{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_44559/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_44559","id":"gutenberg_44559","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44559","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Dreams -- Fiction","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"Note: Words in italics have been surrounded with _underscores_ and\nbold with =signs=. Small capitals have been changed to all capitals.\nA more extensive transcriber\u2019s note can be found at the end of this\nbook.\n\n\n\n\n  NIGHTMARE TALES\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: THE ARYAN THEOSOPHICAL PRESS\n                   Point Loma, California]\n\n\n\n\n  NIGHTMARE TALES\n\n\n  _By_\n\n\n  H. P. BLAVATSKY\n\n\n  The Aryan Theosophical Press\n  Point Loma, California,\n  U. S. A.\n  1907\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                               PAGE\n  A BEWITCHED LIFE                1\n\n  THE CAVE OF THE ECHOES         65\n\n  THE LUMINOUS SHIELD            81\n\n  FROM THE POLAR LANDS           95\n\n  THE ENSOULED VIOLIN           103\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nA BEWITCHED LIFE\n\n(As Narrated by a Quill Pen)\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nIt was a dark, chilly night in September, 1884. A heavy gloom had\ndescended over the streets of A\u2014\u2014, a small town on the Rhine, and was\nhanging like a black funeral-pall over the dull factory burgh. The\ngreater number of its inhabitants, wearied by their long day\u2019s work,\nhad hours before retired to stretch their tired limbs, and lay their\naching heads upon their pillows. All was quiet in the large house; all\nwas quiet in the deserted streets.\n\nI too was lying in my bed; alas, not one of rest, but of pain and\nsickness, to which I had been confined for some days. So still was\neverything in the house, that, as Longfellow has it, its stillness\nseemed almost audible. I could plainly hear the murmur of the blood,\nas it rushed through my aching body, producing that monotonous\nsinging so familiar to one who lends a watchful ear to silence. I had\nlistened to it until, in my nervous imagination, it had grown into\nthe sound of a distant cataract, the fall of mighty waters ... when,\nsuddenly changing its character, the ever growing \u201csinging\u201d merged\ninto other and far more welcome sounds. It was the low, and at first\nscarce audible, whisper of a human voice. It approached, and gradually\nstrengthening seemed to speak in my very ear. Thus sounds a voice\nspeaking across a blue quiescent lake, in one of those wondrously\nacoustic gorges of the snow-capped mountains, where the air is so pure\nthat a word pronounced half a mile off seems almost at the elbow.\nYes; it was the voice of one whom to know is to reverence; of one, to\nme, owing to many mystic associations, most dear and holy; a voice\nfamiliar for long years and ever welcome: doubly so in hours of mental\nor physical suffering, for it always brings with it a ray of hope and\nconsolation.\n\n\u201cCourage,\u201d it whispered in gentle, mellow tones. \u201cThink of the days\npassed by you in sweet associations; of the great lessons received of\nNature\u2019s truths; of the many errors of men concerning these truths;\nand try to add to them the experience of a night in this city. Let the\nnarrative of a strange life, that will interest you, help to shorten\nthe hours of suffering.... Give your attention. Look yonder before you!\u201d\n\n\u201cYonder\u201d meant the clear, large windows of an empty house on the other\nside of the narrow street of the German town. They faced my own in\nalmost a straight line across the street, and my bed faced the windows\nof my sleeping room. Obedient to the suggestion, I directed my gaze\ntowards them, and what I saw made me for the time being forget the\nagony of the pain that racked my swollen arm and rheumatical body.\n\nOver the windows was creeping a mist; a dense, heavy, serpentine,\nwhitish mist, that looked like the huge shadow of a gigantic boa slowly\nuncoiling its body. Gradually it disappeared, to leave a lustrous\nlight, soft and silvery, as though the window-panes behind reflected\na thousand moonbeams, a tropical star-lit sky\u2014first from outside,\nthen from within the empty rooms. Next I saw the mist elongating\nitself and throwing, as it were, a fairy bridge across the street\nfrom the bewitched windows to my own balcony, nay to my very own bed.\nAs I continued gazing, the wall and windows and the opposite house\nitself, suddenly vanished. The space occupied by the empty rooms had\nchanged into the interior of another smaller room, in what I knew to\nbe a Swiss ch\u00e2let\u2014into a study, whose old, dark walls were covered\nfrom floor to ceiling with book shelves on which were many antiquated\nfolios, as well as works of a more recent date. In the center stood\na large old-fashioned table, littered over with manuscripts and\nwriting materials. Before it, quill-pen in hand, sat an old man; a\ngrim-looking, skeleton-like personage, with a face so thin, so pale,\nyellow and emaciated, that the light of the solitary little student\u2019s\nlamp was reflected in two shining spots on his high cheek-bones, as\nthough they were carved out of ivory.\n\nAs I tried to get a better view of him by slowly raising myself upon my\npillows, the whole vision, ch\u00e2let and study, desk, books and scribe,\nseemed to flicker and move. Once set in motion they approached nearer\nand nearer, until, gliding noiselessly along the fleecy bridge of\nclouds across the street, they floated through the closed windows into\nmy room and finally seemed to settle beside my bed.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cI NOTICED A LIGHT FLASHING FROM UNDER HIS PEN, A BRIGHT\nCOLORED SPARK THAT BECAME INSTANTANEOUSLY A SOUND. IT WAS THE SMALL\nVOICE OF THE QUILL.\u201d]\n\n\u201cListen to what he thinks and is going to write\u201d\u2014said in soothing tones\nthe same familiar, far off, and yet near voice. \u201cThus you will hear a\nnarrative, the telling of which may help to shorten the long sleepless\nhours, and even make you forget for a while your pain.... Try!\u201d\u2014it\nadded, using the well-known Rosicrucian and Kabalistic formula.\n\nI tried, doing as I was bid. I centered all my attention on the\nsolitary laborious figure that I saw before me, but which did not\nsee me. At first, the noise of the quill-pen with which the old man\nwas writing, suggested to my mind nothing more than a low whispered\nmurmur of a nondescript nature. Then, gradually, my ear caught the\nindistinct words of a faint and distant voice, and I thought the figure\nbefore me, bending over its manuscript, was reading its tale aloud\ninstead of writing it. But I soon found out my error. For casting my\ngaze at the old scribe\u2019s face, I saw at a glance that his lips were\ncompressed and motionless, and the voice too thin and shrill to be his\nvoice. Stranger still, at every word traced by the feeble, aged hand,\nI noticed a light flashing from under his pen, a bright colored spark\nthat became instantaneously a sound, or\u2014what is the same thing\u2014it\nseemed to do so to my inner perceptions. It was indeed the small voice\nof the quill that I heard, though scribe and pen were at the time,\nperchance, hundreds of miles away from Germany. Such things will happen\noccasionally, especially at night, beneath whose starry shade, as Byron\ntells us, we\n\n    ... learn the language of another world ...\n\nHowever it may be, the words uttered by the quill remained in my memory\nfor days after. Nor had I any great difficulty in retaining them, for\nwhen I sat down to record the story, I found it, as usual, indelibly\nimpressed on the astral tablets before my inner eye.\n\nThus, I had but to copy it and so give it as I received it. I failed to\nlearn the name of the unknown nocturnal writer. Nevertheless, though\nthe reader may prefer to regard the whole story as one made up for the\noccasion, a dream, perhaps, still its incidents will, I hope, prove\nnone the less interesting.\n\n\nI\n\nTHE STRANGER\u2019S STORY\n\nMy birth-place is a small mountain hamlet, a cluster of Swiss cottages,\nhidden deep in a sunny nook, between two tumble-down glaciers and a\npeak covered with eternal snows. Thither, thirty-seven years ago, I\nreturned\u2014crippled mentally and physically\u2014to die, if death would only\nhave me. The pure invigorating air of my birth-place decided otherwise.\nI am still alive; perhaps for the purpose of giving evidence to facts\nI have kept profoundly secret from all\u2014a tale of horror I would rather\nhide than reveal. The reason for this unwillingness on my part is due\nto my early education, and to subsequent events that gave the lie to\nmy most cherished prejudices. Some people might be inclined to regard\nthese events as providential: I, however, believe in no Providence, and\nyet am unable to attribute them to mere chance. I connect them as the\nceaseless evolution of effects, engendered by certain direct causes,\nwith one primary and fundamental cause, from which ensued all that\nfollowed. A feeble old man am I now, yet physical weakness has in no\nway impaired my mental faculties. I remember the smallest details of\nthat terrible cause, which engendered such fatal results. It is these\nwhich furnish me with an additional proof of the actual existence of\none whom I fain would regard\u2014oh, that I could do so!