of it
is yet to come !
The early hours of dawn are always the coldest".
" I suppose
so," he answered in a grave voice. The voice impressed me as
strongly as the
face; it was subdued and restrained, the voice of a man
undergoing great
mental suffering.
" You will
find Paris bleak at this season of the year", I continued, longing to
make him talk.
" It was colder there last winter than in London."
" I do not
stay in Paris," he replied, " save to breakfast."
"Indeed; that
is my case. I am going on to Bâle."
" And I
also", he said, " and further yet".
Then he turned his
face to the window, and would say no more. My speculations
regarding him
multipled with his taciturnity. I felt convinced that he was a man
with a romance,
and a desire to know its nature became strong in me. We
breakfasted apart
at Paris, but I watched him into his compartment for Bâle, and
sprang in after
him. During the first part of our journey we slept; but, as we
neared the Swiss
frontier, a spirit of wakefulness took hold of us, and fitful
sentences were
exchanged. My companion, it appeared, intended to
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[Page 87] rest
but a single day
at Bâle. He was bound for far-away Alpine regions, ordinarily
visited by
tourists during the summer months only, and, one would think,
impassable at this
season of the year.
" And you go
alone ? " I asked him. " You will have no companions to join
you?"
" I shall
have guides", he answered, and relapsed into meditative silence.
Presently I
ventured another question: "You go on business, perhaps — not on
pleasure ? "
He turned his
melancholy eyes on mine. "Do I look as if I were travelling for
pleasure's sake ?
" he asked gently.
I felt rebuked,
and hastened to apologise. " Pardon me; I ought not to have said
that. But you
interest me greatly, and I wish, if possible, to be of service to
you. If you are
going into Alpine districts on business and alone, at this time
of the year —
"
There I hesitated
and paused. How could I tell him that he interested me so much
as to make me long
to know the romance which, I felt convinced, attached to his
expedition ?
Perhaps he
perceived what was in my mind, for he questioned me in his turn. "
And you — have you
business in Bâle ? "
" Yes, and in
other places. My accent may have told you my nationality. I travel
in the interests
of the American firm, Fletcher Bros., Roy, & Co., whose London
house, no doubt,
you know. But I need remain only twenty-four hours in Bâle.
Afterwards I go to
Berne, then to Geneva. I must, however, wait for letters from
England after
doing my business at Bâle, and I shall have some days free."
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[Page
88]
"How
many?"
" From the
21st to the 26th."
He was silent for
a minute, meditating. Then he took from his travelling-bag a
porte-feullle, and
from the porte-feuille a visiting-card, which he handed to
me.
" That is my
name," he said briefly.
I took the hint,
and returned the compliment in kind. On his card I read:
MR CHARLES DENIS
ST AUBYN,
Grosvenor Square,
London.
St Aubyn's Court,
Shrewsbury.
And mine bore the
legend:
MR FRANK ROY,
Merchants' Club, W. C.
"Now that we
are no longer unknown to each other," said I, " may I ask, without
committing an
indiscretion, if I can use the free time at my disposal in your
interests ? "
"You are very
good, Mr Roy. It is the characteristic of your nation to be
kind-hearted and
readily interested in strangers." Was this sarcastic? I
wondered. Perhaps;
but he said it quite courteously. " I am a solitary and
unfortunate man.
Before I accept your kindness, will you permit me to tell you
the nature of the
journey I am making? It is a strange one."
He spoke huskily,
and with evident effort. I assented eagerly.
The following,
recounted in broken sentences, and with many abrupt pauses, is
the story to which
I listened:
Mr St Aubyn was a
widower. His only child, a boy twelve years of age, had been
for a year past
afflicted with loss of speech and hearing, the result of a
severe
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[Page 89] typhoid fever, from which he
barely escaped with life. Last
summer, his
father, following medical advice, brought him to Switzerland, in the
hope that Alpine
air, change of scene, exercise, and the pleasure of the trip,
would restore him
to his normal condition. One day father and son, led by a
guide, were
ascending a mountain pathway, not ordinarily regarded as dangerous,
when the boy,
stepping aside to view the snowy ranges above and around, slipped
on a treacherous
fragment of half-detached rock, and went sliding into the
ravine beneath.
The height of the fall was by no means great, and the level
ground on which
the boy would necessarily alight was overgrown with soft herbage
and long grass, so
that neither the father nor the guide at first conceived any
serious
apprehensions for the safety of the boy's life or limbs. He might be
bruised, perhaps
even a few cuts or a sprained wrist might disable him for a few
days, but they
feared nothing worse than these. As quickly as the slippery
ground would
permit, they descended the winding path leading to the meadow, but
when they reached
it, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Hours passed in vain and
anxious quest; no
track, no sound, no clue assisted the seekers, and the shouts
of the guide, if
they reached, as doubtless they did, the spot where the lost
boy lay, fell on
ears as dull and deadened as those of a corpse. Nor could the
boy, if crippled
by his fall, and unable to show himself, give evidence of his
whereabouts by so
much as a single cry. Both tongue and ears were sealed by
infirmity, and any
low sound such as that he might have been able to utter would
have been rendered
inaudible by the torrent rushing through the ravine hard by.
At nightfall the
search was suspended, to be renewed before daybreak with fresh
assistance from
the
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[Page 90] nearest village. Some of the
new-comers spoke of a
cave on the slope
of the meadow, into which the boy might have crept. This was
easily reached. It
was apparently of but small extent; a few goats reposed in
it, but no trace
of the child was discoverable. After some days spent in futile
endeavour, all
hope was abandoned. The father returned to England to mourn his
lost boy, and
another disaster was added to the annual list of casualties in the
Alps.
So far the story
was sad enough, but hardly romantic. I clasped the hand of the
narrator, and
assured him warmly of my sympathy, adding, with as little
appearance of
curiosity as I could command: —
"And your
object in coming back is only, then, to — to — be near the scene of
your great trouble
? "
"No, Mr Roy;
that is not the motive of my journey. I do not believe either that
my boy's corpse
lies concealed among the grasses of the plateau, or that it was
swept away, as has
been suggested, by the mountain cataract. Neither hypothesis
seems to me
tenable. The bed of the stream was followed and searched for miles;
and though, when
he fell, he was carrying over his shoulder a flask and a thick
fur-lined cloak, —
for we expected cold on the heights, and went provided
against it, — not
a fragment of anything belonging to him was found. Had he
fallen into the
torrent, it is impossible his clothing should not have become
detached from the
body and caught by the innumerable rocks in the shallow parts
of the stream. But
that is not all. I have another reason for the belief I
cherish." He
leaned forward, and added in firmer and slower tones: " I am
convinced that my
boy still lives, for — / have seen him"
" You have
seen him !" I cried.
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[Page 91]
"Yes; again
and again — in dreams. And always in the same way, and with the same
look. He stands
before me, beckoning to me, and making signs that I should come
and help him. Not
once or twice only, but many times, night after night I have
seen the same
thing!"
Poor father! Poor
desolate man! Not the first driven distraught by grief; not
the first deluded
by the shadows of love and longing !
" You think I
am deceived by hallucinations," he said, watching my face. " It is
you who are misled
by the scientific idiots of the day, the wiseacres who teach
us to believe,
whenever soul speaks to soul, that the highest and holiest
communion
attainable by man is the product of physical disease! Forgive me the
energy of my
words; but had you loved and lost your beloved — wife and child —
as I have done,
you would comprehend the contempt and anger with which I regard
those modern
teachers whose cold and ghastly doctrines give the lie, not only to
all human hopes
and aspirations towards the higher life, but also to the
possibility of
that very progress from lower to nobler forms which is the basis
of their own
philosophy, and to the conception of which the idea of the soul and
of love are essential
! Evolution pre-supposes possible perfecting, and the
conscious
adaptation of means to ends in order to attain it. And both the ideal
itself and the
endeavour to reach it are incomprehensible without desire, which
is love, and whose
seat is in the interior self, the living soul — the maker of
the outward form !
"
He was roused from
his melancholy now, and spoke connectedly and with
enthusiasm. I was
about to reassure him in regard to my own philosophical
convictions,
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[Page 92] the soundness of which he
seemed to question, when his
voice sank again,
and he added earnestly: —
" I tell you
I have seen my boy, and that I know he lives, — not in any far-off
sphere beyond the
grave, but here on earth, among living men ! Twice since his
loss I have
returned from England to seek him, in obedience to the vision, but
in vain, and I
have gone back home to dream the same dream. But — only last week
— I heard a
wonderful story. It was told me by a friend who is a great
traveller, and who
has but just returned from a lengthened tour in the south. I
met him at my
club, by accident, as unthinking persons say. He told me that
there exists,
buried away out of common sight and knowledge, in the bosom of the
Swiss Alps, a
little village whose inhabitants possess, in varying degrees, a
marvellous and
priceless faculty. Almost all the dwellers in this village are
mutually related,
either bearing the same ancestral name, or being branches from
one original
stock. The founder of this community was a blind man, who, by some
unexplained good
fortune, acquired or became endowed with the psychic faculty
called second
sight, or clairvoyance. This faculty, it appears, is now the
hereditary
property of the whole village, more developed in the blind man's
immediate heirs
than in his remoter relatives; but, strange to say, it is a
faculty which, for
a reason connected with the history of its acquirement, they
enjoy only once a
year, and that is on Christmas Eve. I know well," continued Mr
St Aubyn,
"all you have it in your mind to say. Doubtless, you would hint to me
that the narrator
of the tale was amusing himself with my credulity; or that
these Alpine
villagers, if they exist, are not clairvoyants, but charlatans
trading on the
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[Page 93] folly of the curious, or even
that the whole story is a
chimera of my own
dreaming brain. I am willing that, if it please you, you
should accept any
of these hypotheses. As for me, in my sorrow and despair, I am
resolved to leave
no means untried to recover my boy; and it happens that the
village in
question is not far from the scene of the disaster which deprived me
of him. A strange
hope — a confidence even — grows in my heart as I approach the
end of my journey.
I believe I am about to verify the truth of my friend's
story, and that,
through the wonderful faculty possessed by these Alpine
peasants, the
promise of my visions will be realized."
His voice broke
again, he ceased speaking, and turned his face away from me. I
was greatly moved,
and anxious to impress him with a belief in the sincerity of
my sympathy, and
in my readiness to accept the truth of the tale he had
repeated.
"Do not
think", I said with some warmth, " that I am disposed to make light
of
what you tell me,
strange though it sounds. Out in the West, where I come from,
I heard, when a
boy, many a story at least as curious as yours. In our wild
country, odd
things chance at times, and queer circumstances, they say, happen
in out of the way
tracks in forest and prairie; — aye, and there are strange
creatures that
haunt the bush, some tell, in places where no human foot is wont
to tread. So that
nothing of this sort comes upon me with an air of newness, at
least! I mayn't
quite trust it, as you do, but I am no scoffer. Look, now, Mr St
Aubyn, I have a
proposal to make. You are alone, and purpose undertaking a
bitter and, it may
be, a perilous journey in mountain ground at this season.
What say you to
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[Page 94] taking me along with you ? May
be, I shall prove of
some use; and at
any rate, your adventure and your story interest me greatly !"
I was quite
tremulous with apprehension lest he should refuse my request, but he
did not. He looked
earnestly and even fixedly at me for a minute, then silently
held out his hand
and grasped mine with energy. It was a sealed compact. After
that we considered
ourselves comrades, and continued our journey together.
Our day's rest at
Bâle being over, and the business which concerned me there
transacted, we
followed the route indicated by Mr St Aubyn, and on the evening
of the 22nd of
December arrived at a little hill station, where we found a guide
who promised to
conduct us the next morning to the village we sought. Sunrise
found us on our
way, and a tramp of several weary hours, with occasional breaks
for rest and
refreshment, brought us at last to the desired spot.
It was a quaint,
picturesque little hamlet, embosomed in a mountain recess, a
sheltered oasis in
the midst of a wind-swept, snow-covered region. The usual
Swiss trade of
wood-carving appeared to be the principal occupation of the
community. The
single narrow street was thronged with goats, whose jingling
many-toned bells
made an incessant and agreeable symphony. Under the projecting
roofs of the
log-built châlets bundles of dried herbs swung in the frosty air;
stacks of
fir-wood, handy for use, were piled about the doorways, and here and
there we noticed a
huge dog of the St Bernard breed, with solemn face, and
massive paws that
left tracks like a lion's in the fresh-fallen snow. A rosy
afternoon-radiance
glorified the surrounding mountains and warmed the aspect of
the little village
as we entered it. It was not
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[Page 95] more than three
o'clock, yet
already the sun drew near the hill-tops, and in a short space he
would sink behind
them and leave the valleys immersed in twilight. Inn or
hostelry proper
there was none in this out of the world recess, but the peasants
were right willing
to entertain us, and the owner of the largest châlet in the
place speedily
made ready the necessary board and lodging. Supper — of goat's
milk cheese,
coarse bread, honey, and drink purporting to be coffee — being
concluded, the
villagers began to drop in by twos and threes to have a look at
us; and presently,
at the invitation of our host, we all drew our stools around
the pine-wood
fire, and partook of a strange beverage served hot with sugar and
toast, tasting not
unlike elderberry wine. Meanwhile my English friend, more
conversant than
myself with the curiously mingled French and German patois of
the district,
plunged into the narration of his trouble, and ended with a frank
and pathetic
appeal to those present, that if there were any truth in the tale
he had heard
regarding the annual clairvoyance of the villagers, they would
consent to use
their powers in his service.
Probably they had
never been so appealed to before. When my friend had finished
speaking, silence,
broken only by a few half-audible whispers, fell on the
group. I began to
fear that, after all, he had been either misinformed or
misunderstood, and
was preparing to help him out with an explanation to the best
of my ability,
when a man sitting in the chimney-corner rose and said that, if
we pleased, he
would fetch the grandsons of the original seer, who would give us
the fullest
information possible on the subject of our inquiry. This
announcement was
encouraging, and we assented with joy. He left the châlet, and
shortly afterwards
returned with two
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[Page 95] stalwart and
intelligent-looking
men of about
thirty and thirty-five respectively, accompanied by a couple of St
Bernards, the most
magnificent dogs I had ever seen. I was reassured instantly,
for the faces of
these two peasants were certainly not those of rogues or fools.
They advanced to
the centre of the assembly, now numbering some twenty persons,
men and women, and
were duly introduced to us by our host as Theodor and
Augustin Raoul. A
wooden bench by the hearth was accorded them, the great dogs
couched at their
feet, pipes were lit here and there among the circle; and the
scene, embellished
by the ruddy glow of the flaming pine-logs, the unfamiliar
costume of the
peasantry, the quaint furniture of the chalet-kitchen in which we
sat, and enhanced
by the strange circumstances of our journey and the yet
stranger story now
recounted by the two Raouls, became to my mind every moment
more romantic and
unworld-like. But the intent and strained expression of St
Aubyn's features
as he bent eagerly forward, hanging as if for life or death on
the words which
the brothers poured forth, reminded me that, in one respect at
least, the
spectacle before me presented a painful reality, and that for this
desolate and
lonely man every word of the Christmas tale told that evening was
pregnant with
import of the deepest and most serious kind. Here, in English
guise, is the
legend of the Alpine seer, recounted with much gesticulation and
rugged dramatic
force by his grandsons, the younger occasionally interpolating
details which the
elder forgot, confirming the data, and echoing with a sonorous
interjection the
exclamations of the listeners.
Augustin Franz
Raoul, the grandfather of the men who addressed us, originally
differed in no
respect, save that
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[Page 97] of blindness, from ordinary
people.
One Christmas Eve,
as the day drew towards twilight, and a driving storm of
frozen snow raged
over the mountains, he, his dog Hans, and his mule were
fighting their way
home up the pass in the teeth of the tempest. At a turn of
the road they came
on a priest carrying the Viaticum to a dying man who
inhabited a
solitary hut in the valley below. The priest was on foot, almost
spent with
fatigue, and bewildered by the blinding snow which obscured the
pathway and grew
every moment more impenetrable and harder to face. The whirling
flakes circled and
danced before his sight, the winding path was well-nigh
obliterated, his
brain grew dizzy and his feet unsteady, and he felt that
without assistance
he should never reach his destination in safety. Blind Raoul,
though himself
tired, and longing for shelter, listened with sympathy to the
priest's
complaint, and answered, "Father, you know well I am hardly a pious son
of the Church; but
if the penitent dying down yonder needs spiritual consolation
from her, Heaven
forbid that I should not do my utmost to help you to him !
Sightless though I
am, I know my way over these crags as no other man knows it,
and the snow-storm
which bewilders your eyes so much cannot daze mine. Come,
mount my mule,
Hans will go with us, and we three will take you to your
journey's end safe
and sound."
" Son",
answered the priest, "God will reward you for this act of charity. The
penitent to whom I
go bears an evil reputation as a sorcerer, and we all know
his name well
enough in these parts. He may have some crime on his conscience
which he desires
to confess before death. But for your timely help I should not
be able to fight
my way through this
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[Page 98] tempest to his door, and he
would
certainly perish
unshriven.”
The fury of the
storm increased as darkness came on. Dense clouds of snow
obscured the whole
landscape, and rendered sky and mountain alike
indistinguishable.
Terror seized the priest; but for the blind man, to whose
sight day and
night were indifferent, these horrors had no great danger. He and
his dumb friends
plodded quietly and slowly on in the accustomed path, and at
length, close upon
midnight, the valley was safely reached, and the priest
ushered into the
presence of his penitent. What the dying sorcerer's confession
was the blind man
never knew; but after it was over, and the Sacred Host had
passed his lips,
Raoul was summoned to his bedside, where a strange and solemn
voice greeted him
by name and thanked him for the service he had rendered.
"Friend",
said the dying man, "you will never know how great a debt I owe you.
But before I pass
out of the world, I would fain do somewhat towards repayment.
Sorcerer though I
am by repute, I cannot give you that which, were it possible,
I would give with
all my heart, the blessing of physical sight. But may God hear
the last earthly
prayer of a dying penitent, and grant you a better gift and a
rarer one than
even that of the sight of your outward eyes, by opening those of
your spirit ! And
may the faculty of that interior vision be continued to you
and yours so long
as ye use it in deeds of mercy and human kindness such as this
!"
The speaker laid
his hand a moment on the blind man's forehead, and his lips
moved silently
awhile, though Raoul saw it not. The priest and he remained to
the last with the
penitent; and when the grey Christmas
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[Page 99] morning broke
over the whitened
plain they left the little hut in which the corpse lay, to
apprise the
dwellers in the valley hamlet of the death of the wizard, and to
arrange for his
burial. And ever since that Christmas Eve, said the two Raouls,
their grandfather
found himself when the sacred time came round again, year
after year,
possessed of a new and extraordinary power, that of seeing with the
inward senses of
the spirit whatever he desired to see, and this as plainly and
distinctly, miles
distant, as at his own threshold. The power of interior vision
came upon him in
sleep or in trance, precisely as with the prophets and sybils
of old, and in
this condition, sometimes momentary only, whole scenes were
flashed before
him, the faces of friends leagues away became visible, and he
seemed to touch
their hands. At these times nothing was hidden from him; it was
necessary only
that he should desire fervently to see any particular person or
place, and that
the intent of the wish should be innocent, and he became
straightway
clairvoyant. To the blind man, deprived in early childhood of
physical sight,
this miraculous power was an inestimable consolation, and
Christmas Eve
became to him a festival of illumination whose annual
reminiscences and
anticipations brightened the whole round of the year. And when
at length he died,
the faculty remained a family heritage, of which all his
descendants
partook in some degree, his two grandsons, as his nearest kin,
possessing the
gift in its completest development. And — most strange of all —
the two hounds
which lay couched before us by the hearth, appeared to enjoy a
share of the
sorcerer's benison ! These dogs, Fritz and Bruno, directly
descended from
Hans, had often displayed strong evidence of lucidity, and under
its influence they
had been known to
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[Page 100] act with acumen and sagacity
wholly beyond the
reach of ordinary dogs. Their immediate sire, Glück, was the
property of a
community of monks living fourteen miles distant in the Arblen
valley; and though
the Raouls were not aware that he had yet distinguished
himself by any
remarkable exploit of a clairvoyant character, he was commonly
credited with a
goodly share of the family gift.
"And the mule
? " I asked thoughtlessly.
"The mule,
monsieur", replied the younger Raoul, with a smile, "has been dead
many long years.
Naturally he left no posterity."
Thus ended the
tale, and for a brief space all remained silent, while many
glances stole
furtively towards St Aubyn. He sat motionless, with bowed head and
folded arms,
absorbed in thought.
One by one the
members of the group around us rose, knocked the ashes from their
pipes, and with a
few brief words quitted the châlet. In a few minutes there
remained only our
host, the two Raouls, with their dogs, my friend, and myself.
Then St Aubyn
found his voice. He too rose, and in slow tremulous tones,
addressing
Theodor, asked, —
"You will
have everything prepared for an expedition tomorrow, in case — you
should have
anything to tell us?”
"All shall be
in readiness, monsieur. Pierre (the host) will wake you by
sunrise, for with
the dawn of Christmas Eve our lucid faculty returns to us, and
if we should have
good news to give, the start ought to be made early. We may
have far to go,
and the days are short.”
He whistled to the
great hounds, wished us good-night,
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[Page 101] and the two
brothers left the
house together, followed by Fritz and Bruno.
Pierre lighted a
lantern, and mounting a ladder in the corner of the room,
invited us to
accompany him. We clambered up this primitive staircase with some
difficulty, and
presently found ourselves in a bed-chamber not less quaint and
picturesque than
the kitchen below. Our beds were both prepared in this room,
round the walls of
which were piled goat's-milk cheeses, dried herbs, sacks of
meal, and other
winter provender.
Outside it was a
star-lit night, clear, calm, and frosty, with brilliant promise
for the coming
day. Long after I was in the land of dreams, I fancy St Aubyn lay
awake, following
with restless eyes the stars in their courses, and wondering
whether from some
far-off, unknown spot his lost boy might not be watching them
also.
Dawn, grey and
misty, enwrapped the little village when I was startled from my
sleep by a noisy
chorus of voices and a busy hurrying of footsteps. A moment
later some one,
heavily booted, ascended the ladder leading to our bedroom, and
a ponderous knock
resounded on our door. St Aubyn sprang from his bed, lifted
the latch, and
admitted the younger Raoul, whose beaming eyes and excited manner
betrayed, before
he spoke, the good tidings in store.
"We have seen
him !" he cried, throwing up his hands triumphantly above his
head. " Both
of us have seen your son, monsieur ! Not half an hour ago, just as
the dawn broke, we
saw him in a vision, alive and well in a mountain cave,
separated from the
valley by a broad torrent. An Angel of the good Lord has
ministered to him:
it is a miracle! Courage, he will be restored to you. Dress
quickly, and come
down to breakfast. Everything is ready for the expedition, and
there is no time
to lose! "
These broken
ejaculations were interrupted by the voice of the elder brother,
calling from the
foot of the ladder:
"Make haste,
messieurs, if you please. The valley we have seen in our dream is
fully twelve miles
away, and to reach it we shall have to cut our way through
the snow. It is
bad at this time of the year, and the passes may be blocked !
Come, Augustin
!"
Everything was now
hurry and commotion. All the village was astir; the
excitement became
intense. From the window we saw men running eagerly towards
our châlet with
pickaxes, ropes, hatchets, and other necessary adjuncts of
Alpine adventure.
The two great hounds, with others of their breed, were
bounding joyfully
about in the snow, and showing, I thought, by their
intelligent
glances and impatient behaviour, that they already understood the
nature of the
intended day's work.
At sunrise we sat
down to a hearty meal, and amid the clamor of voices and
rattling of
platters, the elder Raoul unfolded to us his plans for reaching the
valley, which both
he and his brother had recognized as the higher level of the
Arblen, several
thousand feet above our present altitude, and in mid-winter a
perilous place to
visit.
"The spot is
completely shut off from the valley by the cataract", said he, "and
last year a
landslip blocked up the only route to it from the mountains. How the
child got there is
a mystery !"
" We must cut
our way over the Thurgau Pass", cried Augustin.
"That is just
my idea. Quick now, if you have
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[Page 103] finished eating, call
Georges and
Albert, and take the ropes with you ! "
Our little party
was speedily equipped, and amid the lusty cheers of the men and
the sympathetic
murmurs of the women, we passed swiftly through the little
snow-carpeted
street and struck into the mountain path. We were six in number,
St Aubyn and
myself, the two Raouls, and a couple of villagers carrying the
requisite
implements of mountaineering, while the two dogs, Fritz and Bruno,
trotted on before
us.
At the outset
there was some rough ground to traverse, and considerable work to
be done with ropes
and tools, for the slippery edges of the highland path
afforded scarce
any foothold, and in some parts the difficulties appeared
well-nigh
insurmountable. But every fresh obstacle overcome added a new zest to
our resolution,
and, cheered by the reiterated cry of the two seers, "Courage,
messieurs !
Avançons! The worst will soon be passed !" we pushed forward with
right good will,
and at length found ourselves on a broad rocky plateau.
All this time the
two hounds had taken the lead, pioneering us with amazing
skill round precipitous
corners, and springing from crag to crag over the icy
ravines with a
daring and precision which curdled my blood to witness. It was a
relief to see them
finally descend the narrow pass in safety, and halt beside us
panting and
exultant. All around lay glittering reaches of untrodden snow,
blinding to look
at, scintillant as diamond dust. We sat down to rest on some
scattered
boulders, and gazed with wonder at the magnificent vistas of glowing
peaks towering
above us, and the luminous expanse of purple gorge and valley,
with the white,
roaring torrents
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[Page 104] below, over which wreaths of
foam-like filmy
mist hovered and floated continually.
As I sat, lost in
admiration, St Aubyn touched my arm, and silently pointed to
Theodor Raoul. He
had risen, and now stood at the edge of the plateau
overhanging the
lowland landscape, his head raised, his eyes wide-opened, his
whole appearance
indicative of magnetic trance. While we looked he turned slowly
towards us, moved
his hands to and fro with a gesture of uncertainty, as though
feeling his way in
the dark, and spoke with a slow dreamy utterance:
"I see the
lad sitting in the entrance of the cavern, looking out across the
valley, as though
expecting some one. He is pallid and thin, and wears a
dark-coloured
mantle — a large mantle — lined with sable fur."
St Aubyn sprang
from his seat. True ! he exclaimed. " It is the mantle he was
carrying on his
arm when he slipped over the pass ! O, thank God for that; it
may have saved his
life!"
"The place in
which I see your boy", continued the mountaineer, "is fully three
miles distant from
the plateau on which we now stand. But I do not know how to
reach it. I cannot
discern the track. I am at fault! " He moved his hands
impatiently to and
fro, and cried in tones which manifested the disappointment
he felt: "I
can see no more! the vision passes from me. I can discover nothing
but confused
shapes merged in ever-increasing darkness !"
We gathered round
him in some dismay, and St Aubyn urged the younger Raoul to
attempt an
elucidation of the difficulty. But he too failed. The scene in the
cave appeared to
him with perfect distinctness; but when he strove to trace the
path which should
conduct
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[Page 105] us to it, profound darkness
obliterated the
vision.
"It must be
underground," he said, using the groping action we had already
observed on
Theodor's part. " It is impossible to distinguish anything, save a
few vague outlines
of rock. Now there is not a glimmer of light; all is profound
gloom !"
Suddenly, as we
stood discussing the situation, one advising this, another that,
a sharp bark from
one of the hounds startled us all, and immediately arrested
our consultation.
It was Fritz who had thus interrupted the debate. He was
running excitedly
to and fro, sniffing about the edge of the plateau, and every
now and then
turning himself with an abrupt jerk, as if seeking something which
eluded him.
