MY STRANGE DEPARTURE.
The next morning brought me two letters; one from Mrs. Everard, telling
me that she and the Colonel had resolved on coming to Paris.
"All the nice people are going away from here," she wrote. "Madame
Didier and her husband have started for Naples; and, to crown our
lonesomeness, Raffaello Cellini packed up all his traps, and left us
yesterday morning en route for Rome. The weather continues to be
delicious; but as you seem to be getting on so well in Paris, in spite
of the cold there, we have made up our minds to join you, the more
especially as I want to renovate my wardrobe. We shall go straight to
the Grand Hotel; and I am writing to Mrs. Challoner by this post,
asking her to get us rooms. We are so glad you are feeling nearly
recovered--of course, you must not leave your physician till you are
quite ready. At any rate, we shall not arrive till the end of next
week."
I began to calculate. During that strange interview in the chapel,
Heliobas had said that in eight days more I should be strong enough to
undergo the transmigration he had promised to effect upon me. Those
eight days were now completed on this very morning. I was glad of this;
for I did not care to see Mrs. Everard or anyone till the experiment
was over. The other letter I received was from Mrs. Challoner, who
asked me to give an "Improvisation" at the Grand Hotel that day
fortnight.
When I went down to breakfast, I mentioned both these letters, and
said, addressing myself to Heliobas:
"Is it not rather a sudden freak of Raffaello Cellini's to leave
Cannes? We all thought he was settled for the winter there. Did you
know he was going to Rome?"
"Yes," replied Heliobas, as he stirred his coffee abstractedly. "I knew
he was going there some day this month; his presence is required there
on business."
"And are you going to give the Improvisation this Mrs. Challoner asks
you for?" inquired Zara.
I glanced at Heliobas. He answered for me.
"I should certainly give it if I were you," he said quietly: "there
will be nothing to prevent your doing so at the date named."
I was relieved. I had not been altogether able to divest myself of the
idea that I might possibly never come out alive from the electric
trance to which I had certainly consented; and this assurance on the
part of Heliobas was undoubtedly comforting. We were all very silent
that morning; we all wore grave and preoccupied expressions. Zara was
very pale, and appeared lost in thought. Heliobas, too, looked slightly
careworn, as though he had been up all night, engaged in some
brain-exhausting labour. No mention was made of Prince Ivan; we avoided
his name by a sort of secret mutual understanding. When the breakfast
was over, I looked with a fearless smile at the calm face of Heliobas,
which appeared nobler and more dignified than ever with that slight
touch of sadness upon it, and said softly:
"The eight days are accomplished!"
He met my gaze fully, with a steady and serious observation of my
features, and replied:
"My child, I am aware of it. I expect you in my private room at noon.
In the meantime speak to no one--not even to Zara; read no books; touch
no note of music. The chapel has been prepared for you; go there and
pray. When you see a small point of light touch the extreme edge of the
cross upon the altar, it will be twelve o'clock, and you will then come
to me."
With these words, uttered in a grave and earnest tone, he left me. A
sensation of sudden awe stole upon me. I looked at Zara. She laid her
finger on her lips and smiled, enjoining silence; then drawing my hand
close within her own, she led me to the door of the chapel. There she
took a soft veil of some white transparent fabric, and flung it over
me, embracing and kissing me tenderly as she did so, but uttering no
word. Taking my hand again, she entered the chapel with me, and
accompanied me through what seemed a blaze of light and colour to the
high altar, before which was placed a prie-dieu of crimson velvet.