--as a creature\nborn of my fancy, the evanescent production of a feverish, horrid\ndream! Oh that terrible, mild and all-forgiving, that saintly and\nrespected Being! It was that paragon of all the virtues who embittered\nmy whole existence. It is he, who, pushing me violently out of the\nmonotonous but secure groove of daily life, was the first to force upon\nme the certitude of a life hereafter, thus adding an additional horror\nto one already great enough.\n\nWith a view to a clearer comprehension of the situation, I must\ninterrupt these recollections with a few words about myself. Oh how, if\nI could, would I obliterate that hated _Self_!\n\nBorn in Switzerland, of French parents, who centered the whole\nworld-wisdom in the literary trinity of Voltaire, J.\u00a0J. Rousseau\nand D\u2019Holbach, and educated in a German university, I grew up a\nthorough materialist, a confirmed atheist. I could never have even\npictured to myself any beings\u2014least of all a Being\u2014above or even\noutside visible nature, as distinguished from her. Hence I regarded\neverything that could not be brought under the strictest analysis of\nthe physical senses as a mere chimera. A soul, I argued, even supposing\nman has one, must be material. According to Origen\u2019s definition,\n_incorporeus_[1]\u2014the epithet he gave to his God\u2014signifies a substance\nonly more subtle than that of physical bodies, of which, at best,\nwe can form no definite idea. How then can that, of which our senses\ncannot enable us to obtain any clear knowledge, how can that make\nitself visible or produce any tangible manifestations?\n\n      [1] \u1f00\u03c3\u03ce\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2.\n\nAccordingly, I received the tales of nascent Spiritualism with a\nfeeling of utter contempt, and regarded the overtures made by certain\npriests with derision, often akin to anger. And indeed the latter\nfeeling has never entirely abandoned me.\n\nPascal, in the eighth Act of his \u201cThoughts,\u201d confesses to a most\ncomplete incertitude upon the existence of God. Throughout my life, I\ntoo professed a complete certitude as to the non-existence of any such\nextra-cosmic being, and repeated with that great thinker the memorable\nwords in which he tells us: \u201cI have examined if this God of whom all\nthe world speaks might not have left some marks of himself. I look\neverywhere, and everywhere I see nothing but obscurity. Nature offers\nme nothing that may not be a matter of doubt and inquietude.\u201d Nor\nhave I found to this day anything that might unsettle me in precisely\nsimilar and even stronger feelings. I have never believed, nor shall\nI ever believe, in a Supreme Being. But at the potentialities of man,\nproclaimed far and wide in the East, powers so developed in some\npersons as to make them virtually Gods, at them I laugh no more. My\nwhole broken life is a protest against such negation. I believe in such\nphenomena, and\u2014I curse them, whenever they come, and by whatsoever\nmeans generated.\n\nOn the death of my parents, owing to an unfortunate lawsuit, I lost the\ngreater part of my fortune, and resolved\u2014for the sake of those I loved\nbest, rather than for my own\u2014to make another for myself. My elder\nsister, whom I adored, had married a poor man. I accepted the offer of\na rich Hamburg firm and sailed for Japan as its junior partner.\n\nFor several years my business went on successfully. I got into the\nconfidence of many influential Japanese, through whose protection I\nwas enabled to travel and transact business in many localities, which,\nin those days especially, were not easily accessible to foreigners.\nIndifferent to every religion, I became interested in the philosophy\nof Buddhism, the only religious system I thought worthy of being\ncalled philosophical. Thus, in my moments of leisure, I visited the\nmost remarkable temples of Japan, the most important and curious of\nthe ninety-six Buddhist monasteries of Kioto. I have examined in\nturn Day-Bootzoo, with its gigantic bell; Tzeonene, Enarino-Yassero,\nKie-Missoo, Higadzi-Hong-Vonsi, and many other famous temples.\n\nSeveral years passed away, and during that whole period I was not\ncured of my scepticism, nor did I ever contemplate having my opinions\non this subject altered. I derided the pretentions of the Japanese\nbonzes and ascetics, as I had those of Christian priests and European\nSpiritualists. I could not believe in the acquisition of powers unknown\nto, and never studied by, men of science; hence I scoffed at all such\nideas. The superstitious and atrabilious Buddhist, teaching us to shun\nthe pleasures of life, to put to rout one\u2019s passions, to render oneself\ninsensible alike to happiness and suffering, in order to acquire such\nchimerical powers\u2014seemed supremely ridiculous in my eyes.\n\nOn a day for ever memorable to me\u2014a fatal day\u2014I made the acquaintance\nof a venerable and learned Bonze, a Japanese priest, named Tamoora\nHideyeri. I met him at the foot of the golden Kwon-On, and from that\nmoment he became my best and most trusted friend. Notwithstanding my\ngreat and genuine regard for him, however, whenever a good opportunity\nwas offered I never failed to mock his religious convictions, thereby\nvery often hurting his feelings.\n\nBut my old friend was as meek and forgiving as any true Buddhist\u2019s\nheart might desire. He never resented my impatient sarcasms, even when\nthey were, to say the least, of equivocal propriety, and generally\nlimited his replies to the \u201cwait and see\u201d kind of protest. Nor could he\nbe brought to seriously believe in the sincerity of my denial of the\nexistence of any God or Gods. The full meaning of the terms \u201catheism\u201d\nand \u201cscepticism\u201d was beyond the comprehension of his otherwise\nextremely intellectual and acute mind. Like certain reverential\nChristians, he seemed incapable of realizing that any man of sense\nshould prefer the wise conclusions arrived at by philosophy and modern\nscience to a ridiculous belief in an invisible world full of Gods and\nspirits, dzins and demons. \u201cMan is a spiritual being,\u201d he insisted,\n\u201cwho returns to earth more than once, and is rewarded or punished in\nthe between times.\u201d The proposition that man is nothing else but a heap\nof organized dust, was beyond him. Like Jeremy Collier, he refused to\nadmit that he was no better than \u201ca stalking machine, a speaking head\nwithout a soul in it,\u201d whose \u201cthoughts are all bound by the laws of\nmotion.\u201d \u201cFor,\u201d he argued, \u201cif my actions were, as you say, prescribed\nbeforehand, and I had no more liberty or free will to change the course\nof my action than the running waters of the river yonder, then the\nglorious doctrine of Karma, of merit and demerit, would be foolishness\nindeed.\u201d\n\nThus the whole of my hyper-metaphysical friend\u2019s ontology rested on\nthe shaky superstructure of metempsychosis, of a fancied \u201cjust\u201d Law of\nRetribution, and other such equally absurd dreams.\n\n\u201cWe cannot,\u201d said he paradoxically one day, \u201chope to live hereafter in\nthe full enjoyment of our consciousness, unless we have built for it\nbeforehand a firm and solid foundation of spirituality.... Nay, laugh\nnot, friend of no faith,\u201d he meekly pleaded, \u201cbut rather think and\nreflect on this. One who has never taught himself to live in Spirit\nduring his conscious and responsible life on earth, can hardly hope to\nenjoy a sentient existence after death, when, deprived of his body, he\nis limited to that Spirit alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can you mean by life in Spirit?\u201d\u2014I inquired.\n\n\u201cLife on a spiritual plane; that which the Buddhists call _Tushita\nDevaloka_ (Paradise). Man can create such a blissful existence for\nhimself between two births, by the gradual transference on to that\nplane of all the faculties which during his sojourn on earth manifest\nthrough his organic body and, as you call it, animal brain.\u201d...\n\n\u201cHow absurd! And how can man do this?\u201d\n\n\u201cContemplation and a strong desire to assimilate the blessed Gods, will\nenable him to do so.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if man refuses this intellectual occupation, by which you mean, I\nsuppose, the fixing of the eyes on the tip of his nose, what becomes of\nhim after the death of his body?\u201d was my mocking question.\n\n\u201cHe will be dealt with according to the prevailing state of his\nconsciousness, of which there are many grades. At best\u2014immediate\nrebirth; at worst\u2014the state of _avitchi_, a mental hell. Yet one need\nnot be an ascetic to assimilate spiritual life which will extend to\nthe hereafter. All that is required is to try to approach Spirit.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow so? Even when disbelieving in it?\u201d\u2014I rejoined.\n\n\u201cEven so! One may disbelieve and yet harbor in one\u2019s nature room for\ndoubt, however small that room may be, and thus try one day, were it\nbut for one moment, to open the door of the inner temple; and this will\nprove sufficient for the purpose.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are decidedly poetical, and paradoxical to boot, reverend sir.\nWill you kindly explain to me a little more of the mystery?