Presently Bruno joined in this mysterious quest, and the next
moment, to our
admiration and amazement, both dogs simultaneously lifted their
heads, their eyes
illumined with intelligence and delight, and uttered a
prolonged and
joyous cry that reverberated chorus-like from the mountain wall
behind us.
"They know !
They see ! They have the clue ! " cried the peasants, as the two
hounds leapt from
the plateau down the steep declivity leading to the valley,
scattering the
snow-drifts of the crevices pell-mell in their headlong career.
In frantic haste
we resumed our loads, and hurried after our flying guides with
what speed we
could. When the dogs had reached the next level, they paused and
waited, standing
with uplifted heads and dripping tongues while we clambered
down the gorge to
join them. Again they took the lead; but this time the way was
more intricate,
and their progress slower. Single-file we followed them along a
narrow winding
track of
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[Page 106] broken ground, over which
every moment a tiny
torrent foamed and
tumbled; and as we descended the air became less keen, the
snow rarer, and a
few patches of gentian and hardy plants appeared on the craggy
sides of the
mountain.
Suddenly a great
agitation seized St Aubyn. "Look ! look!" he cried, clutching
me by the arm;
" here, where we stand, is the very spot from which my boy fell!
And below yonder
is the valley !"
Even as he uttered
the words, the dogs halted and came towards us, looking
wistfully into St
Aubyn's face, as though they fain would speak to him. We stood
still, and looked
down into the green valley, green even in mid-winter, where a
score of goats
were browsing in the sunshine. Here my friend would have
descended, but the
Raouls bade him trust the leadership of the dogs.
" Follow
them, monsieur", said Theodor, impressively; " they can see, and you
cannot. It is the
good God that conducts them. Doubtless they have brought us to
this spot to show
you they know it, and to inspire you with confidence in their
skill and
guidance. See! they are advancing! On ! do not let us remain behind!
Thus urged, we
hastened after our canine guides, who, impelled by the mysterious
influence of their
strange faculty, were again pressing forward. This time the
track ascended.
Soon we lost sight of the valley, and an hour's upward
scrambling over
loose rocks and sharp crags brought us to a chasm, the two edges
of which were
separated by a precipitous gulf some twenty feet across. This
chasm was probably
about eight or nine hundred feet deep, and its sides were
straight and sheer
as those of a well. Our ladders were in requisition,
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[Page 107] now, and with the aid of
these and the ropes, all the members of our party,
human and canine,
were safely landed on the opposite brink of the abyss.
We had covered
about two miles of difficult ground beyond the chasm, when once
more, on the brow
of a projecting eminence, the hounds halted for the last time,
and drew near St
Aubyn, gazing up at him with eloquent exulting eyes, as though
they would have
said, " He whom you seek is here ! "
It was a wild and
desolate spot, strewn with tempest-torn branches, a spot
hidden from the
sun by dense masses of pine foliage, and backed by sharp peaks
of granite. St
Aubyn looked around him, trembling with emotion.
"Shout",
cried one of the peasants; " shout, the boy may hear you ! "
"Alas",
answered the father, "he cannot hear; you forget that my child is deaf
and dumb !"
At that instant,
Theodor, who for a brief while had stood apart, abstracted and
silent, approached
St Aubyn and grasped his hand.
"Shout!"
repeated he, with the earnestness of a command; " call your boy by his
name ! "
St Aubyn looked at
him with astonishment; then in a clear piercing voice obeyed.
"Charlie!"
he cried; "Charlie, my boy ! where are you ? "
We stood around
him in dread silence and expectancy, a group for a picture. St
Aubyn in the
midst, with white quivering face and clasped hands, the two Raouls
on either side,
listening intently, the dogs motionless and eager, their ears
erect, their hair
bristling round their stretched throats. You might have heard
a pin drop on
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[Page 108] the rock at our feet, as we
stood and waited after that
cry. A minute
passed thus, and then there was heard from below, at a great
depth, a faint
uncertain sound. One word only — uttered in the voice of a child,
tremulous, and
intensely earnest: " Father ! "
St Aubyn fell on
his knees. "My God ! my God !" he cried, sobbing; "it is my boy
! He is alive, and
can hear and speak !"
With feverish
haste we descended the crag, and speedily found ourselves on a
green sward,
sheltered on three sides by high walls of cliff, and bounded on the
fourth, southward,
by a rushing stream some thirty feet from shore to shore.
Beyond the stream
was a wide expanse of pasture stretching down into the Arblen
valley.
Again St Aubyn
shouted, and again the child-like cry replied, guiding us to a
narrow gorge or
fissure in the cliff almost hidden under exuberant foliage. This
passage brought us
to a turfy knoll, upon which opened a deep recess in the
mountain rock; a
picturesque cavern, carpeted with moss, and showing, from some
ancient, half
obliterated carvings which here and there adorned its walls, that
It had once served
as a crypt or chapel, possibly in some time of ecclesiastical
persecution. At
the mouth of this cave, with startled eyes and pallid parted
lips, stood a
fair-haired lad, wrapped in the mantle described by the elder
Raoul. One instant
only he stood there; the next he darted forward, and fell
with weeping and
inarticulate cries into his father's embrace.
We paused, and
waited aloof in silence, respecting the supreme joy and emotion
of a greeting so
sacred as this. The dogs only, bursting into the cave, leapt
and
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[Page 109] gambolled about, venting
their satisfaction in sonorous barks and
turbulent
demonstrations of delight. But for them, as they seemed well to know,
this marvellous
discovery would have never been achieved, and the drama which
now ended with so
great happiness, might have terminated in a life-long tragedy.
Therefore we were
not surprised to see St Aubyn, after the first transport of
the meeting, turn
to the dogs, and clasping each huge rough head in turn, kiss
it fervently and
with grateful tears.
It was their only
guerdon for that day's priceless service: the dumb beasts that
love us do not
work for gold !
And now came the
history of the three long months which had elapsed since the
occurrence of the
disaster which separated my friend from his little son.
Seated on the soft
moss of the cavern floor, St Aubyn in the midst and the boy
beside him, we
listened to the sequel of the strange tale recounted the
preceding evening
by Theodor and Augustin Raoul. And first we learnt that until
the moment when
his father's shout broke upon his ear that day, Charlie St Aubyn
had remained as
insensible to sound and as mute of voice as he was when his
accident befell
him. Even now that the powers of hearing and of speech were
restored, he
articulated uncertainly and with great difficulty, leaving many
words unfinished,
and helping out his phrases with gesticulations and signs, his
father suggesting
and assisting as the narrative proceeded. Was it the strong
love in St Aubyn's
cry that broke through the spell of disease and thrilled his
child's dulled
nerves into life ? was it the shock of an emotion coming
unexpected and
intense after all those dreary weeks of futile watchfulness ? or
was the miracle an
effect of the same Divine grace which, by
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[Page 110] means of
a mysterious gift,
had enabled us to track and to find this obscure and unknown
spot ?
It matters little;
the spirit of man is master of all things, and the miracles
of love are
myriad-fold. For, where love abounds and is pure, the spirit of man
is as the Spirit
of God.
Little St Aubyn
had been saved from death, and sustained during the past three
months by a
creature dumb like himself: — a large dog exactly resembling Fritz
and Bruno. This
dog, he gave us to understand, came from over the torrent,
indicating with a
gesture the Arblen Valley; and, from the beginning of his
troubles, had been
to him like a human friend. The fall from the hill-side had
not seriously
injured, but only bruised and temporarily lamed the lad, and after
lying for a minute
or two a little stunned and giddy, he rose and with some
difficulty made
his way across the meadow slope on which he found himself,
expecting to meet
his father descending the path. But he miscalculated its
direction, and
speedily discovered he had lost his way. After waiting a long
time in great
suspense, and seeing no one but a few goatherds at a distance,
whose attention he
failed to attract, the pain of a twisted ankle, increased by
continual movement,
compelled him to seek a night's shelter in the cave
subsequently
visited by his father at the suggestion of the peasants who
assisted in the
search. These peasants were not aware that the cave was but the
mouth of a vast
and wandering labyrinth tunnelled, partly by nature and partly
by art, through
the rocky heart of the mountain. A little before sunrise, on the
morning after his
accident, the boy, examining with minute curiosity the
picturesque grotto
in which he had passed the night, discovered in its darkest
corner a
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[Page 111] moss-covered stone behind
which had accumulated a great
quantity of weeds,
ivy, and loose rubbish. Boy-like, he fell to clearing away
these impedimenta
and excavating the stone, until, after some industrious labour
thus expended, he
dismantled behind and a little above it a narrow passage, into
which he crept,
partly to satisfy his love of exploring, partly in the hope that
it might afford
him an egress in the direction of the village. The aperture thus
exposed had not,
in fact, escaped the eye of St Aubyn, when about an hour
afterwards the
search for the lost boy was renewed. But one of his guides, after
a brief
inspection, declared the recess into which it opened empty, and the
party, satisfied
with his report, left the spot, little thinking that all their
labour had been
lost by a too hasty examination. For, in fact, this narrow and
apparently limited
passage gradually widened in its darkest part, and, as little
St Aubyn found,
became by degrees a tolerably roomy corridor, in which he could
just manage to
walk upright, and into which light from the outer world
penetrated dimly
through artificial fissures hollowed out at intervals in the
rocky wall.
Delighted at this discovery, but chilled by the vault-like coldness
of the place, the
lad hastened back to fetch the fur mantle he had left in the
cave, threw it
over his shoulders, and returned to continue his exploration. The
cavern gallery
beguiled him with ever-new wonders at every step. Here rose a
subterranean
spring, there a rudely carved gurgoyle grinned from the granite
roof; curious and
intricate windings enticed his eager steps, while all the time
the death-like and
horrible silence which might have deterred an ordinary child
from further
advance, failed of its effect upon ears unable to distinguish
between the living
sounds of the outer world and the stillness of a
sepulchre.
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[Page 112] Thus he groped and wandered,
until he became aware that the
gloom of the
corridor had gradually deepened, and that the tiny openings in the
rock were now far
less frequent than at the outset. Even to his eyes, by this
time accustomed to
obscurity, the darkness grew portentous, and at every step he
stumbled against
some unseen projection, or bruised his hands in vain efforts to
discover a
returning path. Too late he began to apprehend that he was nearly
lost in the heart
of the mountain. Either the windings of the labyrinth were
hopelessly
confusing, or some débris, dislodged by the unaccustomed concussion
of footsteps, had
fallen from the roof and choked the passage behind him. The
account which the
boy gave of his adventure, and of his vain and long-continued
efforts to retrace
his way, made the latter hypothesis appear to us the more
acceptable, the
noise occasioned by such a fall having of course passed unheeded
by him. In the
end, thoroughly baffled and exhausted, the lad determined to work
on through the
Cimmerian darkness in the hope of discovering a second terminus
on the further
side of the mountain. This at length he did. A faint star-like
outlet finally
presented itself to his delighted eyes; he groped painfully
towards it;
gradually it widened and brightened, till at length he emerged from
the subterranean
gulf which had so long imprisoned him into the mountain cave
wherein he had
ever since remained. How long it had taken him to accomplish this
passage he could
not guess, but from the sun's position it seemed to be about
noon when he again
beheld day. He sat down, dazzled and fatigued, on the mossy
floor of the
grotto, and watched the mountain torrent eddying and sweeping
furiously past in
the gorge beneath his retreat. After
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[Page 113] a while he
slept, and awoke
towards evening faint with hunger and bitterly regretting the
affliction which
prevented him from attracting help.
Suddenly, to his
great amaze, a huge tawny head appeared above the rocky edge of
the plateau, and in
another moment a St Bernard hound clambered up the steep
bank and ran
towards the cave. He was dripping wet, and carried, strapped across
his broad back, a
double panier, the contents of which proved on inspection to
consist of three
flasks of goat's milk, and some half-dozen rye loaves packed in
a tin box.
The friendly
expression and intelligent demeanour of his visitor invited little
St Aubyn's
confidence and reanimated his sinking heart. Delighted at such
evidence of human
proximity, and eager for food, he drank of the goat's milk and
ate part of the
bread, afterwards emptying his pockets of the few sous he
possessed and
enclosing them with the remaining loaves in the tin case, hoping
that the sight of
the coins would inform the dog's owners of the incident. The
creature went as
he came, plunging into the deepest and least boisterous part of
the torrent, which
he crossed by swimming, regained the opposite shore, and soon
disappeared from
view.
But next day, at
about the same hour, the dog reappeared alone, again bringing
milk and bread, of
which again the lad partook, this time, however, having no
sous to deposit in
the basket. And when, as on the previous day, his new friend
rose to depart,
Charlie St Aubyn left the cave with him, clambered down the bank
with difficulty,
and essayed to cross the torrent ford. But the depth and
rapidity of the
current dismayed him, and with sinking heart the child returned
to his abode.
Every day the same thing happened, and at length the strange
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[Page
114] life became
familiar to him, the trees, the birds, and the flowers became
his friends, and
the great hound a mysterious protector whom he regarded with
reverent affection
and trusted with entire confidence. At night he dreamed of
home, and
constantly visited his father in visions, saying always the same
words, "
Father, I am alive and well."
"And
now", whispered the child, nestling closer in St Aubyn's embrace, "
the
wonderful thing is
that today, for the first and only time since I have been in
this cave, my dog
has not come to me ! It looks, does it not, as if in some
strange and
fairy-like way he really knew what was happening, and had known it
all along from the
very beginning! O father ! can he be — do you think — can he
be an Angel in
disguise? And, to be sure, I patted him, and thought he was only
a dog !"
As the boy, an
awed expression in his lifted blue eyes, gave utterance to this
naïve idea, I
glanced at St Aubyn's face, and saw that, though his lips smiled,
his eyes were
grave and full of grateful wonder.
He turned towards
the peasants grouped around us, and in their own language
recited to them
the child's story. They listened intently, from time to time
exchanging among
themselves intelligent glances and muttering interjections
expressive of
astonishment. When the last word of the tale was spoken, the elder
Raoul, who stood
at the entrance of the cave, gazing out over the sunlit valley
of the Arblen,
removed his hat with a reverent gesture and crossed himself.
"God forgive
us miserable sinners", he said humbly, "and pardon us our human
pride! The Angel
of the Lord whom Augustin and I beheld in our vision,
ministering to the
lad, is no other than the dog Glück who
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[Page 115] lives at
the monastery out
yonder ! And while we men are lucid only once a year, he has
the seeing gift
all the year round, and the good God showed him the lad in this
cave, when we,
forsooth, should have looked for him in vain. I know that every
day Glück is sent
from the monastery laden with food and drink to a poor widow
living up yonder
over the ravine. She is infirm and bedridden, and her little
grand-daughter
takes care of her. Doubtless the poor soul took the sous in the
basket to be the
gift of the brothers, and, as her portion is not always the
same from day to
day, but depends on what they can spare from the store set
apart for
almsgiving, she would not notice the diminished cakes and milk, save
perhaps to grumble
a little at the increase of the beggars who trespassed thus
on her pension."
There was silence
among us for a moment, then St Aubyn's boy spoke.
"Father",
he asked, tremulously, "shall I not see that good Glück again and tell
the monks how he
saved me, and how Fritz and Bruno brought you here ?"
" Yes, my
child", answered St Aubyn, rising, and drawing the boy's hand into his
own, "we will
go and find Glück, who knows, no doubt, all that has passed today,
and is waiting for
us at the monastery."
" We must
ford the torrent," said Augustin; " the bridge was carried off by
last
year's avalanche,
but with six of us and the dogs it will be easy work."
Twilight was
falling; and already the stars of Christmas Eve climbed the frosty
heavens and
appeared above the snowy far-off peaks.
Filled with
gratitude and wonder at all the strange events of the day we betook
ourselves to the
ford, and by the help of ropes and stocks our whole party
landed
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[Page 116] safely on the valley side.
Another half-hour brought us into
the warm glow of
the monk's refectory fire, where, while supper was prepared,
the worthy
brothers listened to a tale at least as marvellous as any legend in
their
ecclesiastical repertory. I fancy they must have felt a pang of regret
that holy Mother
Church would find it impossible to bestow upon Glück and his
two noble sons the
dignity of canonization.
- 2 - STEEPSIDE
A GHOST STORY
THE strange things
I am going to tell you, dear reader, did not occur, as such
things generally
do, to my great-uncle, or to my second cousin, or even to my
grandfather, but
to myself. It happened that a few years ago I received an
invitation from an
old schoolfellow to spend Christmas week with him in his
country house on
the borders of North Wales, and, as I was then a happy
bachelor, and had
not seen my friend for a considerable time, I accepted the
invitation, and
turned my back upon London on the appointed day with a light
heart and
anticipations of the pleasantest description.
Leaving my City
haunts by a morning train, I was landed early in the afternoon
at the nearest
station to my friend's house, although in this case nearest was
indeed, as it
proved, by no means near. When I reached the inn where I had
fondly expected to
find " flys, omnibuses, and other vehicles obtainable on the
shortest
notice," I was met by the landlady of the establishment,
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[Page 117]
who, with an
apologetic curtsey and a deprecating smile, informed me that she
was extremely
sorry to say her last conveyance had just started with a party,
and would not
return until late at night. I looked at my watch; it was nearing
four. Seven miles,
and I had a large travelling-bag to carry.
"Is it a good
road from here to -----?" I asked the landlady.
"Oh yes, sir;
very fair."
"Well",
I said, "I think I'll walk it. The railway journey has rather numbed my
feet, and a sharp
walk will certainly improve their temperature."
So I courageously
lifted my bag and set out on the journey to my friend's house.
Ah, how little I
guessed what was destined to befall me before I reached that
desired haven! I
had gone, I suppose, about two miles when I descried behind me
a vast mass of
dark, surging cloud driving up rapidly with the wind. I was in
open country, and
there was evidently going to be a very heavy snowstorm.
Presently it
began. At first I made up my mind not to heed it; but in about
twenty minutes
after the commencement of the fall the snow became so thick and
so blinding, that
it was absolutely impossible for me to find my way along a
road which was
utterly new to me. Moreover, with the cloud came the twilight,
and a most
disagreeably keen wind. The travelling-bag became unbearably heavy. I
shifted it from
one hand to the other; I hung it over my shoulder; I put it
under my arm; I
carried it in all sorts of ways, but none afforded me any
permanent relief.
To add to my misfortune, I strongly suspected that I had
mistaken my way,
for by this time the snow was so deep that the footpath was
altogether
obliterated. In this predicament I
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[Page 118] looked out wistfully
across the
whitened landscape for signs of an inn or habitation of some
description where
I might put up for the night, and by good fortune (or was it
bad ?) I at last
espied through the gathering gloom a solitary and not very
distant light
twinkling from a lodge at the entrance of a private road. I fought
my way through the
snow as quickly as possible, and, presenting myself at the
gate of the little
cottage, rang the bell complacently, and flattered myself
that I had at
length discovered a resting-place. An old man with grey hair
answered my
summons. Him I acquainted with my misfortune, and to him I preferred
my request that I
might be allowed a night's shelter in the lodge, or at least
the temporary
privilege of drying myself and mes habillements at his fireside.
The old fellow
admitted me cheerfully enough; but he seemed more than doubtful
as to the possibility
of my passing the night beneath his roof. "Ye see, sir",
he said,
"we've only one small room — me and the missis; and I don't well see
how we're to
manage about you. All the same, sir, I wouldn't advise ye to go on
tonight, for if
ye're bound for Mr ------'s, ye've come a deal out of your way,
and the storm's
getting worse and worse every minute. We shall have a nasty
night of it, sir,
and it'll be a deal too stiff for travelling on foot."
Here the wife, a
hospitable-looking old woman, interposed.
"Willum,
don't ye think as the gentleman might be put to sleep in the room up at
the House, where
George slept last time he was here to see us ? His bed's there
still, ye know.
It's a very good room, sir," she argued, addressing me; " and I
can give ye a pair
of blankets in no time."
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[Page 119]
"But"
said I, "the master of the house doesn't know me. I am a stranger here
altogether."
"Lor! bless
ye, sir !" answered my host, " there ain't nobody in the place. The
house has been to
let these ten years at least to my knowledge; for I've been
here eight, and
the house and the lodge had both been empty no one knows how
long when I come,
I rents this cottage of Mr Houghton, out yonder."
"Oh
well", I rejoined, "if that is the case, and there is nobody's leave
save
yours to ask, I'm
willing enough to sleep at the house, and thank you too for
your
kindness."
So it was arranged
that I should pass the coming night within the walls of the
empty mansion;
and, until it was time to retire thither, I amused and edified
myself by a
friendly chat with the old man and his spouse, both of whom were
vastly
communicative. At ten o'clock I and my host adjourned to the house, which
stood at a very
short distance from the lodge. I carried my bag, and my
companion bore the
blankets already referred to, a candle, and some firewood and
matches. The
chamber to which he conducted me was comfortable enough, but by no
means profusely
furnished. It contained a small truckle bedstead, two chairs,
and a washstand,
but no attempt at pictures or ornaments of any description.
Evidently it was
an impromptu bedroom.
My entertainer in
a few minutes kindled a cheerful fire upon the old-fashioned
stone hearth.
Then, after arranging my bed and placing my candle on the
mantelpiece, he
wished me a respectful good-night and withdrew. When he was gone
I dragged one of
the chairs towards the fireplace, and sat down to enjoy the
pleasant flicker
of the blaze. I ruminated upon the occurrences of the
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[Page
120] day, and the
possible history of the old house, whose sole occupant I had
thus strangely
become. Now, I am of an inquisitive turn of mind, and perhaps
less apt than most
men to be troubled with that uncomfortable sensation which
those people who
are its victims describe as nervousness, and those who are not,
as cowardice.
Another in my place might have shrunk from doing what I presently
resolved to do,
and that was to explore, before going to rest, at least some
part of this empty
old house. Accordingly, I took up my candle and walked out
into the passage,
leaving the door of my room widely open, so that the
fire-light
streamed full into the entrance of the dark gallery, and served to
guide me on my way
along it. When I had thus progressed for some twenty yards, I
was brought to a
standstill by encountering a large red baize door, which
evidently shut off
the wing in which my room was situated from the rest of the
mansion, and
completely closed all egress from the corridor where I then stood.
I paused a moment
or two in uncertainty, for the door was locked; but presently
my glance fell on
an old rusty key hanging from a nail, likewise rusty, in a
niche of the wall.
I abstracted this key from its resting-place, destroying as I
did so the
residences of a dozen spiders, which, to judge from appearances,
seemed to have
thrived excellently in the atmosphere of desolation which
surrounded them.
It was some time before I could get the clumsy old lock to act
properly, or
summon sufficient strength to turn the key; but at length
perseverance met
with its proverbial reward, and the door moved slowly and
noisily on its
hinges. Still bearing my candle, I went on my way into a second
corridor, which
was literally carpeted with dust, the accumulation probably of
the ten years to
which my host had referred.
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[Page 121]
All round was
gloomy and silent as a sepulchre, save that every now and then the
loosened boards
creaked beneath my tread, or some little misanthropical animal,
startled from his
hermitage by the unwonted sound of my steps, hurried across
the passage,
making as he went a tiny trail in the thick furry dust. Several
galleries branched
off from the mainway like tributary streams, but I preferred
to steer my course
down the central corridor, which finally conducted me to a
large
antique-looking apartment with carved wainscot and curious old paintings
on the panelled
walls. I put the candle upon a table which stood in the centre
of the room, and
standing beside it, took a general survey. There was an old
mouldy-looking
bookcase in one corner of the chamber, with some old mouldy books
packed closely
together on a few of its shelves. This piece of furniture was
hollowed out,
crescent-wise, at the base, and partially concealed a carved oaken
door, which had
evidently in former times been the means of communication with
an adjoining
apartment. Prompted by curiosity, I took down and opened a few of
the nearest books
on the shelves before me. They proved to be some of the very
earliest volumes
of the Spectator, — books of considerable interest to me, — and
in ten minutes I
was quite absorbed in an article by one of our most noted
masters of
literature. I drew one of the queer high-backed chairs scattered
about the room,
towards the table, and sat down to enjoy a feast of reason and a
flow of soul. As I
turned the mildewed page, something suddenly fell with a dull
flop upon the
paper. It was a drop of blood ! I stared at it with a strange
sensation of
mingled horror and astonishment. Could it have been upon the page
before I turned it
? No; it was wet and bright,
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[Page 122] and presented the
uneven, broken
disc which drops of liquid always possess when they fall from a
considerable
height. Besides I had heard and seen it fall. I put the book down
on the table and
looked upward at the ceiling. There was nothing visible there
save the grey dirt
of years. I looked closely at the hideous blotch, and saw it
rapidly soaking
and widening its way into the paper, already softened with age.
As, of course,
after this incident I was not inclined to continue my studies of
Addison and
Steele, I shut the volume and replaced it on the shelves. Turning
back towards the
table to take up my candle, my eyes rested upon a full-length
portrait
immediately facing the bookcase. It was that of a young and handsome
woman with glossy
black hair coiled round her head, but, I thought, with
something
repulsive in the proud, stony face and shadowed eyes. I raised the
light above my
head to get a better view of the painting. As I did this, it
seemed to me that
the countenance of the figure changed, or rather that a Thing
came between me
and it. It was a momentary distortion, as though a gust of wind
had passed across
the portrait and disturbed the outline of the features; the
how and the why I
know not but the face changed; nor shall I ever forget the
sudden horror of
the look it assumed. It was like that face of phantom
ghastliness that
we see sometimes in the delirium of fever, — the face that
meets us and turns
upon us in the mazes of nightmare, with a look that wakes us
in the darkness,
and drives the cold sweat out upon our forehead while we lie
still and hold our
breath for fear. Man as I was, I shuddered convulsively from
head to foot, and
fixed my eyes earnestly on the terrible portrait. In a minute
it was a mere
picture again — an inanimate
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[Page 123] colored canvas — wearing
no expression upon
its painted features save that which the artist had given to
it nearly a
century ago. I thought then that the strange appearance I had
witnessed was
probably the effect of the fitful candle-light, or an illusion of
my own vision; but
now I believe otherwise. Seeing nothing further unusual in
the picture, I
turned my back upon it, and made a few steps towards the door,
intending to quit
this mysterious chamber of horrors, when a third and more
hideous phenomenon
riveted me to the spot where I stood; for, as I looked
towards the oaken
door in the corner, I became aware of something slowly
filtering from
beneath it, and creeping towards me. O heaven ! I had not long to
look to know what
that something was: — it was blood, — red, thick, stealthy !
