As I advanced from early youth towards manhood, I became aware of mysterious visitings of the heart, which seemed to connect my being and my wishes with influences as yet unfollowed to their source. I had lain watchful but unwearied, through the long lapse of night and silence, and courted the experience of those dim terrors which others strive to dissipate. I had gazed with earnest eyes into the pale gloom of midnight, when clouds and darkness were abroad, and desired to know and to commune with the shadowy agents which pervade the universe, and brood in the hush and blackness of this hour. I had fixed looks, fearless and undazzled, upon the sheets of flame spread by the lightnings across the lurid sky, and followed home to its deadly destination the blue and forked flash that cut its keen path through the oppressed atmosphere. Then, when the stately thunders, voicing the heavens themselves, rolled through the dim vault above me, my soul rose in adjuration to the spirits that work unseen, to render themselves visible to me—even unto me—who, though of the race of man, was of a nature unlike his—and to teach me of that wild world of shadows which lay beyond my knowledge, but which my dreams continually approached, with a consciousness to what verge they were tending.
But not alone in seasons of gloom, or in the sense of present sublimity, were such my aspirations. Even whilst I roamed beneath the summer heaven, with its blue expanse starred by the glories of unnumbered worlds, with the tall trees around me dark and spreading, and the soft winds sighing through their faintly-moving leaves—even then broke forth the desire of my heart, and I called to the spirits that nestle in the oak’s deep heart of foliage, or to the serene existences that haunt the blue sky, and the shining star, and prayed to pierce the veil of Nature—to enter into the communion of universal being! A time came, and the thirst of my soul was slaked.
I had completed my twentieth year. The flush of youth and strength which animates other men at that bright and glowing period of life, was faint and feeble to the passionate power of mind and feeling that crowned this age to me. The poetry of my nature, mature and intense, and greatly polished by knowledge which it had been joy, not toil, to acquire, was now in its full vigor—its dewiest freshness. Men rarely communicate in written language that which they feel and perceive whilst feeling and perception are most acute; and exquisite poetry is therefore generally rather the transcript of memory, than the utterance of present sensations. I feel that I could now give form and expression to emotions which I then could only enjoy. But how could I then have paused to fashion and mould my thoughts. Then—when I stood in the world like a creature born to exercise the proud and glorying sway of conscious strength? Let it not be dreamed that I was obscure of station, or of unnoted promise! My position in the world was enviable. My lot was luxury—my success in the attainment of learning, and the proof which it was supposed to afford of a mighty intellect, were hailed with pride and hope by a strong and wealthy connection. I was envied and courted by my equals, and my destiny was foretold by those who were willing to reflect its lustre, but had no hope to companion its advance. Yet I, who looked with ardor to life, and fame, and fortune, though full of self-confidence, was distant from presumption. In the deep and secret speculations by which I thirsted to unite unseen agents with my visible fortunes, I spurned the faint and sickly adulation which was offered in my presence, as perpetual incense, and reached after higher and stronger claims upon human sympathies, and that good report which finite creatures have styled “Immortality.” I was wise by the experience of others—that is, I possessed, through the writings and observation of others, a knowledge of mankind, and of their motives, which at least seemed beyond the age to which I had attained; and if I hoped for a lofty station among my kind, it was because I was strong in the perception of their weakness and their wants, and resolute to support the one, and supply the other—even if I should push my researches after broad principles, and instant instruction, into a world, and beyond limits, which they themselves had never approached. Beauty of person was one of the endowments with which it had pleased the Creator to enrich my fate. I was strong, manly and graceful. The power of my soul was glassed in a face, which added to handsome lineaments the higher attraction of mental expression, whilst the rich and sunny brown hair that curled thick and shining around a finely formed head, gave effect to a complexion of those soft and peculiar hues, which artists love to impart to their representations of early and beautiful manhood. It seemed that Nature had armed me at all points for the field of action, for which she had designed me; and, even now, when I recur to this portion of my life, I regard my state, at my entrance into the lists with other men, as enviable beyond that of any other aspirant after distinction whom I have ever known.