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is none; still I am willing. Suppose for a moment that some\nunknown temple to which you have never been before, and the existence\nof which you think you have reasons to deny, is the \u2018spiritual plane\u2019\nof which I am speaking. Some one takes you by the hand and leads you\ntowards its entrance, curiosity makes you open its door and look\nwithin. By this simple act, by entering it for one second, you have\nestablished an everlasting connexion between your consciousness and the\ntemple. You cannot deny its existence any longer, nor obliterate the\nfact of your having entered it. And according to the character and the\nvariety of your work, within its holy precincts, so will you live in it\nafter your consciousness is severed from its dwelling of flesh.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean? And what has my after-death consciousness\u2014if such a\nthing exists\u2014to do with the temple?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt has everything to do with it,\u201d solemnly rejoined the old man.\n\u201cThere can be no self-consciousness after death outside the temple\nof spirit. That which you will have done within its plane will alone\nsurvive. All the rest is false and an illusion. It is doomed to perish\nin the Ocean of M\u00e2y\u00e2.\u201d\n\nAmused at the idea of living outside one\u2019s body, I urged on my old\nfriend to tell me more. Mistaking my meaning, the venerable man\nwillingly consented.\n\nTamoora Hideyeri belonged to the great temple of Tzi-Onene, a Buddhist\nmonastery, famous not only in all Japan, but also throughout Tibet\nand China. No other is so venerated in Kioto. Its monks belong to the\nsect of Dzeno-doo, and are considered as the most learned among the\nmany erudite fraternities. They are, moreover, closely connected and\nallied with the Yamabooshi (the ascetics, or hermits), who follow the\ndoctrines of Lao-tze. No wonder, that at the slightest provocation on\nmy part the priest flew into the highest metaphysics, hoping thereby to\ncure me of my infidelity.\n\nNo use repeating here the long rigmarole of the most hopelessly\ninvolved and incomprehensible of all doctrines. According to his\nideas, we have to train ourselves for spirituality in another world\u2014as\nfor gymnastics. Carrying on the analogy between the temple and the\n\u201cspiritual plane\u201d he tried to illustrate his idea. He had himself\nworked in the temple of Spirit two-thirds of his life, and given\nseveral hours daily to \u201ccontemplation.\u201d Thus _he knew_ (?!) that after\nhe had laid aside his mortal casket, \u201ca mere illusion,\u201d he explained\u2014he\nwould in his spiritual consciousness live over again every feeling\nof ennobling joy and divine bliss he had ever had, or _ought to have\nhad_\u2014only a hundred-fold intensified. His work on the spirit-plane had\nbeen considerable, he said, and he hoped, therefore, that the wages of\nthe laborer would prove proportionate.\n\n\u201cBut suppose the laborer, as in the example you have just brought\nforward in my case, should have no more than opened the temple door out\nof mere curiosity; had only peeped into the sanctuary never to set his\nfoot therein again. What then?\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d he answered, \u201cyou would have only this short minute to record\nin your future self-consciousness and no more. Our life hereafter\nrecords and repeats but the impressions and feelings we have had in our\nspiritual experiences and nothing else. Thus, if instead of reverence\nat the moment of entering the abode of Spirit, you had been harboring\nin your heart anger, jealousy or grief, then your future spiritual life\nwould be a sad one, in truth. There would be nothing to record, save\nthe opening of a door in a fit of bad temper.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow then could it be repeated?\u201d\u2014I insisted, highly amused. \u201cWhat do\nyou suppose I would be doing before incarnating again?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn that case,\u201d he said, speaking slowly and weighing every word\u2014\u201cin\nthat case, _you would have, I fear, only to open and shut the temple\ndoor, over and over again, during a period which, however short, would\nseem to you an eternity_.\u201d\n\nThis kind of after-death occupation appeared to me, at that time, so\ngrotesque in its sublime absurdity, that I was seized with an almost\ninextinguishable fit of laughter.\n\nMy venerable friend looked considerably dismayed at such a result\nof his metaphysical instruction. He had evidently not expected such\nhilarity. However, he said nothing, but only sighed and gazed at me\nwith increased benevolence and pity shining in his small black eyes.\n\n\u201cPray excuse my laughter,\u201d I apologized. \u201cBut really, now, you cannot\nseriously mean to tell me that the \u2018spiritual state\u2019 you advocate and\nso firmly believe in, consists only in aping certain things we do in\nlife?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay; not aping, but only intensifying their repetition; filling\nthe gaps that were unjustly left unfilled during life in the fruition\nof our acts and deeds, and of everything performed on the spiritual\nplane of the one real state. What I said was an illustration, and\nno doubt for you, who seem entirely ignorant of the mysteries of\n_Soul-Vision_, not a very intelligible one. It is myself who am to be\nblamed.... What I sought to impress upon you was that, as the spiritual\nstate of our consciousness liberated from its body is but the fruition\nof every spiritual act performed during life, where an act had been\nbarren, there could be no results expected\u2014save the repetition of that\nact itself. This is all. I pray you may be spared such fruitless deeds\nand finally made to see certain truths.\u201d And passing through the usual\nJapanese courtesies of taking leave, the excellent man departed.\n\nAlas, alas! had I but known at the time what I have learned since, how\nlittle would I have laughed, and how much more would I have learned!\n\nBut as the matter stood, the more personal affection and respect I felt\nfor him, the less could I become reconciled to his wild ideas about\nan after-life, and especially as to the acquisition by some men of\nsupernatural powers. I felt particularly disgusted with his reverence\nfor the Yamabooshi, the allies of every Buddhist sect in the land.\nTheir claims to the \u201cmiraculous\u201d were simply odious to my notions. To\nhear every Jap I knew at Kioto, even to my own partner, the shrewdest\nof all the business men I had come across in the East\u2014mentioning these\nfollowers of Lao-tze with downcast eyes, reverentially folded hands,\nand affirmations of their possessing \u201cgreat\u201d and \u201cwonderful\u201d gifts,\nwas more than I was prepared to patiently tolerate in those days. And\nwho were they, after all, these great magicians with their ridiculous\npretensions to super-mundane knowledge; these \u201choly beggars\u201d who, as I\nthen thought, purposely dwell in the recesses of unfrequented mountains\nand on unapproachable craggy steeps, so as the better to afford no\nchance to curious intruders of finding them out and watching them in\ntheir own dens? Simply impudent fortune-tellers, Japanese gypsies\nwho sell charms and talismans, and no better. In answer to those who\nsought to assure me that though the Yamabooshi lead a mysterious life,\nadmitting none of the profane to their secrets, they still do accept\npupils, however difficult it is for one to become their disciple, and\nthat thus they have living witnesses to the great purity and sanctity\nof their lives, in answer to such affirmations I opposed the strongest\nnegation and stood firmly by it. I insulted both masters and pupils,\nclassing them under the same category of fools, when not knaves, and\nI went so far as to include in this number the Sintos. Now Sintoism\nor _Sin-Syu_, \u201cfaith in the Gods, and in the way to the Gods,\u201d that\nis, belief in the communication between these creatures and men, is\na kind of worship of nature-spirits, than which nothing can be more\nmiserably absurd. And by placing the Sintos among the fools and knaves\nof other sects, I gained many enemies. For the Sinto Kanusi (spiritual\nteachers) are looked upon as the highest in the upper classes of\nSociety, the Mikado himself being at the head of their hierarchy and\nthe members of the sect belonging to the most cultured and educated men\nin Japan. These Kanusi of the Sinto form no caste or class apart, nor\ndo they pass any ordination\u2014at any rate none known to outsiders. And as\nthey claim publicly no special privilege or powers, even their dress\nbeing in no wise different from that of the laity, but are simply in\nthe world\u2019s opinion professors and students of occult and spiritual\nsciences, I very often came in contact with them without in the least\nsuspecting that I was in the presence of such personages.\n\n\nII\n\nTHE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR\n\nYears passed; and as time went by, my ineradicable scepticism grew\nstronger and waxed fiercer every day. I have already mentioned an elder\nand much-beloved sister, my only surviving relative. She had married\nand had lately gone to live at Nuremberg. I regarded her with feelings\nmore filial than fraternal, and her children were as dear to me as\nmight have been my own. At the time of the great catastrophe that in\nthe course of a few days had made my father lose his large fortune, and\nmy mother break her heart, she it was, that sweet big sister of mine,\nwho had made herself of her own accord the guardian angel of our ruined\nfamily. Out of her great love for me, her younger brother, for whom she\nattempted to replace the professors that could no longer be afforded,\nshe had renounced her own happiness. She sacrificed herself and the man\nshe loved, by indefinitely postponing their marriage, in order to help\nour father and chiefly myself by her undivided devotion. And, oh, how I\nloved and reverenced her, time but strengthening this earliest family\naffection! They who maintain that no atheist, as such, can be a true\nfriend, an affectionate relative, or a loyal subject, utter\u2014whether\nconsciously or unconsciously\u2014the greatest calumny and lie. To say that\na materialist grows hard-hearted as he grows older, that he cannot love\nas a believer does, is simply the greatest fallacy.