On it came,
winding its way in a frightful stream into the room, soddening the
rich carpet, and
lying presently in a black pool at my feet. It had trickled in
from the adjoining
chamber, that chamber the entrance to which was closed by the
bookcase. There
were some great volumes on the ground before the door, — volumes
which I had
noticed when I entered the room, on account of the thick dust with
which they were
surrounded. They were lying now in a pool of stagnant blood. It
would be utterly
impossible for me to attempt to describe my sensations at that
minute. I was not
capable of feeling any distinct emotion. My brain seemed
oppressed, I could
scarcely breathe — scarcely move. I watched the dreadful
stream oozing
drowsily through the crevices of the mouldy, rotting woodwork —
bulging out in
great beads like raindrops on the sides of the door — trickling
noiselessly down
the knots of the carved oak. Still I stood and watched it, and
it crept on
slowly, slowly, like a living thing,
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[Page 124] and growing as it
came, to my very
feet. I cannot say how long I might have stood there,
fascinated by it,
had not something suddenly occurred to startle me into my
senses again; for
full upon the back of my right hand fell, with a sullen, heavy
sound, a second
drop of blood. It stung and burnt my flesh like molten lead, and
the sharp, sudden
pain it gave me shot up my arm and shoulder, and seemed in an
instant to mount
into my brain and pervade my whole being. I turned and fled
from the terrible
place with a shrill cry that rang through the empty corridors
and ghostly rooms
like nothing human. I did not recognise it for my own voice,
so strange it was,
— so totally unlike its accustomed sound; and now, when I
recall it, I am
disposed to think it was surely not the cry of living mortal,
but of that
unknown Thing that passed before the portrait, and that stood beside
me even then in
the lonely room. Certain I am that the echoes of that cry had in
them something
inexpressibly fiendish, and through the deathly gloom of the
mansion they came
back, reverberated and repeated from a hundred invisible
corners and
galleries. Now, I had to pass, on my return, a long, broad window
that lighted the
principal staircase. This window had neither shutters nor
blind, and was
composed of those small square panes that were in vogue a century
ago. As I went by
it, I threw a hasty, appalled glance behind me, and distinctly
saw, even through
the blurred and dirty glass, the figures of two women, one
pursuing the other
over the thick white snow outside. In the rapid view I had of
them, I observed
only that the first carried something in her hand that looked
like a pistol, and
her long black hair streamed behind her, showing darkly
against the dead
whiteness of the landscape. The arms of her pursuer
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[Page 125]
were outstretched,
as though she were calling to her companion to stop; but
perfect as was the
silence of the night, and close as the figures seemed to be,
I heard no sound
of a voice. Next I came to a second and smaller window which
had been once
boarded up, but with lapse of time the plank had loosened and
partly fallen, and
here I paused a moment to look out. It still snowed slightly,
but there was a
clear moon, sufficient to throw a ghastly light upon the outside
objects nearest to
me. With the sleeve of my coat I rubbed away the dust and
cobwebs which
overhung the glass, and peered out. The two women were still
hurrying onward,
but the distance between them was considerably lessened. And
now for the first
time a peculiarity about them struck me. It was this, that the
figures were not
substantial; they flickered and waved precisely like flames, as
they ran. As I
gazed at them the foremost turned her head to look at the woman
behind her, and as
she did so, stumbled, fell, and disappeared. She seemed to
have suddenly
dropped down a precipice, so quickly and so completely she
vanished. The
other figure stopped, wrung its hands wildly, and presently turned
and fled in the
direction of the park-gates, and was soon lost in the obscurity
of the distance.
The sights I had just witnessed in the panelled chamber had not
been of a nature
to inspire courage in any one, and I must candidly confess that
my knees actually
shook and my teeth rattled as I left the window and darted up
the solitary passage
to the baize door at the top of it. Would I had never
unlocked that door
! Would that the key had been lost, or that I had never set
foot in this
abominable house! Hastily I refastened the door, hung up the rusty
key in its niche,
and rushed into my own room, where I dropped into a chair with
a
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[Page 126] deadly faintness creeping
over me. I looked at my hand, where the
clot of blood had
fallen. It seemed to have burnt its way into my flesh, for it
no longer appeared
on the surface, but, where it had been was a round, purple
mark, with an
outer ring, like the scar of a burn. That scar is on my hand now,
and I suppose will
be there all my life. I looked at my watch, which I had left
behind on the
mantelpiece. It was five minutes past twelve. Should I go to bed?
I stirred the
sinking fire into a blaze, and looked anxiously at my candle.
Neither fire nor
candles, I perceived, would last much longer. Before long both
would be expended,
and I should be in darkness. In darkness, and alone in that
house. The bare
idea of a night passed in such solitude was terrible to me. I
tried to laugh at
my fears, and reproached myself with weakness and cowardice. I
reverted to the
stereotyped method of consolation under circumstances of this
description, and
strove to persuade myself that, being guiltless, I had no cause
to fear the powers
of evil. But in vain. Trembling from head to foot, I raked
together the
smoldering embers in the stove for the last time, wrapped my
railway rug around
me — for I dared not undress — and threw myself on the bed,
where I lay
sleepless until the dawn. But oh, what I endured all those weary
hours no human
creature can imagine. I watched the last sparks of the fire die
out, one by one,
and heard the ashes slide and drop slowly upon the hearth. I
watched the flame
of the candle flare up and sink again a dozen times, and then
at last expire,
leaving me in utter darkness and silence. I fancied, ever and
anon, that I could
distinguish the sound of phantom feet coming down the
corridor towards
my room, and that the mysterious Presence I had encountered in
the
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[Page 127] paneled chamber stood at my
bedside looking at me, or that a
stealthy hand
touched mine. I felt the sweat upon my forehead, but I dared not
move to wipe it
away. I thought of people whose hair had turned white through
terror in a few
brief hours, and wondered what colour mine would be in the
morning. And when
at last — at last — the first grey glimmer of that morning
peered through the
window-blind, I hailed its appearance with much the same
emotions as, no
doubt, a traveller fainting with thirst in a desert would
experience upon
descrying a watery oasis in the midst of the burning sands. Long
before the sun
arose, I leapt from my couch, and having made a hasty toilette, I
sallied out into
the bleak, frosty air. It revived me at once, and brought new
courage into my
heart. Looking at the whitened expanse of lawn where last night
I had seen the two
women running, I could detect no sign of footmarks in the
snow. The whole
lawn presented an unbroken surface of sparkling crystals. I
walked down the
drive to the lodge. The old man, evidently an early bird, was in
the act of
unbarring his door as I appeared.
"Halloa, sir,
you're up betimes!" he exclaimed. "Will ye just step in now and
take somethin' ?
My ole woman's agoin' to get out the breakfast. Slept well last
night, sir ?
" he continued, as I entered the little parlour; "the bed is
rayther hard, I
know; but, ye see, it does well enow for my son George when he's
up here, which isna
often. Ye look tired like, this morning; didna get much rest
p'raps ? Ah ! now
then, Bess, gi' us another plate here, ole gal."
I ate my breakfast
in comparative silence, wondering to myself whether it would
be well to say
anything to my host of my recent experiences, since he had
clearly
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[Page 128] no suspicions on the subject;
and, anon, wishing I had
comported myself
in that terrible house with as little curiosity as the son
George, who no
doubt was content to stay where he was put at night, and was not
given to nocturnal
excursions in empty mansions.
"Have you any
idea", said I, at last, "whether there's any story connected with
that place where I
slept last night ? I only ask", added I, with a feeble grin,
like the ghost of
a smile that had been able-bodied once, "because I'm fond of
hearing stories,
and because, as you know, there generally is a legend, or
something of that
sort, related about old family mansions".
"Well,
sir", answered the old man slowly, " I never heard nothin' but then,
you
see, I never asked
no questions. We came here eight years agone, and then no one
round remembered a
tenant at the big house. It's been empty somewhere nigh
twenty years, I
should say, — to my own knowledge more than ten, — and what's
more, nobody knows
exactly who it belongs to: and there's been lawsuits about it
and all manner o'
things, but nothin' ever came of them."
"Did no one
ever tell you anything about its history", I asked, "or were you
never asked any
questions about it until now ? "
"Not
particularly as I remember", replied he musingly.
Then, after a
moment's pause, he added more briskly, " Ay, ay, though, now I
come to think of
it, there was a man up here more'n five months back, a
Frenchman, who
came on purpose to see it and ask me one or two questions, but I
on'y jest told him
nothin' as I've told you. He was a popish priest, and seemed
to take a sight of
interest in the place somehow. I think if you want to know
about it, sir,
you'd better go and see him; he's
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[Page 129] staying down here in
the village, about
a mile and a half off, at the Crown Inn."
"And a queer
old fellow he is", broke in my host's wife, who was clearing away
the breakfast;
"no one knows where he comes from, 'cept as he's a Frenchman. I
see him about
often, prowlin' along with his stick and his snuff-box, always
alone, and
sometimes he nods at me and says 'good-morning' as I go by."
In consequence of
this information I resolved to make my way immediately to the
old priest's
dwelling, and having acquainted myself with the direction in which
the house lay, I
took leave of my host, shouldered my bag once more, and set out
en route. The air
was clear and sharp, and the crisp snow crackled pleasantly
under my Hessian
boots as I strode along the country lanes. All traces of cloud
had totally
disappeared from the sky, the sun looked cheerfully down on me, and
my morning's walk
thoroughly refreshed and invigorated me. In due time I arrived
at the inn which
had been named to me as the abode of the Rev. M. Pierre, — a
pretty homely
little nest, with an antique gable and portico. Addressing myself
to the elderly
woman who answered my summons at the house-door, I inquired if I
could see M.
Pierre, and, in reply, received a civil invitation to "step inside
and wait". My
suspense did not last long, for M. Pierre made his appearance very
promptly. He was a
tall, thin individual with a fried-looking complexion, keen
sunken eyes, and
sparse hair streaked with grey. He entered the room with a
courteous bow and
inquiring look. Rising from the chair in which I had rested
myself by the
fire, I advanced towards him and addressed him by name in my
suavest tones. He
inclined his head and looked at me more inquiringly than
before. " I
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[Page 130] have taken the liberty to
request an interview with you
this
morning", continued I, " because I have been told that you may
probably be
able to give me
some information of which I am in search, with regard to an old
mansion in this
part of the county, called Steepside, and in which I spent last
night."
Scarcely had I
uttered these last words when the expression of the old priest's
face changed from
one of courteous indifference to earnest interest.
"Do I
understand you rightly, monsieur ?" he said. " You say you slept last
night in Steepside
mansion ? "
"I did not
say I slept there," I rejoined, with an emphasis; "I said I passed
the night
there."
"Bien",
said he dryly, "I comprehend. And you were not pleased with your night's
lodging. That is
so, is it not, monsieur, — is it not ? " he repeated, eying my
face curiously, as
though he were seeking to read the expression of my thoughts
there.
"You may be
sure", said I, "that if something very peculiar had not occurred to
me in that house,
I should not thus have troubled a gentleman to whom I am,
unhappily, a
stranger."
He bowed slightly
and then stood silent, contemplating me, and, as I think,
considering
whether or not he should afford me the information I desired.
Presently, his
scrutiny having apparently proved satisfactory, he withdrew his
eyes from my face,
and seated himself beside me.
"
Monsieur", said he, "before I begin to answer your inquiry, I will ask
you to
tell me what you
saw last night at Steepside."
He drew from his
pocket a small, old-fashioned snuffbox and refreshed his little
yellow nose with a
pinch of
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[Page 131] rappee, after which
ceremonial he leaned
back at his ease,
resting his chin in his hand and regarding me fixedly during
the whole of my
strange recital. When I had finished speaking he sat silent a
few minutes, and
then resumed, in his queer broken manner:
"What I am
going to tell you I would not tell to any man who had not done what
you have done, and
seen what you saw last night. Mon Dieu! it is strange you
should have been
at that house last night of all nights in the year, the 22nd of
December!”
He seemed to make
this reflection rather to himself than to me, and presently
continued, taking
a small key from a pocket in his vest as he spoke:
"Do you
understand French well, monsieur ? "
"Excellently
well", returned I with alacrity; "a great part of my business
correspondence is
conducted in French, and I speak and hear it every day of my
life."
He smiled
pleasantly in reply, rose from his seat, and, unlocking with the key
he held a small
drawer in a chest that stood beside the chimney-piece, took out
of it a roll of
manuscript and a cigar.
"Monsieur"
, said he, offering me the latter, "let me recommend this, if you
care to smoke so
early in the day. I always prefer rappee, but you, doubtless,
have younger
tastes."
Having thus
provided for my comfort, the old priest reseated himself, unfolded
the manuscript,
and, without further apology, read the following story in the
French language: —
Towards the latter
part of the last century Steepside became the property of a
certain Sir Julian
Lorrington. His family consisted only of his wife, Lady
Sarah, and
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[Page 132] their daughter Julia, a girl
remarkable alike for her
beauty and her
expectations.
For a long time
Sir Julian had retained in his establishment an old French
maitre d'hôtel and
his wife, who both died in the baronet's service, leaving one
child, Virginie,
whom Lady Sarah, out of regard for the fidelity of her parents,
engaged to educate
and protect.
In due time this
orphan, brought up in the household of Sir Julian, became the
chosen companion
of his heiress; and when the family took up their residence at
Steepside,
Virginie Giraud, who had been associated in Julia's studies and
recreations from
early childhood, was installed there as maid and confidant to
the hope of the
house.
Not long after the
settlement at Steepside, Sir Julian, in the summary fashion
of those days with
regard to matrimonial affairs, announced his intention of
bestowing his
daughter upon a certain Welsh squire of old ancestry and broad
acres. Sir Julian
was a practical man, thoroughly incapable of regarding wedlock
in any other light
than as a mere union of wealth and property, the owners of
which joined hands
and lived together. This was the way in which he had married,
and it was the way
in which he intended his daughter to marry; love and passion
were meaningless,
if not vulgar words in his ears, and he conceived it
impossible they
should be otherwise to his only child. As for Lady Sarah, she
was an
unsympathetic creature, whose thoughts ran only on the ambition of seeing
Julia married to
some gentleman of high position, and heading a fine
establishment with
social success and distinction.
So it was not
until all things relative to the contract had been duly arranged
between these
amiable parents
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[Page 133] and their intended
son-in-law, that the
bride elect was
informed of the fortune in store for her.
But all the time
that the lawyers had been preparing the marriage settlements, a
young penniless
gentleman named Philip Brian had been finding out for himself
the way to Julia's
heart, and these two had pledged their faith to each other
only a few days
before Sir Julian and Lady Lorrington formally announced their
plans to their
daughter. In consequence of her engagement with Philip, Julia
received their
intelligence with indignation, and protested that no power on
earth should force
her to act falsely to the young man whose promised wife she
had become. The
expression of this determination was received by both parents
with high
displeasure. Sir Julian indulged in a few angry oaths, and Lady Sarah
in a little select
satire; Philip Brian was, of course, forbidden the house, all
letters and
messages between the lovers were interdicted, and Julia was
commanded to
comport herself like a dutiful and obedient heiress.
Now Virginie
Giraud was the friend as well as the attendant of Sir Julian's
daughter, and it
was Virginie therefore who, after the occurrence of this
outbreak, was
despatched to Philip with a note of warning from his mistress.
Naturally the
lover returned an answer by the same means, and from that hour
Virginie continued
to act as agent between the two, carrying letters to and fro,
giving counsel and
arranging meetings. Meanwhile the bridal day was fixed by the
parent
Lorringtons, and elaborate preparations were made for a wedding festival
which should be
the wonderment and admiration of the county. The breakfast room
was decorated with
lavish splendour, the richest apparel bespoken for the bride,
and all the
wealthy and titled relatives of both contracting
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[Page 134] families
were invited to
the pageant. Nor were Philip and Julia idle. It was arranged
between them that,
at eleven o'clock on the night of the day preceding the
intended wedding,
the young man should present himself beneath Julia's window,
Virginie being on
the watch and in readiness to accompany the flight of the
lovers. All three,
under cover of the darkness, should then steal down the
avenue of the
coach-drive and make their exit by the shrubbery gate, the key of
which Virginie
already had in keeping. The appointed evening came, — the 22nd of
December. Snow lay
deep upon the ground, and more threatened to fall before
dawn, but Philip
had engaged to provide horses equal to any emergency of
weather, and the
darkness of the night lent favour to the enterprise. Virginie's
behaviour all that
day had somehow seemed unaccountable to her mistress. The
maid's face was
pallid and wore a strange expression of anxiety and
apprehension. She
winced and trembled when Julia's glance rested upon her, and
her hands quivered
violently while she helped the latter to adjust her hood and
mantle as the hour
of assignation approached. Endeavouring, however, to persuade
herself that this
strange conduct arose from a feeling of excitement or
nervousness
natural under the circumstances, Julia used a hundred kind words and
tender gestures to
reassure and support her companion. But the more she consoled
or admonished, the
more agitated Virginie became, and matters stood in this
condition when
eleven o'clock arrived.
Julia waited at
her chamber window, which was not above three feet from the
ground without,
her hood and mantle donned, listening eagerly for the sound of
her lover's voice;
and the French girl leant behind her
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[Page 135] against the
closed door,
nervously tearing to fragments a piece of paper she had taken from
her pocket a
minute ago. These torn atoms she flung upon the hearth, where a
bright fire was
blazing, not observing that, meanwhile, Julia had opened the
window-casement. A
gust of wind darting into the room from outside caught up a
fragment of the
yet unconsumed paper and whirled it back from the flames to
Julia's feet. She
glanced at it indifferently, but the sight of some characters
on it suddenly
attracting her, she stooped and picked it up.
It bore her name
written over and over several times, first in rather laboured
imitation of her
own handwriting, then more successfully, and, lastly, in so
perfect a manner
that even Julia herself was almost deceived into believing it
her genuine
signature. Then followed several L's and J's, as though the copyist
had not considered
those initials satisfactory counterparts of the original.
Julia wondered,
but did not doubt; and as she tossed the fragment from her hand,
Virginie turned
and perceived the action. Instantly a deep flush of crimson
overspread the
maid's face; she darted suddenly forward, and uttered an
exclamation of
alarm. Her cry was immediately succeeded by the sharp noise of a
pistol report
beneath the window, and a heavy, muffled sound, as of the fall of
a body upon the
snow-covered earth. Julia looked out in fear and surprise. The
leaping firelight
from within the room streamed through the window, and, in the
heart of its vivid
brightness, revealed the figure of a man lying motionless
upon the whitened
ground, his face buried in the scattered snow, and his
outstretched hand
grasping a pistol.
Julia leaped
through the open casement with a wild shriek, and flung herself on
her knees beside
him.
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[Page 136]
"Phil!
Phil!" she said. " what have you done ? what has happened ? Speak to
me!"
But the only
response was a faint, low moan.
Philip Brian had
shot himself!
In an agony of
grief and horror Julia lifted his head upon her arm, and pressed
her hand to his
heart. The movement recalled him to life for a few moments; he
opened his eyes,
looked at her, and uttered a few broken words. She stooped and
listened eagerly.
The letter ! he
gasped; " the letter you sent me ! O Julia, you have broken my
heart! How could
you be false to me, and I loving you — trusting you — so wholly
! But at least I
shall not live to see you wed the man you have chosen; I came
here tonight to
die, since without you life would be intolerable. See what you
have done!"
Desperate and
silent, she wound her arms around him, and pressed her lips to
his. A convulsive
shudder seized him; his eyes rolled back, and with a sigh he
resigned himself
to the death he had courted so madly. Death in the passion of a
last kiss !
Julia sat still,
the corpse of her lover supported on her arm, and her hand
clasped in his,
tearless and frigid as though she had been turned into stone by
some fearful
spell. Half hidden in the bosom of his vest was a letter, the
broken seal of
which bore her own monogram. She plucked it out of its
resting-place, and
read it hastily by the flicker of the firelight. It was in
Lady Sarah's
handwriting, and ran thus: —
"MY DEAR MR
BRIAN, — Although, when last we parted, it was with the usual
understanding that
tonight we should meet again; yet subsequent reflection, and
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[Page 137] the positive injunctions of
my parents, have obliged me to decide
otherwise. You are
to know, therefore, that, in obedience to the wishes of my
father and mother,
I have promised to become the wife of the gentleman they have
chosen for me. All
correspondence between us must therefore wholly cease, nor
must you longer
suffer yourself to entertain a thought of me. It is hardly
necessary to add
that I shall not expect to see you this evening; your own sense
of honour will, I
am persuaded, be sufficient to restrain you from keeping an
appointment
against my wishes. In concluding, I beg you will not attempt to
obtain any further
explanation of my conduct; but rest assured that it is the
unalterable
resolve of cool and earnest deliberation.
" For the
last time I subscribe myself”.
JULIA LORRINGTON.
" Postscript.
— In order to save you any doubt of my entire concurrence in my
mother's wishes, I
sign and address this with my own hand, and Virginie, who
undertakes to
deliver it, will add her personal testimony to the truth of these
statements, since
she has witnessed the writing of the letter, and knows how
fully my consent
has been given to all its expressions."
" With my own
hand ! " Yes, surely; both signature and address were perfect
facsimiles of
Julia's writing ! What wonder that Philip had been deceived into
believing her
false ? Twice she read the letter from beginning to end; then she
laid her lover's
corpse gently down on the snow, and stood up erect and silent,
her face more
ghastly and death-like than the face of the dead beside her.
In a moment the
whole shameful scheme had flashed
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[Page 138] upon her mind; —
Virginie's
treachery and clever fraud; its connection with the torn fragment of
paper which Julia
had seen only a few minutes before; the deliberate falsehood
of which Lady
Sarah had been guilty; the bribery, by means of which she had
probably corrupted
Virginie's fidelity; the cruel disappointment and suffering
of her lover; all
these things pressed themselves upon her reeling brain, and
gave birth to the
suggestions of madness.
Stooping down, she
put her lithe hand upon the belt of the dead man. There was,
as she expected, a
second pistol in it, the fellow of that with which he had
shot himself. It
was loaded. Julia drew it out, wrapped her mantle round it, and
climbed
noiselessly into her chamber through the still open window. Crossing the
room, she passed
out into the corridor beyond, and went like a shadow, swift and
silent of foot, to
the door of her father's study, — an apartment communicating,
by means of an
oaken door, with the panelled chamber.
Virginie, from a
dark recess in the wall of the house, had heard and noted all
that passed in the
garden. She saw Julia open and read the letter; she caught
the expression of
her face as she stooped for the pistol, and apprehending
something of what
might follow, she crept through the window after her mistress
and pursued her up
the dark passages. Here, crouching again into a recess in the
gallery outside
the panelled room, she waited in terror for the next scene of
the tragedy.
Julia flung open
the door of the study where her father sat writing at his
table, and,
standing on the threshold in the full glare of the lamplight which
illumined the
apartment, raised the pistol, cocked and aimed it. Sir Julian had
barely time to
leap from his
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[Page 139] chair with a cry when she
fired, and the
next instant he
fell, struck by the bullet on the left temple, and expired at
his daughter's
feet. At the report of the pistol and the sound of his fall, Lady
Sarah quitted her
dressing-room and ran in disordered attire into the study,
where she beheld
her husband lying dead and bloody upon the floor, and Julia
standing at the
entrance of the panelled chamber, with the light of madness and
murder in her
eyes. Not long she stood there, however, for, seeing Lady Sarah
enter, the
distracted girl threw down the empty weapon, and flinging herself
upon her mother,
grasped her throat with all the might of her frenzied being. Up
and down the room
they wrestled together, two desperate women, one bent upon
murder, the other
battling for her life, and neither uttered cry or groan, so
terribly earnest
was the struggle. At length Lady Sarah's strength gave way; she
fell under her
assailant's weight, her face black with suffocation, and her eyes
protruding from
their swelling sockets. Julia redoubled her grip. She knelt upon
Lady Sarah's
breast, and held her down with the force and resolution of a fiend,
though the blood
burst from the ears of her victim and filmed her staring eyes;
nor did the
pitiless fingers relax until the murderess knew her vengeance was
complete. Then she
leapt to her feet, seized Philip's pistol from the floor,
and, with a wild,
pealing shriek, fled forth along the gallery, down the
staircase, and out
into the park, — out into the wind, and the driving snow, and
the cold, her
uncoiled hair streaming in dishevelled masses down her shoulders,
and her dress of
trailing satin daubed with stains of blood. Behind her ran
Virginie,
well-nigh maddened herself with horror, vainly endeavouring to catch
or to stop the
unhappy fugitive. But just as the
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[Page 140] latter reached the
brink of a high
precipice at the boundary of the terraced lawn, from which the
mansion took its
name of Steepside she turned to look at her pursuer, missed her
footing, and fell
headlong over the low stone coping that bordered the slope
into the
snow-drift at the bottom of the chasm.
Virginie ran to
the spot and looked over. The steep was exceedingly high and
sudden; not a
trace of Julia could be seen in the darkness below. Doubtless the
miserable heiress
of the Lorringtons had found a grave in the bed of soft, deep
snow which
surrounded its base.
Then, stricken
through heart and brain with the curse of madness which had
already sent her
mistress red-handed to death, Virginie Giraud fled across the
lawn — through the
park-gates — out upon the bleak common beyond, and was gone.
The old priest
laid aside the manuscript and took a fresh pinch of rappee from
the silver
snuff-box.
"Monsieur",
said he, with a polite inclination of his grey head, "I have had the
honour to read you
the history you wished to hear".
"And I thank
you most heartily for your kindness", returned I. "But may I,
without danger of
seeming too inquisitive, ask you one question more?"
Seeing assent in
his face, and a smile that anticipated my inquiry wrinkling the
corners of his
mouth, I continued boldly, " Will you tell me, then, M. Pierre,
by what means you
became possessed of this manuscript, and who wrote it ? "
"It is a
natural question, monsieur", he answered after a short pause, "and I
have no good
reason for withholding
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[Page 141] the reply, since every one
who
was personally
concerned in the tragedy has long been dead. You must know, then,
that in my younger
days I was curé to a little parish of about two hundred souls
in the province of
Berry. Many years ago there came to this village a strange
old woman of whom
nobody in the place had the least knowledge. She took and
rented a small
hovel on the borders of a wood about two miles from our church,
and, except on
market days, when she came to the village for her weekly
provisions, none
of my parishioners ever held any intercourse with her. She was
evidently insane,
and although she did harm to nobody, yet she often caused
considerable alarm
and wonderment by her eccentric behaviour. It is, as you must
know, often the
case in intermittent mania that its victims are insane upon some
particular
subject, some point upon which their frenzy always betrays itself, —
even when, with
regard to other matters, they conduct themselves like ordinary
people. Now this
old woman's weakness manifested itself in a wild and continual
desire to copy
every written document she saw. If, on her market-day visits to
the village, any
written notice upon the church-doors chanced to catch her eye
as she passed, she
would immediately pause, draw out pencil and paper from her
pocket, and stand
muttering to herself until she had closely transcribed the
whole of the
placard, when she would quietly return the copy to her pocket and
go on her way.
"Thinking it
my duty, as pastor of the village, to make myself acquainted with
this poor
creature, who had thus become one of my flock, I went occasionally to
visit her, in the
hope that I might possibly discover the cause of her strange
disorder (which I
suspected had its origin in some calamity of her earlier
days), and so
qualify myself
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[Page 142] to afford her the advice and
comfort she
might need. During
the first two or three visits I paid her I could elicit
nothing. She sat
still as a statue, and watched me sullenly while I spoke to her
of the mysteries
and consolations of our faith, exhorting her vainly to make
confession and
obtain that peace of heart and mind which the sacrament of
penance could
alone bestow. Well, it chanced that on the occasion of one of
these visits I
took with me, besides my prayer-book, a small sheet of paper, on
which I had written
a few passages of Scripture, such as I conjectured to be
most suited to her
soul's necessity. I found her, as usual, moody and reserved,
until I drew from
my missal the sheet of transcribed texts and put it into her
hand. In an
instant her manner changed. The madness gleamed in her eyes, and she
began searching
nervously for a pencil. 'I can do it!' she cried. 'My writing
was always like
hers, for we learnt together when we were children. He will
never know I wrote
it; we shall dupe him easily. Already I have practised her
signature many
times — soon I shall be able to make it exactly like her own
hand. And I shall
tell her, my lady, that he would have deceived her, that I
overheard him
love-making to another girl — that I discovered his falsehood —
his baseness — and
that he fled in his shame from the county. Yes, yes, we will
dupe them both.'
"In this
fashion she chattered and muttered feverishly for some minutes, till I
grew alarmed, and
taking her by the shoulders, tried to shake back the senses
into her
distracted brain. ' What ails you, foolish old woman ?' cried I ' I am
not miladi; I am
your parish pastor. Say your Pater Noster, or your Ave, and
drive Satan away.'
"I am not
sure whether my words or the removal of
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[Page 143] the unlucky
manuscript
recalled her wandering wits. At any rate, she speedily recovered,
and, after doing
my best to soothe and calm her by leading her to speak on other
topics, I quitted
the cottage reassured.
