Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XXIII

  STELLA COMES

  Now, by such arts as are known to those who have studied mysticism inany of its protean forms, Morris set himself to attempt communicationwith the unseen. In their practice these arts are as superlativelyunwholesome as in their result, successful or not, they are unnatural.Also, they are very ancient. The Chaldeans knew them, and the magicianswho stood before Pharaoh knew them. To the early Christian anchoritesand to the gnostics they were familiar. In one shape or another, ancientwonder-workers, Scandinavian and mediaeval seers, modern Spiritualists,classical interpreters of oracles, Indian fakirs, savage witch-doctorsand medicine men, all submitted or submit themselves to the yoke of thesame rule in the hope of attaining an end which, however it may vary inits manifestations, is identical in essence.

  This is the rule: to beat down the flesh and its instincts and nurturethe spirit, its aspirations and powers. And this is the end--to escapebefore the time, if only partially and at intervals, into an atmosphereof vision true or false, where human feet were meant to find no road,and the trammelled minds of men no point of outlook. That such anatmosphere exists even materialists would hesitate to deny, for it isproved by the whole history of the moral world, and especially by thatof the religions of the world, their founders, their prophets and theirexponents, many of whom have breathed its ether, and pronounced it thevery breath of life. Their feet have walked the difficult path; standingon those forbidden peaks they have scanned the dim plains and valleysof the unseen, and made report of the dreams and shapes that haunt them.Then the busy hordes of men beneath for a moment pause to listen and aresatisfied.

  "Lo, here is Truth," they cry, "now we may cease from troubling." So fora while they rest till others answer, "Nay, _this_ is Truth; our teachertold it us from yonder mountain, the only Holy Hill." And yet othersfall upon them and slay them, shouting, "Neither of these is Truth. Shedwells not among the precipices, but in the valley; there we have heardher accents."

  And still from cliff to cliff and along the secret vales echoes thevoice of Truth; and still upon the snow-wreathed peaks and across thespace of rolling ocean, and even among the populous streets of men,veiled, mysterious, and changeful, her shape is seen by those who havetrained themselves or been inspired to watch and hear. But no two seethe same shape, and no two hear the same voice, since to each she wearsa different countenance, and speaks with another tongue. For Truth isas the sand of the shore for number, and as the infinite hues of therainbow for variety. Yet the sand is ground out of one mother rock, andall the colours of earth and air are born of a single sun.

  So, practising the ancient rites and mysteries, and bowing himself tothe ancient law whose primeval principles every man and woman may findgraven upon the tablets of their solitary heart, Morris set himself tofind that truth, which for him was hid in the invisible soul of Stella,the soul which he desired to behold and handle, even if the touch andsight should slay him.

  Day by day he worked, for as many hours as he could make his own, at thedetails of his new experiments. These in themselves were interesting,and promised even to be fruitful; but that was not his object, or,at any rate, his principal object in pursuing them with such an eagerpassion of research. The talk and hazardings which had passed betweenhimself and Stella notwithstanding, both reason and experience hadtaught him already that all instruments made by the hand of man wereuseless to break a way into the dwellings of the departed. A day mightcome when they would enable the inhabitants of the earth to conversewith the living denizens of the most distant stars; but never, neverwith the dead. He laboured because of the frame of thought his toilbrought with it, but still more that he might be alone: that he might beable to point to his soiled hands, the shabby clothes which he wore whenworking with chemicals or at the forge, the sheets of paper covered withhalf-finished and maddening calculations, as an excuse why he should notbe taken out, or, worse still, dragged from his home to stay for nights,or perhaps whole weeks, in other places. Even his wife, he felt, wouldrelent at the sight of those figures, and would fly from the odour ofchemicals.

  In fact, Mary did both, for she hated what she called "smells," anda place strewn with hot irons and bottles of acids, which, as shediscovered, if disturbed burnt both dress and fingers. The sight alsoof algebraic characters pursuing each other across quires of paper, likethe grotesque forces of some broken, impish army, filled her indolentmind with a wondering admiration that was akin to fear. The man, shereflected, who could force those cabalistic symbols to reveal anythingworth knowing must indeed be a genius, and one who deserved not to bedisturbed, even for a tea party.

  Although she disapproved deeply of these renewed studies, such wasMary's secret thought. Whether it would have sufficed alone to persuadeher to permit them is another matter, since her instinct, keen andsubtle as any of Morris's appliances, warned her that in them lay dangerto her home and happiness. But just then, as it happened, there wereother matters to occupy her mind. The baby became seriously ill over itsteething, and, other infantile complications following, for some weeksit was doubtful whether she would survive.