It was in the declining flush of a beautiful autumn evening, that I stood alone in the quiet solitude of a stately forest’s edge. I had wandered long, in the spirit of deep and solemn meditation, through scenes which might well arouse the soul of the poet, or quicken the painter’s eye. I was leaning against a spreading ash-tree, which overhung a wide and silent stream, every pebble of whose channel might have been counted through the clearness of its still-flowing waters. Around this tree the grass grew rich and green, and mosses of a thousand shades of verdure, and amidst them, here and there, a grey or scarlet tuft, or the purple or crimson bell of some moisture-loving flower, were spread in thick masses along the dewy brink of the brook, and over the dark surfaces of ponderous grey rocks, which lay, now in the breast of the stream, and now upon its barks. The forest was full of rich coloring and exuberant foliage. Scarlet, purple and gold—the different shades of brown, from its darkest and reddest duskiness, to the palest fawn hue a soft and saddening intermixture of greyish tints, contrasting with the glossy green of the yet unchanged oak, the monarch of trees, and his many and strong wood relatives and with the bluer verdure of the pines, the silver-lined laurel leaves, and the feathery cedar—all these were mingled to make a splendor gorgeous, yet harmonious, and as I gazed upward at the sun, which beamed, mild and red, through an atmosphere of blue and softening mist, I caught his ruby glance down the glossy green ash-leaves, and thought in my soul that there ought to be, if there were not, an inhabiting spirit for every leaf in the forest, and for every rich sun-gleam that colored and rayed the air, in this glowing and glorious Indian summer!
“Beautiful world!” I said, and I sighed, even from the sense of its unutterable loveliness, “Beautiful world! If such be the glory of thine inanimate forms, how bright, passing all the faint visions of encumbered clay, must they be, who, of purer essence, and natures uncontrolled, wander among thy hues, pervade the outlines that constitute grace, and reign throughout creation guardians and adorners! Would that I might commune with this invisible agency! Would that I, even I, might receive the teachings of power, through the spirit of beauty!”
It was thus, that in regarding Nature, I failed to worship the God of Nature—thus, that I sought to pass forbidden bounds, and to deal with the inferior powers that exercise the various offices of good and evil. Alas for the hour in which the desire was satisfied!
“The coveted waters are opened to thy thirst!”
With senses how startled—with hopes how rapturous, did I turn at the sound of this voice!—and though years have intervened, and led along with them a world of checkered fortunes since last I heard those tones, they will die away from my ear only, when all other sounds with which it is familiar shall be lost to my death-lulled consciousness! Did I still dream? Were my dreams filled with a self-created response? Had my aspirations bewildered my intellect?—or, was there indeed before me a spirit to answer my heart—an immortal agent in the solemn mystery of the universe—the being for whose communion my soul had sighed? It was indeed this spirit. Yet was nothing visible. A voice like that of unseen echo fell upon my ear—a clear, soft and sweet—but to the sense of sight was neither hue nor shape vouchsafed.
“You have sought communion with powers alike beyond your sphere and association,” said the existence who had yielded to my arden
t adjuration and granted me the coveted conference. “It is a natural and not ignoble desire, and yet”—and a sigh supplied the place of further words.
“And yet?”—My thickening breath failed to finish the inquiry.
“And yet it seems vain that such a hope should animate a frail and delicate creature of clay, who would strive to work out results which his spiritual portion may indeed conceive, but which the span of his mortal and limited being could never comprehend. But yours is a lawless ambition. You would over-leap the bounds assigned by the Eternal to human curiosity and human agency. You know not the natures with which you would ally your destiny, and Heaven permits you, rash and blind as you are, to take the step, and dare its consequences. We then, inferior and subject spirits, take up the fortunes you consign to us. But first we are compelled by power above our own to warn you, that in the world of knowledge, the splendid scenes of glory and success which we are ready to open to you, punishment and evil await the smallest disobedience to our behests.”
My heart bounded at these words until my whole frame seemed conscious of one uneasy and pervading throb, but so collected were my senses that I received the full import of the spirit’s declaration.
“Decide!” said the voice again. “I am sent to communicate the knowledge you have sought. Will you receive it? You know the annexed conditions—Implicit obedience to the spirits of our order, or submission to penalties whose veiled terrors exceed the pictures of conjecture!”