"Not long
after this episode a neighbour called at my house one morning, and
told me that,
having missed the old woman from the weekly market, and knowing
how regular she
had always been in her attendance, he had gone to her dwelling
and found her
lying sick and desiring to see me. Of course I immediately
prepared to comply
with her request, providing myself in case I should find her
anxious for absolution
and the viaticum. Directly I entered her hut, she
beckoned me to the
bedside, and said in a low, hurried voice: —
" 'Father, I
wish to confess to you at once, for I know I am going to die.'
"Perceiving
that, for the present at least, she was perfectly sane, I willingly
complied with her
request, and heard her slowly and painfully unburden her
miserable soul.
"Monsieur, if
the story with which Virginie Giraud intrusted me had been told
only in her
sacramental confession, I should not have been able to repeat it to
you. But, when the
final words of peace had been spoken, she took a packet of
papers from
beneath her pillow and placed it in my hands. ' Here, father,' she
said, ' is the
substance of my history. When I am dead, you are free to make
what use of it you
please. It may warn some, perhaps, from yielding to the great
temptation which
overcame me.'
" ' The
temptation of a bribe ? " said I, inquiringly. She turned her failing
sight towards my
face and shook her head feebly.
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[Page 144]
" 'No bribe,
father," she answered. ' Do you believe I would have done what I
did for mere coin?
"
"I gave no
reply, for her words were enigmatical to me, and I was loath to
harass with my
curiosity a soul so near its departure as hers. So I leaned back
in my chair and
sat silent, in the hope that, being wearied with her religious
exercises, she
might be able to sleep a little. But, no doubt, my last question,
working in her
disordered mind, awoke again the madness that had only slumbered
for a time.
Suddenly she raised herself on her pillow, pressed her withered
hands to her head,
and cried out wildly: —
" ' Money ! —
money to me, who would have sold my own soul for one day of his
love! Ah! I could
have flung it back in their faces! — fools that they were to
believe I cared
for gold ! Philip ! Philip ! you were mad to think of the
heiress as a wife;
it had been better for you had you cared to look on me — on
me who loved you
so ! Then I should never have ruined you — never betrayed you
to Lady Sarah! But
I could not forgive the hard words you gave me; I could not
forgive your love,
for Julia ! Shall I ever go to paradise — to paradise where
the saints are ?
Will they let me in there ? — will they suffer my soul among
them ? Or shall I
never leave purgatory, but burn, and burn, and burn there
always uncleansed
? For, oh ! if all the past should come back to me a thousand
years hence, I
should do the same thing again, Phil Brian, for love of you !'
"She started
from the bed in her delirium; there came a rattling sound in her
throat — a sudden
choking cry — and in a moment her breast and pillow and quilt
were deluged with
a crimson stream ! In her paroxysm she had burst a
blood-vessel. I
sprang forward to catch
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[Page 145] her as she fell prone upon
the brick floor;
raised her in my arms, and gazed at her distorted features.
There was no
breath from the reddened lips. Virginie Giraud was a corpse.
" Thus in her
madness was told the secret of her life and her crime; a secret
she would not confess
even to me in her sane moments. It was no greed of gold,
but despised and
vindictive love that lay behind all the horrors she had
related. From my
soul I pitied the poor dead wretch, for I dimly comprehended
what a hell her
existence on earth had been.
"The written
account of the Steepside tragedy with which she had intrusted me
furnished, in
somewhat briefer language, the story I have just read to you, and
many of its more
important details have subsequently been verified by me on
application to
other sources, so that in that paper you have the testimony of an
eyewitness to the
facts, as well as the support of legal evidence.
"Some forty
years after Virginie's death, monsieur, family reasons obliged me to
seek temporary
release from duty and come to England; and, finding that
circumstances
would keep me in the country for some time, I came here and went
to see that house.
But the tenant at the lodge could only tell me that Steepside
was empty then,
and had been empty for years past; and I have discovered that,
since that
horrible 22nd of December, it never had an occupant. Sir Julian, to
whom it belonged
by purchase, left no immediate heirs, and his relatives
squabbled between
themselves over the property, till one by one the disputing
parties died off,
and now there is no one enterprising enough to resuscitate the
lawsuit."
Rising to take my
leave of the genial old man, it
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[Page 146] occurred to me as
extremely probable
that he might have been led to form some opinion worth
hearing with
regard to the nature of the strange appearances at Steepside, and I
ventured
accordingly to make the inquiry.
"If my views
on the subject have any value or interest for you", said he, "you
are very welcome
to know them. As a priest of the Catholic Church, I cannot
accept the popular
notions about ghostly visitations. Such experiences as yours
in that ill-fated
mansion are explicable to me only on the following hypothesis.
There is a Power
greater than the powers of evil; a Will to which even demons
must submit. It is
not inconsistent with Christian doctrine to suppose that, in
cases of such
terrible crimes as that we have been discussing, the evil spirits
who prompted these
crimes may, for a period more or less lengthy, be forced to
haunt the scene of
their machinations, and re-enact there, in phantom show, the
horrors they once
caused in reality. Naturally — or perhaps", said he, breaking
off with a little
smile, " I ought rather to say super-naturally — these demons,
in order to
manifest themselves, would be forced to resume some shape that would
identify them with
the crime they had suggested; and, in such a case, what more
likely than that
they should adopt the spectral forms of their human victims —
murdered and
murderer, or otherwise — according to the nature of the wickedness
perpetrated ? This
is but an amateur opinion, monsieur; I offer it as an
individual, not as
a priest speaking on the part of the Church. But it may serve
to account for a
real difficulty, and may be held without impiety. Of one thing
at least we may
rest assured as Christian men; that the souls of the dead,
whether of saints
or sinners, are in God's safe keeping, and walk the earth no
more."
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[Page 147]
Then I shook hands
with M. Pierre, and we parted. And after that, reader, I went
to my friend's
house, and spent my Christmas week right merrily.
Part
2------------------------------------------------------------
Dreams and
Dream-Stories
by
Anna Kingsford
Part 2 of 2
M.D. of Paris;
President of the Hermetic Society:
Author of
"The Perfect Way; or the finding of Christ."
Edited by Edward
Maitland
Published in New
York by Scribner & Welford in 1889
“For He so giveth
unto His Beloved in Sleep.”
Ps. cxxvii.
(Marginal Reading, R.V. )
CONTENTSPage
PREFACE7
Part 1 DREAMS
1THE DOOMED TRAIN 15
2THE WONDERFUL SPECTACLES 19
3THE COUNCIL OF PERFECTION21
4THE CITY OF BLOOD 22
5THE BIRD AND THE CAT24
6THE TREASURE IN THE LIGHTED HOUSE25
7THE FOREST CATHEDRAL26
8THE ENCHANTED WOMAN30
9THE BANQUET OF THE GODS 38
10THE DIFFICULT PATH 39
11A LION IN THE WAY41
12A DREAM OF DISEMBODIMENT41
13THE PERFECT WAY WITH ANIMALS43
14THE LABORATORY UNDERGROUND 44
15THE OLD YOUNG MAN45
16THE METEMPSYCHOSIS49
17THE THREE KINGS51
18THE ARMED GODDESS 54
19THE GAME OF CARDS 56
20THE PANIC-STRUCK PACK-HORSE59
21THE HAUNTED INN 61
22AN EASTERN APOLOGUE63
23A HAUNTED HOUSE INDEED !64
24THE SQUARE IN THE HAND 70
DREAM VERSES
1THROUGH THE AGES77
2A FRAGMENT -1- 80
3A FRAGMENT -2-80
4SIGNS OF THE TIMES81
5WITH THE GODS 81
PART IIDREAM - STORIES
1A VILLAGE OF SEERS85
2STEEPSIDE; A GHOST STORY 116
3BEYOND THE SUNSET 147
4A TURN OF LUCK169
5NOÉMI182
6THE LITTLE OLD MAN'S STORY212
7THE NIGHTSHADE242
8ST GEORGE THE CHEVALIER270
- 3 - BEYOND THE
SUNSET
A FAIRY TALE FOR
THE TIMES
Once upon a time
there was a Princess. Now, this Princess dwelt in a far-off and
beautiful world
beyond the sunset, and she had immortal youth and an ancestry of
glorious name.
Very rich, too, she was, and the palace in which she lived was
made all of marble
and alabaster and things precious and wonderful. But that
which was most
wonderful about her was her exceeding beauty, — a beauty not like
that one sees in
the world this side of the sunset. For the beauty of the
Princess was the
bright-shining of a lovely spirit; her body was but the veil of
her soul that
shone through all her perfect form as the radiance of the sun
shines through
clear water. I cannot tell you how beautiful this Princess was,
nor can I describe
the colour of her hair and her eyes, or the aspect of her
face. Many men
have seen her and tried to give an account of her; but though I
have read several
of these accounts, they differ so greatly from one another
that I should find
it hard indeed to reproduce her picture from the records of
it which her
lovers have left.
For all these men
who have written about the Princess
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[Page 148] loved her;
none, indeed,
could help it who ever looked on her face. And to some she has
seemed fair as the
dawn, and to others dark as night; some have found her gay
and joyous as
Allegro, and others sad and silent and sweet as Penseroso. But to
every lover she has
seemed the essence and core of all beauty; the purest,
noblest, highest,
and most regal being that he has found it possible to
conceive. I am not
going to tell you about all the lovers of the Princess, for
that would take
many volumes to rehearse, but only about three of them, because
these three were
typical personages, and had very remarkable histories.
Like all the
lovers of the Princess, these three men were travellers, coming
from a distant
country to the land beyond the sunset on purpose to see the
beautiful lady of
whom their fathers and grandfathers had told them; the lady
who never could
outlive youth because she belonged to the race of the
everlasting Gods
who ruled the earth in the old far-off Hellenic times.
I do not know how
long these three men stayed in the country of the Princess;
but they stayed
quite long enough to be very, very much in love with her, and
when at last they
had to come away — for no man who is not dead can remain long
beyond the sunset
— she gave to each of them a beautiful little bird, a tiny
living bird with a
voice of sweetest music, that had been trained and tuned to
song by Phoebus
Apollo himself. And I could no more describe to you the
sweetness of that
song than I could describe the beauty of the Princess.
Then she told the
travellers to be of brave heart and of valiant hope, because
there lay before
them an ordeal demanding all their prowess, and after that the
prospect of a
great reward. " Now," she said, " that you have
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[Page 149] learned
to love me, and to
desire to have your dwelling here with me, you must go forth
to prove your
knighthood. I am not inaccessible, but no man must think to win me
for his lady
unless he first justify his fealty by noble service. The world to
which you now go
is a world of mirage and of phantasms, which appear real only
to those who have
never reached and seen this realm of mine on the heavenward
side of the sun.
You will have to pass through ways beset by monstrous spectres,
over wastes where
rage ferocious hydras, chimaeras, and strange dragons
breathing flame.
You must journey past beautiful shadowy islets of the summer
sea, in whose
fertile bays the cunning sirens sing; you must brave the mountain
robber, the
goblins of the wilderness, and the ogre whose joy is to devour
living men. But
fear nothing, for all these are but phantoms; nor do you need
any sword or spear
to slay them, but only a loyal mind and an unswerving
purpose. Let not
your vision be deceived, nor your heart beguiled; return to me
unscathed through
all these many snares, and doubt not the worth and greatness
of the guerdon I
shall give. Nor think you go unaided. With each of you I send a
guide and monitor;
heed well his voice and follow where he leads."
2
Now, when the
three travellers had received their presents, and had looked their
last upon the
shining face of the donor, they went out of the palace and through
the golden gate of
the wonderful city in which she dwelt, and so, once again,
they came into the
land which lies this side of the sun.
Then their ordeal
began; but, indeed, they saw no
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[Page 150] sirens or dragons
or gorgons, but
only people like themselves going and coming along the highways.
Some of these
people sauntered, some ran, some walked, alone and pensively,
others congregated
in groups together and talked or laughed or shouted noisy
songs. Under the
pleasant trees on the greensward were pavilions, beautifully
adorned; the sound
of music issued from many of them, fair women danced there
under the new
blossoming trees, tossing flowers into the air, and feasts were
spread, wine
flowed, and jewels glittered. And the music and the dancing women
pleased the ear
and eye of one of the three travellers, so that he turned aside
from his
companions to listen and to look. Then presently a group of youths and
girls drew near
and spoke to him. " It is our festival," they said; " we are
worshippers of
Queen Beauty; come and feast with us. The moon of May is rising;
we shall dance all
night in her beautiful soft beams." But he said, "I have just
returned from a
country the beauty of which far surpasses that of anything one
can see here, and
where there is a Princess so lovely and so stately that the
greatest Queen of
all your world is not fit to be her tiring maid." Then they
said, " Where
is that country of which you speak, and who is this wonderful
Princess ? "
" It is the land beyond the sunset," he answered, " but the name
of
the Princess no
man knows until she herself tells it him. And she will tell it
only to the man
whom she loves."
At that they
laughed and made mirth among themselves. "Your land is the land of
dreams", they
said; "we have heard all about it. Nothing there is real, and as
for your Princess
she is a mere shadow, a vision of your own creation, and no
substantial being at
all. The only real and true beauty is the beauty we see and
touch
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[Page 151] and hear; the beauty which
sense reveals to us, and which is
present with us
today." Then he answered, "I do not blame you at all, for you
have never seen my
Princess. But I have seen her, and heard her speak, and some
day I hope to
return to her. And when I came away she warned me that in this
country I should
be beset by all manner of strange and monstrous spectres,
harpies, and
sirens, eaters of men, whom I must bravely meet and overcome. I
pray you tell me
in what part of your land these dangers lie, that I may be on
my guard against
them."
Thereat they
laughed the more, and answered him, "Oh, foolish traveller, your
head is certainly
full of dreams ! There are no such things as sirens; all that
is an old Greek
fable, a fairy tale with no meaning except for old Greeks and
modern babies !
You will never meet with any sirens or harpies, nor will you
ever see again the
Princess of whom you talk, unless, indeed, in your dreams. It
is this country
that is the only real one, there is nothing at all beyond the
sunset."
Now all this time
the little bird which the Princess had given to him was
singing quite
loudly under the folds of the traveler’s cloak. And he took it out
and showed it to
the youths who spoke with him, and said, “This bird was given
me by the Princess
whom you declare to be a myth. How could a myth give me this
living bird?” They
answered, “You are surely a madman as well as a dreamer.
Doubtless the bird
flew into your chamber while you slept, and your dreaming
fancy took
advantage of the incident to frame this tale about the Princess and
her gift. It is
often so in dreams. The consciousness perceives things as it
were through a
cloud, and weaves fictions out of realities.”
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[Page 152]
Then he began to
doubt, but still he held his ground, and said, “Yet hear how
sweetly it sings!
No wild, untaught bird of earth could sing like that”. Whereat
they were vastly
merry, and one cried, “Why, it is quite a common tweet-tweet!.
It is no more than
the chirp of a vulgar, everyday thrush or linnet!” And
another, “Were I
you, I would wring the bird’s neck; it must be a terrible
nuisance if it
always makes such a noise!” And a third, “Let it fly, we cannot
hear ourselves
speaking for its screaming!” Then the traveler began to feel
ashamed of his
bird. “All that I say,” he thought, “appears to them foolish,
even the
Princess’s gift is, in they eyes, a common chirping chaffinch. What if
indeed I have been
dreaming; what if this, after all, should be the real world,
and the other a
mere fantasy?”
The bird sang,
“Away! away! or you will never see the Princess more! The real
world lied beyond
the gates of the sunset!”
But when the
traveler asked the youths what the bird sang, they answered that
they had only
heard Tweet-tweet,” and Chirp-chirp. Then he was really angry, but
not with them, as
you would perhaps have thought. No, he was angry with the
bird, and ashamed
of it and of himself. And he threw it from him into the air,
and clapped his
hands to drive it away; and all the youths and girls that stood
around him clapped
theirs too. Sh-shsh, they cried, “be off, you are a
good-for-nothing
hedge-finch, and may be thankful your neck has not been wrung
to punish you for
making such a noise!”
So the bird flew
away, away beyond the sunset, and I think it went back to the
Princess and told
her all that had happened. And the traveler went, and danced
and
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[Page 153] sang and feasted to his
heart’s content with the worshipers of
Queen Beauty, not
knowing that he really had fallen among the sirens after all!
3
Meanwhile the two
other travelers had gone on their way, for neither of them
cared about
pleasure; one was a grave looking man who walked with his eyes on
the ground,
looking curiously at every rock and shrub he passed by the wayside,
and often pausing
to examine more closely a strange herb, or to pick to pieces a
flower; the other
had a calm, sweet face, and he walked erect, his eyes lifted
towards the great
mountains that lay far away before them.
By-and-by there
came along the road towards the two travelers a company of men
carrying banners,
on which were inscribed as mottoes - Knowledge is Freedom!.
Science knows no
law but the law of Progress! Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!
Utility is Virtue.
and a great many other fine phrases. Most of the persons who
marched first in
this procession wore spectacles, and some were clad in
academical
costumes. The greater number had gone past, when the grave-looking
traveler — he who
had interested himself so much in the stones and foliage by
the wayside —
courteously stopped one of the company and asked him what the
procession meant.
“We are worshipers of Science,” answered the man whom he
addressed; “today
we hold solemn rites in honor of our deity. Many orations will
be made by her
high priests, and a great number of victims slain, — lambs, and
horses, and doves,
and hinds, and all manner of animals. They will be put to
death with
unspeakable
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[Page 154] torments, racked, and maimed,
and burned, and
hewn asunder, all
for the glory and gain of Science. And we shall shout with
enthusiasm as the
blood flows over he altars, and the smoke ascends in her
praise.
“But all this is
horrible”,said the grave man, with a gesture of avoidance; “it
sounds to me like
a description of the orgies of savages, or of the pastimes of
madmen; it is
unworthy of intelligent and sane men.” “On the contrary,” returned
his informant, “it
is just because we are intelligent and sane that we take
delight in it. For
it is by means of these sacrifices that our deity vouchsafes
her oracles. In
the mangled corpses and entrails of these victims our augurs
find the
knowledges we seek”. “And what knowledges are they?” asked the traveler
. “The knowledge
of Nature’s secrets”, cried the votary of Science with kindling
eye, “the
knowledge of life and death; the magic of the art of healing disease;
the solution of
the riddle of the universe! All this we learn, all this we
perceive, in the
dying throes of our victims. Does not this suffice? — is not
the end great
enough to justify the means?”
Then, when the
second of the travelers heard these words — he whose face had
been lifted as he
walked — he drew nearer and answered: —
“No; it is greater
to be just than to be learned. No man should wish to be
healed at the cost
of another’s torment.” At which the stranger frowned, and
retorted
impatiently, “You forget, methinks, that they whom we seek to heal are
men, and they who
are tormented merely beasts. By these means we enrich and
endow humanity”.
“Nay, I forgot not”, he answered gently, “buy he who would be
so healed is man
no longer. By that wish and act he becomes lower than any
beast. Nor can
humanity
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[Page 155] be enriched by that which
beggars it of all
its wealth.” “Fine
speeches, forsooth!” cried the worshiper of Science; “you are
a moralist, I
find, and doubtless a very ignorant person! All this old-fashioned
talk of yours
belongs to a past age. We have cast aside superstition, we have
swept away the old
faiths. Our only guide is Reason, our only goal is
Knowledge!”
“Alas!” returned the other, “it is not the higher but the lower
Reason which leads
you, and the Knowledge you covet is not that of realities,
but of mere
seemings. You do not know the real world. You are the dupes of a
Phantasm which you
take for Substance.” With that he passed on, and the man of
Science was left
in the company of the traveler who had first accosted him.
“What person is
that?” asked the former, looking after the retreating figure of
him who had just
spoken. “He is a poet”, returned the grave-faced traveler; “we
have both of us
been beyond the sunset to see the lovely Princess who rules that
wonderful country,
and we left it together on a journey to this world of yours.”
Beyond the sunset
! repeated the other incredulously. “That is the land of
shadows; when the
world was younger they used to say the old Gods lived there”.
“Maybe they live
there still,” said the traveler, “for the Princess is of their
kith and lineage”.
“A pretty fable, indeed”, responded the scientific votary.
“But we know now
that all that kind of thing is sheer nonsense, and worse, for
it is the basis of
the effete old-world sentiment which forms the most
formidable
obstacle to Progress, and which Science even yet finds it hard to
overthrow. But
what is that strange singing I hear beneath your cloak?”
It was the bird
which the traveler had received from
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[Page 156] the Princess. He
drew it forth, but
did not say whose gift it was nor whence it came, because of
the contempt with
which his companion had spoken of the mystic country and its
Rulers. Already he
began to waver in his loyalty towards the Princess, and to
desire greatly the
knowledges of which the stranger told him. For this traveler,
though he cared
nothing for pleasure, or for the beauty of sensuous things, was
greatly taken by
the wish to be wise; only he did not rightly know in what
wisdom consists.
He thought it lay in the acquirement of facts, whereas really
it is the power by
which facts are transcended.
“That is a foreign
bird”, observed the scientific man, examining it carefully
through his
spectacles, “and quite a curiosity. I do not remember having ever
seen one like it.
The note, too, is peculiar. In some of its tones it reminds me
of a nightingale.
No doubt it is the descendant of a developed species of a
nightingale,
carefully selected and artificially bred from one generation to
another. Wonderful
modifications of species may be obtained in this manner, as
experiments with
fancy breeds of pigeons have amply proved. Permit me to examine
the bill more
closely. Yes, yes — a nightingale certainly — and yet — indeed, I
ought not to
decide in haste. I should greatly like to have the opinion of
Professor Effaress
on the subject. But what noise is that yonder?”
For just then a
terrible hubbub arose among a crowd of people congregated under
the portico of a
large and magnificent building a little way from the place
where the
scientific man and the intellectual traveler stood conversing. This
building, the
facade of which was adorned all over with bas-reliefs of Liberty
and Progress, and
modern elderly gentlemen in doctors’ gowns and
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[Page 157]
laurel wreaths,
with rolls of paper and microscopes, was, in fact, a great
Scientific
Institution, and into it the procession of learned personages whom
the travelers had
met on their way had entered, followed by a great multitude of
admirers and
enthusiasts. In this edifice the solemn rites which the votary of
Science had
described were to be held, and a vast congregation filled its halls.
All at once, just
as the sacrifices were about to begin, a solitary man arose in
the midst of the
hushed assembly, and protested, as once of old, by the banks of
the far-away
Ganges, Siddârtha Buddha had protested against the bloody offerings
of the priests of
Indra. And much after the same manner as Buddha had spoken
this man spoke, of
the high duty of manhood, of the splendor of justice, of the
certainty of
retribution, and of the true meaning of Progress and Freedom, the
noblest reaches of
which are spiritual, transcending all the baser and meaner
utilities of the
physical nature. And when the high priests of Science, not like
the priests of
Indra in older times, answered the prophet disdainfully and
without shame,
that they knew nothing of any spiritual utilities, because they
believed in
evolution and held man to be only a developed ape, with no more soul
than his ancestor,
the stranger responded that he too was an Evolutionist, but
that he understood
the doctrine quite differently from them, and more after the
fashion of the old
teachers, — Pythagoras, Plato, Hermes and Buddha. And that
the living and
incorruptible Spirit of God was in all things, whether ape or
man, whether beast
or human, ay, and in the very flowers and grass of the field,
and in every
element of all that is ignorantly thought to be dead and inert
matter. So that
the soul of man, he said, is one of the soul that is in all
Nature,
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[Page 158] only that when man is truly
human, in him alone the soul
becomes
self-knowing and self-concentrated, the mirror of Heaven, and the focus
of the Divine
Light. And he declared, moreover, that the spiritual evolution of
which he spoke was
not so much promoted by intellectual knowledge as by moral
goodness; and that
it was possible to be a very learned ape indeed, but in no
wise to deserve
the name of man; and that inasmuch as any person was disposed to
sacrifice the
higher to the lower reason, and to rank intellectual above
spiritual
attainment, insomuch that person was still an ape and had not
developed
humanity.
Now, the stranger
who was brave enough to say all this was no other than the
traveler poet, and
all the time he was speaking, the bird which the Princess had
given him lay hid
in his bosom and sang to him, clear and sweet, Courage!
courage! these are
the ogres and the dragons; fight the good fight; to be of
bold heart!” Nor
was he astonished or dismayed when the assembly arose with
tumult and
hooting, and violently thrust him out of the Scientific Institution
into the street.
And that was the noise which the other traveler and his
companion had
heard.
But when the
greater part of the mob had returned into the building there was
left with the poet
a little group of men and women whose hearts had been stirred
by his protest.
And they said to him, “You have spoken well, sir, and have done
a noble thing. We
are citizens of this place, and we will devote ourselves to
giving effect to
your words. Doubt not that we shall succeed, though it may be
long first, for
indeed we will work with a will.” Then the poet was glad,
because he had not
spoken in vain, and he bade them good speed, and went on his
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[Page 159] way, but the scientific man,
who was with the other traveler, heard
these last words,
and became very angry. "Certainly", he said, “this foolish and
ignorant person
who has just been turned out of the assembly must have insulted
our great leaders!
What presumption! what insolence! No one knows what mischief
he may not have
done by his silly talk! It is deplorable! But see, here comes
Professor
Effaress, the very man I most wished to see. Professor, let me present
this gentleman. He
is the owner of a rare and remarkable bird, on which we want
your opinion.
The Professor was
a very great personage, and his coat was covered all over with
decorations and
bits of colored ribbon, like those on a kit’s tail. Perhaps,
like a kit’s tail,
they weighed and steadied him, and kept him from mounting too
high into the
clouds. The Professor looked at the bird through his spectacles,
and nodded his
head sagaciously. “I have seen this species before,” he said,
“though not often.
It belongs to a very ancient family indeed, and I scarcely
thought that any
specimen of it remained in the present day. Quite a museum
bird; and in
excellent plumage too. Sir, I congratulate you.”
“You do not, then
consider, Professor”, said the traveler, “that this bird has
about it anything
transcendental - that it is - in fact - not altogether -
pardon me the
expression - a terrestrial bird?” For he was afraid to say the
truth, that the
bird really came from beyond the sunset.
The decorated
personage was much amused. He laughed pleasantly and answered in
bland tones, “Oh
dear, no; I recognize quite well the species to which it
belongs. An
ancient species, as I have said, and one indeed that Science has
done her utmost to
extirpate,
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[Page 160] purposely in part, because it
is proved
to be a great
devastator of the crops, and thus directly injurious to the
interests of
mankind, and partly by accident, for it has a most remarkable
song-note, and
scientific men have destroyed all the specimens they have been
able to procure,
in the hope of discovering the mechanism by which the vocal
tones are
produced. But, pardon me, are you a stranger in this city, sir?”
“I am”, responded
the traveler, “and permit me to assure you that I take a
lively interest in
the scientific and intellectual pursuits with which in this
place, I perceive,
you are largely occupied.”
“We have a
Brotherhood of Learning here, sir”, returned the Professor; “we are
all
Progressionists. I trust you will remain with us and take part in our
assemblies.” But,
as he said that, the fairy bird suddenly lifted up his song
and warned the
traveler, crying in the language of the country beyond the
sunset, “Beware!
beware! This is an ogre, he will kill you, and mix your bones
with his bread! Be
warned in time, and fly; fly, if you cannot fight!”
“Dear me”, said
the Professor, “what a very remarkable note! I am convinced that
the structure and
disposition of this bird’s vocal organs must be unique.
Speaking for my
scientific brethren, as well as for myself, I may say that we
should hold
ourselves singularly indebted to you if you would permit us the
opportunity of
adding so rare a specimen to our national collection. It would be
an acquisition,
sir, I assure you, for which we would show ourselves profoundly
grateful. Indeed,
I am sure that the Society to which I have the honor to belong
would readily
admit to its Fellowship the donor of a treasure so inestimable.”