Motioning me to kneel, she kissed me once more through the filmy veil
that covered me from head to foot; then turning noiselessly away she
disappeared, and I heard the heavy oaken door close behind her. Left
alone, I was able to quietly take note of everything around me. The
altar before which I knelt was ablaze with lighted candles, and a
wealth of the purest white flowers decorated it, mingling their
delicious fragrance with the faintly perceptible odour of incense. On
all sides of the chapel, in every little niche, and at every shrine,
tapers were burning like fireflies in a summer twilight. At the foot of
the large crucifix, which occupied a somewhat shadowy corner, lay a
wreath of magnificent crimson roses. It would seem as though some high
festival were about to be celebrated, and I gazed around me with a
beating heart, half expecting some invisible touch to awaken the notes
of the organ and a chorus of spirit-voices to respond with the "Gloria
in excelsis Deo!" But there was silence--absolute, beautiful, restful
silence. I strove to collect my thoughts, and turning my eyes towards
the jewelled cross that surmounted the high altar, I clasped my hands,
and began to wonder how and for what I should pray. Suddenly the idea
struck me that surely it was selfish to ask Heaven for anything; would
it not be better to reflect on all that had already been given to me,
and to offer up thanks? Scarcely had this thought entered my mind when
a sort of overwhelming sense of unworthiness came over me. Had I ever
been unhappy? I wondered. If so, why? I began to count up my blessings
and compare them with my misfortunes. Exhausted pleasure-seekers may be
surprised to hear that I proved the joys of my life to have far
exceeded my sorrows. I found that I had sight, hearing, youth, sound
limbs, an appreciation of the beautiful in art and nature, and an
intense power of enjoyment. For all these things, impossible of
purchase by mere wealth, should I not give thanks? For every golden ray
of sunshine, for every flower that blooms, for the harmonies of the
wind and sea, for the singing of birds and the shadows of trees, should
I not--should we not all give thanks? For is there any human sorrow so
great that the blessing of mere daylight on the earth does not far
exceed? We mortals are spoilt and petted children--the more gifts we
have the more we crave; and when we burn or wound ourselves by our own
obstinacy or carelessness, we are ungratefully prone to blame the
Supreme Benefactor for our own faults. We don black mourning robes as a
sort of sombre protest against Him for having removed some special
object of our choice and love, whereas, if we believed in Him and were
grateful to Him, we should wear dazzling white in sign of rejoicing
that our treasure is safe in the land of perfect joy where we ourselves
desire to be. Do we suffer from illness, loss of money, position, or
friends, we rail against Fate--another name for God--and complain like
babes who have broken their toys; yet the sun shines on, the seasons
come and go, the lovely panorama of Nature unrolls itself all for our
benefit, while we murmur and fret and turn our eyes away in anger.
Thinking of these things and kneeling before the altar, my heart became
filled with gratitude; and no petition suggested itself to me save one,
and that was, "Let me believe and love!" I thought of the fair, strong,
stately figure of Christ, standing out in the world's history, like a
statue of pure white marble against a dark background; I mused on the
endurance, patience, forgiveness, and perfect innocence of that most
spotless life which was finished on the cross, and again I murmured,
"Let me believe and love!" And I became so absorbed in meditation that
the time fled fast, till a sudden sparkle of flame flashing across the
altar-steps caused me to look up. The jewelled cross had become a cross
of fire. The point of light I had been, told to watch for had not only
touched the extreme edge, but had crept down among all the precious
stones and lit them up like stars. I afterwards learned that this
effect was produced by means of a thin, electric wire, which,
communicating with a timepiece constructed on the same system,
illuminated the cross at sunrise, noon, and sunset. It was time for me
to join Heliobas. I rose gently, and left the chapel with a quiet and
reverent step, for I have always thought that to manifest hurry and
impatience in any place set apart for the worship of the Creator is to
prove yourself one of the unworthiest things created. Once outside the
door I laid aside my veil, and then, with a perfectly composed and
fearless mind, went straight to the Electrician's study. I shall never
forget the intense quiet of the house that morning. The very fountain
in the hall seemed to tinkle in a sort of subdued whisper. I found
Heliobas seated at his table, reading. How my dream came vividly back
to me, as I saw him in that attitude! I felt that I knew what he was
reading. He looked up as I entered, and greeted me with a kindly yet
grave smile. I broke silence abruptly.
"Your book is open," I said, "at a passage commencing thus: 'The
universe is upheld solely by the Law of Love. A majestic invisible
Protectorate governs the winds, the tides.' Is it not so?"
"It is so," returned Heliobas. "Are you acquainted with the book?"
"Only through the dream I had of you at Cannes," I answered. "I do
think Signor Cellini had some power over me."
"Of course he had in your then weak state. But now that you are as
strong as he is, he could not influence you at all. Let us be brief in
our converse, my child. I have a few serious things to say to you
before you leave me, on your celestial journey."
I trembled slightly, but took the chair he pointed out to me--a large
easy-chair in which one could recline and sleep.
