CONCLUSION.
It was a very simple and quiet procession that moved next day from the
Hotel Mars to Pere-la-Chaise. Zara's coffin was carried in an open
hearse, and was covered with a pall of rich white velvet, on which lay
a royal profusion of flowers--Ivan's wreath, and a magnificent cross of
lilies sent by tender-hearted Mrs. Challoner, being most conspicuous
among them. The only thing a little unusual about it was that the
funeral car was drawn by two stately WHITE horses; and Heliobas told me
this had been ordered at Zara's special request, as she thought the
solemn pacing through the streets of dismal black steeds had a
depressing effect on the passers-by.
"And why," she had said, "should anybody be sad, when _I_ in reality am
so thoroughly happy?"
Prince Ivan Petroffsky had left Paris, but his carriage, drawn by two
prancing Russian steeds, followed the hearse at a respectful distance,
as also the carriage of Dr. Morini, and some other private persons
known to Heliobas. A few people attended it on foot, and these were
chiefly from among the very poor, some of whom had benefited by Zara's
charity or her brother's medical skill, and had heard of the calamity
through rumour, or through the columns of the Figaro, where it was
reported with graphic brevity. The weather was still misty, and the
fiery sun seemed to shine through tears as Father Paul, with his
assistants, read in solemn yet cheerful tones the service for the dead
according to the Catholic ritual. One of the chief mourners at the
grave was the faithful Leo; who, without obtruding himself in anyone's
way, sat at a little distance, and seemed, by the confiding look with
which he turned his eyes upon his master, to thoroughly understand that
he must henceforth devote his life entirely to him alone. The coffin
was lowered, the "Requiem aeternam" spoken--all was over. Those
assembled shook hands quietly with Heliobas, saluted each other, and
gradually dispersed. I entered a carriage and drove back to the Hotel
Mars, leaving Heliobas in the cemetery to give his final instructions
for the ornamentation and decoration of his sister's grave.
The little page served me with some luncheon in my own apartment, and
by the time all was ready for my departure, Heliobas returned. I went
down to him in his study, and found him sitting pensively in his
arm-chair, absorbed in thought. He looked sad and solitary, and my
whole heart went out to him in gratitude and sympathy. I knelt beside
him as a daughter might have done, and softly kissed his hand.
He started as though awakened suddenly from sleep, and seeing me, his
eyes softened, and he smiled gravely.
"Are you come to say 'Good-bye,' my child?" he asked, in a kind tone.
"Well, your mission here is ended!"
"Had I any mission at all," I replied, with a grateful look, "save the
very selfish one which was comprised in the natural desire to be
restored to health?"
Heliobas surveyed me for a few moments in silence.
"Were I to tell you," he said at last, "by what mystical authority and
influence you were compelled to come here, by what a marvellously
linked chain of circumstances you became known to me long before I saw
you; how I was made aware that you were the only woman living to whose
companionship I could trust my sister at a time when the society of one
of her own sex became absolutely necessary to her; how you were marked
out to me as a small point of light by which possibly I might steer my
course clear of the darkness which threatened me--I say, were I to tell
you all this, you would no longer doubt the urgent need of your
presence here. It is, however, enough to tell you that you have
fulfilled all that was expected of you, even beyond my best hopes; and
in return for your services, the worth of which you cannot realize,
whatever guidance I can give you in the future for your physical and
spiritual life, is yours. I have done something for you, but not
much--I will do more. Only, in communicating with me, I ask you to
honour me with your full confidence in all matters pertaining to
yourself and your surroundings--then I shall not be liable to errors of
judgment in the opinions I form or the advice I give."
"I promise most readily," I replied gladly, for it seemed to me that I
was rich in possessing as a friend and counsellor such a man as this
student of the loftiest sciences.
"And now one thing more," he resumed, opening a drawer in the table
near which he sat. "Here is a pencil for you to write your letters to
me with. It will last about ten years, and at the expiration of that
time you can have another. Write with it on any paper, and the marks
will be like those of an ordinary drawing-pencil; but as fast as they
are written they disappear. Trouble not about this circumstance--write
all you have to say, and when you have finished your letter your
closely covered pages shall seem blank. Therefore, were the eye of a
stranger to look at them, nothing could be learned therefrom. But when
they reach me, I can make the writing appear and stand out on these
apparently unsullied pages as distinctly as though your words had been
printed. My letters to you will also, when you receive them, appear
blank; but you will only have to press them for about ten minutes in
this"--and he handed me what looked like an ordinary
blotting-book--"and they will be perfectly legible. Cellini has these
little writing implements; he uses them whenever the distances are too
great for us to amuse ourselves with the sagacity of Leo--in fact the
journeys of that faithful animal have principally been to keep him in
training."
"But," I said, as I took the pencil and book from his hand, "why do you
not make these convenient writing materials public property? They would
be so useful."
"Why should I build up a fortune for some needy stationer?" he asked,
with a half-smile. "Besides, they are not new things. They were known
to the ancients, and many secret letters, laws, histories, and poems
were written with instruments such as these. In an old library,
destroyed more than two centuries ago, there was a goodly pile of
apparently blank parchment. Had I lived then and known what I know now,
I could have made the white pages declare their mystery."
