Twenty days--the happiest my life had ever known--thus glided on. Apart
from the charm which love bestows on the beloved, there was that in
Lilian’s conversation which made her a delightful companion. Whether it
was that, in this pause from the toils of my career, my mind could
more pliantly supple itself to her graceful imagination, or that her
imagination was less vague and dreamy amidst those rural scenes, which
realized in their loveliness and grandeur its long-conceived ideals,
than it had been in the petty garden-ground neighboured by the stir and
hubbub of the busy town,--in much that I had once slighted or contemned
as the vagaries of undisciplined fancy, I now recognized the sparkle
and play of an intuitive genius, lighting up many a depth obscure to
instructed thought. It is with some characters as with the subtler and
more ethereal order of poets,--to appreciate them we must suspend the
course of artificial life; in the city we call them dreamers, on the
mountain-top we find them interpreters.
In Lilian, the sympathy with Nature was not, as in Margrave, from the
joyous sense of Nature’s lavish vitality; it was refined into exquisite
perception of the diviner spirit by which that vitality is informed.
Thus, like the artist, from outward forms of beauty she drew forth the
covert types, lending to things the most familiar exquisite meanings
unconceived before. For it is truly said by a wise critic of old, that
“the attribute of Art is to suggest infinitely more than it expresses;”
and such suggestions, passing from the artist’s innermost thought into
the mind that receives them, open on and on into the Infinite of Ideas,
as a moonlit wave struck by a passing oar impels wave upon wave along
one track of light.
So the days glided by, and brought the eve of our bridal morn. It had
been settled that, after the ceremony (which was to be performed by
license in the village church, at no great distance, which adjoined my
paternal home, now passed away to strangers), we should make a short
excursion into Scotland, leaving Mrs. Ashleigh to await our return at
the little inn.
I had retired to my own room to answer some letters from anxious
patients, and having finished these I looked into my trunk for a
Guide-Book to the North, which I had brought with me. My hand came upon
Margrave’s wand, and remembering that strange thrill which had passed
through me when I last handled it, I drew it forth, resolved to examine
calmly if I could detect the cause of the sensation. It was not now
the time of night in which the imagination is most liable to credulous
impressions, nor was I now in the anxious and jaded state of mind in
which such impressions may be the more readily conceived. The sun was
slowly setting over the delicious landscape; the air cool and serene; my
thoughts collected,--heart and conscience alike at peace. I took, then,
the wand, and adjusted it to the palm of the hand as I had done before.
I felt the slight touch of the delicate wire within, and again the
thrill! I did not this time recoil; I continued to grasp the wand, and
sought deliberately to analyze my own sensations in the contact. There
came over me an increased consciousness of vital power; a certain
exhilaration, elasticity, vigour, such as a strong cordial may produce
on a fainting man. All the forces of my frame seemed refreshed,
redoubled; and as such effects on the physical system are ordinarily
accompanied by correspondent effects on the mind, so I was sensible of a
proud elation of spirits,--a kind of defying, superb self-glorying. All
fear seemed blotted out from my thought, as a weakness impossible to
the grandeur and might which belong to Intellectual Man; I felt as if
it were a royal delight to scorn Earth and its opinions, brave Hades
and its spectres. Rapidly this new-born arrogance enlarged itself
into desires vague but daring. My mind reverted to the wild phenomena
associated with its memories of Margrave. I said half-aloud, “if a
creature so beneath myself in constancy of will and completion of
thought can wrest from Nature favours so marvellous, what could not be
won from her by me, her patient persevering seeker? What if there be
spirits around and about, invisible to the common eye, but whom we can
submit to our control; and what if this rod be charged with some occult
fluid, that runs through all creation, and can be so disciplined as to
establish communication wherever life and thought can reach to beings
that live and think? So would the mystics of old explain what perplexes
me. Am I sure that the mystics of old duped them selves or their pupils?
