“Aselzion will tell her, of course. Rather a difficult business! — as he will have to admit that his teachings are not infallible. And on the whole there was something very taking about Santoris — I’m sorry he’s gone. But he would only have fooled the woman had he lived.”
“Oh! That, naturally! But that hardly matters. She would only have had herself to blame for falling into the trap.”
I drew myself away from the wall, trembling and sick with dread. Mechanically I dressed myself, and stared out at the gold of the sun which was now pouring its radiance full on the sea. The beauty of the scene moved me not at all — nothing mattered. All that my consciousness could take in was that, according to what I had heard, Rafel was dead, — drowned in the sea over which his fairy vessel the ‘Dream’ had sailed so lightly — and that all he had said of our knowledge of each other in former lives, and of the love which had drawn us together, was mere ‘fooling’! I leaned out of the window, and my eyes rested on the little crimson rose that still blossomed against the wall in fragrant confidence. And then I spoke aloud, hardly conscious of my own words —
“It is wicked” — I said— “wicked of God to allow us to imagine beautiful things that have no existence! It is cruel to ordain us to love, if love must end in disappointment and treachery! It would be better to teach us at once that life is intended to be hard and plain and without tenderness or truth, than to lead our souls into a fool’s paradise!”
Then — all at once — I remembered the dark Phantom of the night and its transformation into the Vision of an Angel. I had struggled against the terror of its first spectral appearance, and had conquered my fears, — why was I now shaken from my self-control? What was the cause? Voices, merely! Voices behind a wall that spoke of death and falsehood, — voices belonging to persons I did not know and could not see — like the voices of the world which delight in uttering scandals and cruelties and which never praise so much as they condemn. Voices merely! Ah! — but they spoke of the death of him whom I loved! — must I not listen? They spoke of his treachery and ‘fooling.’ Should I not hear?
And yet — who were those persons, if persons they were, who talked of him with such easy callousness? I had met no one in the House of Aselzion save Aselzion himself and his servant or secretary Honorius, — who then could there be except those two to know the reasons that had brought me hither? I began to question myself and to doubt the accuracy of the terrible news I had inadvertently overheard. If any evil had chanced to Rafel Santoris, would Aselzion have told me he was ‘safe and well’ when he had conjured up for my comfort the picture of the ‘Dream’ yacht on the moonlit sea only a few hours ago? Yet with my bravest effort I could not recover myself sufficiently to be quite at peace, — and in my restless condition of mind I looked towards the turret door opening to the stairway which led to the little garden below and the seashore — but it was fast shut, and I remembered Aselzion had locked it. But, to my complete surprise, another door stood open, — a door that had seemed part of the wall — and a small room was disclosed beyond it, — a kind of little shrine, hung with pale purple silk, and looking as though it were intended to hold something infinitely precious. I entered it hesitatingly, not sure whether I was doing right or wrong, and yet impelled by something more than curiosity. As I stepped across the threshold I heard the voices behind the wall again — they sounded louder and more threatening, and I paused, — half afraid, yet longing to know all that might yet be said, though such knowledge might mean nothing but misery and despair to me.
“All women are fools!” — and this trite observation was made by someone speaking in harsh and bitter accents— “It is not love that really moves them so much as the self-satisfaction of BEING LOVED. No woman could be faithful for long to a dead man — she would lack the expected response to her superabundant sentimentality, and she would tire of waiting to meet him in Paradise — if she believed in such a possibility, which in nine cases out of ten she would not.”
“With Aselzion there are no dead men” — said another of the unseen speakers— “They have merely passed into another living state. And according to his theories, lovers cannot be separated, even by what is called death, for long.”
“Poor comfort!” and with the words I heard a laugh of scornful mockery— “The women who have loved Rafel Santoris would hardly thank you for it!”
I shuddered a little, as with cold. ‘The women who have loved Rafel Santoris!’ This phrase seemed to darken the very recollection of the handsome face and form of the man I had, almost unconsciously to myself, begun to idealise — something coarse and common suggested itself in association with him, and my heart sank within me, deprived of hope. Voices, merely! — yet how they tortured me! If I could only know the truth, I thought! — if Aselzion would only come and tell me the worst at once! In a kind of stupor of unnameable grief I stood in the little purple-hung shrine so suddenly opened to me, and began to dreamily consider the unkindness and harshness of those voices! — Ah! so like the voices of the world! Voices that sneer and mock and condemn! — voices that would rather utter a falsehood than any word that should help and comfort — voices that take a cruel pleasure in saying just the one thing that will wound and crush an aspiring spirit! — voices that cannot tune themselves to speak of love without grudging bitterness and scorn — voices — ah God! — if only all the harsh and calumniating voices of humanity were stilled, what a heaven this earth would be!
And yet — why should we listen to them? What have they really to do with us? Is the Soul to be moved from its centre by casual opinion? What is it to me that this person or that person approves or disapproves my actions? Why should I be disturbed by rumours, or frightened by ill report?