"Has this also to do with electricity?" I asked.
"Certainly--with what is called vegetable electricity. There is not a
plant or herb in existence, but has almost a miracle hidden away in its
tiny cup or spreading leaves--do you doubt it?"
"Not I!" I answered quickly. "I doubt nothing!"
Heliobas smiled gravely.
"You are right!" he said. "Doubt is the destroyer of beauty--the poison
in the sweet cup of existence--the curse which mankind have brought on
themselves. Avoid it as you would the plague. Believe in anything or
everything miraculous and glorious--the utmost reach of your faith can
with difficulty grasp the majestic reality and perfection of everything
you can see, desire, or imagine. Mistrust that volatile thing called
Human Reason, which is merely a name for whatever opinion we happen to
adopt for the time--it is a thing which totters on its throne in a fit
of rage or despair--there is nothing infinite about it. Guide yourself
by the delicate Spiritual Instinct within you, which tells you that
with God all things are possible, save that He cannot destroy Himself
or lessen by one spark the fiery brilliancy of his ever-widening circle
of productive Intelligence. But make no attempt to convert the world to
your way of thinking--it would be mere waste of time."
"May I never try to instruct anyone in these things?" I asked.
"You can try, if you choose; but you will find most human beings like
the herd of swine in the Gospel, possessed by devils that drive them
headlong into the sea. You know, for instance, that angels and aerial
spirits actually exist; but were you to assert your belief in them,
philosophers (so-called) would scout your theories as absurd,--though
their idea of a LONELY God, who yet is Love, is the very acme of
absurdity. For Love MUST have somewhat to love, and MUST create the
beauty and happiness round itself and the things beloved. But why point
out these simple things to those who have no desire to see? Be content,
child, that YOU have been deemed worthy of instruction--it is a higher
fate for you than if you had been made a Queen."
The little page now entered, and told me that the carriage was at the
door in waiting. As he disappeared again after delivering this message,
Heliobas rose from his chair, and taking my two hands in his, pressed
them kindly.
"One word more, little friend, on the subject of your career. I think
the time will come when you will feel that music is almost too sacred a
thing to be given away for money to a careless and promiscuous public.
However this may be, remember that scarce one of the self-styled
artists who cater for the crowd deserves to be called MUSICIAN in the
highest sense of the word. Most of them seek not music, but money and
applause; and therefore the art they profess is degraded by them into a
mere trade. But you, when you play in public, must forget that PERSONS
with little vanities and lesser opinions exist. Think of what you saw
in your journey with Azul; and by a strong effort of your will, you
can, if you choose, COMPEL certain harmonies to sound in your
ears--fragments of what is common breathing air to the Children of the
Ring, some of whom you saw--and you will be able to reproduce them in
part, if not in entirety. But if you once admit a thought of Self to
enter your brain, those aerial sounds will be silenced instantly. By
this means, too, you can judge who are the true disciples of music in
this world--those who, like Schubert and Chopin, suffered the
heaven-born melodies to descend THROUGH them as though they were mere
conductors of sound; or those who, feebly imitating other composers,
measure out crotchets and quavers by rule and line, and flood the world
with inane and perishable, and therefore useless, productions. And
now,--farewell."
"Do you remain in Paris?" I asked.
"For a few days only. I shall go to Egypt, and in travelling accustom
myself to the solitude in which I must dwell, now Zara has left me."
"You have Azul," I ventured to remark.
"Ah! but how often do I see her? Only when my soul for an instant is
clear from all earthly and gross obstruction; and how seldom I can
attain to this result while weighted with my body! But she is near
me--that I know--faithful as the star to the mariner's compass!"
He raised his head as he spoke, and his eyes flashed. Never had I seen
him look more noble or kingly. The inspired radiance of his face
softened down into his usual expression of gentleness and courtesy, and
he said, offering me his arm:
"Let me see you to the carriage. You know, it is not an actual parting
with us--I intend that we shall meet frequently. For instance, the next
time we exchange pleasant greetings will be in Italy."
I suppose I looked surprised; I certainly felt so, for nothing was
further from my thoughts than a visit to Italy.
Heliobas smiled, and said in a tone that was almost gay:
"Shall I draw the picture for you? I see a fair city, deep embowered in
hills and sheltered by olive-groves. Over it beams a broad sky, deeply
blue; many soft bells caress the summer air. Away in the Cascine Woods
a gay party of people are seated on the velvety moss; they have
mandolins, and they sing for pure gaiety of heart. One of them, a woman
with fair hair, arrayed in white, with a red rose at her bosom, is
gathering the wild flowers that bloom around her, and weaving them into
posies for her companions. A stranger, pacing slowly, book in hand,
through the shady avenue, sees her--her eyes meet his. She springs up
to greet him; he takes her hand. The woman is yourself; the stranger no
other than your poor friend, who now, for a brief space, takes leave of
you!"