"Listen," continued Heliobas; "I told you, when you first came here,
that whatever I might do to restore you to health, you would have it in
your power to repay me amply. You ARE restored to health; will you give
me my reward?"
"I would and will do anything to prove my gratitude to you," I said
earnestly. "Only tell me how."
"You are aware," he went on, "of my theories respecting the Electric
Spirit or Soul in Man. It is progressive, as I have told you--it begins
as a germ--it goes on increasing in power and beauty for ever, till it
is great and pure enough to enter the last of all worlds--God's World.
But there are sometimes hindrances to its progression--obstacles in its
path, which cause it to recoil and retire a long way back--so far back
occasionally that it has to commence its journey over again. Now, by my
earnest researches, I am able to study and watch the progress of my own
inner force or soul. So far, all has been well--prayerfully and humbly
I may say I believe all has been well. But I foresee an approaching
shadow--a difficulty--a danger--which, if it cannot be repelled or
passed in some way, threatens to violently push back my advancing
spiritual nature, so that, with much grief and pain, I shall have to
re-commence the work that I had hoped was done. I cannot, with all my
best effort, discover WHAT this darkening obstacle is--but YOU, yes,
YOU"--for I had started up in surprise--"you, when you are lifted up
high enough to behold these things, may, being perfectly unselfish in
this research, attain to the knowledge of it and explain it to me, when
you return. In trying to probe the secret for myself, it is of course
purely for my own interest; and nothing clear, nothing satisfactory can
be spiritually obtained, in which selfishness has ever so slight a
share. You, if indeed I deserve your gratitude for the aid I have given
you--you will be able to search out the matter more certainly, being in
the position of one soul working for another. Still, I cannot compel
you to do this for me--I only ask, WILL you?"
His entreating and anxious tone touched me keenly; but I was amazed and
perplexed, and could not yet realize what strange thing was going to
happen to me. But whatever occurred I was resolved to give a ready
consent to his request, therefore I said firmly:
"I will do my best, I promise you. Remember that I do not know, I
cannot even guess where I am going, or what strange sensations will
overcome me; but if I am permitted to have any recollection of earth at
all, I will try to find out what you ask."
Heliobas seemed satisfied, and rising from his chair, unlocked a
heavily-bound iron safe. From this he took a glass flask of a strange,
ever-moving, glittering fluid, the same in appearance as that which
Raffaello Cellini had forbidden me to drink. He then paused and looked
searchingly at me.
"Tell me," he said in an authoritative tone, "tell me WHY you wish to
see what to mortals is unseen? What motive have you? What ulterior
plan?"
I hesitated. Then I gathered my strength together and answered
decisively:
"I desire to know why this world, this universe exists; and also wish
to prove, if possible, the truth and necessity of religion. And I think
I would give my life, if it were worth anything, to be certain of the
truth of Christianity."
Heliobas gazed in my face with a sort of half-pity, half-censure.
"You have a daring aim," he said slowly, "and you are a bold seeker.
But shame, repentance and sorrow await you where you are going, as well
as rapture and amazement. '_I_ WOULD GIVE MY LIFE IF IT WERE WORTH
ANYTHING.' That utterance has saved you--otherwise to soar into an
unexplored wilderness of spheres, weighted by your own doubts and
guided solely by your own wild desires, would be a fruitless journey."
I felt abashed as I met his steady, scrutinizing eyes.
"Surely it is well to wish to know the reason of things?" I asked, with
some timidity.
"The desire of knowledge is a great virtue, certainly," he replied; "it
is not truly felt by one in a thousand. Most persons are content to
live and die, absorbed in their own petty commonplace affairs, without
troubling themselves as to the reasons of their existence. Yet it is
almost better, like these, to wallow in blind ignorance than wantonly
to doubt the Creator because He is unseen, or to put a self-opinionated
construction on His mysteries because He chooses to veil them from our
eyes."
"I do not doubt!" I exclaimed earnestly. "I only want to make sure, and
then perhaps I may persuade others."
"You can never compel faith," said Heliobas calmly. "You are going to
see wonderful things that no tongue or pen can adequately describe.