\n\nThere may be such exceptional cases it is true, but these are found\nonly occasionally in men who are even more selfish than they are\nsceptical, or vulgarly worldly. But when a man who is kindly disposed\nin his nature, for no selfish motives but because of reason and love\nof truth, becomes what is called atheistical, he is only strengthened\nin his family affections, and in his sympathies with his fellow men.\nAll his emotions, all the ardent aspirations towards the unseen and\nunreachable, all the love which he would otherwise have uselessly\nbestowed on a suppositional heaven and its God, become now centered\nwith tenfold force upon his loved ones and mankind. Indeed, the\natheist\u2019s heart alone\u2014\n\n                          ... can know,\n    What secret tides of still enjoyment flow\n    When brothers love....\n\nIt was such holy fraternal love that led me also to sacrifice my\ncomfort and personal welfare to secure her happiness, the felicity\nof her who had been more than a mother to me. I was a mere youth\nwhen I left home for Hamburg. There, working with all the desperate\nearnestness of a man who has but one noble object in view\u2014to relieve\nsuffering, and help those whom he loves\u2014I very soon secured the\nconfidence of my employers, who raised me in consequence to the high\npost of trust I always enjoyed. My first real pleasure and reward in\nlife was to see my sister married to the man she had sacrificed for my\nsake, and to help them in their struggle for existence. So purifying\nand unselfish was this affection of mine for her that when it came\nto be shared among her children, instead of losing in intensity by\nsuch division, it seemed only to grow the stronger. Born with the\npotentiality of the warmest family affection in me, the devotion for my\nsister was so great, that the thought of burning that sacred fire of\nlove before any idol, save that of herself and family, never entered my\nhead. This was the only church I recognized, the only church wherein I\nworshipped at the altar of holy family affection. In fact this large\nfamily of eleven persons, including her husband, was the only tie\nthat attached me to Europe. Twice during a period of nine years, had\nI crossed the ocean with the sole object of seeing and pressing these\ndear ones to my heart. I had no other business in the West; and having\nperformed this pleasant duty, I returned each time to Japan to work and\ntoil for them. For their sake I remained a bachelor, that the wealth I\nmight acquire should go undivided to them alone.\n\nWe had always corresponded as regularly as the long transit of the then\nvery irregular service of the mail-boats would permit. But suddenly\nthere came a break in my letters from home. For nearly a year I\nreceived no intelligence; and day by day, I became more restless, more\napprehensive of some great misfortune. Vainly I looked for a letter, a\nsimple message; and my efforts to account for so unusual a silence were\nfruitless.\n\n\u201cFriend,\u201d said to me one day Tamoora Hideyeri, my only confidant,\n\u201cFriend, consult a holy Yamabooshi and you will feel at rest.\u201d\n\nOf course the offer was rejected with as much moderation as I could\ncommand under the provocation. But, as steamer after steamer came in\nwithout a word of news, I felt a despair which daily increased in depth\nand fixity. This finally degenerated into an irrepressible craving, a\nmorbid desire to learn\u2014the worst as I then thought. I struggled hard\nwith the feeling, but it had the best of me. Only a few months before\na complete master of myself\u2014I now became an abject slave to fear. A\nfatalist of the school of D\u2019Holbach, I, who had always regarded belief\nin the system of necessity as being the only promoter of philosophical\nhappiness, and as having the most advantageous influence over human\nweaknesses, _I_ felt a craving for something akin to fortune-telling!\nI had gone so far as to forget the first principle of my doctrine\u2014the\nonly one calculated to calm our sorrows, to inspire us with a useful\nsubmission, namely a rational resignation to the decrees of blind\ndestiny, with which foolish sensibility causes us so often to be\noverwhelmed\u2014the doctrine that _all is necessary_. Yes; forgetting\nthis, I was drawn into a shameful, superstitious longing, a stupid,\ndisgraceful desire to learn\u2014if not futurity, at any rate that which was\ntaking place at the other side of the globe. My conduct seemed utterly\nmodified, my temperament and aspirations wholly changed; and like a\nweak, nervous girl, I caught myself straining my mind to the very verge\nof lunacy in an attempt to look\u2014as I had been told one could sometimes\ndo\u2014beyond the oceans, and learn, at last, the real cause of this long,\ninexplicable silence!\n\nOne evening, at sunset, my old friend, the venerable Bonze, Tamoora,\nappeared on the verandah of my low wooden house. I had not visited\nhim for many days, and he had come to know how I was. I took the\nopportunity to once more sneer at one, whom, in reality, I regarded\nwith most affectionate respect. With equivocal taste\u2014for which I\nrepented almost before the words had been pronounced\u2014I inquired of\nhim why he had taken the trouble to walk all that distance when he\nmight have learned anything he liked about me by simply interrogating\na Yamabooshi? He seemed a little hurt, at first; but after keenly\nscrutinizing my dejected face, he mildly remarked that he could only\ninsist upon what he had advised before. Only one of that holy order\ncould give me consolation in my present state.\n\nFrom that instant, an insane desire possessed me to challenge him to\nprove his assertions. I defied\u2014I said to him\u2014any and every one of his\nalleged magicians to tell me the name of the person I was thinking\nof, and what he was doing at that moment. He quietly answered that my\ndesire could be easily satisfied. There was a Yamabooshi two doors from\nme, visiting a sick Sinto. He would fetch him\u2014if I only said the word.\n\nI said it and _from the moment of its utterance my doom was sealed_.\n\nHow shall I find words to describe the scene that followed! Twenty\nminutes after the desire had been so incautiously expressed, an old\nJapanese, uncommonly tall and majestic for one of that race, pale,\nthin and emaciated, was standing before me. There, where I had\nexpected to find servile obsequiousness, I only discerned an air of\ncalm and dignified composure, the attitude of one who knows his moral\nsuperiority, and therefore scorns to notice the mistakes of those who\nfail to recognize it. To the somewhat irreverent and mocking questions,\nwhich I put to him one after another, with feverish eagerness, he made\nno reply; but gazed on me in silence as a physician would look at a\ndelirious patient. From the moment he fixed his eye on mine, I felt\u2014or\nshall I say, saw\u2014as though it were a sharp ray of light, a thin silvery\nthread, shoot out from the intensely black and narrow eyes so deeply\nsunk in the yellow old face. It seemed to penetrate into my brain\nand heart like an arrow, and set to work to dig out therefrom every\nthought and feeling. Yes; I both saw and felt it, and very soon the\ndouble sensation became intolerable.\n\nTo break the spell I defied him to tell me what he had found in my\nthoughts. Calmly came the correct answer\u2014Extreme anxiety for a female\nrelative, her husband and children, who were inhabiting a house the\ncorrect description of which he gave as though he knew it as well\nas myself. I turned a suspicious eye upon my friend, the Bonze, to\nwhose indiscretions, I thought, I was indebted for the quick reply.\nRemembering however that Tamoora could know nothing of the appearance\nof my sister\u2019s house, that the Japanese are proverbially truthful and,\nas friends, faithful to death\u2014I felt ashamed of my suspicion. To atone\nfor it before my own conscience I asked the hermit whether he could\ntell me anything of the present state of that beloved sister of mine.\nThe foreigner\u2014was the reply\u2014would never believe in the words, or trust\nto the knowledge of any person but himself. Were the Yamabooshi to tell\nhim, the impression would wear out hardly a few hours later, and the\ninquirer find himself as miserable as before. There was but one means;\nand that was to make the foreigner (myself) see with his own eyes, and\nthus learn the truth for himself. Was the inquirer ready to be placed\nby a Yamabooshi, a stranger to him, in the required state?\n\nI had heard in Europe of mesmerized somnambules and pretenders to\nclairvoyance, and having no faith in them, I had, therefore, nothing\nagainst the process itself. Even in the midst of my never-ceasing\nmental agony, I could not help smiling at the ridiculous nature of the\noperation I was willingly submitting to. Nevertheless I silently bowed\nconsent.