So rapidly had he drawn up this picture, that the impression made on me
was as though a sudden vision had been shown to me in a magic glass. I
looked at him earnestly.
"Then our next meeting will be happy?" I said inquiringly.
"Of course. Why not? And the next--and the next after that also!" he
answered.
At this reply, so frankly given, I was relieved, and accompanied him
readily through the hall towards the street-door. Leo met us here, and
intimated, as plainly as a human being could have done, his wish to bid
me good-bye. I stooped and kissed his broad head and patted him
affectionately, and was rewarded for these attentions by seeing his
plume-like tail wave slowly to and fro--a sign of pleasure the poor
animal had not betrayed since Zara's departure from the scene of her
earthly imprisonment.
At the door the pretty Greek boy handed me a huge basket of the
loveliest flowers.
"The last from the conservatory," said Heliobas. "I shall need no more
of these luxuries."
As I entered the carriage he placed the flowers beside me, and again
took my hand.
"Good-bye, my child!" he said, in earnest and kindly tones. "I have
your address, and will write you all my movements. In any trouble,
small or great, of your own, send to me for advice without hesitation.
I can tell you already that I foresee the time when you will resign
altogether the precarious and unsatisfactory life of a mere
professional musician. You think no other career would be possible to
you? Well, you will see! A few months will decide all. Good-bye again;
God bless you!"
The carriage moved off, and Heliobas stood on the steps of his mansion
watching it out of sight. To the last I saw his stately figure erect in
the light of the winter sunshine--a figure destined from henceforth to
occupy a prominent position in my life and memory. The regret I felt at
parting from him was greatly mitigated by the assurance he gave me of
our future meeting, a promise which has since been fulfilled, and is
likely soon to be fulfilled again. That I have such a friend is an
advantageous circumstance for me, for through his guidance I am able to
judge accurately of many things occurring in the course of the daily
life around me--things which, seemingly trivial, are the hints of
serious results to come, which, I am thus permitted in part to foresee.
There is a drawback, of course, and the one bitter drop in the cup of
knowledge is, that the more I progress under the tuition of Heliobas,
the less am I deceived by graceful appearances. I perceive with almost
cruel suddenness the true characters of all those whom I meet. No smile
of lip or eye can delude me into accepting mere surface-matter for real
depth, and it is intensely painful for me to be forced to behold
hypocrisy in the expression of the apparently devout--sensuality in the
face of some radiantly beautiful and popular woman--vice under the mask
of virtue--self-interest in the guise of friendship, and spite and
malice springing up like a poisonous undergrowth beneath the words of
elegant flattery or dainty compliment. I often wish I could throw a
rose-coloured mist of illusion over all these things and still more
earnestly do I wish I could in a single instance find myself mistaken.
But alas! the fatal finger of the electric instinct within me points
out unerringly the flaw in every human diamond, and writes "SHAM"
across many a cunningly contrived imitation of intelligence and
goodness. Still, the grief I feel at this is counterbalanced in part by
the joy with which I quickly recognize real virtue, real nobility, real
love; and when these attributes flash out upon me from the faces of
human beings, my own soul warms, and I know I have seen a vision as of
angels. The capability of Heliobas to foretell future events proved
itself in his knowledge of the fate of the famous English hero, Gordon,
long before that brave soldier met his doom. At the time the English
Government sent him out on his last fatal mission, a letter from
Heliobas to me contained the following passage:
"I see Gordon has chosen his destiny and the manner of his death. Two
ways of dying have been offered him--one that is slow, painful, and
inglorious; the other sudden, and therefore sweeter to a man of his
temperament. He himself is perfectly aware of the approaching end of
his career; he will receive his release at Khartoum. England will
lament over him for a little while, and then he will be declared an
inspired madman, who rushed recklessly on his own doom; while those who
allowed him to be slain will be voted the wisest, the most just and
virtuous in the realm."
This prophecy was carried out to the letter, as I fully believe certain
things of which I am now informed will also be fulfilled. But though
there are persons who pin their faith on "Zadkiel," I doubt if there
are any who will believe in such a thing as ELECTRIC DIVINATION. The
one is mere vulgar imposture, the other is performed on a purely
scientific basis in accordance with certain existing rules and
principles; yet I think there can be no question as to which of the two
the public en masse is likely to prefer. On the whole, people do not
mind being deceived; they hate being instructed, and the trouble of
thinking for themselves is almost too much for them. Therefore
"Zadkiel" is certain to flourish for many and many a long day, while
the lightning instinct of prophecy dormant in every human being remains
unused and utterly forgotten except by the rare few.
* * * * *
I have little more to say. I feel that those among my readers who idly
turn over these pages, expecting to find a "NOVEL" in the true
acceptation of the term, may be disappointed. My narrative is simply an
"experience:" but I have no wish to persuade others of the central
truth contained in it--namely, THE EXISTENCE OF POWERFUL ELECTRIC
ORGANS IN EVERY HUMAN BEING, WHICH WITH PROPER CULTIVATION ARE CAPABLE
OF MARVELLOUS SPIRITUAL FORCE. The time is not yet ripe for this fact
to be accepted.