As he spoke, he
fixed
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[Page 161] his eyes on the traveler, and
bowed with much
ceremony and
condescension. And the traveler thought what a fine thing it would
be to become a
Professor, and be able to wear a great many bits of colored
ribbon, and to be
immensely learned, and know all the faces of the universe.
And, after all,
what was a little singing bird, and a fairy Princess, in whose
very existence the
scientific gentlemen did not in the least believe, and who
was, perhaps,
really the shadow of a dream? So he bowed in return, and said he
was greatly
honored; and Professor Effaces took the bird and twisted its neck
gravely, and put
the little corpse into his pocket. And so the divine and
beautiful song of
the fairy minstrel was quenched, and instead of it I suppose
the traveler got a
great deal of learning and many fine decorations on his coat.
But the spirit of
the slain bird fled from that inhospitable city, and went back
to the Princess
and told her what had befallen.
4
As for the poet,
he went on his way alone into the open country, and saw the
peasants in the
fields, reaping and gleaning and gathering fruit and corn, for
it was harvest
time. And he passed through many hamlets and villages, and
sometimes he
rested a night or two at an inn; and on Sundays he heard the parish
parson say prayers
and preach in some quaint little Norman or Saxon church.
And at last he
came to a brand-new town, where all the houses were Early
English, and all
the people dressed like ancient Greeks, and all the manners
Renaissance, or,
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[Page 162] perhaps, Gothic. The poet
thought they were Gothic,
and probably was
right.
In this town the
talk was mostly about Art, and many fine things were said in
regard to
sweetness and light. Everybody claimed to be an artist of some kind,
whether painter,
musician, novelist, dramatist, verse-maker, reciter, singer, or
what not. But
although they seemed so greatly devoted to the Graces and the
Muses, it was but
the images of the Parnassian Gods that they worshiped. For in
the purlieus of
this fine town, horrible cruelties and abuses were committed,
yet none of the
so-called poets lifted a cry of reform. Every morning, early,
before daybreak,
there came through the streets long and sad processions and
meek-eyed oxen and
bleating lambs, harried by brutal drovers, with shouts and
blows, — terrible
processions of innocent creatures going to die under the
poleaxe and the
knife in order to provide the pleasures of the table for dainty
votaries of
sweetness and light. Before the fair faint dawn made rosy the
eastern sky over
the houses, you might have heard on every side the heavy thud
of the poleaxe
striking down the patient heifer on her knees, — the heifer whose
eyes are like the
eyes of Heré, say the old Greek songbooks, that were read and
quoted all day in
this town of Culture and Art.
And a little
later, going down the by-ways of the town, you might have seen the
gutters running
with fresh blood, and have met carts laden with gory hides, and
buckets filled
with brains and blood, going to the factories and tan-yards.
Young lads spent
all their days in the slaughter-houses, dealing violent deaths,
witnessing
tragedies of carnage, hearing incessant plaintive cries, walking
about on clogs
among pools of clotting or
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[Page 163] steamy blood, and breathing
the fumes of it.
And scarce a mile away from the scene of all these loathsome
and degrading
sights, sounds, and odors, you might have found fastidious and
courtly gentlemen,
and ladies all belaced and bejewelled, sentimentalizing over
their aspic de
foie gras, or their cotelettes à la jardinière.” or some other
euphemism for the
dead flesh which could not, without pardonable breach of good
breeding, be
called by its plain true name in their presence.
And when the poet
reminded them of this truth, and spoke to them of the
demoralization to
which, by their habits, they daily subjected many of their
fellow-men; when
he drew for them graphic pictures of the slaughter-yard, and of
all the scenes of
suffering and tyranny that led up to it and ensued from it,
they clapped their
hands to their ears, and cried out that he was a shockingly
coarse person, and
quite too horribly indelicate for refined society. Because,
indeed, they cared
only about a surface and outside refinement, and not a whit
for that which is
inward and profound. For beauty of being they had neither
desire nor power
of reverence; all their enthusiasm was spent over forms and
words and
appearances of beauty. In them the senses were quickened, but not the
heart, nor the
reason. Therefore the spirit of the Reformer was not in them, but
the spirit of the
Dilettante only.
And the poet was
grieved and angry with them, because every true poet is a
Reformer; and he
went forth and spoke aloud in their public places and rebuked
the dwellers in
that town. But except a few curiosity hunters and some idle
folks who wanted
higher wages and less work, and thought he might help them to
get what they
wished for, nobody listened to him. But they went in crowds to see
a conjurer, and to
hear a man who
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[Page 164] lectured on blue china, and
another
who made them a
long oration about intricate and obscure texts in a certain old
dramatic book. And
I think that in those days, if it had not been for the sweet
and gracious song
of the fairy bird which he carried about always in his bosom,
the poet would
have become very heart-sick and desponding indeed. I do not quite
know what it was
that the bird sang, but it was something about the certainty of
the advent of
wisdom, and of the coming of the perfect day; and the burden of
the song was hope
for all the nations of the earth. Because every beautiful and
wise thought that
any man conceives is the heritage of the whole race of men,
and an earnest and
fore-gleam of what all men will some day inviolably hold for
true. And
forasmuch as poets are the advanced guard of the marching army of
humanity,
therefore they are necessarily the first discoverers and proclaimers
of the new
landscapes and ranges of Duties and Rights that rise out of the
horizon, point
after point, and vista after vista, along the line of progress.
For the sonnet of
the poet today is to furnish the key-note of the morrow’s
speech in Parliament,
as that which yesterday was song is today the current
prose of the
hustings, the pulpit, and the market. Wherefore, O poet, take heart
for the world;
thou, in whose utterance speaks the inevitable Future; who art
thyself God’s
prophecy and covenant of what the race at large shall one day be!
Sing thy songs,
utter thine whole intent, recount thy vision; though today no
one heed thee,
thou hast nevertheless spoken, and the spoken word is not lost.
Every true thought
lives, because the Spirit of God is in it, and when the time
is ripe it will
incarnate itself in action. Thou, thou art the creator, the man
of thought; thou
art the pioneer of the ages!
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[Page 165]
Somewhat on this
wise sang the fairy bird, and thereby the poet was comforted,
and took courage,
and lifted up his voice and his apocalypse. And though few
people cared to
hear, and many jeered, and some rebuked, he minded only that all
he should say
might be well said, and as perfect and wise and worthy as he could
make it. And when
he had finished his testimony, he went forth from the gates of
the town, and
began once more to traverse the solitudes of moor and forest.
But now the winter
had set in over the land, and the wastes were bleak, and the
trees stood like
pallid ghosts, sheeted and shrouded in snow. And the north wind
moaned across the
open country, and the traveler grew cold and weary. Then he
spoke to the bird
and said, "Bird, when I and my companions set out on our
journey from the
land beyond the sunset, the Princess promised us each a guide,
who should bring
us back in safety if only we would faithfully heed his
monitions. Where
then is this guide? for hitherto I have walked alone, and have
seen no leader.
And the bird
answered, “O poet, I, whom thou bearest about in they bosom, and
that guide and
monitor! I am thy director, thine angel, and thine inward light.
And to each of thy
companions a like guide was vouchsafed, but the man of
appetite drove
away his monitor, and the man of intellect did even worse, for he
gave over to death
his friend and is better self. Gold against dross, the wisdom
of the Gods
against the knowledges of men! But thou, poet, art the child of the
Gods, and thou
alone shalt again behold with joy the land beyond the sunset, and
face of Her whose
true servitor and knight thou art!”
Then the traveler
was right glad, and his heart was
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[Page 166] lifted up, and as
he went he sang.
But, for all that, the way grew steeper to his feet, and the
icy air colder to
his face; and on every hand there were no longer meadows and
orchards full of
laboring folk, but glittering snow-wreaths, and diamond bright
glaciers, shining
hard and keen against the deeps of darkening space; and at
times the roar of
a distant avalanche shook the atmosphere about him, and then
died away into the
silence out of which the sound had come. Peak above peak of
crystal-white
mountain ranges rose upon his sight, massive, and still, and
awful, terrible
affirmations of the verity of the Ideal. For this world of
colossal heights
and fathomless gulfs, of blinding snows, of primeval silence,
of infinite
revelation, of splendid lights upon manifold summits of opal, topaz
,and sardony, all
seemed to him the witness and visible manifestation of his
most secret and
dreadful thoughts. He had seen these things in his visions, he
had shaped them in
his hidden reveries, he had dared to believe that such a
region as this
might be — nay, ought to be — if the universe were of Divine
making. And now it
burst upon him, an apocalypse of giant glories, an empire of
absolute being,
independent and careless of human presence, affirming itself
eternally to its
own immeasurable solitudes.
“I have reached
the top and pinnacle of life”, cried the poet; “this is the
world wherein all
things are made!”
And now, indeed,
save for the fairy bird, he trod his path alone. Now and then
great clouds of
mist swept down from the heights, or rose from the icy gorges,
and wrapped him in
their soft gray folds, hiding from his sight the glittering
expanse around
him, and making him afraid. Or, at times, he beheld his own
shadow, a vast
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[Page 167] and portentous Self,
projected on the nebulous air,
and looming in his
pathway, a solitary monster threatening him with doom. Or yet
again, there arose
before him, multiplied in bewildering eddies of fog-wreath, a
hundred spectral
selves, each above, and behind the other, like images repeated
in reverberating
mirrors - his own form, his own mien, his own garb and aspect -
appalling in their
omnipresence, maddening in their grotesque immensity as the
goblins of a fever
dream. But when first the traveler beheld this sight, and
shrank at it,
feeling for his sword, the fairy bird at his breast sang to him,
“Fear not, this is
the Chimaera of whom the Princess spoke. You have passed
unhurt the sirens,
the ogres and the hydra-headed brood of plain and lowland;
now meet with
courage this phantom of the heights. Even now thou standest on the
confines of the
land beyond the sunset; these are the dwellers on the border,
the spectres who
haunt the threshold of the farther world. They are but shadows
of thyself,
reflections cast upon the mists of the abyss, phantoms painted on
the veil of the
sanctuary. Out of the void they arise, the offspring of Unreason
and of the Hadean
Night.”
Then a strong wind
came down from the peaks of the mountain like the breathing
of a God, and it
rent the clouds asunder, and scattered the fog-wreaths, and
blew the phantoms
hither and thither like smoke; and like smoke they were
extinguished and
spent against the crags of the pass. And after that the poet
cared no more for
them, but went on his way with a bold heart, until he had left
behind and below
him the clouds and mists of the ravines among the hills, and
stood on the
topmost expanse of dazzling snow, and beheld once more the golden
gate of the Land
that lies beyond the Sun.
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[Page 168]
But of his meeting
with the Princess, and of the gladness and splendor of their
espousals, and of
all the joy that he had, is not for me to tell, for these
things, which
belong to the chronicles of that fairy country, no mortal hand in
words of human
speech is in any wise able to relate. All that I certainly know
and can speak of
with plainness is this, that he obtained the fulness of his
heart’s desire, and
beyond all hope, or knowledge, or understanding of earth,
was blessed for
evermore.
And now I have
finished the story of a man who say and followed his Ideal, who
loved and prized
it, and clave to it above and through all lesser mundane
things. Of a man
whom the senses could not allure, nor the craving for
knowledge, nor the
lust of power, nor the blast of spiritual vanity, shake from
his perfect
rectitude and service. Of a man who, seeing the good and the
beautiful way,
turned not aside from it, nor yielded a step to the enemy; in
whose soul the
voice of the inward Divinity no rebuke, no derision, nor neglect
could quench; who
chose his part and abode by it, seeing no reconciliation with
the world, not
weakly repining because his faith in the Justice of God distanced
his sympathies of
common men. Every poet has it in him to imagine, to
comprehend, and
desire such a life as this, he who lives it canonizes his
genius, and, to
the topmost manhood of the Seer, adds the Divinity of Heroism.
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[Page 169]
- 4 - A TURN OF
LUCK
" Messieurs,
faites votre jeu ! . . . Le jeu est fait! . . . Rien ne va plus ! .
. . Rouge gagne et
la couleur ! . . . Rouge gagne, la couleur perd! . . . Rouge
perd et la couleur
!. . . "
Such were the
monotonous continually recurring sentences, always spoken in the
same impassive
tones, to which I listened as I stood by the tables in the
gaming-rooms of
Monte Carlo. Such are the sentences to which devotees of the
fickle goddess,
Chance, listen hour after hour as the day wears itself out from
early morning to
late evening in that beautiful, cruel, enchanting earthly
paradise, whose
shores are washed by the bluest sea in the world, whose gardens
are dotted with
globes of golden fruit, and plumed with feathery palms, and
where, as you
wander in and out among the delicious shadowy foliage, you hear,
incessantly, the
sound of guns, and may, now and then, catch sight of some
doomed creature
with delicate white breast and broken wing, dropping, helpless
and bleeding, into
the still dark waters below the cliff. A wicked place ! A
cruel place!
Heartless, bitter, pitiless, inhuman ! And yet, so beautiful!
I stood, on this
particular afternoon, just opposite a young man seated at one
of the rouge et
noir tables. As my glance wandered from face to face among the
players, it was
arrested by his, — a singularly pallid, thin, eager face; —
remarkably eager,
even in such a place and in such company as this. He seemed
about twenty-five,
but he had the bowed and shrunken look of an invalid,
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[Page
170] and from time
to time he coughed terribly, the ominous cough of a person
with lungs half
consumed by tubercle. He had not the air of a man who gambles
for pleasure, nor,
I thought, that of a spendthrift or a ne'er-do-weel ;
disease, not
dissipation, had hollowed his cheeks and set his hands trembling,
and the unnatural
light in his eyes was born of fever rather than of greed. He
played anxiously
but not excitedly, seldom venturing on a heavy stake, and
watching the game
with an intentness which no incident diverted. Suddenly I saw
a young girl make
her way through the throng towards him. She was plainly
dressed, and had a
sweet, sad face and eyes full of tenderness. She touched him
on the shoulder,
stooped over him, and kissed him in the frankest, simplest
manner possible on
the forehead. "Viens," she whispered, "je m'etouffe ici, il
fait si frais
dehors; sortons." He did not answer; his eyes were on the cards.
Rouge perd, et la
couleur, said the hard official voice.
With a sigh, he
rose, coughed, passed his hand over his eyes, and took his
wife's arm. (I
felt sure she was his wife.) They passed slowly through the rooms
together, and I
lost sight of them. But not of his face — nor of hers. Sitting
by the fountain
outside the gaming saloons half an hour afterwards, I fell to
musing about this
strange couple. So young, — she scarcely more than a child,
and he so ill and
wasted ! He had played with the manner of an old habitué, and
she seemed used to
finding him at the tables and leading him away. I made up my
mind that I had
stumbled on a romance, and resolved to hunt it down. At the
table d'hôte
dinner in my hotel that evening I met a friend from Nice to whom I
confided my
curiosity. "I know", said he, "the young people of whom you
speak;
they are
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[Page 171] patients of Dr S. of Monaco,
one of my most intimate
acquaintances. He
told me their story". " They", I interpolated, — " is the
wife, then, also
ill ? " My friend smiled a little. "Not ill exactly, perhaps",
he answered.
" But you must have seen, — she will very shortly be a mother. And
she is very young
and delicate". " Tell me their story", I said, " since you
know it. It is
romantic, I am certain". " It is sad", he said, " and
sadness
suffices, I
suppose, to constitute romance. The young man's name is Georges
Saint-Cyr, and his
family were poor relations of an aristocratic house. I say
were, because they
are all dead, — his father, mother, and three sisters. The
father died of
tubercle, so did his daughters; the son, you see, inherits the
same disease and
will also die of it at no very distant time. Georges Saint-Cyr
never found
anybody to take him up in life. He was quite a lad when he lost his
widowed mother,
and his health was, even then, so bad and fitful that he could
never work. He
tried his best; but what chef can afford to employ a youth who is
always sending in
doctor's certificates to excuse his absence from his desk, and
breaking down with
headache or swooning on the floor in office-hours ? He was
totally unfit to
earn his living, and the little money he had would not suffice
to keep him
decently. Moreover, in his delicate condition he positively needed
comforts which to
other lads would have been superfluous. Still he managed to
struggle on for
some five years, getting copying-work and what-not to do in his
own rooms, till he
had contrived, by the time he was twenty-two, to save a
little money. His
idea was to enter the medical profession and earn a livelihood
by writing for
scientific journals, for he had wits and was not
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[Page 172]
without literary
talent. He was lodging then in a cheap quarter of Paris not far
from the École de
Médecine. Well, the poor boy passed his baccalaureat and
entered on his
first year. He got through that pretty well, but then came the
hospital work; and
then, once more he broke down. The rising at six o'clock on
bitter cold winter
mornings, the going out into the bleak early air sometimes
thick with snow or
sleet, the long attendance day after day in unwholesome wards
and foetid
postmortem rooms; the afternoons spent over dissecting, — all these
things contributed
to bring about a catastrophe. He fell sick and took to his
bed, and as he was
quite alone in the world, his tutor, who was a kind-hearted
man, undertook to
see him through his illness, both as physician and as friend.
And when, after a
few weeks, Georges was able to get about again, the professor,
seeing how lonely
the young man was, asked him to spend his Sundays and spare
evenings with
himself and his family in their little apartment au cinquième of
the rue Cluny. For
the professor was, of course, poor, working for five francs a
lesson to private
pupils, and a much more modest sum for class lectures such as
those which
Georges attended. But all this mattered nothing to Georges. He went
gladly the very
next Sunday to Dr Le Noir's, and there he met the professor's
daughter — whom
you have seen. She was only just seventeen, and prettier then
than she is now I
doubt not, for her face is anxious and sorrowful now, and
anxiety and sorrow
are not becoming. You don't wonder that the young student
fell in love with
her. The father, engrossed in his work, did not see what was
going on, and so
Pauline's heart was won before the mischief could be stopped.
The young people
themselves went to him
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[Page 173] hand in hand one evening and
told him all about
it. Madame Le Noir had long been dead, and the professor had
two sons studying
medicine. His daughter was, perhaps, rather in his way; he
loved her much,
but she was growing fast into womanhood, and he did not quite
know what to do
with her. Saint-Cyr was well-born and he was clever. If only his
health were to
take a turn for the better, all might go well. But then, if not ?
He looked at the
young man's pale face and remembered what his stethoscope had
revealed. Still,
in such an early stage these physical warnings often came to
nothing. Rest, and
fresh air, and happiness, might set him up and make a healthy
man of him yet. So
he gave a preliminary assent to the engagement, but forbade
the young people
to consider the affair settled — for the present. He wanted to
see how Georges
got on. It was early spring then. Hope and love and the April
sunshine agreed
with the young man. He was much stronger by June, and did well
at the hospital
and at his work. He had reached the end of his fin d'année
examinations; a
year's respite was before him now before beginning to pass for
his doctorate. Le
Noir thought that if he could pass the next winter in the
south of France he
would be quite set up, and lost no time in imparting this
idea to Georges.
But Georges was not just then in funds; his time had been
lately wholly
taken up with his studies, and he had been unable to do any
literary hacking.
When he told the professor that he could not afford to spend a
winter on the
Riviera, Le Noir looked at him fixedly a minute or two and then
said: — '
Pauline's dot will be 10,000 francs. It comes to her from her mother.
With care that
ought to keep you both till you have taken your doctorate and can
earn
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[Page 174] money for yourself. Will you
marry Pauline this autumn and take
her with you to
the south?' Well, you can fancy whether this proposal pleased
Georges or not. At
first he refused, of course; he would not take Pauline's
money; it was
her's; he would wait till he could earn money of his own. But the
professor was
persuasive, and when he told his daughter of the discussion, she
went privately
into her father's study where Georges sat, pretending to read
chemistry, and
settled the matter. So the upshot of it was that late in October,
Pauline became
Madame Saint-Cyr, and started with her husband for the Riviera.
"The winter
turned out a bitter one. Bitter and wild and treacherous over the
whole of Europe.
Snow where snow had not been seen time out of mind; biting
murderous winds
that nothing could escape. My friend Dr S. says the Riviera is
not always kind to
consumptives, even when at its best; and this particular
season saw it at
its worst. Georges Saint-Cyr caught a violent chill one evening
at St Raphael,
whither he and his wife had gone for the sake of the cheapness
rather than to any
of the larger towns on the littoral; and in a very short time
his old malady was
on him again, — the fever, the cough, the weakness, — in
short, a fresh
poussée, as the doctors say. Pauline nursed him carefully till
March set in; then
he recovered a little, but he was far from convalescent. She
wrote hopefully to
her father; so did Georges; indeed both the young man and his
wife, ignorant of
the hold which the disease had really got upon him, thought
things to be a
great deal better than they actually were. But as days went on
and the cough
continued, they made up their minds that St Raphael did not suit
Georges, and
resolved to go on to Nice. March was already far
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[Page 175]
advanced; Nice
would not be expensive now. So they went, but still Georges got
no better. He even
began to get weaker; the cough tore him, he said, and he
leaned wearily on
his wife's arm when they walked out together. Clearly he would
not be able to
return to Paris and to work that spring. Pauline, too, was not
well, the long
nursing had told on her, and she had, besides, her own ailments,
for already the
prospect of motherhood had defined itself. She wrote to her
father that
Georges was still poorly and that they should not return home till
May. But before
the first ten days of of April had passed, something of the true
state of the case
began to dawn on Saint-Cyr. ' I shall never again be strong
enough to work
hard,' he said to himself, ' and I must work hard if I am to pass
my doctorate examinations.
Meantime, all Pauline's dot will be spent. I may have
to wait months
before I can do any consecutive work; perhaps, even, I shall be
unable to make a
living by writing. I am unfit for any study. How can I get
money — and get it
quickly — for her sake and for the child's ?'
"Then the
thought of the tables at Monte Carlo flashed into his mind. Eight
thousand francs of
Pauline's dot remained; too small a sum in itself to be of
any permanent use,
but enough to serve as capital for speculation in rouge et
noir. With good
luck such a sum might produce a fortune. The idea caught him and
fascinated his
thoughts sleeping and waking. In his dreams he beheld piles of
gold shining
beside him on the green cloth, and by day as he wandered feebly
along the
Promenade des Anglais with Pauline he grew silent, feeding his sick
heart with this
new fancy. One day he said to his wife: — ' Let us run over to
Monte Carlo and
see the playing; it will amuse us; and the gardens are
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[Page
176] lovely, You
will be delighted with the place. Everybody says it is the most
beautiful spot on
the Riviera.' So they went, and were charmed, but Georges did
not play that day.
He stood by the tables and watched, while Pauline, too timid
to venture into
the saloons, and a little afraid of le jeu, sat by the great
fountain in the
garden outside the casino. Georges declared that evening as they
sat over their tea
at Nice that he had taken a fancy for beautiful Monaco, and
that he would
rather finish the month of April there than at Nice. Pauline
assented at once,
and the next day they removed to the most modest lodgings they
could find within
easy access of the gardens. Then; very warily and gently,
Saint-Cyr unfolded
to Pauline his new-born hopes. She was terribly alarmed at
first and sobbed
piteously. ' It is so wicked to gamble, Georges,' she said; — '
no blessing can
follow such a plan as yours. And I dare not tell papa about it'.
'It would be
wicked, no doubt,' said Georges, 'to play against one's friend or
one's neighbour,
as they do in clubs and private circles, because in such cases
if one is lucky,
someone else is beggared, and the money one puts in one's
pocket leaves the
other players so much the poorer. But here it is quite another
thing. We play
against a great firm, an administration, whom our individual
successes do not
affect, and which makes a trade of the whole concern. Scruples
are out of place
under such circumstances. Playing at Monte Carlo hurts nobody
but oneself, and
is not nearly so reprehensible as the legitimate business that
goes on daily at
the Bourse'. ' Still', faltered Pauline, 'such horrid persons
do play, — such
men, — such women ! It is not respectable.' ' It is not
respectable for
most people certainly,' he said, ' because other ways of earning
are
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[Page 177] open to them. The idle come
here, the dissolute, the
good-for-nothings.
I know all that. But we are quite differently placed; and
have no other
means of getting money to live with. At those tables, Pauline, I
shall be working
for you as sincerely and honestly as though I were buying up
shares or
investing in foreign railroads. It is the name and tradition of the
thing that
frightens you. Look it in the face and you will own that it is simply
. . .
speculation'. ' Georges,' said Pauline, ' you know best. Do as you like
dear, I understand
nothing, and you were always clever.'
"So Saint-Cyr
had his way, and went to work accordingly, without loss of time, a
little shyly at
first, not daring to venture on any considerable stake. So he
remained for a
week at the roulette tables; because at the rouge et noir one can
only play with
gold. The week came to an end and found him neither richer nor
poorer. Then he
grew bolder and ventured into the deeper water. He played on
rouge et noir,
with luck the first day or two, but after that fortune turned
dead against him.
He said nothing of it to Pauline, who came every day into the
rooms at intervals
to seek him and say a few words, sometimes leading him out
for air when he
looked weary, or beguiling him away on pretence of her own need
for companionship
or for a walk. No doubt the poor girl suffered much; anxiety,
loneliness, and a
lingering shame which she could not suppress, paled her
cheeks, and made
her thin and careworn. She dared not ask how things were going,
but her husband's
silence and the increased sickliness of his aspect set her
heart beating
heavily with dread. Alone in her room she must have wept much
during all this
sad time, for my friend Dr S. says that when she made her first
call upon his
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[Page 178] services he noted the signs
of tears upon her face, and
taxed her with the
fact, getting from her the reply that she ' often cried.'
"Little by
little, being a kind and sympathetic man, he drew from her the story
I have told you.
Georges became his patient also, but was always reticent in
regard to le jeu.
Dr S. tried to dissuade him from visiting the tables, on the
ground that the
atmosphere in the saloons would prove poisonous to him and
perhaps even
fatal. But although, in deference to this counsel, the young man
shortened somewhat
the duration of his sittings, and spent more time under the
trees with
Pauline, he did not by any means abandon his speculation, hoping
always, no doubt,
as all losers hope, to see the luck turn and to take revenge
on Fortune."
"And the luck
has not turned yet in Saint-Cyr's case, I suppose?" said I.
"No", answered
my friend. "I fear things are going very ill with him and poor
Pauline's
dot"
As he spoke he
rose from the dinner-table, and we strolled out together upon the
moonlight terrace
of the hotel. " In ten minutes," said I, " my train starts. I
am going back to
Nice tonight. Despite all its loveliness, Monte Carlo is
hateful to me, and
I do not care to sleep under its shadow. But before I go, I
have a favour to
ask of you. Let me know the sequel of the story you have told
me tonight. I want
to know how it ends — in triumph or in tragedy. Dr S. will
always be able to
keep you informed whether you remain here or not. Write to me
as soon as there
is anything to tell, and you will do me a signal kindness. You
see you are such
an admirable raconteur that you have interested me irresistibly
in your subject
and must pay the penalty of talent!"
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[Page 179]
He laughed, broke
off the laugh in a sigh, then shook hands with me, and we
parted.
About two months
later, after my return to England, I had from my friend the
following letter:
—
"You have, I
do not doubt, retained your interest in the fortunes of the two
young people who
so much attracted you at the tables last April. Well, I have
just seen my
friend Dr S. in Lyons, and he has related to me the saddest tale
you can imagine
concerning Georges and Pauline. Here it is, just as he gave it,
and while it is
fresh in my memory. It seems that all through the month of April
and well into May,
Saint-Cyr's ill luck stuck to him. He lost daily, and at last
only a very
slender remnant of his wife's money was left to play with. Week by
week, too, he grew
more wasted and feeble, fading with his fading fortune. As
for Pauline,
although she did not complain about herself, Dr S. saw reason to
feel much anxiety
on her account. Grief and sickened hope and the wear of the
terrible life she
and Georges were leading combined to break down her strength.