\n\n\nIII\n\nPSYCHIC MAGIC\n\nThe old Yamabooshi lost no time. He looked at the setting sun, and\nfinding probably, the Lord Ten-Dzio-Dai-Dzio (the Spirit who darts\nhis Rays) propitious for the coming ceremony, he speedily drew out a\nlittle bundle. It contained a small lacquered box, a piece of vegetable\npaper, made from the bark of the mulberry tree, and a pen, with which\nhe traced upon the paper a few sentences in the _Naiden_ character\u2014a\npeculiar style of written language used only for religious and mystical\npurposes. Having finished, he exhibited from under his clothes a small\nround mirror of steel of extraordinary brilliancy, and placing it\nbefore my eyes, asked me to look into it.\n\nI had not only heard before of these mirrors, which are frequently used\nin the temples, but I had often seen them. It is claimed that under\nthe direction and will of instructed priests, there appear in them the\nDaij-Dzin, the great spirits who notify the inquiring devotees of their\nfate. I first imagined that his intention was to evoke such a spirit,\nwho would answer my queries. What happened, however, was something of\nquite a different character.\n\nNo sooner had I, not without a last pang of mental squeamishness,\nproduced by a deep sense of my own absurd position, touched the\nmirror, than I suddenly felt a strange sensation in the arm of the\nhand that held it. For a brief moment I forgot to \u201csit in the seat of\nthe scorner\u201d and failed to look at the matter from a ludicrous point\nof view. Was it fear that suddenly clutched my brain, for an instant\nparalyzing its activity\u2014\n\n                                           ... that fear\n    When the heart longs to know, what it is death to hear?\n\nNo; for I still had consciousness enough left to go on persuading\nmyself that nothing would come out of an experiment, in the nature\nof which no sane man could ever believe. What was it then, that\ncrept across my brain like a living thing of ice, producing therein\na sensation of horror, and then clutched at my heart as if a deadly\nserpent had fastened its fangs into it? With a convulsive jerk of the\nhand I dropped the\u2014I blush to write the adjective\u2014\u201cmagic\u201d mirror, and\ncould not force myself to pick it up from the settee on which I was\nreclining. For one short moment there was a terrible struggle between\nsome undefined, and to me utterly inexplicable, longing to look into\nthe depths of the polished surface of the mirror and my pride, the\nferocity of which nothing seemed capable of taming. It was finally\nso tamed, however, its revolt being conquered by its own defiant\nintensity. There was an opened novel lying on a lacquer table near the\nsettee, and as my eyes happened to fall upon its pages, I read the\nwords, \u201cThe veil which covers futurity is woven by the hand of mercy.\u201d\nThis was enough. That same pride which had hitherto held me back from\nwhat I regarded as a degrading, superstitious experiment, caused me to\nchallenge my fate. I picked up the ominously shining disk and prepared\nto look into it.\n\nWhile I was examining the mirror, the Yamabooshi hastily spoke a few\nwords to the Bonze, Tamoora, at which I threw a furtive and suspicious\nglance at both. I was wrong once more.\n\n\u201cThe holy man desires me to put you a question and give you at the\nsame time a warning,\u201d remarked the Bonze. \u201cIf you are willing to see\nfor yourself now, you will have\u2014under the penalty of _seeing for ever,\nin the hereafter, all that is taking place, at whatever distance, and\nthat against your will or inclination_\u2014to submit to a regular course of\npurification, after you have learned what you want through the mirror.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is this course, and what have I to promise?\u201d I asked defiantly.\n\n\u201cIt is for your own good. You must promise him to submit to the\nprocess, lest, for the rest of his life, he should have to hold\nhimself responsible, before his own conscience, for having made an\n_irresponsible_ seer of you. Will you do so, friend?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere will be time enough to think of it, if I see anything\u201d\u2014I\nsneeringly replied, adding under my breath\u2014\u201csomething I doubt a good\ndeal, so far.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you are warned, friend. The consequences will now remain with\nyourself,\u201d was the solemn answer.\n\nI glanced at the clock, and made a gesture of impatience, which was\nremarked and understood by the Yamabooshi. It was just _seven minutes\nafter five_.\n\n\u201cDefine well in your mind _what_ you would see and learn,\u201d said the\n\u201cconjuror,\u201d placing the mirror and paper in my hands, and instructing\nme how to use them.\n\nHis instructions were received by me with more impatience than\ngratitude; and for one short instant, I hesitated again. Nevertheless I\nreplied, while fixing the mirror:\n\n\u201c_I desire but one thing\u2014to learn the reason or reasons why my sister\nhas so suddenly ceased writing to me._\u201d...\n\nHad I pronounced these words in reality, and in the hearing of the two\nwitnesses, or had I only thought them? To this day I cannot decide the\npoint. I now remember but one thing distinctly: while I sat gazing in\nthe mirror, the Yamabooshi kept gazing at me. But whether this process\nlasted half a second or three hours, I have never since been able to\nsettle in my mind with any degree of satisfaction. I can recall every\ndetail of the scene up to the moment when I took up the mirror with\nthe left hand, holding the paper inscribed with the mystic characters\nbetween the thumb and finger of the right, when all of a sudden I\nseemed to quite lose consciousness of the surrounding objects. The\npassage from the active waking state to one that I could compare with\nnothing I had ever experienced before, was so rapid, that while my eyes\nhad ceased to perceive external objects and had completely lost sight\nof the Bonze, the Yamabooshi, and even of my room, I could nevertheless\ndistinctly see the whole of my head and my back, as I sat leaning\nforward with the mirror in my hand. Then came a strong sensation of\nan involuntary rush forward, of _snapping_ off, so to say, from my\nplace\u2014I had almost said from my body. And, then, while every one of\nmy other senses had become totally paralysed, my eyes, as I thought,\nunexpectedly caught a clearer and far more vivid glimpse than they had\never had in reality, of my sister\u2019s new house at Nuremberg, which I had\nnever visited and knew only from a sketch, and other scenery with which\nI had never been very familiar. Together with this, and while feeling\nin my brain what seemed like flashes of a departing consciousness\u2014dying\npersons must feel so, no doubt\u2014the very last, vague thought, so weak\nas to have been hardly perceptible, was that I must look very, _very_\nridiculous.... This _feeling_\u2014for such it was rather than a thought\u2014was\ninterrupted, suddenly extinguished, so to say, by a clear _mental\nvision_ (I cannot characterize it otherwise) of myself, of that which\nI regarded as, and knew to be my body, lying with ashy cheeks on the\nsettee, dead to all intents and purposes, but still staring with the\ncold and glassy eyes of a corpse into the mirror. Bending over it, with\nhis two emaciated hands cutting the air in every direction over _its_\nwhite face, stood the tall figure of the Yamabooshi, for whom I felt\nat that instant an inextinguishable, murderous hatred. As I was going,\nin thought, to pounce upon the vile charlatan, my corpse, the two old\nmen, the room itself, and every object in it, trembled and danced in a\nreddish glowing light, and seemed to float rapidly away from \u201cme.\u201d A\nfew more grotesque, distorted shadows before \u201cmy\u201d sight; and, with a\nlast feeling of terror and a supreme effort to realise _who then was I\nnow, since I was not that corpse_\u2014a great veil of darkness fell over\nme, like a funeral pall, and every thought in me was dead.\n\n\nIV\n\nA VISION OF HORROR\n\nHow strange!... Where was I now? It was evident to me that I had once\nmore returned to my senses. For there I was, vividly realizing that\nI was rapidly moving forward, while experiencing a queer, strange\nsensation as though I were swimming, without impulse or effort on my\npart, and in total darkness. The idea that first presented itself to\nme was that of a long subterranean passage of water, of earth, and\nstifling air, though bodily I had no perception, no sensation, of the\npresence or contact of any of these. I tried to utter a few words, to\nrepeat my last sentence, \u201cI desire but one thing: to learn the reason\nor reasons why my sister has so suddenly ceased writing to me\u201d\u2014but the\nonly words I heard out of the twenty-one, were the two, \u201c_to learn_,\u201d\nand these, instead of their coming out of my own larynx, came back to\nme in my own voice, but entirely outside myself, near, but not in me.\nIn short, they were pronounced by my voice, not by my lips....\n\nOne more rapid, involuntary motion, one more plunge into the\nCimmerian darkness of a (to me) unknown element, and I saw myself\nstanding\u2014actually standing\u2014underground, as it seemed. I was compactly\nand thickly surrounded on all sides, above and below, right and left,\nwith earth, and _in_ the mould, and yet it weighed not, and seemed\nquite immaterial and transparent to _my senses_. I did not realize\nfor one second the utter absurdity, nay, impossibility of that\n_seeming_ fact! One second more, one short instant, and I perceived\u2014oh,\ninexpressible horror, when I think of it now; for then, although I\nperceived, realized, and recorded facts and events far more clearly\nthan ever I had done before, I did not seem to be touched in any other\nway by what I saw. Yes\u2014I perceived a coffin at my feet. It was a plain\nunpretentious shell, made of deal, the last couch of the pauper,\nin which, notwithstanding its closed lid, I plainly saw a hideous,\ngrinning skull, a man\u2019s skeleton, mutilated and broken in many of its\nparts, as though it had been taken out of some hidden chamber of the\ndefunct Inquisition, where it had been subjected to torture. \u201cWho can\nit be?