The persons connected with this story may be dismissed in a few words.
When I joined my friend Mrs. Everard, she was suffering from nervous
hysteria. My presence had the soothing effect Heliobas had assured me
of, and in a very few days we started from Paris in company for
England. She, with her amiable and accomplished husband, went back to
the States a few months since to claim an immense fortune, which they
are now enjoying as most Americans enjoy wealth. Amy has diamonds to
her heart's content, and toilettes galore from Worth's; but she has no
children, and from the tone of her letters to me, I fancy she would
part with one at least of her valuable necklaces to have a small pair
of chubby arms round her neck, and a soft little head nestling against
her bosom.
Raffaello Cellini still lives and works; his paintings are among the
marvels of modern Italy for their richness and warmth of colour--colour
which, in spite of his envious detractors, is destined to last through
ages. He is not very rich, for he is one of those who give away their
substance to the poor and the distressed; but where he is known he is
universally beloved. None of his pictures have yet been exhibited in
England, and he is in no hurry to call upon the London critics for
their judgment. He has been asked several times to sell his large
picture, "Lords of our Life and Death," but he will not. I have never
met him since our intercourse at Cannes, but I hear of him frequently
through Heliobas, who has recently forwarded me a proof engraving of
the picture "L'Improvisatrice," for which I sat as model. It is a
beautiful work of art, but that it is like ME I am not vain enough to
admit. I keep it, not as a portrait of myself, but as a souvenir of the
man through whose introduction I gained the best friend I have.
News of Prince Ivan Petroffsky reaches me frequently. He is possessor
of the immense wealth foretold by Heliobas; the eyes of Society
greedily follows his movements; his name figures conspicuously in the
"Fashionable Intelligence;" and the magnificence of his recent marriage
festivities was for some time the talk of the Continent. He has married
the only daughter of a French Duke--a lovely creature, as soulless and
heartless as a dressmaker's stuffed model; but she carries his jewels
well on her white bosom, and receives his guests with as much dignity
as a well-trained major-domo. These qualities suffice to satisfy her
husband at present; how long his satisfaction will last is another
matter. He has not quite forgotten Zara; for on every recurring Jour
des Morts, or Feast of the Dead, he sends a garland or cross of flowers
to the simple grave in Pere-la-Chaise. Heliobas watches his career with
untiring vigilance; nor can I myself avoid taking a certain interest in
the progress of his fate. At the moment I write he is one of the most
envied and popular noblemen in all the Royal Courts of Europe; and no
one thinks of asking him whether he is happy. He MUST be happy, says
the world; he has everything that is needed to make him so. Everything?
yes--all except one thing, for which he will long when the shadow of
the end draws near.
And now what else remains? A brief farewell to those who have perused
this narrative, or a lingering parting word?
In these days of haste and scramble, when there is no time for faith,
is there time for sentiment? I think not. And therefore there shall be
none between my readers and me, save this--a friendly warning.
Belief--belief in God--belief in all things noble, unworldly, lofty,
and beautiful, is rapidly being crushed underfoot by--what? By mere
lust of gain! Be sure, good people, be very sure that you are RIGHT in
denying God for the sake of man--in abjuring the spiritual for the
material--before you rush recklessly onward. The end for all of you can
be but death; and are you quite positive after all that there is NO
Hereafter? Is it sense to imagine that the immense machinery of the
Universe has been set in motion for nothing? Is it even common reason
to consider that the Soul of man, with all its high musings, its dreams
of unseen glory, its longings after the Infinite, is a mere useless
vapour, or a set of shifting molecules in a perishable brain? The mere
fact of the EXISTENCE OF A DESIRE clearly indicates an EQUALLY EXISTING
CAPACITY for the GRATIFICATION of that desire; therefore, I ask, would
the WISH for a future state of being, which is secretly felt by every
one of us, have been permitted to find a place in our natures, IF THERE
WERE NO POSSIBLE MEANS OF GRANTING IT? Why all this discontent with the
present--why all this universal complaint and despair and
world-weariness, if there be NO HEREAFTER? For my own part, I have told
you frankly WHAT I HAVE SEEN and WHAT I KNOW; but I do not ask you to
believe me. I only say, IF--IF you admit to yourselves the possibility
of a future and eternal state of existence, would it not be well for
you to inquire seriously how you are preparing for it in these wild
days? Look at society around you, and ask yourselves: Whither is our
"PROGRESS" tending--Forward or Backward--Upward or Downward? Which way?
Fight the problem out. Do not glance at it casually, or put it away as
an unpleasant thought, or a consideration involving too much
trouble--struggle with it bravely till you resolve it, and whatever the
answer may be, ABIDE BY IT. If it leads you to deny God and the
immortal destinies of your own souls, and you find hereafter, when it
is too late, that both God and immortality exist, you have only
yourselves to blame. We are the arbiters of our own fate, and that fact
is the most important one of our lives. Our WILL is positively
unfettered; it is a rudder put freely into our hands, and with it we
can steer WHEREVER WE CHOOSE. God will not COMPEL our love or
obedience. We must ourselves DESIRE to love and obey--DESIRE IT ABOVE
ALL THINGS IN THE WORLD.