Well, when you return to earth again, do you suppose you can make
people believe the story of your experiences? Never! Be thankful if you
are the possessor of a secret joy yourself, and do not attempt to
impart it to others, who will only repel and mock you."
"Not even to one other?" I asked hesitatingly.
A warm, kindly smile seemed to illuminate his face as I put this
question.
"Yes, to one other, the other half of yourself--you may tell all
things," he said. "But now, no more converse. If you are quite ready,
drink this."
He held out to me a small tumbler filled with the sparkling volatile
liquid he had poured from the flask. For one moment my courage almost
forsook me, and an icy shiver ran through my veins. Then I bethought
myself of all my boasted bravery; was it possible that I should fail
now at this critical moment? I allowed myself no more time for
reflection, but took the glass from his hand and drained its contents
to the last drop. It was tasteless, but sparkling and warm on the
tongue. Scarcely had I swallowed it, when a curiously light, dizzy
sensation overcame me, and the figure of Heliobas standing before me
seemed to assume gigantic proportions. I saw his hands extend--his
eyes, like lamps of electric flame, burned through and through me--and
like a distant echo, I heard the deep vibrating tones of his voice
uttering the following words:
"Azul! Azul! Lift up this light and daring spirit unto thyself; be its
pioneer upon the path it must pursue; suffer it to float untrammelled
through the wide and glorious Continents of Air; give it form and force
to alight on any of the vast and beautiful spheres it may desire to
behold; and if worthy, permit it to gaze, if only for a brief interval,
upon the supreme vision of the First and Last of worlds. By the force
thou givest unto me, I free this soul; do thou, Azul, quickly receive
it!"
A dense darkness now grew thickly around me---I lost all power over my
limbs--I felt myself being lifted up forcibly and rapidly, up, up, into
some illimitable, terrible space of blackness and nothingness. I could
not think, move, or cry out--I could only feel that I was rising,
rising, steadily, swiftly, breathlessly ... when suddenly a long
quivering flash of radiance, like the fragment of a rainbow, struck
dazzlingly across my sight. Darkness? What had I to do with darkness? I
knew not the word--I was only conscious of light--light exquisitely
pure and brilliant--light through which I stepped as easily as a bird
flies in air. Perfectly awake to my sensations, I felt somehow that
there was nothing remarkable in them--I seemed to be at home in some
familiar element. Delicate hands held mine--a face far lovelier than
the loveliest face of woman ever dreamed by poet or painter, smiled
radiantly at me, and I smiled back again. A voice whispered in strange
musical murmurs, such as I well seemed to know and comprehend:
"Gaze behind thee ere the picture fades."
I obeyed, half reluctantly, and saw as a passing shadow in a glass, or
a sort of blurred miniature painting, the room where Heliobas stood,
watching some strange imperfect shape, which I seemed faintly to
recognise. It looked like a small cast in clay, very badly executed, of
the shape I at present wore; but it was incomplete, as though the
sculptor had given it up as a failure and gone away, leaving it
unfinished.
"Did I dwell in that body?" I mused to myself, as I felt the perfection
of my then state of being. "How came I shut in such a prison? How poor
a form--how destitute of faculties--how full of infirmities--how
limited in capabilities--how narrow in all intelligence--how
ignorant--how mean!"
And I turned for relief to the shining companion who held me, and
obeying an impulse suddenly imparted, I felt myself floating higher and
higher till the last limits of the atmosphere surrounding the Earth
were passed, and fields of pure and cloudless ether extended before us.
Here we met myriads of creatures like ourselves, all hastening in
various directions--all lovely and radiant as a dream of the fairies.
Some of these beings were quite tiny and delicate--some of lofty
stature and glorious appearance: their forms were human, yet so
refined, improved, and perfected, that they were unlike, while so like
humanity.
"Askest thou nothing?" whispered the voice beside me.
"Tell me," I answered, "what I must know."
"These spirits that we behold," went on the voice, "are the guardians
of all the inhabitants of all the planets. Their labours are those of
love and penitence. Their work is to draw other souls to God--to
attract them by warnings, by pleading, by praying. They have all worn
the garb of mortality themselves, and they teach mortals by their own
experience. For these radiant creatures are expiating sins of their own
in thus striving to save others--the oftener they succeed the nearer
they approach to Heaven. This is what is vaguely understood on your
earth as purgatory; the sufferings of spirits who love and long for the
presence of their Creator, and who yet are not pure enough to approach
Him. Only by serving and saving others can they obtain at last their
own joy. Every act of ingratitude and forgetfulness and wickedness
committed by a mortal, detains one or another of these patient workers
longer away from Heaven--imagine then what a weary while many of them
have to wait."