Phthisis, too,
although not a contagious malady in the common sense of the term,
is apt to exercise
on debilitated persons constantly exposed to the
companionship of
its victims an extremely baleful effect, and to this danger
Pauline was daily
and nightly subjected. She became feverish, a sensation of
unwonted languor
took possession of her, and sleep, nevertheless, became almost
impossible.
Georges, engrossed in his play, observed but little the
deterioration of
his wife's health; or, perhaps, attributed it to her condition
and to nervousness
in regard to her approaching trial. Things were in this
state, when, one
day towards the close of May,
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[Page 180] Georges took his
customary seat at
the rouge et noir table. The weather had suddenly become
extremely hot, and
the crowd in the salles de jeu had considerably diminished.
Only serious and
veteran habitués were left, staking their gold, for the most
part, with the
coolness and resolution of long experience. Pauline remained in
her room, she felt
too ill to rise, and attributed her indisposition to the
heat. Very sick at
heart, Georges entered the gaming-rooms alone, and laid out
on the green cloth
the last of his capital. Then occurred one of those strange
and complete
reversions of luck that come to very few men. Georges won
continuously,
without a break, throughout the entire day. After an hour or two
of steady success,
he grew elated, and began to stake large sums, with a
recklessness that
might have appalled others than the old stagers who sat beside
him. But his
temerity brought golden returns, every stake reaped a fruitful
harvest, and louis
d'or accumulated in tall piles at his elbow. Before the rooms
closed he had
become a rich man, and had won back Pauline's dowry forty times
over. Men turned
to look at him as he left the tables, his face white with
fatigue, his eyes
burning like live coals, and his gait unsteady as a
drunkard's.
Outside in the open air, everything appeared to him like a dream. He
could not collect
his thoughts; his brain whirled; he had eaten nothing all day,
fearing to quit
his place lest he should change his luck or lose some good coup,
and now extreme
faintness overcame him. Stooping over the great basin of the
fountain in front
of the Casino he bathed his face with his hands, and eagerly
drew in the cool
evening breeze of the Mediterranean, just sweeping up sweet and
full of
refreshment over the parched rock of Monte Carlo. Then he made his way
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[Page 181] home, climbed with toil the
high narrow staircase, and entered the
little apartment
he shared with Pauline. In the sitting room he paused a minute,
poured out a glass
of wine and drank it at a draught, to give himself courage to
tell her his good
news like a man. His hand turned the key of his bedroom; his
heart beat so
wildly that its throbbing deafened him; he could not hear his own
voice as he cried:
' Pauline — darling ! — we are rich ! my luck has turned !' .
. . But then he
stopped, stricken by a blow worse than the stroke of death.
Before him stood
Dr S., and a woman whom he did not recognise, bending over the
bed upon which
Pauline lay, pallid and still, with hands folded upon her breast.
Georges flung his
porte-monnaie, stuffed with notes, upon the foot of the bed,
and sank down on
his knees beside it, his eyes fixed upon his young wife's face.
Dr S. touched him
upon the shoulder. ' Du courage, Saint-Cyr,' he whispered. '
She has gone . . .
first.' The kindly words meant that the separation would not
be for long. The
woman in charge by the couch of the dead girl wept aloud, but
there were no
tears yet in the eyes of Georges. ' And the child ?' he asked at
length, vaguely
comprehending what had happened. They lifted the sheet gently,
and showed him a
little white corpse lying beside its mother. ' I am glad the
child is dead,
too,' said Georges Saint-Cyr.
"He would not
have her buried by the Mediterranean; — no — nor would he let the
corpse be taken
home for burial. The desire for flight was upon him, and he said
he must carry his
dead with him till he himself should die. That night he left
Monte Carlo for
Rome, bearing with him those dear remains of wife and child; and
the good doctor
seeing his desperation and full of pity for so
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[Page 182] vast a
woe, went with
him. 'Perhaps', he told me, 'had I not gone, Georges would not
himself have
reached Rome alive.' They travelled night and day, for the young
man would not rest
an instant. His design was to have the body of his wife
burned in the
crematorium of the Eternal City, and Dr S. was, fortunately, able
to obtain for him
the fulfilment of his desire. Then Saint-Cyr enclosed the
ashes of his
beloved in a little silver box, slung it about his neck and bade
his friend
farewell. I asked the doctor where he went. Northward, he answered, '
but I did not ask
his plans. He gave me no address; he had money in plenty, and
it matters little
where he went, for death was in his face as he wrung my hand
at parting, and he
cannot live to see the summer out.' "
That was the end
of the letter. And for my part, with the sole exception of
Georges Saint-Cyr,
I never heard of any man who became rich over the tables of
Monte Carlo.
- 5 - NOEMI; OR,
THE SILVER RIBBON
I have often heard
practising physicians and students of pathology assert that
no one ever died
of a broken heart — that is, of course, in the popular sense of
the phrase.
Rupture of the heart, such as that which killed the passionate
tyrant John of
Muscovy, is a rare accident, and has no connection with the
mental trouble and
strain implied in the common expression heart-breaking. I
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[Page 183] have, however, my own theory
upon this question, — a theory founded
on some tolerably
strong evidence which might serve more scientifically-minded
persons than
myself as a text for a medical thesis; but, as for me, I am no
writer of theses,
and had much ado to get honestly through the only production
of the sort which
ever issued from my pen, my Thèse de Doctorat. For I studied
the divine art of
Aesculapius at the École de Médicine of Paris, and it was
there, just before
taking my degree, that I became involved in a singular little
history, the
circumstances of which first led me to adopt my present views on
the subject
alluded to in the opening words of this story.
It is now many
years since I inhabited the students' quarter in the gay city,
and rented a
couple of little rooms in an hotel meublé not far from the gardens
of the Luxembourg.
Medical students are never rich, and I was no exception to
the rule, though,
compared with many of my associates, my pecuniary position was
one of enviable
affluence. I had a library of my own, I drank wine at a franc
the litre, and
occasionally smoked cigars. My little apartment overlooked a wide
street busy with
incessant traffic, and on warm evenings, after returning from
dinner at the
restaurant round the corner, it was my habit to throw open my
window-casement
and lean out to inhale the fresh cool air of the coming night,
and to watch the
crowds of foot-passengers and vehicles going and coming like
swarms of ants along
the paved street below.
On a certain
lovely July evening towards the close of my student career, I took
up my favourite
position as usual, luxuriating in the fumes of my cigarette and
in that sweetest
of mental enjoyments, absolute idleness, earned at the cost of
hard and
long-continued toil. The sun
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[Page 184] had but just gone down, the
sky
was brilliant with
pink lights and mellow tints of golden green blending with
the blue of the
deep vault overhead, scores of swift-darting birds were wheeling
about in the still
air, uttering sharp clear cries, as though calling one
another to rest.
Below, women stood at their house-doors gossiping with their
neighbours; peals
of laughter and the incessant chatter of feminine voices
mingled with the
din of horses' hoofs on the hard road and with the never-ending
jingle of the
harness-bells.
Gazing lazily down
into the street, my attention was suddenly arrested by the
singular
appearance and behaviour of an odd-looking brown dog, which seemed to
be seeking someone
among the hurrying crowds and rattling carts. Half-a-dozen
times he ran up
the street and disappeared from view, only to retrace his steps,
each time with
increasing agitation and eagerness of manner. I saw him cross the
street again and
again, scan the faces of the passers-by, dash up the various
turnings and come
panting back, his tongue, his tail drooping; one could even
fancy there were
tears in his eyes. At length, exhausted or despairing, he
crossed the street
for the last time and sat down on the doorstep of the house I
inhabited, the
picture of grief and dismay. He was lost ! Now I had not served
my five years'
apprenticeship to medical science in Paris without becoming
intimate with the
horrible secrets of physiological laboratories. I knew that a
lost dog in Paris,
if not handsome, and valuable to sell as a pet, runs a
terrible chance of
falling directly or indirectly into the hands of vivisecting
professors, and
dying a death of torture. He may be picked up by an employé
engaged in the
search for fitting victims, and so handed over to immediate
martyrdom, or
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[Page 185] he may be hurried off to
languish for weeks in that
horrible fourrière
for lost dogs whose managers hang their wretched captives by
fifties every
Tuesday, and liberally supply the demands of all the physiologists
who take the
trouble to send to them for subjects. Knowing these things, and
perceiving that my
concierge was absorbed in discussing scandal on the opposite
side of the
street, I took advantage of her absence from her post to slip down
to the
rez-de-chaussée, pounce on the unfortunate dog, whom I found seated
hopelessly at the
entrance, and smuggle him upstairs into my rooms. There I
deposited him on
the floor, patted him encouragingly, and gave him water and a
couple of sweet
biscuits. But he was abjectly miserable, and though he drank a
little, would eat
nothing. After taking two or three turns round the apartment
and sniffing
suspiciously at the legs of the chairs and wainscot of the walls,
he returned to me
where I stood with my back to the window watching him, looked
up in my face,
wagged his tail feebly, and whined. I stooped again to caress
him, and, so
doing, observed that he had, tied round his neck, and half-hidden
in his rough brown
hair, a ribbon of silver tinsel, uncommon both in material
and design. I felt
assured that the dog's owner must be a woman, and hastily
removed the
ribbon, expecting to find embroidered upon it some such name as
Amélie or
Léontine. But my examination proved futile, the silver ribbon afforded
me no clue to the
antecedents of my canine waif. And indeed, as I stood
contemplating him
in some perplexity, the conviction forced itself on my mind
that he was not
exactly the kind of animal that Amélie or Léontine would be
likely to select
for a pet. He was a poodle certainly, but of an ill-bred and
uncouth
description
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[Page 186] and instead of being shaved
to his centre, and
wearing frills
round his paws, his coat had been suffered to grow in its natural
manner, — an
indication either of neglect or of want of taste impossible in a
feminine
proprietor. But his face was the most puzzling and at the same time the
most fascinating
thing about him. It bore a more human expression than I had
ever before seen
upon a dog's countenance, an expression of singular appeal and
childishness, so
comic withal in its contrast with the rough hair, round eyes,
and long nose of
the creature, that as I watched him an involuntary laugh
escaped me.
"Certainly", I said to him, "you are a droll dog. One might do a
good deal with you
in a travelling caravan! " As the evening wore on he became
more tranquil.
Perhaps he began to have confidence in me and to believe that I
should restore him
to his owner. At any rate, before we retired to rest he
prevailed on
himself to eat some supper which I prepared for him, pausing every
now and then in
his meal to lift his infantile face to mine and wag his tail in
a halfhearted
manner, as though he said, "You see I am doing my best to trust
you, though you
are a medical student!" Poor innocent beast! Well indeed for him
that he had not
chanced to stop at the door of my neighbour and camarade, Paul
Bouchard, who had
a passion for practical physiology, and with whom no amount of
animal suffering
was of the smallest importance when weighed against the remote
chance of an
insignificant discovery, which would be challenged and contradicted
as soon as
announced by scores of his fellow-experimentalists. If torture were
indeed the true
method of science, then would the vaunted tree of knowledge be
no other than the
upas tree of oriental legend, beneath
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[Page 187] whose fatal
shadow lie
hecatombs of miserable victims slain by its poisonous exhalations,
the odour of which
is fraught with agony and death !
My poodle remained
with me many days. No one appeared to claim him, and no
inquiries elicited
the least information regarding him. La douceur of five
francs had soothed
the natural indignation and resentment displayed by my
concierge at the
first sight of my canine protégé; the restlessness and
suspicion he had
evinced on making my acquaintance had subsided; and we were
getting on in a
very comfortable and friendly manner together, when accident
threw in my way
the clue I had laboriously but vainly sought. Returning one day
from a lecture,
and being unusually pressed for time, I took a shorter cut
homeward than was
my wont, and at the corner of a narrow and ill-smelling street
I came upon a
little heterogeneous shop, in the windows of which were set out a
variety of faded
and bizarre articles of millinery. Hanging from a front shelf
in a conspicuous
position among the collection was a strip of the identical
silver ribbon
which had encircled Pepin's throat — I called the dog Pepin — on
the night I
rescued him from the streets. Without hesitation I entered the shop
and questioned a
slatternly woman who sat behind the counter munching gruyere
cheese and garlic.
" Will you
tell me, madame," said I with my most agreeable air, " whether you
recollect having
sold any of that tinsel ribbon lately, and to whom?"
She was not likely
to have much custom, I thought, and her clients would be
easily remembered.
"What's that
to you?" was her retort, as she paused in her meal and stared at
me; " do you
want to buy the rest of it?"
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[Page 188]
I took the hint
immediately, and produced my purse. "With all the pleasure in
life," I
said, "if you will do me the favour I ask."
She darted a keen
look at me, laughed, pushed her cheese aside, and took the
ribbon from its
place in the shop window.
"I sold half
a mètre of it about three weeks ago," said she slowly, " to Noémi
Bergeron; you know
her, perhaps? She's not been this way lately. There's a mètre
of it left; it's
one franc twenty, monsieur."
"And where
does Noémi Bergeron live ?" I asked, as she dropped the money into
her till.
" Well, she
used to lodge at number ten in this street, with Maman Paquet. Maybe
she's gone. I've
not seen either her or her dog this fortnight."
"A poodle
dog," cried I eagerly, "with his coat unclipped, — a rough brown
dog?"
"Yes,
exactly. Ah, you know Noémi, — bien sûr!" And she leered at me, and
laughed again
unpleasantly.
"I never saw
her in my life," said I hotly; " but her dog has come astray to my
lodgings, and he
had a piece of this ribbon of yours round his throat; nothing
more than
that."
" Ah ? Well,
she lives at number ten. Tenez, — there's Maman Paquet the other
side of the
street; you'd better go and speak to her."
She pointed to a
hideous old harridan standing on the opposite pavement, her
bare arms resting
on her hips, and a greasy yellow kerchief twisted
turban-wiseround
her head.
My heart sank.
Noémi must be very poor, or very unfortunate, to live under the
same roof with
such an old sorcière ! Nevertheless, I crossed the street, and
accosted the hag
with a smile.
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[Page 189]
"Good-day,
Maman Paquet. Can you tell me anything of your lodger, Noémi
Bergeron?"
"Hein?"
She was deaf and surly. I repeated my question in a louder key. " I know
nothing of
her," she answered, in a voice that sounded like the croak of a frog.
" She
couldn't pay me her rent, and I told her to be off. Maybe she's drowned by
this."
"You turned
her out?" I cried.
"Yes, turned
her out," repeated the hag, with a savage oath. " It was her own
fault; she might
have sold her beast of a poodle to pay me, and she wouldn't.
Why not, I should
like to know, — she sold everything else she had!"
"And you can
tell me nothing about her now, — you know no more than that ? "
"Nothing. Go
and find her!" She muttered a curse, glared at me viciously, and
hobbled off. I had
turned to depart in another direction, when a skinny hand
suddenly clutched
my arm, and looking round, I found that Maman Paquet had
followed and
overtaken me. " You know the girl," she squeaked, eyeing me
greedily, —
"will you pay her rent? She owed me a month's lodging, seven
francs."
She looked so
loathsome and horrible with her withered evil face so close to
mine that I gave a
gesture of disgust and shook her off as though she had been a
toad.
"No",
said I, quickening my steps; " she is a stranger to me, and my pockets are
empty".
Maman Paquet flung
a curse after me, more foul and emphatic than the last, and
went her way
blaspheming.
I returned home to
Pépin saddened and disquieted. "So, after all", I said to
him, " your
owner belongs to the fair sex! But, heaven! in what misery she and
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[Page 190] you must have lived! And yet
you cried for her, Pépin!"
Not long after
these incidents — three or four days at the latest — a party of
my fellow-students
came to smoke with me, and as the shell always sounds of the
sea, our
conversation naturally savoured of our professional pursuits. We
discussed our
hospital chefs, their crotchets, their inventions, their medical
successes, their
politics; we criticised new methods of operation, related
anecdotes of the
theatre and consulting-room, and speculated on the chances of
men about to go up
for examination. Then we touched on the subject of obscure
diseases, unusual
mental conditions, prolonged delirium, and kindred topics. It
was at this point
that one of us, Eugène Grellois, a house-surgeon at a
neighbouring
hospital, remarked, —
"By the way,
we have a curious case now in the women's ward of my service, a
pretty little
Alsatian girl of eighteen or twenty. She was knocked down by a
cart about three
weeks ago and was brought in with a fracture of the neck of the
left humerus, and
two ribs broken. Well, there was perforation of the pleura,
traumatic pleurisy
and fever, and her temperature went up as high as 41º-8. She
was delirious for
three days, and talked incessantly; we had to put her in a
separate cabinet,
so that the other patients might not be disturbed. I sat by
her bed for hours
and listened. You never heard such odd things as she said. She
let me into the
whole of her history that way. I don't think I should have cared
for it though, if
she were not so wonderfully pretty ! "
"Was it a
love story, Eugène? " asked Auguste Villemin, laughing.
"Not a bit of
it; it was all about a dog who seemed
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[Page 191] to be her pet.
Such an
extraordinary dog ! From what she said I gathered that he was a brown
poodle, that he
could stand on his head, and walk on his hind paws, that he
followed her about
wherever she went, that he carved in wood for illustrated
books and
journals, that he wore a silver collar, that she was engaged to be
married to him
when he had earned enough to keep house, and that his name was
Antoine !"
All his hearers
laughed except myself. As for me, my heart bounded, my face
flushed, I was
sensible of a keen sensation of pleasure in hearing Eugène
describe his
patient as wonderfully pretty. I leapt from my chair, pointed to
Pépin, who lay
dozing in a corner of the room, and exclaimed, —
" I will
wager anything that the name of your Alsatian is Noémi Bergeron, and
that my dog there
is Antoine himself!" And before any questions could be put I
proceeded to
recount the circumstances with which my reader is already
acquainted. Of
course Pépin was immediately summoned into the midst of the
circle we had
formed round the open window to have his reputed accomplishments
tested as a
criterion of his identity with Antoine. Amid bursts of laughter and
a clamour of
encouragement and approbation, it was discovered that my canine
protégé possessed
at least the first two of the qualifications imputed to him,
and could walk on
his hind legs or stand on his head for periods apparently
unlimited.
In fact, so
obedient and willing we found him, that when for the third time he
had inverted
himself, no persuasion short of picking him up by his tail, a
proceeding which I
deemed necessary to avert asphyxia, could induce him to
resume his normal
position. But that
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[Page 192] which rendered the
entertainment
specially
fascinating and ludicrous was the inimitable and unbroken gravity of
Pépin's
expression. No matter what his attitude, his eyes retained always the
solemnity one
observes in the eyes of an infant to whom everything in the world
is serious and
nothing grotesque.
"But now for
the engraving on wood !" cried Jules Leuret, when we had exhausted
ourselves with
laughing. "What a pity you have no implements of the art here,
Gervais!"
"That's
Eugène's chaff!" I cried. "Noémi never said anything of the sort, I
warrant! "
"On my honour
she did," said he, emphatically. " Come and see her tomorrow;
she's quite sane
now, no fever left at all. She'll be delighted to hear that you
have her dog, and
will tell you all about him, no doubt."
"After the
chefs visit, then, and we'll breakfast together at noon."
"Agreed.
Laughing makes one dry, mon ami; let me have some more of your wine. We
can't afford good
wine like that, nous autres ! "
2
When the following
morning arrived, I rose sooner than my wont: Eugène's service
was an early one,
and by half-past ten o'clock he and I were alone in the wards
of his hospital.
He led me to a bed in one of the little spaces partitioned off
from the common
salle for the reception of special cases or refractory patients.
There, propped up
on her pillows, her arm bandaged and supported by a cushion,
lay a young girl
with fair braided hair and the sweetest face I had ever seen
out of a
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[Page 193] picture. Something in the
childish and wistful look of her
deep eyes and
serious mouth reminded me strangely of Pépin; it was Pépin's
plaintive
expression refined and intensified by spiritual influence, a look such
as one might
imagine on the face of some young novice, brought up in a convent
and innocent of
all evil, — an ingénue untainted by the world and ignorant of
its ways. Could
such a creature as this come out of the foul and sin-reeking
quartier I had
visited four days ago, with its filthy houses, its fetid alleys,
its coarse
blaspheming women and drunken men ? My mind misgave me: surely, after
all, this could
not be Noémi Bergeron !
I put the question
to her fearfully, for I dreaded to hear her deny it. She was
so beautiful; if
she should say no I should be in despair.
A voice as sweet
as the face answered me, with just a faint inflexion of
surprise in it,
and as she spoke a slight blush suffused her cheeks and showed
the delicate
transparency of her skin.
"Yes, that is
my name. Does monsieur know me, then?"
In my turn I
blushed, but with delight. No wonder Pépin had repined at
separation from so
lovely a mistress !
"I went to
your house to inquire for you the other day, mademoiselle," stammered
I, " for I
think I have a dog which belongs to you. Have you not lost a brown
poodle with a
ribbon like this round his throat?"
As I spoke I
produced the tinsel ornament from my pocket, but before I finished
my last sentence
she started forward with a joyous cry, and but for the timely
intervention of
Eugène, who stood beside the bed, the injured
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[Page 194] arm
might have
suffered seriously from the effects of her excitement.
"Ah!"
she cried, weeping with joy; "my Bambin, my dear Bambin ! He is found
then, he is safe,
and I shall see him again ! "
" Bambin
!" repeated I, dubiously. "Monsieur Grellois thought that his name
was
Antoine !"
The rosy colour
deepened under her delicate cheeks and crept to the roots of her
braided hair.
"No",
she replied in a lower tone, " monsieur is mistaken. My dog's name is
Bambin; we called
him so because he is so like a baby. Don't you think him like
a baby, monsieur ?
"
She looked
wondrously like a baby herself, and I longed to tell her so; I could
not restrain my
curiosity, her blushes were so enticing.
"And Antoine
? " persisted I.
"He is a
friend of mine, monsieur; an engraver on wood, an artist."
Eugène and I
exchanged glances. "And you and he are engaged to be married, is it
not so?"
Unconsciously I
questioned her as I might have questioned a child. She hardly
seemed old enough
to have the right over her own secrets.
"Yes,
monsieur. But I do not know where he is; and I have looked for him so
long, ah, so long
!"
"What, have
you lost him too, then, as well as Bambin?"
She shook her
head, and looked troubled.
"Tell
me," said I, coaxing her, "perhaps I maybe able to find him
also."
"We are
Alsatians," said Noémi, with her eyelids
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[Page 195] drooping, doubtless
to hide the tears
gathering behind them; "and we lived in the same village and
were betrothed.
Antoine was very clever, and could cut pictures in wood
beautifully, — oh
so beautifully, — and they sent him to Paris to be apprenticed
to a great house of
business, and to learn engraving thoroughly. And I stayed at
home with my
father, and Antoine used to write to me very often, and say how
well he was
getting on, and how he had invented a new method of wood-carving,
and how rich he
should be some day, and that we were to be married very soon.
And then my father
died, quite suddenly, and I was all alone in the house. And
Antoine did not
write; — week after week there was no letter, though I never
ceased writing to
him. So I grew miserable and frightened, and I took Bambin —
Antoine gave me
Bambin, and taught him all his tricks — and I came to Paris to
try and find him.
I had a little money then, and besides, I can make lace, and I
thought it would
not be long before Antoine and I got married. But he had left
the house of
business for which he had worked, and they knew nothing of him at
his lodgings, and
there were ever so many of my letters on the table in the
conciergerie
unopened. So I could learn nothing, for no one knew where he had
gone, and little
by little the money I had brought with me went in food for me
and Bambin. Then
somebody told me that Maman Paquet had a room to let that was
cheap, and I went
there and tried to live on my lace-making, always hoping that
Antoine would come
to find me. But the air of the place was so horrible — oh, so
horrible after our
village ! — and I got the fever, and fell sick, and could do
no work at all.
And by degrees I sold all the things I had — my lace-pillow and
all — and when
they were gone the old
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[Page 196] woman wanted me to sell
Bambin,
because he was
clever, and she was sure I could get a good price for him. But I
would rather have
sold the heart out of my body, and so I told her. Then she was
angry, and turned
us both out, Bambin and me, and we went wandering about all
day till at last I
got very faint and tired, for I had been ill a long time,
monsieur, and we
had nothing to eat, so that I lost my senses and fell in the
road all at once,
and a cart went over me. Then the people picked me up, and
carried me here,
but none of them knew Bambin, and I had fainted and could tell
them nothing. So
they must have driven him away, thinking he was a strange dog,
and had no right
to follow me. And when my senses came back I was in the
hospital, and
Bambin was gone, and I thought I never would see him again."
She sank down on
her pillow and drew a great sigh of relief. It had evidently
comforted her to
tell her story to sympathetic listeners. Poor child! scant
sympathy could she
have found in Maman Paquet's unwomanly breast and evil
associations. We
were silent when she had finished, and in the silence we heard
through the open
window the joyous song of the birds, and the hum of the bees
wandering blithely
from flower to flower, laden with their sweets, — sounds that
never cease
through all the long summer days. Alas ! how strange and sad a
contrast it is, —
the eternal and exuberant gladness of Nature's soulless
children, — the
universal inevitable misery of human lives !
Presently the
religieuse who had the charge of the adjoining ward opened the
door softly and
called Eugène.
"Monsieur,
will you come to No. 7 for a moment? Her wound is bleeding again
badly."
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[Page 197]
He looked up,
nodded, and rose from his seat.
"I must go
for the present, Gervais", said he. " If you stay with our little
friend, don't let
her disarrange her arm. The ribs are all right now, but the
humerus is a
longer affair. Au revoir ! "
But I found Noémi
too much excited and fatigued for further conversation; so,
promising to take
every possible care of Bambin and to come again and see her
very soon, I
withdrew to the adjoining ward and joined Eugene.
No need to say
that both these promises were faithfully observed.
Throughout the
whole of July and of the ensuing month Noémi remained an inmate
of the hospital,
and it was not until the first two weeks of September were
spent that the
fractured arm was consolidated and the mandate for dismissal
issued.
Two days before
that fixed for her departure I went to pay her the last of my
customary visits,
and found her sitting at the open window busily engaged in
weaving lace upon
a new pillow, which she exhibited to me with childish glee.
"See,
monsieur, what a beautiful present I have had ! " she cried, holding up
the cushion for me
to examine. " It is much better than the old one I sold; only
look how prettily
the bobbins on it are painted !"
I had never before
beheld a lace pillow, and the curiosity which I displayed
fairly delighted
Noémi.
"And who is
your generous benefactor?" I asked, replacing the cushion in her
lap.
"Don't you
know?" she asked in turn, opening her eyes wide with surprise. "I
thought he would
have been sure to tell you. Why, it was that good Monsieur
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[Page 198] Grellois, to be sure ! He
gave some money to the sister to buy it for
me."
Kind Eugène! He
had very little money to live upon, and must, I know, have
economised
considerably in order to purchase this gift for his little patient.
Still I was not
jealous of his bounty, since for many days past I had been
greatly occupied
with Noémi's future welfare, and had busied myself in secret
with certain
schemes and arrangements the issue of which it remained only to
announce.
"So,"
said I, taking a chair beside her, " you are going to earn your living
again by making
lace ? "
"To try"
she answered with a sad emphasis.
"Lace-making
does not pay well, then ? "
"Oh no,
monsieur ! It cannot be done quickly, you see, — only a little piece
like this every
day, working one's best, — and so much lace is made by machines
now !"
"But it
cannot cost you much to live, Noémi ? "
"The eating
and drinking is not much, monsieur; it is the rent; and all the
cheap lodgings are
so dirty ! It is that which is the most terrible. I can't
bear to have ugly
things about me and hideous faces, — like Maman Paquet's!"