As for the Electric Origin of the Universe, a time is coming when
scientific men will acknowledge it to be the only theory of Creation
worthy of acceptance. All the wonders of Nature are the result of LIGHT
AND HEAT ALONE--i.e., are the work of the Electric Ring I have
endeavoured to describe, which MUST go on producing, absorbing and
reproducing worlds, suns and systems for ever and ever. The Ring, in
its turn, is merely the outcome of God's own personality--the
atmosphere surrounding the World in which He has His existence--a World
created by Love and for Love alone. I cannot force this theory on
public attention, which is at present claimed by various learned
professors, who give ingenious explanations of "atoms" and "molecules;"
yet, even regarding these same "atoms," the mild question may be put:
Where did the FIRST "atom" come from? Some may answer: "We call the
first atom GOD." Surely it is as well to call Him a Spirit of pure
Light as an atom? However, the fact of one person's being convinced of
a truth will not, I am aware, go very far to convince others. I have
related my "experience" exactly as it happened at the time, and my
readers can accept or deny the theories of Heliobas as they please.
Neither denial, acceptance, criticism, nor incredulity can affect ME
personally, inasmuch as I am not Heliobas, but simply the narrator of
an episode connected with him; and as such, my task is finished.
APPENDIX.
[In publishing these selections from letters received concerning the
"Romance," I am in honour bound not to disclose the names of my
correspondents, and this necessary reticence will no doubt induce the
incredulous to declare that they are not genuine epistles, but mere
inventions of my own. I am quite prepared for such a possible
aspersion, and in reply, I can but say that I hold the originals in my
possession, and that some of them have been read by my friend Mr.
George Bentley, under whose auspices this book has been successfully
launched on the sea of public favour. I may add that my correspondents
are all strangers to me personally--not one of them have I ever met. A
few have indeed asked me to accord them interviews, but this request I
invariably deny, not wishing to set myself forward in any way as an
exponent of high doctrine in which I am as yet but a beginner and
student.--AUTHOR.]
LETTER I.
"DEAR MADAM,
"You must receive so many letters that I feel it is almost a shame to
add to the number, but I cannot resist writing to tell you how very
much your book, 'The Romance of Two Worlds,' has helped me. My dear
friend Miss F----, who has written to you lately I believe, first read
it to me, and I cannot tell you what a want in my life it seemed to
fill up. I have been always interested in the so-called Supernatural,
feeling very conscious of depths in my own self and in others that are
usually ignored. ... I have been reading as many books as I could
obtain upon Theosophy, but though thankful for the high thoughts I
found in them, I still felt a great want--that of combining this occult
knowledge with my own firm belief in the Christian religion. Your book
seemed to give me just what I wanted--IT HAS DEEPENED AND STRENGTHENED
MY BELIEF IN AND LOVE TO GOD AND HAS MADE THE NEW TESTAMENT A NEW BOOK
TO ME. Things which I could not understand before seem clear in the
light which your 'Vision' has thrown upon them, and I cannot remain
satisfied without expressing to you my sincere gratitude. May your book
be read by all who are ready to receive the high truths that it
contains! With thanks, I remain, dear Madam,
"Yours sincerely,
M. S."
LETTER II.
"MADAM,
"I am afraid you will think it very presumptuous of a stranger to
address you, but I have lately read your book, 'A Romance of Two
Worlds,' and have been much struck with it. It has opened my mind to
such new impressions, and seems to be so much what I have been groping
for so long, that I thought if you would be kind enough to answer this,
I might get a firmer hold on those higher things and be at anchor at
last. If you have patience to read so far, you will imagine I must be
very much in earnest to intrude myself on you like this, but from the
tone of your book I do not believe you would withdraw your hand where
you could do good. ... I never thought of or read of the electric force
(or spirit) in every human being before, but I do believe in it after
reading your book, and YOU HAVE MADE THE NEXT WORLD A LIVING THING TO
ME, and raised my feelings above the disappointments and trials of this
life. ... Your book was put into my hands at a time when I was deeply
distressed and in trouble about my future; but you have shown me how
small a thing this future of OUR life is. ... Would it be asking too
much of you to name any books you think might help me in this new vein
of thought you have given me? Apologizing for having written, believe
me yours sincerely,
"B. W. L."
[I answered to the best of my ability the writer of the above, and
later on received another letter as follows:]
"Forgive my writing to you again on the subject of your 'Romance,' but
I read it so often and think of it so much. I cannot say the wonderful
change your book has wrought in my life, and though very likely you are
constantly hearing of the good it has done, yet it cannot but be the
sweetest thing you can hear--that the seed you have planted is bringing
forth so much fruit. ... The Bible is a new book to me since your work
came into my hands."
LETTER III.
