The Great God Pan

by Arthur Machen

  II

  MR. CLARKE'S MEMOIRS

  Mr. Clarke, the gentleman chosen by Dr. Raymond to witness the strangeexperiment of the god Pan, was a person in whose character caution andcuriosity were oddly mingled; in his sober moments he thought of theunusual and eccentric with undisguised aversion, and yet, deep in hisheart, there was a wide-eyed inquisitiveness with respect to all themore recondite and esoteric elements in the nature of men. The lattertendency had prevailed when he accepted Raymond's invitation, forthough his considered judgment had always repudiated the doctor'stheories as the wildest nonsense, yet he secretly hugged a belief infantasy, and would have rejoiced to see that belief confirmed. Thehorrors that he witnessed in the dreary laboratory were to a certainextent salutary; he was conscious of being involved in an affair notaltogether reputable, and for many years afterwards he clung bravely tothe commonplace, and rejected all occasions of occult investigation.Indeed, on some homeopathic principle, he for some time attended theseances of distinguished mediums, hoping that the clumsy tricks ofthese gentlemen would make him altogether disgusted with mysticism ofevery kind, but the remedy, though caustic, was not efficacious. Clarkeknew that he still pined for the unseen, and little by little, the oldpassion began to reassert itself, as the face of Mary, shuddering andconvulsed with an unknown terror, faded slowly from his memory.Occupied all day in pursuits both serious and lucrative, the temptationto relax in the evening was too great, especially in the winter months,when the fire cast a warm glow over his snug bachelor apartment, and abottle of some choice claret stood ready by his elbow. His dinnerdigested, he would make a brief pretence of reading the evening paper,but the mere catalogue of news soon palled upon him, and Clarke wouldfind himself casting glances of warm desire in the direction of an oldJapanese bureau, which stood at a pleasant distance from the hearth.Like a boy before a jam-closet, for a few minutes he would hoverindecisive, but lust always prevailed, and Clarke ended by drawing uphis chair, lighting a candle, and sitting down before the bureau. Itspigeon-holes and drawers teemed with documents on the most morbidsubjects, and in the well reposed a large manuscript volume, in whichhe had painfully entered the gems of his collection. Clarke had a finecontempt for published literature; the most ghostly story ceased tointerest him if it happened to be printed; his sole pleasure was in thereading, compiling, and rearranging what he called his "Memoirs toprove the Existence of the Devil," and engaged in this pursuit theevening seemed to fly and the night appeared too short.

  On one particular evening, an ugly December night, black with fog, andraw with frost, Clarke hurried over his dinner, and scarcely deigned toobserve his customary ritual of taking up the paper and laying it downagain. He paced two or three times up and down the room, and openedthe bureau, stood still a moment, and sat down. He leant back,absorbed in one of those dreams to which he was subject, and at lengthdrew out his book, and opened it at the last entry. There were threeor four pages densely covered with Clarke's round, set penmanship, andat the beginning he had written in a somewhat larger hand:

  Singular Narrative told me by my Friend, Dr. Phillips. He assures me that all the facts related therein are strictly and wholly True, but refuses to give either the Surnames of the Persons Concerned, or the Place where these Extraordinary Events occurred.

  Mr. Clarke began to read over the account for the tenth time, glancingnow and then at the pencil notes he had made when it was told him byhis friend. It was one of his humours to pride himself on a certainliterary ability; he thought well of his style, and took pains inarranging the circumstances in dramatic order. He read the followingstory:--

  The persons concerned in this statement are Helen V., who, if she isstill alive, must now be a woman of twenty-three, Rachel M., sincedeceased, who was a year younger than the above, and Trevor W., animbecile, aged eighteen. These persons were at the period of the storyinhabitants of a village on the borders of Wales, a place of someimportance in the time of the Roman occupation, but now a scatteredhamlet, of not more than five hundred souls. It is situated on risingground, about six miles from the sea, and is sheltered by a large andpicturesque forest.

