I had no idea of the intensity of my own nature until the deeps were
stirred. Few of us ever come to a full realization of what we are, or
may become. I have always thought with some degree of pride that my
acquaintance with myself was perfect. More than that, I was positive
that my ego was entirely subservient to my will. So it always has been
until now. But the reason for this is that I have lived upon the crust
of life, have walked calmly and confidently upon the tops of things. It
is indeed a poor sort of fool who does not know himself in his relations
to the superficialities of his daily existence. How satisfied I was! How
willing to meet emergencies and demands, in the full faith that I could
cope with all such. I do not think I am an exception to my fellow
creatures in this. All men whose natures are well rounded and adjusted
have this same idea. It is essential to their progress. We must perforce
believe in our own abilities before we can perform any achievements. So
I am not ashamed to write these words. I have never been conceited, nor
puffed up. I have had no cause to be, but I don't believe I would have
been had I reasons--or what silly people give as reasons, for really
there is never any justification for such a mental attitude.
Neither am I ashamed to say that I have descended into hell. At first
sight it may seem weakness, but upon investigation it will be found the
reverse is true. I did not take the plunge voluntarily, although my
perhaps foolish adherence to a Quixotic theory undoubtedly had a deal to
do with precipitating me downward. From the fact that my feet have
strayed along the gloomy, thorn-set paths of hell for the past week, I
have awakened to a newer and truer knowledge of myself. Had my feelings
been on the surface only, the past seven days would have found me
philosophically plodding through the forest recesses in search of my
mystical life-plant, or busily engaged in my garden, or curled up in an
easy chair reading one of my favorites. Not one of these natural things
have I done, for the simple reason that I have been a dweller in hell
instead, and in this grim demesne there is neither life-plant, garden
nor books. But there is torture, in exquisite variety. The world-worn
and cynical may sniff and declare that a man beyond thirty should have
passed this sentimental, simpering age. I don't know how that may be. I
cannot answer. I can only set down that which befell me, and I choose to
regard as strength, rather than weakness, that quality which has enabled
me to suffer like unto a damned soul. Surely if any doubt ever flickered
on the horizon of my conscience, that doubt has been swept away and
annihilated utterly. I am possessed by a legion of devils which escort
me hourly on my way; grinning, fiendish, sleepless devils which leap
about my feet with gibe and curse, and dance upon my pillow in a fiery
saraband when I fain would forget in sleep. Sleep! When did I sleep?
Sunday night? No, God's mercy! Sunday night I wandered bareheaded,
coatless, for miles and miles, hour after hour. I did not choose my way.
I did not even take the road leading down from the plateau. I think I
must have eaten something mechanically, then came out of the Lodge whose
walls were shutting off my breath, and made straight for the closest
point of descent. It was near the lone pine, between cedar bushes which
ruthlessly scratched my unheeding face. Here the declivity was steep and
rough. Had I been moving in the world I never would have taken it, but
in hell one cannot choose his path. I went down. I fell. I collided
roughly with the trunks of trees. I tripped, I stumbled, I cursed, and
went on. I came to a cliff. It sank sheer, and below was darkness. I lay
down, rolled my body over, hung by my hands, and dropped. I knew not,
neither cared, where I might alight. I splashed into a shallow pool not
over six feet beneath. Then came leagues after leagues of tireless
walking. I noted neither distance nor time. At last I burst out upon a
huge, flat rock, overhanging a valley of majestic length and breadth. A
gibbous moon brightened the sky and silvered the slopes about me. Then
for a few moments I was on earth again, brought back by the magical
beauty of the scene. But my respite was indeed brief. The black gulf of
perdition closed over me again as the merciless hand of Fate twisted
anew the iron in my soul, and I turned away from that glimpse of the
earth with my teeth chattering. How far had I strayed? Heaven knows. But
it was past midday when I again sighted that sentinel-like peak beneath
which I shelter.
The next night I sat face to face with the devil through the long,
lonely, hideous hours. Ah! but he is a specious rogue! There never was a
tongue on earth like unto his. But I met his arguments with a sort of
bulldog, mean combativeness. So we talked back and forth, out there, in
front of the Lodge. I occupied one bench, he the other, and our meeting
was gruesome. How full he was of guile, sleek insinuation, plausible
persuasion. At first his method was violent--but I shall tell first of
how the encounter happened.
After a pretense at supper I clutched my cold pipe for company and crept
out to the seat. I did not light up. Burning tobacco makes for solace at
most times, but I knew my erstwhile cherished weed would be an affront
to my taste and a stench in my nostrils that night. And as I sat, humped
over and almost a-shiver because of the powerful emotions which had been
racking me for forty-eight hours, and more, thinking of all I had lost,
the Prince of Demons leaped full armed upon me, all unexpectedly, and
his assault was fierce. At first I crouched under it sinisterly, as a
man will when an evil takes him unawares. But another moment my heart
and mind and soul had arisen simultaneously to my rescue, and together
we fought a good fight. I doubt me if many unwritten battles were harder
contested. Thus, beneath the stubborn resistance of my staunch and
faithful allies, the Enemy's violence abated. But presently I knew that
he had changed his tactics only, and had not withdrawn. For there he
crouched on the bench just across from me, apparently unhurt, while I
realized with much sadness and shame that each of my champions bore
marks of the conflict. I remained silent, hoping my unwelcome visitor
would depart, but instead he began now to leer and smirk at me
ingratiatingly.
"What do you want?" I asked, surlily enough, for my spirit was sore
within me, and this presence was most distasteful.