The Man Who Was Born Again

by Paul Busson

  I hovered above these mating humans. In the black tents of the Steppe nomads, in twilit snow huts, in wide luxurious beds, on hay heaps, under miserable huts, in the thicket of the wood, on the straw sacks of gloomy houses, in attics and palaces, in innumerable places, at every secret hour of day and night. I was guided by the Law. I felt myself attracted and repelled; but I felt neither regret, nor disappointment, nor impatience.

  My own quest ended in a flash of lightning. At last the coition of two cellae made me once more alive. Thenceforward, for a long period, I was confined in a narrow space, enveloped in the animal heat of a restlessly pulsating human body.

  I was warm; in the moist darkness I felt the currents of nutrition, the noise of creative forces. The sap of life circulated in me; I heard the thunder of growth and the silent rustle of an awakening surrounded me. My consciousness became dim. Sleep overcame me, happy refreshing sleep. My dreams were haunted by memories like unrecognisable shadow Lights, disconnected and indistinct, old, forgotten; ever-receding memories. I grew as I slept; I stretched out my little limbs in animal bliss. I moved slowly in my sleep. Complex and delicate organs developed in me, protected by a mail-coat of bones. Warm blood pulsated through me in quick throbs. A homely narrowness of space gently pressed me, rocked me, showed me the way towards light.

  A crystalline, cold, clear air poured into my lungs. Many-coloured, confused rays struck my eyes, mingled sounds caught my ear. All those things happened to me which accompany the entry of a young being into this world. There I was. I had returned, an Evli.

  My name was Sennon Vorauf.

  Chapter Fourty Eight

  I had a father, a mother, and other people who were fond of me. I learned to talk and to walk. I was a child as other children. Everything was new to me, everything a revelation -

  Until I acquired the faculty of recalling my former existence.

  And that faculty asserted itself at first through nightmares which gave much trouble to my kind parents. Even when I was awake, however, I was not proof from sudden intrusions of the past. The recollections of a time when my name was Melchior von Dronte and I the son of a nobleman in bygone days obsessed and bewildered and terrified me. By slow degrees I became capable of classifying and putting together these recurrent and changing dreams. By-and-by I realised that they were the fragments of the life of Melchior von Dronte, my previous self.

  The outward manifestations of this consciousness caused my parents great anxiety. They would often sit at my bedside and listen, without understanding, to what they thought were merely wild ravings. This forced me to withdraw into myself, and everyone began to consider me as an exceptionally precocious, quiet and thoughtful child. My favourite occupation was to sit alone, staring into the void.

  The life into which I had been re-born was well adapted to such thoughtfulness. My parents, simple good-hearted people who had followed the local usage in giving me the name of Sennon - one of the two patron Saints of the day I was born on - loved me better than anything in the world. I had come to them as a gift of God after ten years of a childless marriage. From the very first my strange behaviour became for them the cause of constant fear and anxiety.

  Once I was seized by convulsions on chancing to see some lads throwing stones at a black dog, which ran away howling. I could not be induced to visit an aunt of mine who was very kind of me, because of a parrot she kept in her house. These emotions will be quite comprehensible to my readers, but they were interpreted as sheer wilfulness, and I was punished for them more or less gently. The patience and the complete unconsciousness of guilt with which I accepted these corrections soon made it impossible for my kind parents to continue punishing me. My mother, in spite of her low social standing, had an uncommonly fine sensitiveness and found out sooner than my father that all these violent emotions were conditioned by psychical processes quite out of the common, and which forbade the adoption of clumsy punitive methods by fair-minded people.

  I remember a fine Sunday afternoon in early autumn when I was alone with my mother in our garden. She had been picking flowers to put into a vase. She arranged the coppery red, blue, white and bright yellow dahlias in a way which suddenly struck me most strangely, and without being able to explain whence my words came, I said dreamily to myself: “This is the way Aglaia used to arrange them.”

  My mother overheard me, and looked at me with a quite peculiarly timid expression: then she stroked my hair, and whispered: “You must have been very fond of her some time before.”

  We remained silent after that for a long time, until it was quite dark. Then she sighed, hugged me, and we went indoors, to wait for my father, who was employed all day in a big optical business.

  Seldom did I mix with other children of my age. I kept aloof from them, not through pride or shyness, but because I found no pleasure in their games. My only friend was the son of a much-travelled doctor who lived in our neighbourhood. He was like myself a quiet and solitary boy. His name was Kaspar Hedrich. I used to roam about with him in the environs of our little town, and to him alone of all people I would speak sometimes of my inner thoughts.

  When I reached the age of twelve or thirteen, however, the real nature of my constantly recurring and amplified visions began to dawn upon me. From that time onward I kept them to myself and turned a deaf ear to all !Caspar’s earnest entreaties to tell him more about them. And yet !Caspar had been the only person who listened attentively to my confused stories and had shown no signs of incredulity when I told them to him, perhaps in the unconscious hope of finding some explanation of them. The explanation came to me at last as a discovery. I kept it to myself, realizing that it was unlikely to be understood in the right way by anyone.