She had the poet's
instincts, this little Alsatian peasant. Most girls in her
case would have
cared little for the unlovely surroundings, so long as food and
drink were
plentiful.
"But
supposing you had a nice room of your own, clean and comfortable, with an
iron bedstead like
this one here, and chairs and a table, and two windows
looking out over
the Luxembourg gardens, — and nothing to pay."
"Ah,
monsieur!"
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[Page 199]
She dropped her
pillow, and fixed her great brown eyes earnestly on my face.
"It is
impossible", pursued I, reddening under her gaze, " for you to return
to
the horrible
quartier in which Maman Paquet lives. It is not fit for a young
girl; you would
grow wicked and base like the people who live there, — or else
you would die, —
and I think you would die, Noémi."
"But I have
no money, monsieur."
"If you have
no money, you have friends; a friend has given you your new pillow,
you know, and
another friend, perhaps, may give you a room to live in."
Her eyelids
drooped, her colour came and went quickly, I detected beneath her
bodice the
convulsive movement of her heart. The agitation she betrayed
communicated
itself to me; I rose from my chair and leaned against the
window-sill, so
that my face might be no longer on a level with her eyes.
"I understand
you, monsieur ! " she cried, and immediately burst into tears.
"Yes,
Noémi", I said, "I see you understand me. There is really a room for
you
such as I have
described. In two days you will leave the hospital, but you are
not without a
home. The woman of the house in which you will live is kind and
good, she knows
all about you and Bambin, and has promised me to take care of
you. Your
furniture is bought, your rent is paid, — you have nothing to do but
to go and take
possession of the room. I hope you and Bambin will be happy
there."
She made me no
reply in words, but bending forward over her pillow she took my
hand and timidly
kissed it.
It would be hard
to say which of us was the happier on the day which saw Noémi
installed in her
new abode,
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[Page 200] — she, or I, or Bambin.
Bambin's delight
was certainly the
most demonstrative; he careered round and round the room
uttering joyous
barks, returning at intervals in a panting and exhausted
condition to his
pretty mistress to give and receive caresses which I own I felt
greatly disposed
to envy him. I left my four-footed friend with some regret, for
he and I had been
good companions during Noémi's sojourn at the hospital, and I
knew that my rooms
would at first seem lonely without him. His fair owner, as
she bade me
good-bye at the door of her new domicile, begged me to return often
and see them both,
but hard as I found it to refuse the tempting request, I
summoned up
resolution to tell her that it would be best for us to meet very
seldom indeed,
perhaps only once or twice more, but that her landlady had my
name and address
and would be able to give me tidings of her pretty often.
Her childlike
nature and instincts were never more apparent than on this
occasion.
"What have I
done, monsieur ?" she asked with a bewildered expression, her brown
eyes lifted
pleadingly, and the corners of her mouth depressed. " I thought you
would like to come
and see us. Bambin is so fond of you, too, — we shall both be
so sorry if you
don't come."
As gently and as
tenderly as I could, I tried to explain to her our mutual
position and the
evil construction which others would be sure to place on any
friendship between
us. But she only shook her head in a troubled way and sighed.
"I don't
understand," she said, " but of course you know best. I used to hear
something like
that at Maman Paquet's, about other girls, but I never understood
it.
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[Page 201] Only say that you are not
angry with me, and let me hear about
you as often as
you can."
I promised,
smiling, and left her standing at the open door with Bambin tucked
under her arm,
looking after me down the street and nodding her pretty golden
head.
Many days went by
— I concentrated my mind upon my books, and devoted the whole
of my time and of
my thoughts to preparation for my last two doctorate
examinations,
contenting myself with only a few passing inquiries of Noémi's
landlady
concerning the welfare of her lodger, and with the assurance that both
she and her dog
were well and happy.
But one evening
late in September, as I sat immersed in study, my ear caught the
sound of light
girlish footsteps on the staircase leading to my rooms; then came
a momentary pause,
a tap on the door, and the next minute Noémi herself, closely
followed by the
faithful Bambin, burst upon my solitude.
"I have found
him, monsieur !" she cried breathlessly. "I came at once to tell
you, — I knew you
would be so glad !"
"What, —
Antoine?" I asked, rising and laying my book aside.
"Yes; —
Antoine ! I met him in the street. He was dressed like a gentleman; no
one would have
known him except me ! He had no idea I was in Paris; he turned
quite white with
the surprise of seeing me. And I told him what a search I had
made for him, and
how miserable I had been, and how good you were to me, and
where I was
living. And he is coming to see me this very evening ! Oh, I am so
happy !"
"You should
have sent me word of this, Noémi," said
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[Page 202] I gravely. " You
ought not to have
come here. It is very foolish ------ "
She interrupted me
with an imploring gesture.
"Oh, yes, I
know; I am so sorry ! But just at the moment I forgot. I longed to
tell you about
Antoine, and everything else went out of my head. Don't be cross
with me !"
Could any one be
angry with her? She was thoroughly innocent, and natural, as
innocence always
is.
"My child, it
is only of yourself I am thinking. Antoine will teach you to be
wiser by-and-by.
Tell him to come and see me. I suppose you will be married soon
now, won't
you?"
"Oh, yes,
monsieur, very soon ? Antoine only wanted money, and he has plenty
now; he has a
business of his own, and is a patron himself!"
"Well, Noémi,
I am very glad. You must let me come to your wedding. I shall call
at your house
tomorrow, and ask all about it; for no doubt Antoine will want you
to settle the
arrangements at once. And now run home, for your own sake, my
child."
"Good-bye !
monsieur." She paused at the door and added shyly, "You will really
come tomorrow
morning?"
" Yes, yes;
before breakfast, Good-bye, Noémi."
3
At about ten on
the ensuing day I repaired to Noémi's lodging, and found Madame
Jeannel, the
landlady, on the look-out for me.
" Noémi told
me you were coming", she said; " I will go and fetch her. Her
fiancé was here
last night, and she has a great deal to tell you."
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[Page 203]
In two minutes she
returned with my pretty friend, radiant as the sunlight with
happiness and
renewed hope. Antoine loved her more than ever, she said, and he
had brought her a
beautiful present, a silver cross, which she meant to wear on
her wedding-day,
tied round her throat upon the bit of tinsel ribbon I had given
her, and which
matched it exactly. And was the wedding-day fixed ? I asked. No,
not the precise
day; Antoine had said nothing about it; but he had spoken much
of his love, and
of the happiness in store for them both, and of the lovely
things he should
give her. The day was nothing; that could be settled in a
minute at any
time. Then she fetched me some lace she had made, and told me that
Antoine knew of a
rich lady who would buy it, — a marquise, who doated on lace
of the sort, and
who gave enormous sums for a few yards; and the money would do
for her dot, it
would buy her wedding-dress, perhaps. So she prattled on, blithe
and ingenuous, the
frank simplicity of her guileless soul reflected in the clear
depths of her
eyes, as the light of heaven is mirrored in pure waters.
Days went by, and
weeks, but Antoine never came to see me, and whenever I called
at Madame Jeannel's
and asked for Noémi — which I ventured to do several times,
now that the good
woman knew she was engaged to be married, and understood so
well our relations
with each other — I always heard the same story, and always
received, on
Antoine's behalf, the same vague excuses for the postponement of
the visit I had
invited him to pay me. At one time, he bade Noémi tell me his
work was too
pressing, and he could find no time to come; at another, that he
feared to disturb
me, knowing I was very busy; and again, that he had been just
about to
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[Page 204] start when an important
letter or an inopportune customer
had arrived and
detained him. As for the wedding-day, he would never come to the
point about it,
and Noémi, naturally shy of the subject, never pressed him. She
was quite happy
and confident; Antoine loved her with all his heart, and told
her so every day.
What more could she want ? He brought her lovely bunches of
red and white
roses, little trinkets, sweetmeats, ribbons; indeed, he seemed
never to come
empty-handed. She used to take walks with him when his day's work
was over, in the
Luxembourg gardens, and once or twice they went out as far as
the
Champs-Elysées. Oh, yes, Antoine loved her dearly, and she was very happy;
they should
certainly be married before long. We were already in November, the
days were getting
bleak and chill, I had to light my lamp early and close my
windows against
the damp evening air. One afternoon, just as it was beginning to
grow dark, Madame
Jeannel came to see me, looking very disturbed and anxious.
"Monsieur",
she said, " a strange thing has happened which makes me so uneasy
that I cannot help
coming to tell you of it, and to ask your opinion and advice.
Antoine came about
half-an-hour ago and took Noémi out for a walk. Not ten
minutes after they
had left the house, a lady whom I do not know came to my door
and asked if
Mademoiselle Bergeron lived there. I said yes, but that she was
out. The strange
lady stared hard at me and asked if she had gone out alone. I
told her no, she
was with her fiancé, but that if any message could be left for
her I would be careful
to give it directly she should return. Immediately the
lady seized me by
the arm so tightly I almost screamed. She grew white, and then
red, then she
seemed to find her voice, and
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[Page 205] asked me if she could
wait upstairs in
Noémi's room till she came back. At first I said ' No', but she
would not take a
refusal; she insisted upon waiting; and there she is, I could
not get her to
leave the place."
Madame Jeannel
stood opposite to me; I lifted my eyes, and met hers steadily.
When I had
satisfied myself of her suspicions, I said in a low voice, —
"You have
done rightly to fetch me. There is great trouble in store for our poor
child. I fear this
woman may have a better right to Antoine than Noémi has."
"I am sure of
it," responded Madame Jeannel. " If you could but have seen how
she looked ! Thank
the good God she has come in time to save our Noémi from any
real harm !"
"It will
blight the whole of her life", said I; "she is so innocent of evil,
and
she loves him so
much".
I took up my hat
as I spoke, and followed Madame Jeannel downstairs and into the
street. When we
reached her house, I left her in her own little parlour upon the
entresol, and with
a resolute step but a heavy heart I went alone to confront
the strange woman
in Noémi's room. Alas ! the worst that could happen had
already befallen.
Noémi had returned from her walk during the absence of her
landlady, and I
opened the door upon a terrible scene. My poor child stood
before me, with a
white scared face, and heaving breast, upon which was pinned a
bunch of autumn
violets, Antoine's last gift to her. Her slender figure, her
fair hair, her
pallid complexion looked ghost-like in the uncertain twilight;
she seemed like a
troubled spirit, beautiful and sorely distressed, but there
was no shame in
her lovely face, nor any sense of guilt. Seeing me enter, she
uttered a cry of
relief, and sprang forward as though to seek protection.
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206]
"Speak to
her, monsieur!" she exclaimed in a voice of piercing entreaty; "oh,
speak to her and
ask her what it all means ! She says she is Antoine's wife !"
The strange woman
whose back had been turned towards the door when I opened it,
looked round at
the words, and her face met mine. She was a brunette, with sharp
black eyes and an
inflexible mouth, a face which beside Noémi's seemed like a
dark cloud beside
clear sunlight.
"Yes indeed
!" she cried; and her voice was half choked with contending anger
and despair,
"I am his wife; and what then is she ? I tracked him here. He is
always away from
me now. I found a letter of hers signed with her name; she
writes to him as
if she loved him ! See!"
She flung upon the
table a crumpled scrap of paper, and suddenly burying her
face in her hands,
burst into a torrent of passionate tears and sobs. Noémi
stood silent and
watched her, terrified and wondering. I closed the door softly,
and approaching
the unfortunate woman, laid my hand upon her shoulder.
"It is your
husband who is alone to blame,"I whispered to her. "Do not revile
this innocent
girl; she suffers quite as much as you do, — perhaps even more,
for she was
betrothed to him years ago."
My grief for
Noémi, and my resentment against Antoine made me imprudent; I spoke
unjustly, but the
provocation was great.
"You take her
part!" she cried, repelling me indignantly. "Innocent — she
innocent ? Bah !
She must have known he was married, for why else did he not
marry her ? Do you
think me a child to be fooled by such a tale?"
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[Page 207]
"No",
answered I sternly, looking away from her at Noémi. "You are not a child,
madame, but she is
one ! Had she been a woman like yourself, your husband would
never have
deceived her. She trusted him wholly."
With a gesture
that was almost fierce in its pride, Antoine's wife turned her
back upon Noémi,
and moved towards the door. " I thank my God", she said
solemnly, choking
down her sobs, and bending her dark brows upon me, " that I
was never such an
innocent as she is! I am not your dupe, monsieur, I know well
enough what you
are, and what it is that constitutes your right to defend her.
The neighbours
know her story; trust them for finding it out and repeating it.
This room belongs
to you, monsieur; your money paid for everything in it, and
your innocent
there no doubt is included in the bargain. Keep her to yourself
for the future;
Antoine's foot shall never again be set in this wicked house!"
She opened the
door with the last words, and vanished into the darkness without.
For a moment there
was a deep silence, the voice which had just ceased seemed to
me to ring and
echo around the dim, still room. The sense of a great shame was
upon me; I dared
not lift my eyes to Noémi's face.
Suddenly a faint cry
startled me. She stretched her arms towards me and fell on
her knees at my
feet.
"O monsieur!
Antoine is lost! My heart is dead !" Then she struck her breast
wildly with her
clenched hand, and swooned upon the floor.
None of us ever
saw Antoine again after that terrible evening. Whether he had
been most weak or
most wicked we could not tell; but, for my part I always
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[Page
208] believed that
he had really loved Noémi, and that his marriage had been one
of worldly
convenience, contracted, in an evil hour, for the sake of gain. His
wife was rich,
Noémi was a beggar. As for her, poor child, she never uttered a
word of reproach
against him; never a gesture of impatience, or an expression of
complaint betrayed
her suffering. She had spent all her innocent life upon her
love, and with the
love her life also went from her. Day after day she lay on
her bed like a
flower crushed and fading slowly. There were no signs of organic
disease in her,
there was no appreciable malady; her heart was broken, so said
Madame Jeannel,
and more than that the wisest could not say. Bambin, dimly
comprehending that
some great sorrow had befallen his dear mistress, lay always
at her feet,
watching her with eyes full of tender and wistful affection,
refusing to leave
her by night or by day. It must have comforted her somewhat to
see in him, at
least, the evidence of one true and faithful love.
So white and spirituelle
she grew as she lay there, day by day, so delicately
lovely, her deep
lustrous eyes shining as with some inward light, and her hair
of gold
surrounding her head like the aureole of a pictured saint, that at times
I fancied she was
becoming de-materialised before our eyes; her spirit seemed as
it were to grow
visible, as though in the intensity of its pure fire the mere
earthly body which
had contained it were being re-absorbed and consumed.
Sometimes in the
evenings her pulse quickened and her cheeks flushed with the
hectic touch of
fever; — it was the only symptom of physical disorder I ever
detected in her; —
but even that was slight, — the temperature of her system was
hardly affected by
it.
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[Page 209]
So she lay, her
body fading, day after day and hour after hour.
Madame Jeannel was
deeply concerned, for she was a good woman, and could
sympathise with
others in sorrow, but nothing that she could say or do seemed to
reach the senses
of Noémi. Indeed, at times I fancied the poor child had no
longer eyes or
ears for the world from which she was passing away so strangely;
she looked as
though she were already beginning life in some other sphere and on
some other plane
than ours, and could see and hear only sights and sounds of
which our material
natures had no cognisance.
"C'est le
chagrin, monsieur", said Madame Jeannel; "c'est comme ça que le
chagrin tue, — toujours."
Early in the third
week of December I received my summons to pass the final
examination for
the M.D. degree. The day was bitterly cold, a keen wind swept
the empty streets
and drove the new-fallen snow into drift-heaps at every
corner. Along the
boulevards booths and baraques for the sale of New Year's
gifts were already
in course of erection, the shops were gay with bright
coloured
bonbonnières. Children, merry with anticipations of good things
corning, pressed
round the various tempting displays and noisily disputed their
respective merits.
All the streets were filled with mirth and laughter .and
preparations for
festivity, and close by, in her little lonely room, Noémi lay
dying of a broken
heart !
I underwent my
ordeal with success; yet as I quitted the examination-room and
descended into the
quadrangle of the École, crowded with sauntering groups of
garrulous
students, my spirit was heavy within me, and the expression of my face
could hardly have
been that of a young man who has safely passed the Rubicon of
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[Page 210] scientific apprenticeship,
and who sees the laurels and honours of
the world within
his reach. The world? The very thought of its possible homage
repelled me, for I
knew that its best successes and its loudest praise are
accorded to men
whose hearts are of steel and whose lives are corrupt. I knew
that still, as of
old, it slays the innocent and the ingenuous and stones the
pure of spirit.
Escaping somewhat
impatiently from the congratulations of the friends and
colleagues whom I
chanced to encounter in the quadrangle, I returned gloomily
home and found
upon my table a twisted note in which was written this brief
message: —
" Pray, come
at once, monsieur, she cannot live long now. I dare not leave her,
and she begs to
see you.—
MARIE
JEANNEL."
With a shaking
hand I thrust the paper into my vest and hastened to obey its
summons. Never had
the distance between my house and Noémi's been so long to
traverse; never
had the stairs which led to her room seemed to me so many or so
steep. At length I
gained the door; it stood ajar; I pushed it open and entered.
Madame Jeannel sat
at the foot of the little white-draped bed; Bambin lay beside
his mistress; the
only sound in the room was the crackling of the burning logs
on the hearth. As
I entered, Madame Jeannel turned her head and looked at me;
her eyes were
heavy with tears, and she spoke in tones that were hushed and
tremulous with the
awe which the presence of death inspires.
"Monsieur,
you come too late. She is dead." I sprang forward with a cry of
horror.
"Dead?" I repeated, "Noémi dead?"
White and still
she lay — a broken lily — beautiful and
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[Page 211] sweet even in
death; her eyes
were closed lightly, and upon her lovely lips was the first
smile I had seen
there since the day which had stricken her innocent life into
the dust. Her
right hand rested on Bambin's head, in her left she held the piece
of silver ribbon I
had given her, — the ribbon she had hoped to wear at her
wedding.
"They are for
you," said Madame Jeannel softly. "She said you were fond of
Bambin, and he of
you, and that you must take care of him and keep him with you
always. And as for
the ribbon, — she wished you to take it for her sake, that it
might be a
remembrance of her in time to come."
I fell on my knees
beside the bed and wept aloud.
"Hush, hush
!" whispered Madame Jeannel, bending over me; " it is best as it is,
she is gone to the
angels of God."
Science has ceased
to believe in angels, but in the faith of good women they
live still.
The chief work of
the wise among us seems to me to consist in the destruction of
all the beautiful
hopes and loves and beliefs of the earth; of all that since
the beginning of
time till now has consoled, or purified, or brought peace to
the hearts of men.
Some day, perhaps, in the long-distant future, the voice of
Nature may speak
to us more clearly through the lips of a nobler and purer
system of science
than any we now know, and we may learn that Matter is not all
in all, nor human
love and desire given in vain; but that torn hearts may be
healed and ruined
lives perfected in a higher spiritual existence, where, "
beyond these
voices, there is peace."
Meanwhile Noémi's
body rests in its quiet grave, and upon the faithful bosom
lies the silver
cross which her lover gave her.
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[Page 212]
She was one of
those who could endure all things for love's sake, but shame and
falsehood broke
her steadfast heart. And it was the hand of her beloved which
dealt the blow of
which she died!
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[Page 212]
- 6 - THE LITTLE
OLD MAN'S STORY
" O love, I
have loved you !
O my soul, I have lost you ! "
— AURORA LEIGH.
CHAPTER 1
"It is
getting very dark now, and I have been sitting at my open bay window ever
since sundown. How
fresh and sweet the evening air is, as it comes up from my
little flower
garden below, laden with the fragrance of June roses and almond
blossom ! Ah, by
the way, I will send over some more of those same roses to my
opposite neighbour
tomorrow morning, — and there is a beautiful spray of white
jasmin nodding in
at the casement now, and only waiting to be gathered for him.
Poor old man ! he
must be very lonely and quiet, lying there day after day in
his dark little
bed-chamber, with no companions save his books and his old
housekeeper. But
then Dr Peyton is with him very often, and Dr Peyton is such a
dear kind soul
that he makes every one cheerful ! I think they have drawn down
the blinds earlier
than usual tonight at the little old gentleman's. Dr Peyton
says he always
likes to sit up in his arm-chair when the day closes, and watch
the twilight
gathering over the blue range of the Malvern hills in the distance,
and talk dreamy
bits of poetry to himself the while, but this evening I noticed
the blinds were
pulled down
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[Page 213] almost directly after sunset.
And such a
lovely sunset as
it was tonight! I never beheld anything more glorious ! What a
wondrous glamour
of molten mellow light it threw over all the meadows and
cottage gardens!
It seemed to me as though the gates of heaven itself were
unfolded to
receive the returning sun into the golden land of the Hereafter!
Dear, dear, I
shall get quite poetical in my old age ! This is not the first
time I have caught
myself stumbling unawares on the confines of romance ! Miss
Lizzie, Miss
Lizzie, you must not be fanciful ! Do you forget that you are an
old maid ! Yes, an
old maid. Ah, well-a-day, 'tis a very happy, contented,
peaceful sound to
me now; but twenty years ago, ------ Here comes dear old Dr
Peyton himself up
my garden path! He does not seem to walk so blithely tonight
as usual, — surely
nothing is the matter; I wish I could see his face, but it is
much too dark for
that, so I'll go at once and let him in. Now I shall hear news
of my opposite
neighbour ! Ah, I hope he is no worse, poor little old man ! "
Gentle reader, I
shall not trouble you much in the story I am going to tell,
with any personal
experiences of my own. But you may as well understand before
we proceed
farther, that I — Miss Elizabeth Fairleigh — am a spinster on the
shady side of
forty-five, that I and my two serving-maids occupy a tiny,
green-latticed,
porticoed, one-storeyed cottage just outside a certain little
country town, and
that Dr Peyton, the one medical man of the parish, is a
white-haired old
gentleman of wondrous kindliness and goodness of heart, who was
Pythias to my
father's Damon at college long, long ago, and who is now my best
friend and my most
welcome and frequent visitor. And on the particular evening
in question, I had
a special interest in his visit, for I wanted very much
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214] to know what
only he could tell me, — how matters fared with my neighbour
and his patient,
the little old man who lay sick over the way.
Now this little
old man bore the name of Mr Stephen Gray, and he was a bachelor,
so Dr Peyton said,
a bachelor grown, from some cause unknown to my friend,
prematurely old,
and wizened, and decrepit. It was long since he had first come
to reside in the
small house opposite mine, and from the very day of his arrival
I had observed him
with singular interest, and conjectured variously in my idle
moments about his
probable history and circumstances. For many months after his
establishment over
the way, this old gentleman used morning and evening to
perambulate the
little country road which divided our respective dwellings,
supporting his
feeble limbs with a venerable-looking staff, silver-headed like
himself; and on
one occasion, when my flower garden happened to look especially
gay and inviting,
he paused by the gate and gazed so wistfully at its beauties,
that I ventured to
invite him in, and presented him, bashfully enough, with a
posy of my
choicest rarities. After this unconventional introduction, many
little courtesies
passed between us, other nosegays were culled from my small
parterre to adorn
the little old gentleman's parlour, and more than once Miss
Elizabeth
Fairleigh received and accepted an invitation to tea with Mr Stephen
Gray.
But by-and-by
these invitations ceased, and my neighbour's pedestrian excursions
up and down our
road became less and less frequent. Yet when I sent my maid, as
I often did, to
inquire after his health, the answer returned alternated only
between two
inflections, — Mr Gray was always either pretty well, or a little
better today. But
presently I noticed that my friend Dr Peyton
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[Page 215] began
to pay visits at
my opposite neighbour's, and of him I inquired concerning the
little old man's
condition, and learned to my surprise and sorrow that his
health and
strength were rapidly failing, and his life surely and irrecoverably
ebbing away. It
might be many long months, Dr Peyton said, before the end, it
might be only a
few weeks, but he had seen many such cases, and knew that no
human skill or
tenderness had power to do more than to prolong the patient's
days upon earth by
some brief space, and to make the weary hours of feebleness
and prostration as
pleasant and calm as possible.
When Dr Peyton
told me this, it was late autumn, and the little old gentleman
lived on in his
weakness all through the snow-time and the dim bleak winter
days. But when the
Spring came round once more, he rallied, and I used often to
see him sitting up
in his arm-chair at the open window, arrayed in his
dressing-gown, and
looking so cheerful and placid, that I could not forbear to
nod to him and
smile hopefully, as I stood by my garden gate in the soft warm
sunshine, thinking
that after all my opposite neighbour would soon be able to
take his daily
walks, and have tea with me again in his cosy little parlour. But
when I spoke of
this to Dr Peyton, he only shook his head incredulously, and
murmured something
about the flame burning brighter for a little while before
going out
altogether. So the old gentleman lingered on until June, and still
every time I sent
to ask after his health returned the same old reply, — his
"kind regards
to Miss Fairleigh, and he was a little better today." And thus
matters remained
on that identical evening of which I first spoke, when I sat at
the bay window in
my tiny drawing-room, and saw Dr Peyton coming so soberly up
the garden path.
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[Page 216]
Dr Peyton,"
said I, as I placed my most comfortable chair for him in the
prettiest corner
of the bay, " you are the very person I have been longing to
see for the last
half-hour ! I want to know how my neighbour Mr Gray is tonight.
I see his blinds
are down, and I am afraid he may be worse. Have you been there
this evening ?
"
I paused abruptly,
for my old friend looked very gravely at me, and I thought as
his eyes rested
for a moment on my face, that notwithstanding the twilight, I
could discern
traces of recent tears in them.
"Lizzie",
said he, very slowly, and his voice certainly trembled a little as he
spoke, " I
don't think Mr Gray was ever so well in his life as he is tonight. I
have been with him
for several hours. He is dead."
"Dead!"
I echoed faintly, for I almost doubted whether my ears heard aright. "
My little old
gentleman dead ? Oh, I am very, very grieved indeed ! I fancied he
was getting so
much stronger !"
Dr Peyton smiled,
one of his peculiar, sweet, grave smiles, such as I had often
seen on his kindly
face at certain times and seasons when other men would not
have smiled at
all.
"Lizzie",
he answered, "there are some deaths so beautiful and so full of peace,
that no one ought
to grieve about them, for they bring eternal rest after a life
that has been only
bitter disquiet and heaviness. And such a death — aye, and
such a life — were
Mr Gray's."
He spoke so
certainly and so calmly, that I felt comforted for the little old
man's sake, and
longed to know, — woman-like, I suppose, — what sad story of his
this had been, to
which Dr Peyton's words seemed to point.
"Then he had
a romance after all !" I cried, "and you knew of it! Poor old
gentleman ! I
often wondered
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[Page 217] how he came to be so lonely.
May you
tell me, as we sit
here together ? I should so like to hear about it."
"Yes",
said he, with that same peculiar smile, " I may tell you, for it is no
secret now.
Indeed, I came here partly for that very purpose, because I know
well how much you
were interested in your opposite neighbour, and how you used
to speculate about
his antecedents and associations. But I have not known this
story long. He
only told it me this evening; just an hour or two before he died.
Well, we all have
our little romances, as you are pleased to call them ! "
"Yes, yes,
all of us. Even I, unpretentious, plain Elizabeth Fairleigh, — but no
matter". I
mind me, reader, that I promised not to talk of my own experiences.
Ah, there are no
such phenomena in the world really, as commonplace lives, and
"commonplace
persons!
"Poor little
old man !" I sighed again. "Did he tell you his story then of his
own accord, or
" — And I paused in some embarrassment, for I remembered that Dr
Peyton was a true
gentleman, and possessed of far too much delicacy of feeling
to question
anybody upon personal matters or private concerns. But either he did
not actually
notice my hesitation, or perhaps understood the cause of it well
enough to prevent
him from appearing to notice it, for he resumed at once, as
though no
interruption to his discourse had taken place.
