The Man Who Was Born Again

by Paul Busson

  My desire to test the man’s ability grew as he spoke, and I said:

  “If it were possible for you to call back a departed person, one who is dear to me beyond anything, I would give you good proof of my gratitude.”

  He made a movement as if to suggest his indifference.

  “That, sir, is to your discretion, for in spite of all outward signs to the contrary, I easily recognise you for a nobleman of quality.”

  “What am I to do then, and when will this incantation take place?” I asked hurriedly.

  Two people had entered the tent, obliging us to talk in a whisper.

  “Will you please be here three days from now at half an hour before midnight? And for a day beforehand you must absolutely refrain from all food and all drink, except pure water. After that a cleaning of your body and some clean clothes are necessary. You must also bring with you an object of one kind or another that belonged to the woman you desire me to call back, preferably something she carried about her. Absolute secrecy is a necessary condition. Otherwise all my efforts will be fruitless.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I will do as you tell me. Is this all?”

  “As far as you are concerned, it is all.”

  “And you?”

  “I must fast also, but for the whole three days. The performances here will be carried on by my brother and an assistant,- that I may prepare myself in solitude for the hour of incantation.”

  I looked at him doubtfully. But the booth had become so crowded that further conversation was impossible. The Hungarian magician took no further notice of me, but went out, and so did I. I observed that he said a few hurried words to the harlequin, who nodded gravely.

  “In three days,” I said in a low voice as I passed him.

  “About midnight,” he replied, disappearing in the crowd before the booth.

  When after a while I purposely passed that way the man who had played the harlequin was now standing before the entrance to the booth, dressed as a sorcerer, and inviting people to step forward. I was in deep thought as I walked back to my inn.

  Chapter Thirty One

  God had purified my heart in the fire of pain. With intense conviction I felt this as I prepared myself in solitude and fasting for the evening at the magician’s. How different became all my being since the dreadful hour when my darling glided away from me into the land of shadows! My former irascibility, and the arrogance of which I had so often been guilty, my love of good eating and dissipation of all sorts, and my inclination to lust all these faults had left me. They were uninteresting and stale. The attractive light in which life offered itself to other men was veiled from me by the grey dust of mortality.

  One idea was fixed in my heart like adamant: the conviction that I was to see Zephyrine again. She and Aglaia (for now I knew that they had been created by God as one and the same being) were destined for me from the beginning, though they were ever and again taken away from me in accordance with the unknown purpose of the Eternal Powers. Throughout the third day I remained in my room at the inn, shutting myself away from intruders by pretending indisposition and urgent need of rest.

  As night drew on and the clock-hand approached eleven, I left my inn and took the road to the Liretwaldchen. The weather was damp and warm, a spring wind rustled in the roof tiles and made the weather-cocks creak. The paths were dry. Dark clouds followed each other in long succession past the bright moon, like strange animals chasing each other. I was held up by night-rounds and police patrols on several occasions and obliged to show my documents. I answered their questions in such a way as to make them conclude that I was on the way to a secret love-meeting, about which, as a gentleman, I could give no further details.

  This false pretence was distasteful enough to me, but it enabled me to continue my journey without delay, and when a puff of wind put out the lanterns I was even shown my way by a police patrol through the darkness. It was not easy to find the Lustwaldchen. Even when I reached it I repeatedly lost my way among the formless huts and booths, which looked different in the dark than they had done by daylight.

  But the magician and his brother appeared to have been on the look-out, for as I was about to walk off in the wrong direction I was accosted by a man whom I easily recognised as the harlequin. He took me by the arm and said in a low and hurried voice:

  “This way, Baron, this is the way. We have been waiting for you quite a long time.”

  He led me past dark wagons and canvas huts to a large booth. A very feeble bluish light issued from the crevices in its plank walls. My guide unfastened a string-latch and I passed through the door. The next moment I was standing (as I immediately recognised) on the little stage behind the curtain. The scenery representing a churchyard was still in its place. The sides of the stage were shut off by dark curtains; and I was surrounded by an almost complete square of movable walls. Oil lamps diffused a feeble but singularly agreeable and cool light, so that in a few minutes I could see plainly. I sat down by invitation on a tolerably comfortable chair that had been set for me. A low brazier in which burned some feebly glowing coals stood in the centre of the stage. The brother of the magician came toward me.

  “Do not speak to him when he comes,” he whispered.

  “Have you brought something that belonged to the person you wish to see?”

  I took from my pocket the silver ring which held the fire-opal, and, after a moment’s hesitation, handed it to him. He vanished through one of the curtains, reappearing with a bowl containing some grains in it and a little tripod, and he placed them beside the brazier. Then the curtain in front of me moved violently, and the magician appeared. He was wrapped in a dark, wide mantle, and wore on his head a white band, of the kind I had seen on old pictures. His face was grey and sunken, his eyes were half closed. He walked forward towards the brazier as though he did not see me, his hands outstretched as a blind man’s hands are outstretched. Close behind him walked his brother, directing him with his hands and helping him to find the stool.