[The following terribly pathetic avowal is from a clergyman of the
Church of England: ]
"MADAM,
"Your book, the 'Romance of Two Worlds,' has stopped me on the brink of
what is doubtless a crime, and yet I had come to think it the only way
out of impending madness. I speak of self-destruction--suicide. And
while writing the word, I beg of you to accept my gratitude for the
timely rescue of my soul. Once I believed in the goodness of God--but
of late years the cry of modern scientific atheism, 'There is NO God,'
has rung in my ears till my brain has reeled at the desolation and
nothingness of the Universe. No good, no hope, no satisfaction in
anything--this world only with all its mockery and failure--and
afterwards annihilation! Could a God design and create so poor and
cruel a jest? So I thought--and the misery of the thought was more than
I could bear. I had resolved to make an end. No one knew, no one
guessed my intent, till one Sunday afternoon a friend lent me your
book. I began to read, and never left it till I had finished the last
page--then I knew I was saved. Life smiled again upon me in consoling
colours, and I write to tell you that whatever other good your work may
do and is no doubt doing, you have saved both the life and reason of
one grateful human being. If you will write to me a few lines I shall
be still more grateful, for I feel you can help me. I seem to have read
Christ's mission wrong--but with patience and prayer it is possible to
redeem my error. Once more thanking you, I am,
"Yours with more thankfulness than I can write,
"L. E. F."
[I lost no time in replying to this letter, and since then have
frequently corresponded with the writer, from whose troubled mind the
dark cloud has now entirely departed. And I may here venture to remark
that the evils of "modern scientific atheism" are far more widely
spread and deeply rooted than the majority of persons are aware of, and
that many of the apparently inexplicable cases of self-slaughter on
which the formal verdict, "Suicide during a state of temporary
insanity," is passed, have been caused by long and hopeless brooding on
the "nothingness of the Universe"--which, if it were a true theory,
would indeed make of Creation a bitter, nay, even a senseless jest. The
cruel preachers of such a creed have much to answer for. The murderer
who destroys human life for wicked passion and wantonness is less
criminal than the proudly learned, yet egotistical, and therefore
densely ignorant scientist, who, seeking to crush the soul by his
feeble, narrow-minded arguments, and deny its imperishable nature,
dares to spread his poisonous and corroding doctrines of despair
through the world, draining existence of all its brightness, and
striving to erect barriers of distrust between the creature and the
Creator. No sin can be greater than this; for it is impossible to
estimate the measure of evil that may thus be brought into otherwise
innocent and happy lives. The attitude of devotion and faith is natural
to Humanity, while nothing can be more UNnatural and disastrous to
civilization, morality and law, than deliberate and determined
Atheism.--AUTHOR.]
LETTER IV.
"DEAR MADAM,
"I dare say you have had many letters, but I must add mine to the
number to thank you for your book, the 'Romance of Two Worlds.' I am
deeply interested in the wonderful force we possess, all in a greater
or lesser degree--call it influence, electricity, or what you will. I
have thought much on Theosophy and Psychical Research--but what struck
me in your book was the glorious selflessness inculcated and the
perfect Majesty of the Divinity clear throughout--no sweeping away of
the Crucified One. I felt a better woman for the reading of it twice:
and I know others, too, who are higher and better women for such noble
thoughts and teaching. ... People for the most part dream away their
lives; one meets so few who really believe in electrical affinity, and
I have felt it so often and for so long. Forgive my troubling you with
this letter, but I am grateful for your labour of love towards raising
men and women.
"Sincerely yours,
"R. H."
LETTER V.
"I should like to know if Marie Corelli honestly believes the theory
which she enunciates in her book, 'The Romance of Two Worlds:' and also
if she has any proof on which to found that same theory?--if so, the
authoress will greatly oblige an earnest seeker after Truth if she will
give the information sought to
"A. S."
[I sent a brief affirmative answer to the above note; the "proof" of
the theories set forth in the "Romance" is, as I have already stated,
easily to be found in the New Testament. But there are those who do not
and will not believe the New Testament, and for them there are no
"proofs" of any existing spirituality in earth or heaven. "Having eyes
they see not, and hearing they do not understand."--AUTHOR.]
LETTER VI.
"DEAR MADAM,
"I have lately been reading with intense pleasure your 'Romance of Two
Worlds,' and I must crave your forbearance towards me when I tell you
that it has filled me with envy and wonder. I feel sure that many
people must have plied you with questions on the subject already, but I
am certain that you are too earnest and too sympathetic to feel bored
by what is in no sense idle curiosity, but rather a deep and genuine
longing to know the truth. ... To some minds it would prove such a
comfort and such, a relief to have their vague longings and beliefs
confirmed and made tangible, and, as you know, at the present day
so-called Religion, which is often a mere mixture of dogma and
superstition, is scarcely sufficient to do this. ... I might say a
great deal more and weary your patience, which has already been tried,
I fear. But may I venture to hope that you have some words of comfort
and assurance out of your own experience to give me? With your
expressed belief in the good influence which each may exert over the
other, not to speak of a higher and holier incentive in the example of
One (in whom you also believe) who bids us for His sake to 'Bear one
another's burdens,' you cannot, I think, turn away in impatience from
the seeking of a very earnest soul.