This, then, this slight wand, light as a reed in my grasp, this, then,
was the instrument by which Margrave sent his irresistible will through
air and space, and by which I smote himself, in the midst of his
tiger-like wrath, into the helplessness of a sick man’s swoon! Can the
instrument at this distance still control him; if now meditating evil,
disarm and disable his purpose?” Involuntarily, as I revolved these
ideas, I stretched forth the wand, with a concentred energy of desire
that its influence should reach Margrave and command him. And since I
knew not his whereabout, yet was vaguely aware that, according to any
conceivable theory by which the wand could be supposed to carry its
imagined virtues to definite goals in distant space, it should be
pointed in the direction of the object it was intended to affect, so I
slowly moved the wand as if describing a circle; and thus, in some point
of the circle--east, west, north, or south--the direction could not fail
to be true. Before I had performed half the circle, the wand of itself
stopped, resisting palpably the movement of my hand to impel it onward.
Had it, then, found the point to which my will was guiding it, obeying
my will by some magnetic sympathy never yet comprehended by any
recognized science? I know not; but I had not held it thus fixed for
many seconds, before a cold air, well remembered, passed by me, stirring
the roots of my hair; and, reflected against the opposite wall, stood
the hateful Scin-Laeca. The Shadow was dimmer in its light than when
before beheld, and the outline of the features was less distinct; still
it was the unmistakable lemur, or image, of Margrave.
And a voice was conveyed to my senses, saying, as from a great distance,
and in weary yet angry accents,
“You have summoned me? Wherefore?”
I overcame the startled shudder with which, at first, I beheld the
Shadow and heard the Voice.
“I summoned you not,” said I; “I sought but to impose upon you my will,
that you should persecute, with your ghastly influences, me and mine
no more. And now, by whatever authority this wand bestows on me, I so
abjure and command you!”
I thought there was a sneer of disdain on the lip through which the
answer seemed to come,--
“Vain and ignorant, it is but a shadow you command. My body you have
cast into a sleep, and it knows not that the shadow is here; nor, when
it wakes, will the brain be aware of one reminiscence of the words that
you utter or the words that you hear.”
“What, then, is this shadow that simulates the body? Is it that which in
popular language is called the soul?”
“It is not: soul is no shadow.”
“What then?”
“Ask not me. Use the wand to invoke Intelligences higher than mine.”
“And how?”
“I will tell you not. Of yourself you may learn, if you guide the wand
by your own pride of will and desire; but in the hands of him who has
learned not the art, the wand has its dangers. Again I say you have
summoned me! Wherefore?”
“Lying shade, I summoned thee not.”
“So wouldst thou say to the demons, did they come in their terrible
wrath, when the bungler, who knows not the springs that he moves, calls
them up unawares, and can neither control nor dispel. Less revengeful
than they, I leave thee unharmed, and depart.”
“Stay. If, as thou sayest, no command I address to thee--to thee, who
art only the image or shadow--can have effect on the body and mind of
the being whose likeness thou art, still thou canst tell me what passes
now in his brain. Does it now harbour schemes against me through the
woman I love? Answer truly.”
“I reply for the sleeper, of whom I am more than a likeness, though only
the shadow. His thought speaks thus: ‘I know, Allen Fenwick, that in
thee is the agent I need for achieving the end that I seek. Through the
woman thou lovest, I hope to subject thee. A grief that will harrow thy
heart is at hand; when that grief shall befall, thou wilt welcome my
coming. In me alone thy hope will be placed; through me alone wilt thou
seek a path out of thy sorrow. I shall ask my conditions: they will make
thee my tool and my slave!’”
The shadow waned,--it was gone. I did not seek to detain it, nor, had I
sought, could I have known by what process. But a new idea now possessed
me. This shadow, then, that had once so appalled and controlled me,
was, by its own confession, nothing more than a shadow! It had spoken of
higher Intelligences; from them I might learn what the Shadow could
not reveal. As I still held the wand firmer and firmer in my grasp, my
thoughts grew haughtier and bolder. Could the wand, then, bring those
loftier beings thus darkly referred to before me? With that thought,
intense and engrossing, I guided the wand towards the space, opening
boundless and blue from the casement that let in the skies. The wand no
longer resisted my hand.