  Some eleven years ago, Helen V. came to the village under ratherpeculiar circumstances. It is understood that she, being an orphan,was adopted in her infancy by a distant relative, who brought her up inhis own house until she was twelve years old. Thinking, however, thatit would be better for the child to have playmates of her own age, headvertised in several local papers for a good home in a comfortablefarmhouse for a girl of twelve, and this advertisement was answered byMr. R., a well-to-do farmer in the above-mentioned village. Hisreferences proving satisfactory, the gentleman sent his adopteddaughter to Mr. R., with a letter, in which he stipulated that the girlshould have a room to herself, and stated that her guardians need be atno trouble in the matter of education, as she was already sufficientlyeducated for the position in life which she would occupy. In fact, Mr.R. was given to understand that the girl be allowed to find her ownoccupations and to spend her time almost as she liked. Mr. R. dulymet her at the nearest station, a town seven miles away from his house,and seems to have remarked nothing extraordinary about the child exceptthat she was reticent as to her former life and her adopted father. Shewas, however, of a very different type from the inhabitants of thevillage; her skin was a pale, clear olive, and her features werestrongly marked, and of a somewhat foreign character. She appears tohave settled down easily enough into farmhouse life, and became afavourite with the children, who sometimes went with her on her ramblesin the forest, for this was her amusement. Mr. R. states that he hasknown her to go out by herself directly after their early breakfast,and not return till after dusk, and that, feeling uneasy at a younggirl being out alone for so many hours, he communicated with heradopted father, who replied in a brief note that Helen must do as shechose. In the winter, when the forest paths are impassable, she spentmost of her time in her bedroom, where she slept alone, according tothe instructions of her relative. It was on one of these expeditions tothe forest that the first of the singular incidents with which thisgirl is connected occurred, the date being about a year after herarrival at the village. The preceding winter had been remarkablysevere, the snow drifting to a great depth, and the frost continuingfor an unexampled period, and the summer following was as noteworthyfor its extreme heat. On one of the very hottest days in this summer,Helen V. left the farmhouse for one of her long rambles in the forest,taking with her, as usual, some bread and meat for lunch. She was seenby some men in the fields making for the old Roman Road, a greencauseway which traverses the highest part of the wood, and they wereastonished to observe that the girl had taken off her hat, though theheat of the sun was already tropical. As it happened, a labourer,Joseph W. by name, was working in the forest near the Roman Road, andat twelve o'clock his little son, Trevor, brought the man his dinner ofbread and cheese. After the meal, the boy, who was about seven yearsold at the time, left his father at work, and, as he said, went to lookfor flowers in the wood, and the man, who could hear him shouting withdelight at his discoveries, felt no uneasiness. Suddenly, however, hewas horrified at hearing the most dreadful screams, evidently theresult of great terror, proceeding from the direction in which his sonhad gone, and he hastily threw down his tools and ran to see what hadhappened. Tracing his path by the sound, he met the little boy, whowas running headlong, and was evidently terribly frightened, and onquestioning him the man elicited that after picking a posy of flowershe felt tired, and lay down on the grass and fell asleep. He wassuddenly awakened, as he stated, by a peculiar noise, a sort of singinghe called it, and on peeping through the branches he saw Helen V.playing on the grass with a "strange naked man," who he seemed unableto describe more fully. He said he felt dreadfully frightened and ranaway crying for his father. Joseph W. proceeded in the directionindicated by his son, and found Helen V. sitting on the grass in themiddle of a glad
e or open space left by charcoal burners. He angrilycharged her with frightening his little boy, but she entirely deniedthe accusation and laughed at the child's story of a "strange man," towhich he himself did not attach much credence. Joseph W. came to theconclusion that the boy had woke up with a sudden fright, as childrensometimes do, but Trevor persisted in his story, and continued in suchevident distress that at last his father took him home, hoping that hismother would be able to soothe him. For many weeks, however, the boygave his parents much anxiety; he became nervous and strange in hismanner, refusing to leave the cottage by himself, and constantlyalarming the household by waking in the night with cries of "The man inthe wood! father! father!"