  The sorcerer sat there motionless. The brother took up one of his helpless hands, unclasped its fingers (this seemed to require a certain effort) and placed the ring in the palm; whereupon the hand closed itself again. Then he drew up another stool for himself and strewed the grains out of the brass bowl over the crackling coals. A fragrant blue smoke rose up that smelt like the precious frankincense the Catholic Church uses on high feast days. The magician sat motionless before me, without giving the slightest sign that he heeded my presence. Behind him sat his brother, on whose lean and hollow cheeks an advanced stage of consumption, as I noticed for the first time, had put the plain mark of early death.

  But now the magician’s eyes were fixed on me with a staring, lifeless look. A humming, chirping melody arose, and I discovered that the brother was holding a jew’s-harp in his teeth, the forefinger of his right hand keeping the tongue of the little instrument in constant vibration. The magician’s head sank obliquely towards his right shoulder and his mouth fell open. The hand that held the ring began to twitch slightly. So we sat for some time in the blue light, the drone and hum of this soporific music rising and falling... Suddenly between the open lips of the motionless man I noticed something like the end of a shining bluish-white cloth, which gradually pushed forth.

  A light issued from it, gradually becoming more brilliant. Simultaneously a knocking and tapping began behind my chair. The noise occasionally shifted itself to the planks of the floor, but always it returned to the chair. Several times as I distinctly heard the short, sharp knocks at my back I involuntarily looked round. But no one was there, although the knocking went on with undiminished force. The white tissue that hung out of the sleeping man’s mouth and almost down to his breast disappeared as suddenly as it had made its appearance. With a loud crash at the left arm of my chair the knocking ceased.

  A profound silence followed, the brother again taking the bowl of incense and strewing grains over the coals. Something cold and sticky quite unex
pectedly touched my cheek and glided past my forehead. I made a movement, but my hand only grasped at the empty air. Then a large snow-white hand appeared at the magician’s shoulder its fingers so flat that it looked almost like a glove. It lengthened into a disproportionately long arm, that in a few moments rested on his lap as if it were his third arm; and again everything faded and disappeared. The sleeper began to stir restlessly. His body rocked backwards and forwards, he raised a monotonous chant-complaint, of which I could not distinguish the words. The knocking sounded on the plank floor and behind my chair once more, becoming violent; and an empty stool, that stood against the curtain and had escaped my notice, made four or five frog-like jumps towards me. This made me realise that strong magnetic fluids, proceeding from the slumbering magician, were beginning to operate.

  The trembling melody of the piper grew louder and quicker, and the magician’s swaying movements changed to violent, convulsive jerks, producing a very uncanny effect that was enhanced by the vapour rising and spreading until the two men were shadow-like and altogether unreal. Suddenly I thought I saw, lying beside the dull-glowing brazier, a luminous piece of folded cloth that had not been there before. Something moved inside it, in a strange manner, as if a tiny child or a little animal were trying to get free from its folds. But the luminous cloth (or was it a luminous mist?) rapidly grew in height, became taller and narrower until it seemed about to assume a human form.

  I looked on in painful expectation, straining my sight to the utmost, and then I saw folds of clothing and limbs take shape. It was a figure a human figure rising up before me. And all suddenly, paralysed by joyous terror, I beheld, pale and almost transparent, the beloved face of Zephyrine. Her motionless gaze was fixed on me; and then there appeared something on her dear head something that shone and spread light Aglaia’s burial wreath... I would have sprang to my feet, seeking to clasp my arms about my beloved wife, so terribly missed, so ardently longed for. But veils rose before my eyes, my feet were as if encased in leaden shoes, and my heart threatened to stop beating... And in that moment everything disappeared.

  I saw only the rough boarding, the smouldering sweet fumes and the magician, now fallen from his stool and lying in convulsions on the floor, his eyeballs rolling. The music ceased, and the brother hurried forward and raised the magician from the boards. With his cloth-covered hand he reached into the magician’s mouth and pulled out his tongue. With a wild choking groan the sorcerer opened his eyes, looked round and sighed deeply.

  “Wake up, Eusebius,” shouted the brother, shaking him gently. “Wake up! Wake up!”

  The magician looked first at one of us and then at the other, letting his eyes wander as if he were unable to realise where he was. He shuddered violently, putting his hand to his forehead as he stared at me.

  “Two!” he gasped. “There were two of them two!”

  The brother had brought a tin goblet and a bottle, and he poured out a dark, strongly-scented wine into the cup and held it up to his brother’s lips. The magician drank in thirsty gulps, and when he had taken breath, he drank again. I chanced to touch my face. It was wet with tears. After many efforts, and with the help of his assistant, the necromancer got up and tottered across to me. His face was drawn and covered with perspiration.

  “The ring” he stammered.

  I took the silver treasure from him, carefully returning it to my great-coat.

  “But why two?” he asked, stretching towards me a hand that trembled violently. “Why were there two, sir?”

  I nodded, and answered:

  “They were two and yet there is only one.”

  “Never again,” he groaned, and staggered against his brother. “Dreadful I had passed the threshold”

  “What’s the matter with you, Eusebius?” the brother asked.