“Give me strength—teach me truth,” said I, emboldened by the conviction that the object of so many aspirations was now within my grasp. “You have promised to take up my fortunes—to open to me a world of knowledge, and the scenes of splendid success! What more can I desire! I promise obedience, and I defy the peril with which you threaten me!”
“That peril is but the punishment of rebellion against our will,” answered the unseen. “This then is your choice, whether for good or evil.”
“Oh! powerful spirit, knowledge can bring no evil. That voice by which alone I know you, can only tell of good! I hail its melody as the promise of high inspiration, and from its teachings I will receive light!”
Light! In the deep bosom of haunts, lonely but magnificent, where the embracing hills were covered with forests that glowed with the dyes of kings, and sighed to the evening winds as with the murmur of an encamped multitude—with the broad arch of the far and hollow skies above us, radiant with the language of Power and Deity—the everlasting stars, that, one by one, stole forth from the deep flushing of the sunset, amidst clouds, purple and faint—rose, and shone bright and dewy through their shadowy changes—there, amidst the dying glory and pomp of nature, I bared the mental vision to her rays, and drank in the meaning of her mighty institutions. The spirit spake on, and I learned of those viewless but efficient agents, after whose existence and whose essence the metaphysician vainly gropes. Much was revealed of their numbers, their offices, their dwellings, and their powers—the spells were communicated by which their presence may be compelled, and their assistance solicited. The names of other spirits were given to my knowledge. I asked to see at least the form, by which my instructor was known among the beings of his own immortal kind.
“You will never behold me,” said the spirit, “in such shape as human nature is accustomed to assume—but when a chance strain of music—a softer coloring of earth or sky—; the dewier glitter of a star—; a faint but pleasant odor—; that peculiar tint and influence of the atmosphere which looks as if the air itself were in bloom—; when all, or either of these appeals to the enchanted sense, be thou aware of the presence of the spirits whose dwelling is thy world, and whose employment is beauty. Other aspects they sometimes assume, but when thou shalt behold them in other forms, dread thou their anger and submit with patience—; for they then come invested with terror and with power!”
From this time, at my will the spirit came. To my hand the wand of might as yet was not entrusted, but it was given me to know. The difficulties of learning vanished—the paths of science grew, smooth and alluring—my way through the world seemed spread with flowers. It was as if circumstances were arranged by unseen hands to further my interests, or to increase my pleasures. With the voice ever beside me, I plunged into the heart of nature. Attended by the same teacher and guardian, I mingled in the business and the pursuits of men. I found instruction every where, and every where I gained the esteem and confidence of my equals, and that indefinite sentiment of respect or admiration, which is the unfailing tribute of inferior minds to the wise or energetic. Years passed away-years which yielded to my eager ambition the fruit of labor and diligence. Within their lapse, I had been called to the bar, and had acquired a reputation for eloquence and legal ability which seemed, as it really was, remarkable for so young a man. A shade of mystery attended my pursuits, and enhanced the popular enthusiasm. I had avoided publication, and it was therefore impossible that my merits could be deliberately investigated. Moreover, on occasions sufficiently exciting, the natural luxuriance of my imagination was accustomed to over-spread my oratory, and the fervent energy of my temperament to diffuse itself through arguments for which I possessed the medium of clear and perspicuous language. It was graciously taken for granted, therefore, that more was in my power than I cared to display, and this was a faith which I was not unwilling to cherish. I stood high in my profession, and it was anticipated that I should advance yet higher. I was regarded as first in promise in my native state, and the period of my entrance into political life was looked to with prophesies full of triumph and of fame. The apparent eccentricities of my conduct were regarded with that indulgence-.almost with that respect, which their association with acknowledged genius is certain to command. How at this time did I enjoy the glow of my youth, and the high advantages already within my grasp! I pursued with steadfast ambition my shining career, and my intercourse with mankind was a series of pleasures and applause. Yet my converse with spirits, and my delight in their revelations, continued unabated. They seemed to make my fortunes their peculiar care, and the only condition as yet annexed to their communications, or to their benefits, was, that neither should ever be revealed to mortal ear.