Absorbed in these thoughts, I hardly realised the almost religious peace of my surroundings, — and it was only when the voices ceased for a few minutes that I saw what was contained in this small room I had half unwittingly entered, — an exquisite little table, apparently made of crystal which shone like a diamond — and on the table, an open book. A chair was placed in position for the evident purpose of reading — and as I approached, at first indifferently and then with awakening interest, I saw that the open book showed an inscription on its fly-leaf— “To a faithful student. — From Aselzion.” Was I ‘a faithful student’? I asked myself the question doubtingly. There was no ‘faithfulness’ in fears and depressions! Here was I, shaken in part from self-control from the mere hearing of voices behind a wall! I, who had said that “God ordains nothing that is not for good” — was suddenly ready to believe that He had ordained the death of the lover to whom His laws had guided me! I, to whom had been vouchsafed the beatific vision of an Angel — an Angel who had said— “God thinks no evil of thee — desires no wrong towards thee — has no punishment in store for thee — give thyself into His Hand, and be at peace!” was already flinching and turning away from the Faith that should keep me strong! A sense of shame stole over me — and almost timidly I approached the table on which the open book lay, and sat down in the chair so invitingly placed. I had scarcely done this when the voices began again, in rather louder and angrier tones.
“She imagines she can learn the secret of life! A woman, too! The brazen arrogance of such an attempt!”
“No, no! It is not the secret of life she wants to discover so much as the secret of perpetual youth! That, to a woman, is everything! To be always young and always fair! What feminine thing would not ‘adventure for such merchandise’!”
A loud laugh followed this observation.
“Santoris was well on his way to the goal” — said a voice that was suave and calm of accent— “Certainly no one would have guessed his real age.”
“He had all the ardour and passion of youth” — said another voice— “The fire of love ran as warmly in his veins as though he were a Romeo! None of the coldness and reluctance of age affected him where the fair sex was concerned!”
More laughter followed. I sat rigidly in
the chair by the crystal table, listening to every word.
“The woman here is the latest victim of his hypnotic suggestions, isn’t she?”
“Yes. One may say his LAST victim — he will victimise no more.”
“I suppose if Aselzion told her the truth she would go at once?”
“Of course! Why should she remain? It is only a dream of love that has brought her here — when she knows the dream is over, there will be nothing left.”
True! Nothing left! The whole world a desert, and Heaven itself without hope! I pressed my hands to my eyes to try and cool their burning ache — was it possible that what these voices said could be true? They had ceased speaking, and there was a blessed silence. As a kind of desperate resource, I took out the letter Rafel Santoris had written to me, and read its every word with an eager passion of yearning — especially the one passage that ran thus— “We — you and I — who know that Life, being ALL Life, CANNOT die, — ought to be wiser in our present space of time than to doubt each other’s infinite capability for love and the perfect world of beauty which love creates.”
‘Wiser than to doubt’! Ah, I was not wise enough! I was full of doubts and imagined evils — and why? Because of voices behind a wall! Surely a foolish cause for sorrow! I tried to extricate my mind from the darkness of despondency into which it had fallen, and to distract my attention from my own unhappy thoughts I glanced at the book which lay open before me. As I looked, its title, printed in letters of gold, flashed on my eyes like a gleam of the sun— ‘The Secret of Life.’ A sudden keen expectancy stirred in me — I folded Rafel’s letter and slipped it back into its resting-place near my heart — then I drew my chair close up to the table, and bending over the book began to read. All was now perfectly still around me — the voices had ceased. Gradually I became aware that what I was reading was intended for my instruction, and that the book itself was a gift to me from Aselzion if I proved a ‘faithful student.’ A thrill of hope and gratitude began to relieve the cold weight upon my heart, — and I suddenly resolved that I would not listen to any more voices, even if they spoke again.
“Rafel Santoris is not dead!” — I said aloud and resolutely— “He could not so sever himself from me now! He is not treacherous — he is true! He is not ‘fooling’ me — he is relying upon me to believe in him. And I WILL believe in him! — my love and faith shall not be shaken by mere rumour! I will give him no cause to think me weak or cowardly, — I will trust him to the end!”
And with these words spoken to the air, I went on reading quietly in a stillness made suddenly fragrant with the scent of unseen flowers.