  “The hunchback,” he cried, “and the child… two heads … a monster!”

  With that he collapsed unconscious, and was only prevented from falling heavily by his brother, who looked at me helplessly, spat out blood, and stuttered:

  “Enough, sir, enough! Have mercy on us.”

  I pressed a large sum of money into his hand. His poor lean face shone for a moment with joy, as he held out the gold to his helpless brother.

  “Look at this, Eusebius,” he cried, “just look at this!”

  Gently he let his brother’s convulsed body sink to the ground. Then he pointed to the opening in the canvas wall.

  “He has had it badly this time,” he whispered. “The day is breaking were you satisfied, sir?”

  Full of compassion for these poor people, deeply and strangely moved, and yet with a bright ray of transcendent hope to hearten me, I returned through the grey-dripping morning to the awakening town.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  For a long time I lived quietly in a place, tiny and out of the way, that was steeped in the recollection of happier times. There, I thought, I would end my days. But one fine morning an incident occurred that proved a turning-point in my life. An apprentice, unknown in the country, entered the village baker’s shop to buy bread, and was accused by the tradesman of having attempted to pass false money. A crowd gathered. The poor fellow, well aware of what cruel punishment followed such an act, defended himself desperately, and when he beheld me approaching, he cried out:

  “Help me, sir! Save me!”

  I was well known to the people. I had gained their friendliness by small kindly acts, especially to the children. They made way for me as I came up, and one man said:

  “Good! The Baron will decide whether the lad has put on the baker’s counter a gold coin or a piece of bad token money.”

  I examined the money. It was a Turkish sequin, similar to the five coins which I still preserved from my discovery among the ruins. The curiously curled lettering had been so undecipherable to the baker and the other people that they paid no attention to the weight of the gold, regarding a coin of the Grand Signior as a gambling counter, and the lad as a cut purse. I explained the facts.

  The coin was weighed on the baker’s scales, and, for greater sureness, even tested on the stone. Therefore the poor wandering carder was not punished after all; he was given a lot of silver and copper coins for change. When the incident was ended I asked him how he had come upon this coin, which I had no doubt was very rare in the neighbourhood. His answer broke like lightning into my hitherto quiet life, destroying, completely and for ever, my recently gained serenity. A stranger had given him the coin, he explained, and had told him to come to the village to have it changed, where he would learn more.

  He had encountered the stranger as he was trudging along the road, weary and half-starved; a handsome man, he was, wearing a black turban. He had asked the man for a coin, and had received the gold piece. Breathless, I asked the boy whether the charitable traveller was dressed like a monk. But the only things the lad remembered were the black turban and the handsome, dark eyes. He had, indeed, looked back as he passed on, but the stranger was no more to be seen, though the road ran perfectly straight for a long distance. This news, added to my previous knowledge that the mysterious Man from the East had appeared not three days’ journey from here, excited me so greatly that at once I ordered a post-chaise and resolved to trace him, come what may. I would not stop until I stood face to face with him and received an answer to all the questions that had disturbed me for many years for, indeed, the whole of my life.

  When I was examining my money for the journey I came upon the Turkish sequins, and what I saw amazed and frightened me. Only four of them remained instead of five! A bewildering feeling assailed me a vain wish to recollect something. Then it disappeared, leaving behind it a new riddle in my life. Next day I started on my journey in the post-chaise. During late afternoon, after a change of horses, I reached the great wood that lay on the road to the town, near which the honest carder had received his golden sequin.

  Just as we were passing a village and the postilion was lustily blowing on his horn the “Huntsman from
the Palatinate,” a wheel broke, and the postilion, struck by the shaft as the horses plunged, was so violently thrown off the box that he could only lift himself with difficulty. His face was distorted by pain as he declared that he would have to bandage his bruised shoulder before he could again manage the reins. Also the fallen horse had bruised its knee and needed additional treatment. If we went on with the journey to-day, he vowed, we would surely come to grief. Undecided, I was standing near to the luckless carriage, surrounded by a wondering crowd of village children, when an old woman approached and addressed me immediately.

  “Your lodging is ready,” she said, “according to your orders, and the postilion will also find bed and food. There is room for the horses in his Reverence’s stables.”

  I was vastly gratified, but no less astonished. I asked the dame who had announced my arrival, and whether there was not some misunderstanding.

  “There must be an inn in the village,” I said; “I will find my lodging.”

  “No, sir,” continued the woman, and without more ado she walked on before me as a guide.

  “We have no inn, and strangers of quality who are brought here by chance always stop at the parsonage, which is spacious and has plenty of rooms. But you, sir, have been quite particularly bespoken and recommended to his Reverence. The priest, who is at present at the bed of a dying man, told me to have an eye on the road so as not to miss the visitor he was expecting.”

  Meanwhile we had reached a handsome-looking house that stood near the church. We passed through the gate, over which, on a heavy iron chain, hung bones of gigantic extinct animals, and bewildered I went down a pathway paved with grey tiles, and eventually came into a vaulted, white-washed room, furnished with a large table and leather chairs. Against the wall stood many shelves of books, among which I noticed the works of Paracelsus.