  Now Mary belonged to the class of woman which is generally known as"motherly," and adored her offspring almost to excess. Consequently forthose weeks she found plenty to think about without troubling herselfover-much as to Morris and his experiments. For these same reasons,perhaps, she scarcely noticed, seated as she was some distance awayat the further end of the long table, how very ethereal her husband'sappetite had become, or that, although he took wine as usual, it wasa mere pretence, since he never emptied his glass. The most loving ofwomen can scarcely be expected to consider a man's appetite when that ofa baby is in question, or, while the child wastes, to take note whetheror no its father is losing flesh. Lastly, as regards the hours at whichhe came to bed, being herself a sound sleeper Mary had long since ceasedto interest herself about them, on the wise principle that so long asshe was not expected to sit up it was no affair of hers.

  Thus it happened that Morris worked and meditated by day, and bynight--ah! who that has not tried to climb this difficult and endlessJacob's ladder resting upon the earth and losing itself far, far away inthe blue of heaven above, can understand what he did by night? But thosewho have stood even on its lowest rung will guess, and--for the rest itdoes not matter.

  He advanced; he knew that he advanced, that the gross wall of sense waswearing thin beneath the attacks of his out-thrown soul; that even ifthey were not drawn, from time to time the black curtains swung aside inthe swift, pure breath of his continual prayers. Moreover, the dead drewnear to him at moments, or he drew near the dead. Even in his earthlybrain he could feel their awful presence as wave by wave soft, sweetpulses of impression beat upon him and passed through him. Through andthrough him they passed till his brow ached, and every nerve of his bodytingled, as though it had become the receiver of some mysterious currentthat stirred his blood with what was not akin to it, and summoned to hismind strange memories and foresights. Visions came also that he couldnot define, to slip from his frantic grasp like wet sand through thefingers of a drowning man. More and more frequently, and with an everincreasing completeness, did this unearthly air, blowing from a shore nohuman foot has trod, breathe through his being and possess him, muchas some faint wind which we cannot feel may be seen to possess an aspentree so that it turns white and shivers when every other natural thingis still. And as that aspen turns white and shivers in this thin,impalpable air, so did his spirit blanch and quiver with joy and dreadmingled mysteriously in the cup of his expectant soul.

  Again and again those sweet, yet sickening waves flowed over him, toleave him shaken and unnerved. At first they were rare visitors, singleclouds floating across his calm, coming he knew not whence and vanishinghe knew not whither. Now they drove in upon him like some scud, ampleyet broken, before the wind, till at whiles, as it were, he could notsee the face of the friendly, human sun. Then he was like a travellerlost in the mist upon a mountain top, sure of nothing
, feelingprecipices about him, hearing voices calling him, seeing white armsstretched out to lead him, yet running forward gladly because amid somany perils a fate was in his feet.

  Now, too, they came with an actual sense of wind. He would wake upat night even by his wife's side and feel this unholy breath blowingice-cold on his brow and upon the backs of his outstretched hands. Yetif he lit a candle it had no power to stir its flame; yes, while itstill blew sharp upon him the flame of the candle did not move. Thenthe wind would cease, and within him the intangible, imponderable powerwould arise, and the voices would speak like the far, far, murmur ofa stream, and the thoughts which he could not weigh or interpret wouldsoak into his being like some strange dew, and, soft, soft as fallingsnow, invisible feet would tread the air about him, till of a sudden adoor in his brain seemed to shut, and he woke to the world again.

  Every force is subject to laws. Even if they were but the emanations ofan incipient madness which like all else have their origins, destinies,and forms, these possessing vapours were a force, which in time Morris,whose mind from a lifelong training was scientific and methodical,accustomed, moreover, to struggle for dominion over elements unknown orimperfectly appreciated, learned to regulate if not entirely to control.Their visits were pleasant to him, a delight even; but to experiencethis joy to the utmost he discovered that their power must beconcentrated; that if the full effect was to be produced this moralmorphia must be taken in strong doses, and at stated intervals,sufficient space being allowed between them to give his mental beingtime to recuperate. Science has proved that even the molecules of a wirecan grow fatigued by the constant passage of electricity, or the edge ofa razor by too frequent stropping. Both of them, to be effective, to dotheir utmost service, must have periods of rest.

  Here, then, his will came to his aid, for he found that by its strong,concentrated exertion he was enabled both to shut off the sensations orto excite them. Another thing he found also--that after a while it wasimpossible to do without them. For a period the anticipation of theirnext visit would buoy him up; but if it were baulked too long, thenreaction set in, and with it the horrors of the Pit.

  This was the first stage of his insanity--or of his vision.

  Dear as such manifestations might be to him, in time he wearied of them;these hints which but awakened his imagination, these fantastic spicedmeats which, without staying it, only sharpened his spiritual appetite.More than ever he longed to see and to know, to make acquaintance withthe actual presence, whereof they were but the forerunners, the coldblasts that go before the storm, the vague, mystical draperies whichveiled the unearthly goddess at whose shrine he was a worshipper. Hedesired the full fierce fury of the tempest, the blinding flash of thelightning, the heavy hiss of the rain, the rush of the winds bursting onhim from the four horizons; he desired the naked face of his goddess.

  And she came--or he acquired the power to see her, whichever it mightbe. She came suddenly, unexpectedly, completely, as a goddess should.