I made no answer, and we floated on. Higher and higher--higher and
higher--till at last my guide, whom I knew to be that being whom
Heliobas had called Azul, bade me pause. We were floating close
together in what seemed a sea of translucent light. From this point I
could learn something of the mighty workings of the Universe. I gazed
upon countless solar systems, that like wheels within wheels revolved
with such rapidity that they seemed all one wheel. I saw planets whirl
around and around with breathless swiftness, like glittering balls
flung through the air--burning comets flared fiercely past like torches
of alarm for God's wars against Evil--a marvellous procession of
indescribable wonders sweeping on for ever in circles, grand, huge, and
immeasurable. And as I watched the superb pageant, I was not startled
or confused--I looked upon it as anyone might look on any quiet
landscape scene in what we know of Nature. I scarcely could perceive
the Earth from whence I had come--so tiny a speck was it--nothing but a
mere pin's point in the burning whirl of immensities. I felt, however,
perfectly conscious of a superior force in myself to all these enormous
forces around me--I knew without needing any explanation that I was
formed of an indestructible essence, and that were all these stars and
systems suddenly to end in one fell burst of brilliant horror, I should
still exist--I should know and remember and feel--should be able to
watch the birth of a new Universe, and take my part in its growth and
design.
"Remind me why these wonders exist," I said, turning to my guide, and
speaking in those dulcet sounds which were like music and yet like
speech; "and why amid them all the Earth is believed by its inhabitants
to have merited destruction, and yet to have been found worthy of
redemption?"
"Thy last question shall be answered first," replied Azul. "Seest thou
yonder planet circled with a ring? It is known to the dwellers on
Earth, of whom when in clay thou art one, as Saturn. Descend with me!"
And in a breath of time we floated downwards and alighted on a broad
and beautiful plain, where flowers of strange shape and colour grew in
profusion. Here we were met by creatures of lofty stature and dazzling
beauty, human in shape, yet angelic in countenance. They knelt to us
with reverence and joy, and then passed on to their toil or pleasure,
whichever invited them, and I looked to Azul for explanation.
"To these children of the Creator," said that radiant guide, "is
granted the ability to see and to converse with the spirits of the air.
They know them and love them, and implore their protection. In this
planet sickness and old age are unknown, and death comes as a quiet
sleep. The period of existence is about two hundred years, according to
the Earth's standard of time; and the process of decay is no more
unlovely than the gentle withering of roses. The influence of the
electric belt around their world is a bar to pestilence and disease,
and scatters health with light. All sciences, arts, and inventions
known on Earth are known here, only to greater perfection. The three
important differences between the inhabitants of this planet and those
who dwell on Earth are these: first they have no rulers in authority,
as each one perfectly governs himself; second, they do not marry, as
the law of attraction which draws together any two of opposite sexes,
holds them fast in inviolable fidelity; thirdly, there is no creature
in all the immensity of this magnificent sphere who has ever doubted,
or who ever will doubt, the existence of the Creator."
A thrill of fiery shame seemed to dart through my spiritual being as I
heard this, and I made no answer. Some fairy-like little creatures, the
children of the Saturnites, as I supposed, here came running towards us
and knelt down, reverently clasping their hands in prayer. They then
gathered flowers and flung them on that portion of ground where we
stood, and gazed at us fearlessly and lovingly, as they might have
gazed at some rare bird or butterfly.