XVII. THE MAGIC BOOK
It is not possible here to transcribe more than a few extracts from the book on which my attention now became completely riveted. The passages selected are chosen simply because they may by chance be useful to those few — those very few — who desire to make of their lives something more than a mere buy and sell business, and also because they can hardly be called difficult to understand. When Paracelsus wrote ‘The Secret of Long Life’ he did so in a fashion sufficiently abstruse and complex to scare away all but the most diligent and persevering of students, this no doubt being his intention. But the instructions given in the volume placed, as I imagined, for my perusal, were simple and in accordance with many of the facts discovered by modern science, and as I read on and on I began to see light through the darkness, and to gain a perception of the way in which I might become an adept in what the world deems ‘miracle,’ but which after all is nothing but the scientific application of common sense. To begin with, I will quote the following, — headed
LIFE AND ITS ADJUSTMENT
“Life is the Divine impetus of Love. The Force behind the Universe is Love — and from that Love is bred Desire and Creation. Even as the human lover passionately craves possession of his beloved, so that from their mutual tenderness the children of Love are born, the Divine Spirit, immortally creative and desirous of perfect beauty, possesses space with eternal energy, producing millions of solar systems, each one of which has a different organisation and a separate individuality. Man, the creature of our small planet, the Earth, is but a single result of the resistless output of Divine fecundity, — nevertheless Man is the ‘image of God’ in that he is endowed with reason, will and intelligence beyond that of the purely animal creation, and that he is given an immortal Soul, formed for love and for the eternal things which love creates. He can himself be Divine, in the Desire and Perpetuation of Life. Considered in a strictly material sense, he is simply an embodied force composed of atoms held together in a certain organised form, — but within this organised form is contained a spiritual Being capable of guiding and controlling its earthly vehicle and adjusting it to surroundings and circumstances. In his dual nature Man has the power of holding his life-cells under his own command — he can renew them or destroy them at pleasure. He generally elects to destroy them through selfishness and obstinacy, — the two chief disintegrating elements of his mortal composition. Hence the result which he calls ‘death’ — but which is merely the necessary transposition of his existence (which he has himself brought about) into a more useful phase. If he were to learn once for all that he can prolong his life on this earth in youth and health for an indefinite period, in which days and years are not counted, but only psychic ‘episodes’ or seasons, he could pass from one joy to another, from one triumph to another, as easily as breathing the air. It is judged good for a man’s body that he should stand upright, and that he should move his limbs with grace and ease, performing physical exercises for the improvement and strengthening of his muscles, — and he is not considered a fool for any feats of physical valour or ability which he may accomplish. Why then should he not train his Soul to stand as upright as his body, so that it may take full possession of all the powers which natural and spiritual energy can provide?
“Reader and Student! — you for whom these words are written, learn and remember that the secret strength and renewal of life is Adjustment — the adjustment of the atoms whereof the body is composed to the commands of the Soul. Be the god of your own universe! Control your own solar system that it may warm and revivify you with an ever recurring spring! Make Love the summer of your life, and let it create within you the passion of noble desire, the fervour of joy, the fire of idealism and faith! Know yourself as part of the Divine Spirit of all things, and be divine in your own creative existence. The whole Universe is open to the searchings of your Soul if Love be the torch to light your way!”
Having read thus far, I paused — the little room in which I sat appeared darker — or was it my fancy? I listened for the voices which had so confused and worried me — but there was no sound. I turned the pages of the book before me, and found the following:
THE ACTION OF THOUGHT
“Thought is an actual motive Force, more powerful than any other motive force in the world. It is not the mere pulsation in a particular set of brain cells, destined to pass away into nothingness when the pulsation has ceased. Thought is the voice of the Soul. Just as the human voice is transmitted through distance on the telephone wires, so is the Soul’s voice carried through the radiant fibres connected with the nerves to the brain. The brain receives it, but cannot keep it — for it again is transmitted by its own electric power to other brains, — and you can no more keep a thought to yourself than you can hold a monopoly in the sunshine. Everywhere in all worlds, throughout the whole cosmos, Souls are speaking through the material medium of the brain, — souls that may not inhabit this world at all, but that may be as far away from us as the last star visible to the strongest telescope. The harmonies that suggest themselves to the musician here to-day may have fallen from Sirius or Jupiter, striking on his earthly brain with a spiritual sweetness from worlds unknown, — the poet writes what he scarcely realises, obeying the inspiration of his dreams,-and we are all, at our best, but mediums for conveying thought, first receiving it from other spheres to ourselves, and
then transmitting it from ourselves to others. Shakespeare, the chief poet and prophet of the world, has written: ‘There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so,’ — thus giving out a profound truth, — one of the most profound truths of the Psychic Creed. For what we THINK, we are; and our thoughts resolve themselves into our actions.
“In the renewal of life and the preservation of youth, Thought is the chief factor. If we THINK we are old — we age rapidly. If, on the contrary, we THINK we are young, we preserve our vitality indefinitely. The action of thought influences the living particles of which our bodies are composed, so that we positively age them or rejuvenate them by the attitude we assume. The thinking attitude of the human Soul should be one of gratitude, love and joy. There is no room in Spiritual Nature for fear, depression, sickness or death. God intends His creation to be happy, and by bringing the Soul and Body both into tune with happiness we obey His laws and fulfil His desire. Therefore, to live long, encourage thoughts of happiness! Avoid all persons who talk of disease, misery and decay — for these things are the crimes of man, and are offences against God’s primal design of beauty. Drink in deep draughts of sunshine and fresh air, — inhale the perfume of flowers and trees, — keep far away from cities and from crowds — seek no wealth that is not earned by hand or brain — and above all things remember that the Children of Light may walk in the Light without fear of darkness!”
Something in this latter sentence made me stop, and look again around me — and again I felt sure that the room was growing darker, and not only darker but smaller. The purple silk hangings which draped the walls were almost within my touch, and I knew they had not been so close to me when I first sat down to read. A nervous tremor ran through me, but I resolved I would not be the dupe of my own fancy, and I set myself once more resolutely to the study of the volume before me. The next paragraph which attracted me was headed
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 787