\u201d\u2014I thought.\n\nAt this moment I heard again proceeding from afar the same voice\u2014_my_\nvoice ... \u201c_the reason or reasons why_\u201d ... it said; as though these\nwords were the unbroken continuation of the same sentence of which\nit had just repeated the two words \u201cto learn.\u201d It sounded near, and\nyet as from some incalculable distance; giving me then the idea that\nthe long subterranean journey, the subsequent mental reflexions and\ndiscoveries, had occupied no time; had been performed during the short,\nalmost instantaneous interval between the first and the middle words of\nthe sentence, begun, at any rate, if not actually pronounced by myself\nin my room at Kioto, and which it was now finishing, in interrupted,\nbroken phrases, like a faithful echo of my own words and voice....\n\nForthwith, the hideous, mangled remains began assuming a form, and\nto me, but too familiar appearance. The broken parts joined together\none to the other, the bones became covered once more with flesh, and\nI recognized in these disfigured remains\u2014with some surprise, but not\na trace of feeling at the sight\u2014my sister\u2019s dead husband, my own\nbrother-in-law, whom I had for her sake loved so truly. \u201cHow was it,\nand how did he come to die such a terrible death?\u201d\u2014I asked myself. To\nput oneself a query seemed, in the state in which I was, to instantly\nsolve it. Hardly had I asked myself the question, when, as if in a\npanorama, I saw the retrospective picture of poor Karl\u2019s death, in all\nits horrid vividness, and with every thrilling detail, every one of\nwhich, however, left me then entirely and brutally indifferent. Here\nhe is, the dear old fellow, full of life and joy at the prospect of\nmore lucrative employment from his principal, examining and trying in a\nwood-sawing factory a monster steam engine just arrived from America.\nHe bends over, to examine more closely an inner arrangement, to tighten\na screw. His clothes are caught by the teeth of the revolving wheel\nin full motion, and suddenly he is dragged down, doubled up, and his\nlimbs half severed, torn off, before the workmen, unacquainted with the\nmechanism can stop it. He is taken out, or what remains of him, dead,\nmangled, a thing of horror, an unrecognizable mass of palpitating flesh\nand blood! I follow the remains, wheeled as an unrecognizable heap to\nthe hospital, hear the brutally given order that the messengers of\ndeath should stop on their way at the house of the widow and orphans.\nI follow them, and find the unconscious family quietly assembled\ntogether. I see my sister, the dear and beloved, and remain indifferent\nat the sight, only feeling highly interested in the coming scene. My\nheart, my feelings, even my personality, seemed to have disappeared, to\nhave been left behind, to belong to somebody else.\n\nThere \u201cI\u201d stand, and witness her unprepared reception of the ghastly\nnews. I realize clearly, without one moment\u2019s hesitation or mistake,\nthe effect of the shock upon her, I perceive clearly, following and\nrecording, to the minutest detail, her sensations and the inner process\nthat takes place in her. I watch and remember, missing not one single\npoint.\n\nAs the corpse is brought into the house for identification I hear\nthe long agonizing cry, my own name pronounced, and the dull thud of\nthe living body falling upon the remains of the dead one. I follow\nwith curiosity the sudden thrill and the instantaneous perturbation\nin her brain that follow it, and watch with attention the worm-like,\nprecipitate, and immensely intensified motion of the tubular fibers,\nthe instantaneous change of color in the cephalic extremity of the\nnervous system, the fibrous nervous matter passing from white to bright\nred and then to a dark red, bluish hue. I notice the sudden flash of\na phosphorous-like, brilliant Radiance, its tremor and its sudden\nextinction followed by darkness\u2014complete darkness in the region of\nmemory\u2014as the Radiance, comparable in its form only to a human shape,\noozes out suddenly from the top of the head, expands, loses its form\nand scatters. And I say to myself: \u201cThis is insanity; life-long,\nincurable insanity, for the principle of intelligence is not paralyzed\nor extinguished temporarily, but has just deserted the tabernacle for\never, ejected from it by the terrible force of the sudden blow.... The\nlink between the animal and the divine essence is broken.\u201d... And as\nthe unfamiliar term \u201cdivine\u201d is mentally uttered _my_ \u201cTHOUGHT\u201d\u2014laughs.\n\nSuddenly I hear again my far-off yet near voice pronouncing\nemphatically and close by me the words ... \u201c_why my sister has so\nsuddenly ceased writing_.\u201d... And before the two final words \u201c_to\nme_\u201d have completed the sentence, I see a long series of sad events,\nimmediately following the catastrophe.\n\nI behold the mother, now a helpless, grovelling idiot, in the lunatic\nasylum attached to the city hospital, the seven younger children\nadmitted into a refuge for paupers. Finally I see the two elder, a boy\nof fifteen, and a girl a year younger, my favorites, both taken by\nstrangers into their service. A captain of a sailing vessel carries\naway my nephew, an old Jewess adopts the tender girl. I see the events\nwith all their horrors and thrilling details, and record each, to the\nsmallest detail, with the utmost coolness.\n\nFor, mark well: when I use such expressions as \u201chorrors,\u201d etc., they\nare to be understood as an after-thought. During the whole time of the\nevents described I experienced no sensation of either pain or pity. My\nfeelings seemed to be paralyzed as well as my external senses; it was\nonly after \u201ccoming back\u201d that I realized my irretrievable losses to\ntheir full extent.\n\nMuch of that which I had so vehemently denied in those days, owing to\nsad personal experience I have to admit now. Had I been told by anyone\nat that time, that man could act and think and feel, irrespective of\nhis brain and senses; nay, that by some mysterious, and to this day,\nfor me, incomprehensible power, _he_ could be transported _mentally_,\nthousands of miles away from his body, there to witness not only\npresent but also past events, and remember these by storing them in\nhis memory\u2014I would have proclaimed that man a madman. Alas, I can do\nso no longer, for I have become myself that \u201cmadman.\u201d Ten, twenty,\nforty, a hundred times during the course of this wretched life of mine,\nhave I experienced and lived over such moments of existence, _outside\nof my body_. Accursed be that hour when this terrible power was first\nawakened in me! I have not even the consolation left of attributing\nsuch glimpses of events at a distance to insanity. Madmen rave and see\nthat which exists not in the realm they belong to. My visions have\nproved _invariably correct_. But to my narrative of woe.\n\nI had hardly had time to see my unfortunate young niece in her new\nIsraelitish home, when I felt a shock of the same nature as the one\nthat had sent me \u201cswimming\u201d through the bowels of the earth, as I had\nthought. I opened my eyes in my own room, and the first thing I fixed\nupon by accident, was the clock. The hands of the dial showed seven\nminutes and a half past five!... I had thus passed through these most\nterrible experiences, which it takes me hours to narrate, _in precisely\nhalf a minute of time_!\n\nBut this, too, was an after-thought. For one brief instant I\nrecollected nothing of what I had seen. The interval between the time I\nhad glanced at the clock when taking the mirror from the Yamabooshi\u2019s\nhand and this second glance, seemed to me merged in one. I was just\nopening my lips to hurry on the Yamabooshi with his experiment, when\nthe full remembrance of what I had just seen flashed lightning-like\ninto my brain. Uttering a cry of horror and despair, I felt as though\nthe whole creation were crushing me under its weight. For one moment I\nremained speechless, the picture of human ruin amid a world of death\nand desolation. My heart sank down in anguish: my doom was closed; and\na hopeless gloom seemed to settle over the rest of my life for ever.\n\n\nV\n\nRETURN OF DOUBTS\n\nThen came a reaction as sudden as my grief itself. A doubt arose in my\nmind, which forthwith grew into a fierce desire of denying the truth of\nwhat I had seen. A stubborn resolution of treating the whole thing as\nan empty, meaningless dream, the effect of my overstrained mind, took\npossession of me. Yes; it was but a lying vision, an idiotic cheating\nof my own senses, suggesting pictures of death and misery which had\nbeen evoked by weeks of incertitude and mental depression.\n\n\u201cHow could I see all that I have seen in less than half a minute?