Azul signed to me, and we rose while yet in their sight, and soaring
through the radiance of the ring, which was like a sun woven into a
circle, we soon left Saturn far behind us, and alighted on Venus. Here
seas, mountains, forests, lakes, and meadows were one vast garden, in
which the bloom and verdure of all worlds seemed to find a home. Here
were realized the dreams of sculptors and painters, in the graceful
forms and exquisite faces of the women, and the splendid strength and
godlike beauty of the men. A brief glance was sufficient to show me
that the moving spring of all the civilization of this radiant planet
was the love of Nature and Art united. There were no wars--for there
were no different nations. All the inhabitants were like one vast
family; they worked for one another, and vied with each other in paying
homage to those of the loftiest genius among them. They had one supreme
Monarch to whom they all rendered glad obedience; and he was a Poet,
ready to sacrifice his throne with joy as soon as his people should
discover a greater than he. For they all loved not the artist but the
Art; and selfishness was a vice unknown. Here, none loved or were
wedded save those who had spiritual sympathies, and here, too, no
creature existed who did not believe in and worship the Creator. The
same state of things existed in Jupiter, the planet we next visited,
where everything was performed by electricity. Here persons living
hundreds of miles apart could yet converse together with perfect ease
through an electric medium; ships ploughed the seas by electricity;
printing, an art of which the dwellers on Earth are so proud, was
accomplished by electricity--in fact, everything in the way of science,
art, and invention known to us was also known in Jupiter, only to
greater perfection, because tempered and strengthened by an electric
force which never failed. From Jupiter, Azul guided me to many other
fair and splendid worlds--yet none of them were Paradise; all had some
slight drawback--some physical or spiritual ailment, as it were, which
had to be combated with and conquered. All the inhabitants of each star
longed for something they had not--something better, greater, and
higher--and therefore all had discontent. They could not realize their
best desires in the state of existence they then were, therefore they
all suffered disappointment. They were all compelled to work in some
way or another; they were all doomed to die. Yet, unlike the dwellers
on Earth, they did not, because their lives were more or less
constrained and painful, complain of or deny the goodness of God--on
the contrary, they believed in a future state which should be as
perfect as their present one was imperfect; and the chief aim and
object of all their labours was to become worthy of attaining that
final grand result--Eternal Happiness and Peace.
"Readest thou the lesson in these glowing spheres, teeming with life
and learning?" murmured Azul to me, as we soared swiftly on together.
"Know that not one smallest world in all the myriad systems circling
before thee, holds a single human creature who doubts his Maker. Not
one! except thine own doomed star! Behold it yonder--sparkling feebly,
like a faint flame amid sunshine--how poor a speck it is--how like a
scarcely visible point in all the brilliancy of the ever-revolving
wheel of Life! Yet there dwell the dwarfs of clay--the men and women
who pretend to love while they secretly hate and despise one another.
There, wealth is a god, and the greed of gain a virtue. There, genius
starves, and heroism dies unrewarded. There, faith is martyred, and
unbelief elected sovereign monarch of the people. There, the sublime,
unreachable mysteries of the Universe are haggled over by poor finite
minds who cannot call their lives their own. There, nation wars against
nation, creed against creed, soul against soul. Alas, fated planet! how
soon shalt thou be extinct, and thy place shall know thee no more!"
I gazed earnestly at my radiant guide. "If that is true," I said, "why
then should we have a legend that God, in the person of one called
Christ, came to die for so miserable and mean a race of beings?"
Azul answered not, but turned her luminous eyes upon me with a sort of
wide dazzling wonder. Some strange impelling force bore me onward, and
before I could realize it I was alone. Alone, in a vast area of light
through which I floated, serene and conscious of power. A sound falling
from a great height reached me; it was first like a grand organ-chord,
and then like a voice, trumpet-clear and far-echoing.
"Spirit that searchest for the Unseen," it said, "because I will not
that no atom of true worth should perish, unto thee shall be given a
vision--unto thee shall be taught a lesson thou dreamest not of. THOU
shalt create; THOU shalt design and plan; THOU shalt be worshipped, and
THOU shalt destroy! Rest therefore in the light and behold the things
that are in the light, for the tune cometh when all that seemeth clear
and visible now shall be but darkness. And they that love me not shall
have no place of abode in that hour!"
The voice ceased. Awed, yet consoled, I listened for it again. There
was no more sound. Around me was illimitable light--illimitable
silence. But a strange scene unfolded itself swiftly before me--a sort
of shifting dream that was a reality, yet so wonderfully unreal--a
vision that impressed itself on every portion of my intelligence; a
kind of spirit-drama in which I was forced to enact the chief part, and
where a mystery that I had deemed impenetrable was made perfectly clear
and simple of comprehension.