  One incident which happened about that time disturbed and troubled me greatly at first, but later on I realized it to be the earliest, greatest and most precious confirmation of the peculiar gift that had been vouchsafed to me.

  Kaspar and I were especially fond of skating on the frozen backwater of a river which was about half an hour’s walk from our home. This place of solitary enjoyment we kept secret from our parents, knowing very well that the dangers arising from the remoteness of the place and the insecurity of the ice were such that they would never have given us their permission to skate there. They believed that, like other boys, we were satisfied with the artificial skating rink in the town, crowded and entirely safe. The deception was entirely successful, for our parents were occupied the whole day long, and they had no time to be present while we were skating.

  One day, with his skates under his arm, Kaspar called for me. A warm wind had set in and the house eaves were beginning to drip. This, my companion thought, was all the more reason for us to make haste to seize what might turn out to be our last opportunity on the ice that winter.

  I had caught a cold on the previous day, and I was feverish. My mother declared that this time Kaspar would have to go without my company. I obeyed her, and stayed at home. Kaspar was rather disappointed, but took leave politely and went the accustomed way to our solitary backwater.

  My mother brought a pillow and persuaded me to sit on the bench in front of the heated stove, leaning my back against the pillow. She took up her work and sat there as I dozed off. Soon, half asleep, I heard nothing but the quiet click of her knitting.

  All at once it seemed to me that I heard distinctly my friend’s voice, repeatedly calling for me in mortal fear.

  I wanted to rise, but was as if paralysed. I made a tremendous effort. Then something happened.

  Suddenly I was outside my body. I saw myself quite distinctly, sitting on the bench with wide-open eyes staring at my mother engrossed in counting the stitches at the table. The next moment, as if I had been transported by a rushing current of air, I was standing on the bank of the backwater. I saw with great distinctness the riverside willows, the monotonous grey of the ice, the trace of skates on the smooth surface, and in the middle of the ice a broken space and open water, and in it Kaspar’s hea
d appeared, his body submerged. He was crying in terror. His hands were beating wildly to gain support on the breaking ice.

  Without thinking about it I walked over the ice to the brink of the breach, stretched out my hand to the drowning Kaspar, and pulled him with hardly an effort out on to the solid ice. He looked at me; he was chattering with cold, but he laughed with joy. He opened his mouth as if to say something.

  But at that instant some tremendous force swept me away. I was seized with terror, and became painfully conscious of my body...

  Once more I saw with other eyes - dim, mortal eyes. My mother was standing before me, shaking my hand violently and crying: “For Heaven’s sake, child, wake up! wake up!’’

  I was sitting on the same bench at home, terrified and breathless, my heart almost ceasing to beat.

  My mother told me that, chancing to look up, she saw me sitting with open and motionless eyes. She had asked me how I felt, and when I gave no answer she came up to me full of anxiety. At first she touched me, gently at first, then shook me with force, but I continued sitting without sign of life until at last I recovered from my swoon, to her unspeakable relief.

  Half an hour later Dr. Hedrich came to thank me for having shown such courage and presence of mind in saving his son’s life! !Caspar had come home, wet and frozen all over, and he described how he had fallen through the ice and almost died from exhaustion in trying to get out. In his fear he called me by my name. And all at once I had emerged from the riverside willows and gone straight to him, bending down and pulling him out of his wet and cold grave, thus saving his life. But when he had wanted to thank me I disappeared; cry out and shout as he might I was nowhere to be seen. Numb with cold, Kaspar ran home, where he had been given burning hot tea, and was now lying perspiring under three featherbeds.

  A friendly argument followed between my mother and Dr. Hedrich, and resulted in mutual bewilderment. My mother declared that I had not left the room for a single moment. The doctor insisted on the very definite tone of Kaspar's narrative. But when my mother finished her statements by speaking of the inexplicable state in which I had fallen just at the time of the accident, the doctor looked at me curiously and said: “Ay, ay. are you. after all... ? But no! Kaspar may have brought home a fever and there the borders between dream and actuality vanish."

  Dr. Hedrich look leave and went out of the room. But he thrust his head through the door once again, looked at me, and said: “All the same, Sennon. I must thank you, and beg you most earnestly to go on watching over my Kaspar, for you seem to be a good Watcher - a Bekchi, as the Turks say!״

  The meaning of the word had not yet been revealed to me, but it threw me into a violent excitement. My mother did not speak of the incident to my father on his return; she wished to spare me questions which seemed to produce such painful emotions.

  Only later did she tell me of a strange phenomenon that, to her horror, accompanied my swoon. The slight vertical scar that I bore between the eyebrows, just at the top of my nose, had become a streak °f dazzling bluish light, something like one of those sparks which Kaspar and I used to produce from a Leyden jar. The light vanished as she shook me. but when I began to recover it appeared again, increased by degrees in intensity, and then gradually dwindled away.

  When the magic light went out she had the impression that I was dead, and for a moment she thought that her terrified intervention would be fatal to my life. Fortunately I had returned to consciousness.