In a few moments I felt the floors of the room vibrate; the air was
darkened; a vaporous, hazy cloud seemed to rise from the ground without
the casement; an awe, infinitely more deep and solemn than that which
the Scin-Laeca had caused in its earliest apparition, curdled through my
veins, and stilled the very beat of my heart.
At that moment I heard, without, the voice of Lilian, singing a simple,
sacred song which I had learned at my mother’s knees, and taught to her
the day before: singing low, and as with a warning angel’s voice. By an
irresistible impulse I dashed the wand to the ground, and bowed my head
as I had bowed it when my infant mind comprehended, without an effort,
mysteries more solemn than those which perplexed me now. Slowly I raised
my eyes, and looked round; the vaporous, hazy cloud had passed away, or
melted into the ambient rose-tints amidst which the sun had sunk.
Then, by one of those common reactions from a period of overstrained
excitement, there succeeded to that sentiment of arrogance and daring
with which these wild, half-conscious invocations had been fostered and
sustained, a profound humility, a warning fear.
“What!” said I, inly, “have all those sound resolutions, which my reason
founded on the wise talk of Julius Faber, melted away in the wrack of
haggard, dissolving fancies! Is this my boasted intellect, my vaunted
science! I--I, Allen Fenwick, not only the credulous believer, but the
blundering practitioner, of an evil magic! Grant what may be possible,
however uncomprehended,--grant that in this accursed instrument of
antique superstition there be some real powers--chemical, magnetic, no
matter what--by which the imagination can be aroused, inflamed, deluded,
so that it shapes the things I have seen, speaks in the tones I have
heard,--grant this, shall I keep ever ready, at the caprice of will, a
constant tempter to steal away my reason and fool my senses? Or if,
on the other hand, I force my sense to admit what all sober men must
reject; if I unschool myself to believe that in what I have just
experienced there is no mental illusion; that sorcery is a fact, and a
demon world has gates which open to a key that a mortal can forge,--who
but a saint would not shrink from the practice of powers by which each
passing thought of ill might find in a fiend its abettor? In either
case--in any case--while I keep this direful relic of obsolete arts, I
am haunted,--cheated out of my senses, unfitted for the uses of life.
If, as my ear or my fancy informs me, grief--human grief--is about to
befall me, shall I, in the sting of impatient sorrow, have recourse to
an aid which, the same voice declares, will reduce me to a tool and
a slave,--tool and slave to a being I dread as a foe? Out on these
nightmares! and away with the thing that bewitches the brain to conceive
them!”
I rose; I took up the wand, holding it so that its hollow should not
rest on the palm of the hand. I stole from the house by the back way,
in order to avoid Lilian, whose voice I still heard, singing low, on
the lawn in front. I came to a creek, to the bank of which a boat
was moored, undid its chain, rowed on to a deep part of the lake, and
dropped the wand into its waves. It sank at once; scarcely a ripple
furrowed the surface, not a bubble arose from the deep. And, as the boat
glided on, the star mirrored itself on the spot where the placid waters
had closed over the tempter to evil.
Light at heart, I sprang again on the shore, and hastening to Lilian,
where she stood on the silvered, shining sward, clasped her to my
breast.
“Spirit of my life!” I murmured, “no enchantments for me but thine!
Thine are the spells by which creation is beautified, and, in that
beauty, hallowed. What though we can see not into the measureless future
from the verge of the moment; what though sorrow may smite us while we
are dreaming of bliss, let the future not rob me of thee, and a balm
will be found for each wound! Love me ever as now, oh, my Lilian; troth
to troth, side by side, till the grave!”
“And beyond the grave,” answered Lilian, softly.