Time passed, and I rose to fame with rapidity wholly unexampled, even in a country which matures energy, and rewards its exertions, within a shorter lapse of time than is required for the same result in any other. I was already a candidate to represent a district of my native state in the national assembly, and my success was almost certain, when, on an electioneering visit to the house of a country gentleman, and amidst the mirth and frolic of a ball given at his mansion to further my interests, I first looked on the perfection of human loveliness in the person of Mary Howard.
She was standing in the dance when my attention was first attracted to her figure, which, in itself light and beautiful, was particularly distinguished by a gracefulness so lithe and gliding, that it could hardly fail to arrest the eye of the most commonplace observer. If once she caught and fixed the gaze, the heart moreover became her property, and the reason was that every moment more and more assured every delicate and generous sentiment of human nature, that Mary Howard was exactly what “woman ought to be.” There was nothing of command about her. Her mien and manners, were full of blushing confidence in the kindness and good will of all around her. And well might she feel such confidence, for I verily believe the first and only feelings she ever inspired, were love and the impulse of protection. How lingers my lost heart upon that exquisite loveliness! It was not that her proportions might have furnished inspiration to a Phidias—it was not that her palely auburn hair divided its glossy waves upon a forehead beautifully moulded, and delicately fair, or that her soft and regular features were cut into lines the most gracefully attractive—not that her lips were full of ruby life, or that her cheek upon its smooth and transparent surface wore the purest blush of the wild crab’s blossom—but that, mingling with all these, and a thousand other enchantments, a serene and clear and happy expre
ssion diffused over her countenance the loving and calm and beneficent feelings of a heart unsullied by the world, and hallowed by the best and kindest impulses of native generosity and feminine goodness. There was no distinguishing strength of intellect in Mary Howard, but the truth of her character, the integrity, the beauty of her mind, were without defect or blemish. Her natural tendencies were all to the lovely, the refined, the pure. Learning had not taught her propensities, or guided and restrained her tastes; but, through their innate delicacy, they sought whatever was good and graceful, or full of truth and beauty—and her clinging dependence upon the love of others, and the earnest faithfulness of her own affections, gave to her nature a control over those of her associates, which a stronger intellect, if less endowed with moral loveliness, had vainly sought to acquire. Ah! If she did but raise those snowy lids, and dark and drooping lashes from the large and blue and petitioning eyes they veiled, it was not in human nature to resist their gentleness.
Here then was the very creature formed to hold my existence in enchantment. Mary Howard! Mary Howard! Were life to be prolonged to immortality, or memory passed through the Lethe of Death, I never could forget thee! Never can I experience a diminution of the deep, and hallowed, and quenchless love, which only thou of all created beings couldst inspire! I loved her then-why veil the depths of a worn and wearied heart? I loved her, and I verily believe my passion was in proportion to her utter want of most of my own prominent traits and accomplishments. She was as timid as a fawn. She could follow my bolder mind and admire my strong and fearless character, but she herself possessed neither rapid invention, nor active courage. She was dependent—I could never bear control; her tastes were simple and untaught—mine, of far deeper energy, and infinitely polished. Perhaps it was self-love that first taught me to love her. I might look upon her as the clear and faithful mirror, which would reflect only my own brilliant individuality. But whatever might be its source, my affection was holy, pure and undivided. And from the moment which assured me that it was returned, my confidence of happiness equalled it in strength. I followed Mary Howard whithersoever she went. I seemed to live but in her presence—to know no music but her voice, no motive but her approbation. The poetry of my heart found a home in her soft temper, and beautiful dispositions. Affection for her rose into worship, because its object was better than the other individuals with whom we associated; and I grew in my own esteem, from the consciousness that I was capable of feelings so high and so devoted. I was at this time the happiest and most fortunate of men, for my election to a seat in the House of Representatives opened to me the lists of political action, and, after a short and prosperous suit, I was engaged to Mary Howard. Her father’s approbation came of course; for old Mr. Howard was a man of the world, and I was already wealthy and distinguished.
The Second Macabre Megapack Page 32