"Yours sincerely,
"B. D."
[I have received about fifty letters written in precisely the same tone
as the above--all more or less complaining of the insufficiency of
"so-called Religion, which is often a mere mixture of dogma and
superstition"--and I ask--What are the preachers of Christ's clear
message about that there should be such plaintively eager anxious souls
as these, who are evidently ready and willing to live noble lives if
helped and encouraged ever so little? Shame on those men who presume to
take up the high vocation of the priesthood for the sake of self-love,
self-interest, worldly advancement, money or position! These things are
not among Christ's teachings. If there are members of the clergy who
can neither plant faith, nor consolation, nor proper comprehension of
God's infinite Beauty and Goodness in the hearts of their hearers, I
say that their continuance in such sacred office is an offence to the
Master whom they profess to serve. "It must needs be that offences
come, but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!" To such may be
addressed the words, "Hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven
against men; ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that
are entering to go in."--AUTHOR.]
LETTER VII.
"MADAM,
"I hope you will not think it great presumption my writing to you. My
excuse must be that I so much want to believe in he great Spirit that
'makes for righteousness,' and I cannot! Your book puts it all so
clearly that if I can only know it to be a true experience of your own,
it will go a long way in dispersing the fog that modern writings
surround one with. ...
"Apologizing for troubling you, I am faithfully yours,
"C.M.E."
LETTER VIII.
"MADAM,
"I trust you will pardon the liberty I take in writing to you. My
excuse must be the very deep interest your book, 'A Romance of Two
Worlds,' has excited in me. I, of course, understand that the STORY
itself is a romance, but in reading it carefully it seems to me that it
is a book written with a purpose. ... The Electric Creed respecting
Religion seems to explain so much in Scripture which has always seemed
to me impossible to accept blindly without explanation of any kind; and
the theory that Christ came to die and to suffer for us as an Example
and a means of communication with God, and not as a SACRIFICE, clears
up a point which has always been to me personally a stumbling-block. I
cannot say how grateful I shall be if you can tell me any means of
studying this subject further; and trusting you will excuse me for
troubling you, I am, Madam,
"Yours truly,
"H. B."
[Once more I may repeat that the idea of a sacrifice to appease God's
anger is purely JEWISH, and has nothing whatever to do with
Christianity according to Christ. He Himself says, "I am the WAY, the
Truth, and the Life; no man cometh to the Father but BY ME." Surely
these words are plain enough, and point unmistakably to a MEANS OF
COMMUNICATION through Christ between the Creator and this world.
Nowhere does the Divine Master say that God is so furiously angry that
he must have the bleeding body of his own messenger, Christ, hung up
before Him as a human sacrifice, as though He could only be pacified by
the scent of blood! Horrible and profane idea! and one utterly at
variance with the tenderness and goodness of "Our Father" as pictured
by Christ in these gentle words--"Fear not, little flock; it is your
Father's good pleasure to give you the Kingdom." Whereas that Christ
should come to draw us closer to God by the strong force of His own
Divinity, and by His Resurrection prove to us the reality of the next
life, is not at all a strange or ungodlike mission, and ought to make
us understand more surely than ever how infinitely pitying and
forbearing is the All-Loving One, that He should, as it were, with such
extreme affection show us a way by which to travel through darkness
unto light. To those who cannot see this perfection of goodness
depicted in Christ's own words, I would say in the terse Oriental maxim:
"Diving, and finding no pearls in the sea,
Blame not the ocean, the fault is in THEE."
AUTHOR.]
LETTER IX.
"DEAR MADAM,
"I have lately been reading your remarkable book, 'A Romance of Two
Worlds,' and I feel that I must write to you about it. I have never
viewed Christianity in the broadly transfigured light you throw upon
it, and I have since been studying carefully the four Gospels and
comparing them with the theories in your book. The result has been a
complete and happy change in my ideas of religion, and I feel now as if
I had, like a leper of old, touched the robe of Christ and been healed
of a long-standing infirmity. Will you permit me to ask if you have
evolved this new and beneficent lustre from the Gospel yourself? or
whether some experienced student in mystic matters has been your
instructor? I hear from persons who have seen you that you are quite
young, and I cannot understand how one of your sex and age seems able
so easily to throw light on what to many has been, and is still,
impenetrable darkness. I have been a preacher for some years, and I
thought the Testament was old and familiar to me; but you have made it
a new and marvellous book full of most precious meanings, and I hope I
may be able to impart to those whom it is my duty to instruct,
something of the great consolation and hope your writing has filled me
with.
"Believe me,
"Gratefully yours,
"T.M."
LETTER X.