  We refrained from discussing this incident any further, and I believe she never spoke of it to my father. The marvellous faculty that had been thus revealed to me engrossed my attention to such an extent that for the next few nights I had no dreams. Now that everything has become clear to me, I know that in those nights I left my body, not quite consciously, but also not quite unconsciously, and departed on journeys. Those journeys, however, are not sufficiently important to be recorded here.

  The revelation that such a force was at my disposition led my thoughts into different and adventurous ways. It became of great use to me in my difficult ascent to true knowledge.

  Kaspar’s ways and mine soon diverged; for while he continued to attend the Gymnasium, I entered into the optical business in accordance with my father’s wishes. Being poor, my parents hoped that I might quickly contribute something to the maintenance of our household, which required the constant efforts of the whole family to be kept comfortable.

  I responded with a good will, and left the public school without any regret.

  Chapter Fourty Nine

  My work among the optical instruments, demanding as it did great dexterity and considerable mathematical knowledge, was to me a constant source of pleasure. I had the opportunity of diving into the wonder-world of the microscope, and under my father’s guidance I soon began to produce all sorts of microscopic preparations. I learned how to colour almost imperceptible nuclei and make them distinctly visible; I studied the mysterious forms of infinitesimal creatures, of seaweeds, mosses and hyphomycetes, and their behaviour. Every day I seemed to be discovering some new and wonderful relation. Savants, who proceed with strict method towards a definite end, would have neglected or even overlooked them.

  My work and my secluded life at home made me as happy as a man can possibly be. Sometimes little misunderstandings would occur with youths of my own age, who refused to understand my conduct. They treated with contempt one who kept aloof from their dissipations and revelries. The lure of sex, which seemed to be the dominating and leading influence in their lives, was quite unknown to me. I had continually to make it clear to them in the friendliest manner that for the time being my principal concern was my work and study. Later on, I said, there would come a time when I would gladly join their merry and thoughtless company.

  By degrees I gained the reputation of being a queer and self-sufficient person. People began to take less interest in me and allowed me to follow my own inclinations. My parents, and especially my father, would no doubt have preferred me less different from my comrades. But they left me quite free in these matters and their affection was undiminished. I did not at all relish being so unlike those of my age. But at the same time I was becoming ever more aware of my previous existence. My terrible knowledge of Eternity dominated me to such an extent that I was forced to seek for solitude. Only in solitude could I sustain the heavy weight of my visions, and be always ready to receive them.

  I would have liked to impart my knowledge to someone. To have been understood would for me have been a relief and a deliverance. But were I to describe my experience of an existence which is neither sleep nor waking, neither life nor death, I would certainly have been regarded as the possessor of a morbid and unpleasant imagination. Only my mother, perhaps, with that infinite gift of intuition inherent in women, would have listened to me with sympathy. But words, I felt, would have been useless even with her. So I remained alone. I had to bear in solitude the burden of re-living my previous life in my mind. I returned, perforce, again and again into the abysses of night until everything stood before my mind’s eye with utmost distinctness to the last detail and took its place in the general picture.

  How could I have any pleasure in the girls and women of our town, when there was only one woman my soul yearned for? - the woman who had in my former life appeared in the elusive and twofold person of Aglaia and Zephvrine. The desire for her dominated my second life.

  The only punishment that smote me for the sins of Melchior Dronte. for my sins, was this racking quest, this burning desire for the face I loved above all things. It would appear for a short moment and vanish again, leaving me the prey of a maddening desire.

  On my eighteenth birthday, yielding to long entreaties, I went on a Sunday excursion with two friends. Kaspar was one of them. The excursion involved a short journey by train. We stood on the railway station platform, waiting for the little old carriages of the local line to be shunted together, when suddenly, with thundering noise, an express rushed in, slackening its s
peed as it travelled through the station.

  I was standing near the edge of the platform and could see distinctly the faces that looked out of the large windows of the luxurious train. The passengers were foreigners for the most part, coming from a distance to the distant seaport, where they would embark for strange lands, particularly for the United States of America.

  Suddenly it seemed to me as the train was passing by that a swift brightness threw everything about me into unbearable light. At one of the windows of the express, dressed in white, and pale and beautiful, as I had seen her in her coffin during a dream the night before, stood Aglaia.

  I recognised her immediately. The wind tossed her golden-red ringlets about her forehead. She fixed her beautiful grey eyes on me with sweet terror. She tore away her little hand, which rested on the wooden frame of the lowered window, and pressed it to her heart. I saw that she felt as I felt, that she was intensely aware how again and again we were to cross each other’s path without being able to come into contact, that it was not yet granted to us to become the divine thing which is the soul of man and woman united.

  No doubt she only felt what I knew. But feeling is to woman what knowledge is to man. It is equally valuable, and in this case must have been as painful as my knowledge. It was only for a lightning instant that I saw with my physical eyes what once had been near to me, though by the measure of Eternity for as short and fleeting a moment. It became clear to me that I was still far from my goal of perfection, and that much impurity had to fall off from me before I could enter Eternal Peace as One that is Perfect.

  I was only a spirit returned.

  It took me a long time to recover from the violent pang caused by this new loss and to regain my usual balance of mind.