  In course of time, however, the impression seemed to have worn off, andabout three months later he accompanied his father to the home of agentleman in the neighborhood, for whom Joseph W. occasionally didwork. The man was shown into the study, and the little boy was leftsitting in the hall, and a few minutes later, while the gentleman wasgiving W. his instructions, they were both horrified by a piercingshriek and the sound of a fall, and rushing out they found the childlying senseless on the floor, his face contorted with terror. Thedoctor was immediately summoned, and after some examination hepronounced the child to be suffering form a kind of fit, apparentlyproduced by a sudden shock. The boy was taken to one of the bedrooms,and after some time recovered consciousness, but only to pass into acondition described by the medical man as one of violent hysteria. Thedoctor exhibited a strong sedative, and in the course of two hourspronounced him fit to walk home, but in passing through the hall theparoxysms of fright returned and with additional violence. The fatherperceived that the child was pointing at some object, and heard the oldcry, "The man in the wood," and looking in the direction indicated sawa stone head of grotesque appearance, which had been built into thewall above one of the doors. It seems the owner of the house hadrecently made alterations in his premises, and on digging thefoundations for some offices, the men had found a curious head,evidently of the Roman period, which had been placed in the mannerdescribed. The head is pronounced by the most experiencedarchaeologists of the district to be that of a faun or satyr. [Dr.Phillips tells me that he has seen the head in question, and assures methat he has never received such a vivid presentment of intense evil.]

  From whatever cause arising, this second shock seemed too severe forthe boy Trevor, and at the present date he suffers from a weakness ofintellect, which gives but little promise of amending. The mattercaused a good deal of sensation at the time, and the girl Helen wasclosely questioned by Mr. R., but to no purpose, she steadfastlydenying that she had frightened or in any way molested Trevor.

  The second event with which this girl's name is connected took placeabout six years ago, and is of a still more extraordinary character.

  At the beginning of the summer of 1882, Helen contracted a friendshipof a peculiarly intimate character with Rachel M., the daughter of aprosperous farmer in the neighbourhood. This girl, who was a yearyounger than Helen, was considered by most people to be the prettier ofthe two, though Helen's features had to a great extent softened as shebecame older. The two girls, who were together on every availableopportunity, presented a singular contrast, the one with her clear,olive skin and almost Italian appearance, and the other of theproverbial red and white of our rural districts. It must be statedthat the payments made to Mr. R. for the maintenance of Helen wereknown in the village for their excessive liberality, and the impressionwas general that she would one day inherit a large sum of money fromher relative. The parents of Rachel were therefore not averse fromtheir daughter's friendship with the girl, and even encouraged theintimacy, though they now bitterly regret having done so. Helen stillretained her extraordinary fondness for the forest, and on severaloccasions Rachel accompanied her, the two friends setting out early inthe morning, and remaining in the wood until dusk. Once or twice afterthese excursions Mrs. M. thought her daughter's manner rather peculiar;she seemed languid and dreamy, and as it has been expressed, "differentfrom herself," but these peculiarities seem to have been thought tootrifling for remark. One evening, however, after Rachel had come home,her mother heard a noise which sounded like suppressed weeping in thegirl's room, and on going in found her lying, half undressed, upon thebed, evidently in the greatest distress. As soon as she saw hermother, she exclaimed, "Ah, mother, mother, why did you let me go tothe forest with Helen?" Mrs. M. was astonished at so strange aquestion, and proceeded to make inquiries. Rachel told her a wildstory. She said--

  Clarke closed the book with a snap, and turned his chair towards thefire. When his friend sat one evening in that very chair, and told hisstory, Clarke had interrupted him at a point a little subsequent tothis, had cut short his words in a paroxysm of horror. "My God!" hehad exclaimed, "think, think what you are saying. It is tooincredible, too monstrous; such things can never be in this quietworld, where men and women live and die, and struggle, and conquer, ormaybe fail, and fall down under sorrow, and grieve and suffer strangefortunes for many a year; but not this, Phillips, not such things asthis. There must be some explanation, some way out of the terror.Why, man, if such a case were possible, our earth would be a nightmare."

  But Phillips had told his story to the end, concluding:

  "Her flight remains a mystery to this day; she vanished in broadsunlight; they saw her walking in a meadow, and a few moments later shewas not there."

  Clarke tried to conceive the thing again, as he sat by the fire, andagain his mind shuddered and shrank back, appalled before the sight ofsuch awful, unspeakable elements enthroned as it were, and triumphantin human flesh. Before him stretched the long dim vista of the greencauseway in the forest, as his friend had described it; he saw theswaying leaves and the quivering shadows on the grass, he saw thesunlight and the flowers, and far away, far in the long distance, thetwo figures moved toward him. One was Rachel, but the other?

  Clarke had tried his best to disbelieve it all, but at the end of theaccount, as he had written it in his book, he had placed theinscription:

  ET DIABOLUS INCARNATE EST. ET HOMO FACTUS EST.