\u201d\u2014I\nexclaimed. \u201cThe theory of dreams, the rapidity with which the material\nchanges on which our ideas in vision depend, are excited in the\nhemispherical ganglia, is sufficient to account for the long series of\nevents I have seemed to experience. In dream alone can the relations\nof space and time be so completely annihilated. The Yamabooshi is for\nnothing in this disagreeable nightmare. He is only reaping that which\nhas been sown by myself, and, by using some infernal drug, of which his\ntribe have the secret, he has contrived to make me lose consciousness\nfor a few seconds and see that vision\u2014as lying as it is horrid. Avaunt\nall such thoughts, I believe them not. In a few days there will be a\nsteamer sailing for Europe.... I shall leave to-morrow!\u201d\n\nThis disjointed monologue was pronounced by me aloud, regardless of the\npresence of my respected friend the Bonze, Tamoora, and the Yamabooshi.\nThe latter was standing before me in the same position as when he\nplaced the mirror in my hands, and kept looking at me calmly, I should\nperhaps say looking _through_ me, and in dignified silence. The Bonze,\nwhose kind countenance was beaming with sympathy, approached me as he\nwould a sick child, and gently laying his hand on mine, and with tears\nin his eyes, said: \u201cFriend, you must not leave this city before you\nhave been completely purified of your contact with the lower Daij-Dzins\n(spirits), who had to be used to guide your inexperienced soul to the\nplaces it craved to see. The entrance to your Inner Self must be closed\nagainst their dangerous intrusion. Lose no time, therefore, my son, and\nallow the holy Master yonder, to purify you at once.\u201d\n\nBut nothing can be more deaf than anger once aroused. \u201cThe sap of\nreason\u201d could no longer \u201cquench the fire of passion,\u201d and at that\nmoment I was not fit to listen to his friendly voice. His is a face\nI can never recall to my memory without genuine feeling; his, a name\nI will ever pronounce with a sigh of emotion; but at that ever\nmemorable hour when my passions were inflamed to white heat, I felt\nalmost a hatred for the kind, good old man, I could not forgive him his\ninterference in the present event. Hence, for all answer, therefore, he\nreceived from me a stern rebuke, a violent protest on my part against\nthe idea that I could ever regard the vision I had had, in any other\nlight save that of an empty dream, and his Yamabooshi as anything\nbetter than an impostor. \u201cI will leave to-morrow, had I to forfeit my\nwhole fortune as a penalty\u201d\u2014I exclaimed, pale with rage and despair.\n\n\u201cYou will repent it the whole of your life, if you do so before the\nholy man has shut every entrance in you against intruders ever on\nthe watch and ready to enter the open door,\u201d was the answer. \u201cThe\nDaij-Dzins will have the best of you.\u201d\n\nI interrupted him with a brutal laugh, and a still more brutally\nphrased inquiry about the _fees_ I was expected to give the Yamabooshi,\nfor his experiment with me.\n\n\u201cHe needs no reward,\u201d was the reply. \u201cThe order he belongs to is the\nrichest in the world, since its adherents need nothing, for they are\nabove all terrestrial and venal desires. Insult him not, the good man\nwho came to help you out of pure sympathy for your suffering, and to\nrelieve you of mental agony.\u201d\n\nBut I would listen to no words of reason and wisdom. The spirit of\nrebellion and pride had taken possession of me, and made me disregard\nevery feeling of personal friendship, or even of simple propriety.\nLuckily for me, on turning round to order the mendicant monk out of my\npresence, I found he had gone.\n\nI had not seen him move, and attributed his stealthy departure to fear\nat having been detected and understood.\n\nFool! blind, conceited idiot that I was! Why did I fail to recognize\nthe Yamabooshi\u2019s power, and that the peace of my whole life was\ndeparting with him, from that moment for ever? But I did so fail.\nEven the fell demon of my long fears\u2014uncertainty\u2014was now entirely\noverpowered by that fiend scepticism\u2014the silliest of all. A dull,\nmorbid unbelief, a stubborn denial of the evidence of my own senses,\nand a determined will to regard the whole vision as a fancy of my\noverwrought mind, had taken firm hold of me.\n\n\u201cMy mind,\u201d I argued, \u201cwhat is it? Shall I believe with the\nsuperstitious and the weak that this production of phosphorus and gray\nmatter is indeed the superior part of me; that it can act and see\nindependently of my physical senses? Never! As well believe in the\nplanetary \u2018intelligences\u2019 of the astrologer, as in the \u2018Daij-Dzins\u2019 of\nmy credulous though well-meaning friend, the priest. As well confess\none\u2019s belief in Jupiter and Sol, Saturn and Mercury, and that these\nworthies guide their spheres and concern themselves with mortals,\nas to give one serious thought to the airy nonentities supposed to\nhave guided my \u2018soul\u2019 in its unpleasant dream! I loathe and laugh at\nthe absurd idea. I regard it as a personal insult to the intellect\nand rational reasoning powers of a man, to speak of invisible\ncreatures, \u2018_subjective_ intelligences,\u2019 and all that kind of insane\nsuperstition.\u201d In short, I begged my friend the Bonze to spare me his\nprotests, and thus the unpleasantness of breaking with him for ever.\n\nThus I raved and argued before the venerable Japanese gentleman, doing\nall in my power to leave on his mind the indelible conviction of my\nhaving gone suddenly mad. But his admirable forbearance proved more\nthan equal to my idiotic passion; and he implored me once more, for the\nsake of my whole future, to submit to certain \u201cnecessary purificatory\nrites.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever! Far rather dwell in air, rarefied to nothing by the air-pump\nof wholesome unbelief, than in the dim fog of silly superstition,\u201d\nI argued, paraphrazing Richter\u2019s remark. \u201cI will not believe,\u201d I\nrepeated; \u201cbut as I can no longer bear such uncertainty about my sister\nand her family, I will return by the first steamer to Europe.\u201d\n\nThis final determination upset my old acquaintance altogether. His\nearnest prayer not to depart before I had seen the Yamabooshi once\nmore, received no attention from me.\n\n\u201cFriend of a foreign land!\u201d\u2014he cried, \u201cI pray that you may not repent\nof your unbelief and rashness. May the \u2018Holy One\u2019 (Kwan-On, the Goddess\nof Mercy) protect you from the Dzins! For, since you refuse to submit\nto the process of purification at the hands of the holy Yamabooshi,\nhe is powerless to defend you from the evil influences evoked by your\nunbelief and defiance of truth. But let me, at this parting hour, I\nbeseech you, let me, an older man who wishes you well, warn you once\nmore and persuade you of things you are still ignorant of. May I speak?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on and have your say,\u201d was the ungracious assent. \u201cBut let me warn\nyou, in my turn, that nothing you can say can make of me a believer in\nyour disgraceful superstitions.\u201d This was added with a cruel feeling of\npleasure in bestowing one more needless insult.\n\nBut the excellent man disregarded this new sneer as he had all others.\nNever shall I forget the solemn earnestness of his parting words, the\npitying, remorseful look on his face when he found that it was, indeed,\nall to no purpose, that by his kindly meant interference he had only\nled me to my destruction.\n\n\u201cLend me your ear, good sir, for the last time,\u201d he began, \u201clearn that\nunless the holy and venerable man, who, to relieve your distress,\nopened your \u2018soul vision,\u2019 is permitted to complete his work, your\nfuture life will, indeed, be little worth living. He has to safeguard\nyou against involuntary repetitions of visions of the same character.\nUnless you consent to it of your own free will, however, you will have\nto be left in the power of _Forces_ which will harass and persecute you\nto the verge of insanity. Know that the development of \u2018Long Vision\u2019\n(clairvoyance)\u2014which is accomplished _at will_ only by those for whom\nthe Mother of Mercy, the great Kwan-On, has no secrets\u2014must, in the\ncase of the beginner, be pursued with help of the air Dzins (elemental\nspirits) whose nature is soulless, and hence wicked. Know also that,\nwhile the Arihat, \u2018the destroyer of the enemy,\u2019 who has subjected and\nmade of these creatures his servants, has nothing to fear; he who\nhas no power over them becomes their slave. Nay, laugh not in your\ngreat pride and ignorance, but listen further. During the time of the\nvision and while the inner perceptions are directed towards the events\nthey seek, the Daij-Dzin has the seer\u2014when, like yourself, he is an\ninexperienced tyro\u2014entirely in its power; and for the time being _that\nseer is no longer himself_. He partakes of the nature of his \u2018guide.\u2019\nThe Daij-Dzin, which directs his inner sight, keeps his soul in durance\nvile, making of him, while the state lasts, a creature like itself.\nBereft of his divine light, man is but a soulless being; hence during\nthe time of such connection, he will feel no human emotions, neither\npity nor fear, love nor mercy.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold!\u201d I involuntarily exclaimed, as the words vividly brought\nback to my recollection the indifference with which I had witnessed\nmy sister\u2019s despair and sudden loss of reason in my \u201challucination.\u201d\n\u201cHold!... But no; it is still worse madness in me to heed or find any\nsense in your ridiculous tale! But if you knew it to be so dangerous\nwhy have advised the experiment at all?