"When I went
this afternoon to visit your neighbour, Lizzie, I perceived
immediately from
the change in him that the end was not far off, though I did
not think it would
come today. But he did. He was in bed when I entered his
room, and as soon
as he saw me, he looked up and welcomed me with a pleasant
smile and said,
'Ah, Doctor, I am so glad you are come! I was just
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going to send
round for you ! Not that I think you can do me any more good upon
earth, for I know
that tonight I shall go to my long rest. To my long rest.' He
lingered so
strangely and so contentedly over these words, that I was singularly
touched, and I sat
down by his bedside and took his thin white hand in mine. '
Doctor,' said he,
presently, ' you have been very good and kind to me now for
more than ten
months, and I have learned in that time to trust and esteem you as
though I had known
you for many long years. There are no friends of mine near me
in the world now,
for I am a lonely old man, and before I came here I lived
alone, and I have
been lonely almost all my life. But I cannot die tonight
without telling
you the story of my past, and of the days when I used to be
young, — very long
ago now, — that you may understand why I die here alone, a
white-haired old
bachelor; and that I may be comforted in my death by the
knowledge that I
leave at least one friend upon earth to sympathise in my sorrow
and to bless me in
my solitary grave. 'It is a long story, Doctor,' said the
little old man, '
but I feel stronger this afternoon than I have felt for weeks,
and I am quite
sure I can tell it all from end to end. I have kept it many years
in my heart, a
secret from every human soul; but now all is over with my sorrow
and with me for
ever, and I care not who knows of it after I am gone.' Then
after a little
pause he told me his story, while I sat beside him holding his
hand in mine, and
I think I did not lose a word of all he said, for he spoke
very slowly and
distinctly, and I listened with all my heart. Shall I tell it to
you, Lizzie ? It
is not one of those stories that end happily, like the stories
we read in
children's fairy books, nor is it exciting and sensational like the
modern popular
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[Page 219] novels. There are no dramatic
situations in it, and no
passionate scenes
of tragical love or remorse; 'tis a still, neutral-coloured,
dreamy bit of
pathos, — the story of a lost life, — that it will make you sad
perhaps to hear,
and maybe, a little graver than usual. Only that."
" Please tell
it, Dr Peyton," I answered. " You know I have a special liking for
such sad
histories. 'Tis one of my old-maidish eccentricities I suppose; but
somehow I always
think sorrow more musical than mirth, and I love the quiet of
shadowy places
better than the brilliant glow of the open landscape."
"You are
right, Lizzie", he returned. "That is the feeling of the true poet in
all ages, and the
most poetical lives are always those in which the melancholy
element
predominates. Yet it is contrast that makes the beauty of things, and
doubtless we
should not fully understand the sweetness of your grave harmonies,
nor the loveliness
of your shadowy valleys, were all music grave and all places
shadowy. And
inanimate nature is most assuredly the faithful type and mirror of
human life. But I
must not waste our time any longer in such idle prologues as
these ! You shall
hear the little old man's story at once, while it is still
fresh in my
memory, though for the matter of that, I am not likely, I think, to
forget it very
easily."
So Dr Peyton told
it me as we sat together there in the growing darkness of the
warm summer night,
and this, reader mine, is the story he told.
CHAPTER 2
Some forty years
ago, there lived in one of the prettiest houses in Kensington,
a rich old
wine-merchant, and his two only children. These young men, Stephen
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[Page 220] and Maurice Grey, were twins,
whose mother had died at their birth,
and all through their
infancy and childhood the old wine-merchant had been to
them as father and
mother in one, and the brothers had grown up to manhood,
loving him and
each other as dearly as heart could wish. Already Stephen, the
first-born of the
twins, had become partner in his father's flourishing
business, and
Maurice was preparing at a military college for service in the
army, which he was
shortly to join, when a certain event occurred at Kensington,
trifling enough in
itself, but in the sequel pregnant with bitter misfortune to
at least two human
souls.
There came to
reside in the house adjoining old Mr Gray's, an elderly widow lady
and her orphan
niece, — Mrs Lamertine and Miss Adelaïs Cameron. They came there
principally for
the sake of the latter, — a pale consumptive girl of eighteen,
whose delicate
health and constitution it was thought might be considerably
benefited by the
mild soft air of that particular neighbourhood. Soon after the
arrival of these
ladies in their new abode, the old wine-merchant in his
courtesy and
kindliness of heart saw fit to pay them a visit, and in due time
and form the visit
was returned, and a friendly come-and-go understanding
established
between the two houses. In this manner it happened that Stephen, the
elder son, by
living always in his father's house, from which he was absent only
during the
office-hours of the day, saw a great deal of Adelaïs Cameron, and
learnt before long
to love her with all the depth and yearning that a young man
feels in his first
rapturous adoration of a beautiful woman.
For a beautiful
woman Adelaïs certainly was. Very fair to look upon was the
pale, transparent
face, and the
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[Page 221] plentiful braided hair,
golden and
soft almost as
undyed silk, that wreathed about the lovely little head. Clear
and sweet too were
the eyes whence the soul of Adelaïs looked forth, clear and
brown and sweet;
so that people who beheld her fair countenance and heard her
musical voice for
the first time, were fain to say in their hearts, " Such a
face and such a
voice as these are not earthly things; Adelaïs Cameron is
already far on her
road towards the land of the angels."
But at least Mrs
Lamertine and her friendly neighbours the Grays could perceive
that the pale girl
grew none the paler nor sicklier for her residence at
Kensington, and as
days and weeks flew pleasantly by in the long autumn season,
the old lady
talked more and more confidently of her niece's complete
restoration to
health and youthful vigour. Then by-and-by Christmas drew round,
and with it
Maurice Gray came home to his father's house for his last
vacation-time;
Maurice, with his frank handsome face and curly hair, always so
cheerful, always
so good-humoured, always so unconscious of his own
attractiveness,
that wherever he went, everybody was sure to trust and to
idolise him. Ay,
and to love him too sometimes, but not as Adelaïs Cameron did,
when her full
womanly soul awoke first to the living intensity of passion, and
she found in him
the one god at whose feet to cast all her new wealth of
tenderness and
homage. Never before had Maurice Gray been so beloved, never
before had his own
love been so desired and coveted by human soul. And now that
the greatest
blessing of earth lay so ready to his grasp, Maurice neither
perceived the
value of the gift, nor understood that it was offered to him. Such
was the position
when Christmas Day arrived, and the widower begged that Mrs
Lamertine and her
niece
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[Page 222] would do him the pleasure to
dine in his
house and spend the
evening there, that they might sing songs and play forfeits
together and keep
up the ancient institutions of the time, as well as so tiny
and staid a party
could manage to do; to which sociable invitation, the old
dame, nothing
averse to pleasant fellowship at any season, readily consented.
But when Adelaïs
Cameron entered Mr Gray's drawing-room that Christmas evening
with her soft
white dress floating about her like a hazy cloud, and a single
bunch of snowdrops
in the coils of her golden hair, Stephen's heart leapt in his
throat, and he
said to himself that never until now had he known how exceeding
perfect and sweet
was the beautiful woman whom he loved with so absorbing a
tenderness. Alas,
that life should be at times such a terribly earnest game of
cross purposes,
such an intensely bitter reality of mistakes and blunders !
Alas, that men and
women can read so little of each other's heart, and yet can
comprehend so well
the language of their own !
All the evening,
throughout the conversation and the forfeits and the
merry-making,
Stephen Gray spoke and moved and thought only for Adelaï's, and
she for Stephen's
twin brother. It was for Maurice that she sang, while Stephen
stood beside her
at the piano, drinking in the tender passionate notes as though
they were sweet
wine for which all his soul were athirst; it was at Maurice that
she smiled, while
Stephen's eyes were on her face, and to Maurice that she
prattled and
sported and made mirthful jests, while Stephen alone heeded all
that she said and
did; for the younger brother was reflected in every purpose
and thought of
hers, even as her own image lay mirrored continually in the heart
and thoughts of
the elder.
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But before the
hour of parting came that night, Stephen drew Adelaï's aside from
the others as they
sat laughing and talking over some long-winded story of the
old wine-merchant's
experiences, and told her what she, in the blindness of her
own wild love, had
never guessed nor dreamed of, — all the deep adoration and
worship of his
soul. And when it was told, she said nothing for a few minutes,
but only stood
motionless and surprised, without a blush or tremor or sigh, and
he, looking
earnestly into her fair uplifted face, saw with unutterable pain
that there was no
response there to the passionate yearning of his own.
"Adelaïs",
said he, presently, "you do not love me?"
"Yes, yes,
Stephen", she answered, softly; "as a brother, as a dear
brother."
"No
more?" he asked again.
She put her hand
into his, and fixing the clear light of her brown eyes full
upon him:
"Why", she said, hurriedly, " do you ask me this ? I cannot give
you
more, I cannot
love you as a husband. Let no one know what has passed between us
tonight; forget it
yourself as I shall forget also, and we will always be
brother and sister
all our lives."
Then she turned
and glided away across the room into the warm bright glow of the
fireside, that lay
brightest and warmest in the corner where Maurice sat; but
Stephen stood
alone in the darkness and hid his face in his hands and groaned.
And after this
there came a change over the fortunes of the two households. Day
by day Adelaï's
faded and paled and saddened; none knew why. People said it was
the winter
weather, and that when the spring-time came the girl would be herself
again, and grow
brisker and stronger than ever. But
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[Page 224] when Maurice was
gone back to his
college, to fulfil his last term there before leaving for
India, the only
brother of Adelaïs came up from his home by the sea-side, on a
month's visit to
his aunt and his sister at Kensington. He was a man of middle
age almost, this
same Philip Cameron, tall and handsome and fair-spoken, so that
the old
wine-merchant, who dearly loved good looks and courteous breeding, took
to him mightily
from the first, and made much of his company on all occasions.
But as he stayed
on from week to week at Mrs Lamertine's house, Philip saw that
the pale lips and
cheeks of Adelaïs grew paler and thinner continually, that the
brown eyes
greatened in the dark sockets, and that the fragile limbs weakened
and sharpened
themselves more and more, as though some terrible blight, like the
curse of an old
enchantment or of an evil eye, hung over the sweet girl,
withering and
poisoning all the life and the youth in her veins.
She lay on a sofa
one afternoon, leaning her golden head upon one of her pale
wan hands, and
gazing dreamily through the open casement into the depths of the
broad April sky,
over whose clear blue firmament the drifting clouds came and
went incessantly
like white-sailed ships at sea. And Adelaïs thought of the sea
as she watched
them, and longed in her heart to be away and down by the southern
coast where her
brother had made his home, with the free salt breeze blowing in
her face, and the
free happy waves beating the shore at her feet, and the
sea-fowl dipping
their great strong wings in the leaping surge. Ah to be free, —
to be away, —
perhaps then she might forget, forget and live down her old life,
and bury it
somewhere out of sight in the sea-sand; — forget and grow blithe and
happy and strong
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[Page 225] once more, like the breeze
and the waves and the
wild birds, who
have no memory nor regret for the past, and no thought for any
joy, save the joy
of their present being.
"Phil",
she said, as her brother came softly into the room and sat beside her,
"take me back
with you to the sea-side. I am weary of living always here in
Kensington. It is
only London after all."
"My
dearest", he answered, kindly, " if that is all you wish for, it
shall
certainly be. But,
Adelaïs, is there nothing more than this that troubles you ?
There is a shadow
in your eyes and on your lips that used not to be there, and
all day long you
sit by yourself and muse in silence; and you weep too at times,
Adelaïs, when you
fancy none is by to see you. Tell me, sister mine, for the
sake of the love
that is between us, and for the sake of our father and mother
who are dead, what
cloud is this that overshadows you so?"
Long time he
pressed and besought her, pleading by turns his power to help, and
her need of
tenderness; but yet Adelaïs was afraid to speak, for the love that
was breaking her
heart was unreturned. So the next day he found her alone again,
and prayed her to
tell him her sorrow, that even if he could not help nor
comfort her, they
might at least lament together. Then at last she bowed her
head upon his
breast, and told him of Maurice, and of his near departure for
India, and of her
own disregarded love; but not a word she said of Stephen,
because she had
promised him to hold her peace. And when she had told her
brother all, she
laid her arms about his neck and cried, weeping, " Now you know
everything that is
in my heart, Phil; speak to me no more about it, but only
promise to take me
away with
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[Page 226] you when you go, that I may
the sooner
forget this place
and all the sorrow and the pain I have suffered here.”
And Philip Cameron
kissed her very tenderly, and answered, “Be at rest, sister,
you shall have
your will.”
But when evening
came, he went over to the house of the wine-merchant, and
questioned him
about Maurice, whether he cared for Adelaïs or no, and whether he
had ever said a
word to his father or brother of the matter.
“Ay, ay”, quoth
the old gentleman, musingly, when Philip had ceased. “Tis like
enough if there be
anything of the sort that the boys should talk of it between
them, for, God be
thanked, they were always very fond of each other; yet I never
hear it spoken
about. But then youth has little in common with age, and when
young men make
confidences of this kind, it is to young men that they make them,
and not to
grey-beards like me. But tell me, Cameron, for you know I must needs
divine something
from all this; your sister loves my boy Maurice?”
“If you think so,
sir” answered Philip, “you must keep her secret.”
“Cameron,
Cameron,” cried the wine-merchant, “Adelaïs is failing and sickening
every day. Every
day she grows whiter and sadder, and more silent. Don’t tell me
it’s for love of
Maurice! It’s not possible such a woman as she is can love
anybody in vain!
She’s an angel on earth, — your sister Adelaïs!”
Then because the
old man was kindly and wise and white-headed, Philip told him
all that Adelaïs
had said, and how he had promised to take her home with him,
and had come
unknown to any one to ask before they went whether or not there was
any hope for her
of the love on which she had so set her heart.
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And when Philip
was gone the old gentleman called his elder son, Stephen, and
asked him - but
warily, lest he should betray Adelaïs - how Maurice bore himself
in Stephen’s
presence when they were alone together and chanced to speak of her,
and if Stephen
knew or guessed anything of what was in his mind towards her.
Then the young man
understood for the first time all the blindness of his eyes
and the dullness
of his heart; and the pain and desolation and the hopelessness
of his life that
was to be, rose up before him, and he knew that from
thenceforth the
glory and the light of it were put out for ever.
“Father”, he said,
“I know nothing whatever of all this. Is it your wish then
that these two
should marry?”
“It is my wish,
Stephen, and the wish also of our friend Philip himself. Maurice
could not take him
to India a sweeter or a worthier wife than Adelaïs Cameron.”
“And does she wish
it too?” he asked again. “Tell me, father, for I have guessed
already.” He
lifted his eyes to the old man’s face as he spoke, and perceived at
once the sudden
confusion and surprise that his words had caused there, yet he
said no more, but
waited still for a reply.
“My dear boy”,
said the old gentleman at last, “if you have guessed anything,
that is enough;
say no more about it, but let it rest with yourself. I have
never yet deceived
either of my sons. But when Maurice comes home again you can
help us very much,
for you can question him on the matter more naturally than I
could do, and no
doubt he will tell you his mind about it, as you say he always
does about
everything, but with me he might be reserved and bewildered perhaps.
Ask him, my boy,
but keep your guesses to yourself.”
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"Father,"
cried Stephen, pressing his hands together in agony as though his
heart were between
them, and he would fain crush it into dust and destroy it for
ever; " tell
me, if I am to do this, does Adelaï's love my brother?"
"If I tell
you at all, boy", said the wine-merchant, " I shall tell you the
truth; can you
hold your peace like a man of discretion ? "
"I have kept
other secrets, father", he answered, "I can keep this".
Then his father
told him.
Early in May,
Adelaïs Cameron went to the Devonshire sea-coast with her brother
and her aunt, and
they stayed there together a long while. But the accounts that
came from week to
week to Kensington were none of the best, for Adelaïs had
borne the long
journey but ill, and her strength did not return.
Then came the
summer and the vacation-time, and Maurice Gray was home again,
full to the brim
of schemes for his future life, and busy all day with head and
hands over his
preparations for leaving England in the autumn. But when Stephen
talked to him of
Adelaïs, and told him she was gone to the sea-side, Maurice
only laughed and
answered lightly, that she was a sweet lovable girl, and that
he grieved to hear
of her illness ; no doubt the southern breezes would bring
back the colour to
her cheeks, and he should hear before he had been long gone
that she was quite
well and strong again. At least he hoped so.
"Then,
Maurice, you don't care to see her once more before you sail ? You don't
want to say
good-bye ? "
"O well, if
she's here, of course, but that's another thing; I wouldn't for
worlds have her
come back to
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[Page 229] Kensington just to bid me
good-bye. And
really you know,
Steenie, I've too much to do just now to be running about and
saying farewells
everywhere. The time that's left me now to be at home with you
and my father is
none too long. What is Adelaïs Cameron to me, when all my world
is here ? "
"
Maurice", said Stephen again, in a voice that sounded strained and hard,
like
the voice of an
old man trying to be young; "you're a dear affectionate fellow,
and as things are,
perhaps this is all very well. But supposing Adelaïs loved
you, and my father
and — and — everybody else you know, wished her to be your
wife, how would
you feel towards her then ? Supposing, Maurice — only for the
sake of supposing,
of course."
"What a
strange fellow you are, Steenie! Why, supposing as you say, such a very
wild improbable
circumstance were to occur, I should be heartily sorry for poor
Adelaïs ! Only
imagine me with such a wife as she would make ! Why I wouldn't
have so
transparent, white-skinned a beauty about my house all day for a mine of
gold! I should be
seized with lunacy before long, through mere contemplation of
her very
unearthliness, and be goaded into fancying her a picture, and hanging
her up framed and
glazed over my drawing-room mantelpiece ! No, no, I'll leave
Miss Cameron for
you, you're just her style, I take it; but as for me, I never
thought of
marrying yet, Steenie, for I never yet had the luck or ill-luck to
fall in love, and
certainly you'll allow that nobody ought to think of marriage
until he's really
in love. So I'll wish you all success, old boy, and mind you
write and tell me
how the wooing gets on ! "
O Maurice !
Maurice !
Then, by-and-by,
the young officer sailed, and Adelaïs
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[Page 230] heard of his
going, and her
heart died within her for greatness of sorrow and pain, yet still
she held her
peace, and lived her life in patience.
And so for two
whole years they kept her by the sea, hoping against hope, and
whispering those
idle convictions that affection always suggests, about the
worst being over
now, and the time of convalescence being always tedious and
unpromising. But
in the third year, when the autumn days grew darker, and the
sun set redder in
the sea, and people began to talk again of Christmas, Adelaïs
called her brother
one evening and said: —
"Philip, I
have been here very long, and I know that nothing more on earth can
ever make me well
again now. You will not refuse me the last request I shall
make you, Phil?
Take me back to the old house at Kensington, that I may see dear
old Mr Gray, and
my friend Stephen, once more; and you, Phil, stay with me and
Auntie there until
I die, for it wont be very long now, and I want to see you
near me to the
last."
So they brought
her back again to the old house, next door to the wine
merchant's, and
they carried her over the threshold, because she was too weak to
walk now, and laid
her on the old sofa in the old place by the window, for she
would have it, and
Philip Cameron did her bidding in everything. And that same
evening, Stephen
Gray came in to see her, and they met as old friends meet who
have been long
parted, and sat and talked together until past sunset. But at
length Adelaïs
asked him for news of Maurice, what he was doing, and how he was,
and when they
heard from him last, and what he thought of India and of the new
life there, and
his companions, and the climate, and the customs of the place;
for she never
guessed that Stephen knew of her
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[Page 231] hopeless love. But
Stephen turned
away his face and answered her briefly, that his brother was well
and prosperous,
and wrote home constantly. How could he tell her that Maurice
had already found
himself a rich handsome wife in India ?
CHAPTER 3
Soon after these
things, old Mr Gray fell ill of a violent cold, which attacked
him suddenly one
afternoon on his return from his office. It was Christmas
weather then, and
the cold and the frost of the season were unusually keen, so
that the
physician, whom Stephen called in to see his father, looked very grave
and dubious; and
before many days of his patient's illness were past, he asked
the young man
whether there were any brothers or sisters of his, whom the
merchant might
wish to see. Stephen's heart beat fast when he heard the ominous
question, for he
understood what tidings the grave tone and the strange inquiry
were meant to
break to him, and knew well that the physician who spoke was one
of the wisest and
most skilful in London. But he answered as calmly as he could,
and talked of
Maurice, and of the boy's fondness for his father, and added, that
if there were
really imminent danger, he should like his brother to be called
home, because he
was sure Maurice would wish it; but that otherwise the voyage
was tedious and
the need unimportant.
"Let him be
sent for", said the physician. "There is just time."
So Stephen wrote
to his brother, and bade him leave his wife with her parents in
India, and come
home quickly, if he would see his father again, for the time was
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[Page 232] short, and in those days the
only way open to Maurice was the long
circuitous
sea-route.
Maurice arrived
only three days before the old man's death. He had not left his
wife behind him,
as Stephen suggested, for she loved her husband too dearly to
be parted from
him, and Maurice brought her with him to his father's house.
From her place on
the sofa by the window, Adelaïs Cameron looked wearily out,
watching for the
coming of the one she loved most upon earth. And at last the
coach drew up at
the old gentleman's gate, and she saw Maurice dismount from the
box-seat by the
driver and open the coach door to hand out a handsome lady, with
dark hair and
bright glowing eyes.
"Who is
that?" she asked of the maid, who was arranging the tea-table beside
her.
"Don't you
know, Miss ? " said the girl, surprised at the inquiry. " That's Mrs
Maurice, the rich
young lady he married in India a year ago; I was told all
about it by the
cook at Mr Gray's, ever-so-long ago."
But as the words
were spoken, Stephen entered the room with a message for Philip
Cameron, and
overheard both the question and the answer. Adelaïs turned towards
him and said, —
"Stephen, you never told me that Maurice had a wife."
The next week they
buried the old wine merchant very quietly and simply. Only
three mourners
attended the funeral, — Stephen and Maurice and Philip Cameron;
but Adelaïs, looking
down on them from her casement corner, as the coffin was
carried forth from
the house, laid her golden head on her aunt's bosom and
cried,
"Auntie, auntie, I never thought to live so long as this ! Why must those
always die who are
needed most, while
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[Page 233] such as I live on from year
to
year ? I fancied I
had only a few weeks left me upon earth when we came back to
Kensington, and
yet here I am still! "
Then after a
little while the brothers parted once more; Maurice and his wife
went back to
India, and Stephen was left alone, sole successor to his father's
business, and
master of the old house. But Adelaïs Cameron still lived on, like
the shadow of her
former self, fading in the sunset of her womanhood, the beauty
sapped out from
her white death-like face, and the glitter of youth and the
sweetness of hope
quenched for ever in the depths of her luminous eyes.
Then when the days
of mourning were over, Stephen came again to Adelaïs, to
renew the wooing
of old times; for he said to himself, "Now that Maurice is
married, and my
father dead, she may pity me, seeing me so lone and desolate;
and I may comfort
her for the past, and make her amends with my love, for the
pain and the
bitterness that are gone by."
But when he knelt
alone by the couch whereon Adelaïs lay, and held her white
blue-veined hands
in his and told his errand, she turned her face from him and
wept sore, as
women weep over the dead
"Adelaïs, O
Adelaïs", he cried in his despair, "Why will you refuse me always ?
Don't you see my
heart is breaking for love of you ? Come home with me and be my
wife at
last!"
But she made
answer very sadly and slowly: —
"Stephen,
ought the living and the dead to wed with one another ? God forbid
that you in your
youth and manhood should take to wife such a death-like thing
as I! Four years I
have lain like this waiting for the messenger to fetch me
away, and now that
at last he is
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[Page 234] near at hand, shall I array
myself
in a bridal veil
for a face-cloth, and trailing skirts of silk or satin for a
shroud ? Dear
Stephen, don't talk to me any more about this, — we are brother
and sister still,
— let nothing on earth break the sweetness of the bond between
us."
"Not so,
Adelaïs", cried he, passionately; " you cannot, you must not die yet!
You do not know
what love can do, you do not know that love is stronger than
death, and that
where there is love like mine death dare not come ! There is
nothing in all the
world that I will not do for your sake, nothing that I will
leave undone to
save you, nothing that shall be too hard a condition for me to
perform, so that I
may keep you with me still. Live, live my darling, my
beloved, and be my
wife! Give me the right to take you with me, my sweet; let us
go together to
Madeira, to Malta, to Sicily, where the land is full of life, and
the skies are
warm, and the atmosphere clear and pure. There is health there,
Adelaïs, and
youth, and air to breathe such as one cannot find in this dull,
misty, heavy
northern climate, and there you will grow well again, and we will
think no more
about death and sickness. O my darling, my darling, for God's sake
refuse me no
longer !"
She laid her thin
transparent palm wearily over her left side, and turned her
calm eyes on the
passionate straining face beside her.
"There is
that here," she said, pressing her wounded heart more tightly, "that
I
know already for
the touch of the messenger's hand. Already I count the time of
my sojourn here,
not by weeks nor even by days, — the end has come so very, very
near at last. How
do I know but that even now that messenger of whom I speak may
be standing in our
presence, — even now, while you kneel
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[Page 235] here by my
side and talk to
me of life and youth and health?"
"Adelaïs",
pleaded the poor lover, hoarsely, "you deceive yourself, my darling!
Have you not often
spoken before of dying, and yet have lived on ? O why should
you die now and
break my heart outright ? "
"I feel a
mist coming over me", she answered, "even as I speak with you now. I
hear a sound in my
ears that is not of earth, the darkness gathers before my
face, the light
quivers and fades, the night is closing about me very fast.
Stephen, Stephen,
don't you see that I am dying?"
He bowed his head
over the damp colourless brow, and whispered: " If it be so,
my beloved, be as
my wife yet, and die in my arms."
But while he
uttered the words there came a change over her, — a shadow into the
sweet eyes and a
sudden spasm of pain across the white parted lips. Feebly and
uncertainly she
put out her hands before her face, like one groping in the
darkness, her
golden head drooped on his shoulder, and her breath came sharp and
thick, with the
sound of approaching death. Stephen folded his arms about her
with a cry of
agony, and pressed the poor quivering hands wildly to his bosom,
as though he would
fain have held them there for ever.
"O God
!" he groaned in his unutterable despair; " is there no hope, no
redemption, no
retrieving of the past ? Is this the bitter end of all, and must
I lose my darling
so ? O Adelaïs, Adelaïs, my beloved ! " But even as he spoke,
the gathering
shadow broke softly over all her face, the sobbing, gasping breath
ceased in the
stillness of the darkened room, the golden head fell lower, —
lower yet upon the
desolate heart whose love had been so steadfast
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[Page 236]
and so true; and
Stephen covered his face with the hands of the dead, and wept
such tears as men
can only weep once in a lifetime, — tears that make brown
hairs grey and
young men old.
Philip Cameron and
his aunt did not stay long at Kensington. They gave up the
house to
strangers, and went away to the Continent for awhile, where they
travelled about
together, until the old lady grew tired of wandering, and
settled down with
her maid in a little villa near Geneva; and after that,
Stephen heard no
more of her nor of Philip. But Stephen himself stayed on in the
old house until he
grew old too, for he loved the place where Adelaïs had lived,
and could not bear
to leave it for another. And every evening when he came home
from his office,
he would sit alone at the window of his study whence he could
see across the
garden into the little chamber next door, the little
chintz-curtained
old-fashioned chamber where she used to lie in her weakness
years and years
ago, where they two had so often talked and read together, and
where she had died
at last in his arms. But he never wept, thinking of these
things now, for he
had grown into a little withered dried-up old man, and his
tears were dried up also, and instead of his passion