"MADAM,
"Will you tell me what ground you have for the foundation of the
religious theory contained in your book, 'A Romance of Two Worlds'? Is
it a part of your own belief? I am MOST anxious to know this, and I am
sure you will be kind enough to answer me. Till I read your book I
thought myself an Agnostic, but now I am not quite sure of this. I do
not believe in the Deity as depicted by the Churches. I CANNOT. Over
and over again I have asked myself--If there is a God, why should He be
angry? It would surely be easy for Him to destroy this world entirely
as one would blow away an offending speck of dust, and it would be much
better and BRAVER for Him to do this than to torture His creation. For
I call life a torture and certainly a useless and cruel torture if it
is to end in annihilation. I know I seem to be blasphemous in these
remarks, yet if you only knew what I suffer sometimes! I desire, I LONG
to believe. YOU seem so certain of your Creed--a Creed so noble,
reasonable and humane--the God you depict so worthy of the adoration of
a Universe. I BEG of you to tell me--DO you feel sure of this
beneficent all-pervading Love concerning which you write so eloquently?
I do not wish to seem an intruder on your most secret thought. I want
to believe that YOU believe--and if I felt this, the tenor of my whole
life might change. Help me if you can--I stand in real need of help.
You may judge I am very deeply in earnest, or I should not have written
to you.
"Yours faithfully,
"A. W. L."
* * * * *
Of such letters as these I have received enough to make a volume of
themselves; but I think the ten I have selected are sufficient to show
how ardent and inextinguishable is the desire or STRAINING UPWARD, like
a flower to the light, of the human Soul for those divine things which
nourish it. Scarcely a day passes without my receiving more of these
earnest and often pathetic appeals for a little help, a little comfort,
a little guidance, enough to make one's heart ache at the thought of so
much doubt and desolation looming cloud-like over the troubled minds of
many who would otherwise lead not only happy but noble and useful
lives. When will the preachers learn to preach Christ simply--Christ
without human dogmas or differences? When shall we be able to enter a
building set apart for sacred worship--a building of finest
architectural beauty, "glorious without and within," like the "King's
Daughter" of David's psalm--glorious with, light, music, flowers, and
art of the noblest kind (for Art is God's own inspiration to men, and
through it He should be served), there to hear the pure, unselfish
doctrine of Christ as He Himself preached it? For such a temple, the
time has surely come--a nook sacred to God, and untainted by the breath
of Mammon, where we could adore our Creator "in spirit and in truth."
The evils of nineteenth-century cynicism and general flippancy of
thought--great evils as they are and sure prognostications of worse
evils to come--cannot altogether crush out the Divine flame burning in
the "few" that are "chosen," though these few are counted as fools and
dreamers. Yet they shall be proved wise and watchful ere long. The
signs of the times are those that indicate an approaching great
upheaval and change in human destinies. This planet we call ours is in
some respects like ourselves: it was born; it has had its infancy, its
youth, its full prime; and now its age has set in, and with age the
first beginnings of decay. Absorbed once more into the Creative Circle
IT MUST BE; and when again thrown forth among its companion-stars, our
race will no more inhabit it. We shall have had our day--our little
chance--we shall have lost or won. Christ said, "This generation shall
not pass away till all My words be fulfilled," the word "generation"
thus used meaning simply the human race. We put a very narrow limit to
the significance of the Saviour's utterance when we imagine that the
generation He alluded to implied merely the people living in His own
day. In the depths of His Divine wisdom He was acquainted with all the
secrets of the Past and Future; He had no doubt seen this very world
peopled by widely different beings to ourselves, and knew that what we
call the human race is only a passing tribe permitted for a time to
sojourn here. What a strangely presumptuous idea is that which pervades
the minds of the majority of persons--namely, that Mankind, as we know
it, must be the highest form of creation, simply because it is the
highest form WE can see! How absurd it is to be so controlled by our
limited vision, when we cannot even perceive the minute wonders that a
butterfly beholds, or pierce the sunlit air with anything like the
facility possessed by the undazzled eyes of an upward-soaring bird!
Nay, we cannot examine the wing of a common house-fly without the aid
of a microscope--to observe the facial expression of our own actors on
the stage we look through opera-glasses--to form any idea of the
wonders of the stars we construct telescopes to assist our feeble and
easily deluded sight; and yet--yet we continue to parcel out the
infinite gradations of creative Force and Beauty entirely to suit our
own private opinions, and conclude that WE are the final triumph of the
Divine Artist's Supreme Intelligence! Alas! in very truth we are a
sorry spectacle both to our soberly thinking selves and the Higher
Powers, invited, as it were, to spend our life's brief day in one of
God's gardens as His friends and guests, who certainly are not expected
to abuse their Host's hospitality, and, ignoring Him, call themselves
the owners and masters of the ground! For we are but wanderers beneath
the sun; a "generation" which must most surely and rapidly "pass away"
to make room for another; and as the work of the Universe is always
progressive, that other will be of nobler capacity and larger
accomplishment. So while we are here, let us think earnestly of the few
brief chances remaining to us--they grow fewer every hour. On one side
is the endless, glorious heritage of the purely aspiring, Immortal
Spirit; on the other the fleeting Mirage of this our present Existence;
and, midway between the two, the swinging pendulum of HUMAN WILL, which
decides our fate. God does not choose for us, or compel our love--we
are free to fashion out our own futures; but in making our final choice
we cannot afford to waste one moment of our precious, unreturning time.
MARIE CORELLI.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Romance of Two Worlds, by Marie Corelli