\u201d\u2014I added mockingly.\n\n\u201cIt had to last but a few seconds, and no evil could have resulted from\nit, had you kept your promise to submit to purification,\u201d was the sad\nand humble reply. \u201cI wished you well, my friend, and my heart was nigh\nbreaking to see you suffering day by day. The experiment is harmless\nwhen directed by _one who knows_, and becomes dangerous only when the\nfinal precaution is neglected. It is the \u2018Master of Visions,\u2019 he who\nhas opened an entrance into your soul, who has to close it by using the\nSeal of Purification against any further and deliberate ingress of....\u201d\n\n\u201cThe \u2018Master of Visions,\u2019 forsooth!\u201d I cried, brutally interrupting\nhim, \u201csay rather the Master of Imposture!\u201d\n\nThe look of sorrow on his kind old face was so intense and painful to\nbehold that I perceived I had gone too far; but it was too late.\n\n\u201cFarewell, then!\u201d said the old bonze, rising; and after performing the\nusual ceremonials of politeness, Tamoora left the house in dignified\nsilence.\n\n\nVI\n\nI DEPART\u2014BUT NOT ALONE\n\nSeveral days later I sailed, but during my stay I saw my venerable\nfriend the Bonze, no more. Evidently on that last, and to me for ever\nmemorable evening, he had been seriously offended with my more than\nirreverent, my downright insulting remark about one whom he so justly\nrespected. I felt sorry for him, but the wheel of passion and pride\nwas too incessantly at work to permit me to feel a single moment of\nremorse. What was it that made me so relish the pleasure of wrath,\nthat when, for one instant, I happened to lose sight of my supposed\ngrievance toward the Yamabooshi, I forthwith lashed myself back into a\nkind of artificial fury against him. He had only accomplished what he\nhad been expected to do, and what he had tacitly promised; not only so,\nbut it was I myself who had deprived him of the possibility of doing\nmore, even for my own protection, if I might believe the Bonze\u2014a man\nwhom I knew to be thoroughly honorable and reliable. Was it regret at\nhaving been forced by my pride to refuse the proffered precaution, or\nwas it the fear of remorse that made me rake together, in my heart,\nduring those evil hours, the smallest details of the supposed insult to\nthat same suicidal pride? Remorse, as an old poet has aptly remarked,\n\u201cis like the heart in which it grows:...\n\n                         ... if proud and gloomy,\n    It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the utmost,\n    Weeps only tears of blood.\u201d\n\nPerchance, it was the indefinite fear of something of that sort which\ncaused me to remain so obdurate, and led me to excuse, under the plea\nof terrible provocation, even the unprovoked insults that I had heaped\nupon the head of my kind and all-forgiving friend, the priest. However,\nit was now too late in the day to recall the words of offence I had\nuttered; and all I could do was to promise myself the satisfaction of\nwriting him a friendly letter, as soon as I reached home. Fool, blind\nfool, elated with insolent self-conceit, that I was! So sure did I\nfeel, that my vision was due merely to some trick of the Yamabooshi,\nthat I actually gloated over my coming triumph in writing to the\nBonze that I had been right in answering his sad words of parting\nwith an incredulous smile, as my sister and family were all in good\nhealth\u2014happy!\n\nI had not been at sea for a week, before I had cause to remember his\nwords of warning!\n\nFrom the day of my experience with the magic mirror, I perceived a\ngreat change in my whole state, and I attributed it, at first, to the\nmental depression I had struggled against for so many months. During\nthe day I very often found myself absent from the surrounding scenes,\nlosing sight for several minutes of things and persons. My nights were\ndisturbed, my dreams oppressive, and at times horrible. Good sailor I\ncertainly was; and besides, the weather was unusually fine, the ocean\nas smooth as a pond. Notwithstanding this, I often felt a strange\ngiddiness, and the familiar faces of my fellow-passengers assumed at\nsuch times the most grotesque appearances. Thus, a young German I used\nto know well was once suddenly transformed before my eyes into his old\nfather, whom we had laid in the little burial place of the European\ncolony some three years before. We were talking on deck of the defunct\nand of a certain business arrangement of his, when Max Grunner\u2019s head\nappeared to me as though it were covered with a strange film. A thick\ngreyish mist surrounded him, and gradually condensing around and upon\nhis healthy countenance, settled suddenly into the grim old head I\nhad myself seen covered with six feet of soil. On another occasion,\nas the captain was talking of a Malay thief whom he had helped to\nsecure and lodge in jail, I saw near him the yellow, villainous face\nof a man answering to his description. I kept silence about such\nhallucinations; but as they became more and more frequent, I felt very\nmuch disturbed, though still attributing them to natural causes, such\nas I had read about in medical books.\n\nOne night I was abruptly wakened by a long and loud cry of distress.\nIt was a woman\u2019s voice, plaintive like that of a child, full of terror\nand of helpless despair. I awoke with a start to find myself on land,\nin a strange room. A young girl, almost a child, was desperately\nstruggling against a powerful middle-aged man, who had surprised her in\nher own room, and during her sleep. Behind the closed and locked door,\nI saw listening an old woman, whose face, notwithstanding the fiendish\nexpression upon it, seemed familiar to me, and I immediately recognized\nit: it was the face of the Jewess who had adopted my niece in the dream\nI had at Kioto. She had received gold to pay for her share in the foul\ncrime, and was now keeping her part of the covenant.... But who was the\nvictim? O horror unutterable! Unspeakable horror! When I realized the\nsituation after coming back to my normal state, I found it was my own\nchild-niece.\n\nBut, as in my first vision, I felt in me nothing of the nature of that\ndespair born of affection that fills one\u2019s heart, at the sight of a\nwrong done to, or a misfortune befalling, those one loves; nothing but\na manly indignation in the presence of suffering inflicted upon the\nweak and the helpless. I rushed, of course, to her rescue, and seized\nthe wanton, brutal beast by the neck. I fastened upon him with powerful\ngrasp, but, the man heeded it not, he seemed not even to feel my hand.\nThe coward, seeing himself resisted by the girl, lifted his powerful\narm, and the thick fist, coming down like a heavy hammer upon the sunny\nlocks, felled the child to the ground. It was with a loud cry of the\nindignation of a stranger, not with that of a tigress defending her\ncub, that I sprang upon the lewd beast and sought to throttle him.\nI then remarked, for the first time, that, a shadow myself, I was\ngrasping but another shadow!....\n\nMy loud shrieks and imprecations had awakened the whole steamer. They\nwere attributed to a nightmare. I did not seek to take anyone into my\nconfidence; but, from that day forward, my life became a long series of\nmental tortures, I could hardly shut my eyes without becoming witness\nof some horrible deed, some scene of misery, death or crime, whether\npast, present or even future\u2014as I ascertained later on. It was as\nthough some mocking fiend had taken upon himself the task of making\nme go through the vision of everything that was bestial, malignant\nand hopeless, in this world of misery. No radiant vision of beauty\nor virtue ever lit with the faintest ray these pictures of awe and\nwretchedness that I seemed doomed to witness. Scenes of wickedness, of\nmurder, of treachery and of lust fell dismally upon my sight, and I was\nbrought face to face with the vilest results of man\u2019s passions, the\nmost terrible outcome of his material earthly cravings.\n\nHad the Bonze foreseen, indeed, the dreary results, when he spoke of\nDaij-Dzins to whom I left \u201can ingress\u201d \u201ca door open\u201d in me? Nonsense!\nThere must be some physiological, abnormal change in me. Once at\nNuremberg, when I have ascertained how false was the direction taken by\nmy fears\u2014I dared not hope for no misfortune at all\u2014these meaningless\nvisions will disappear as they came. The very fact that my fancy\nfollows but one direction, that of pictures of misery, of human\npassions in their worst, material shape, is a proof to me, of their\nunreality.\n\n\u201cIf, as you say, man consists of one substance, matter, the object\nof the physical senses; and if perception with its modes is only the\nresult of the organization of the brain, then should we be naturally\nattracted but to the material, the earthly\u201d.... I thought I heard the\nfamiliar voice of the Bonze interrupting my reflections, and repeating\nan often used argument of his in his discussions with me.\n\n\u201cThere are two planes of visions before men,\u201d I again heard him say,\n\u201cthe plane of undying love and spiritual aspirations, the efflux from\nthe eternal light; and the plane of restless, ever changing matter, the\nlight in which the misguided Daij-Dzins bathe.\u201d\n\n\nVII\n\nETERNITY IN A SHORT DREAM\n\nIn those days I could hardly bring myself to realize, even for a\nmoment, the absurdity of a belief in any kind of spirits, whether good\nor bad. I now understood, if I did not believe, what was meant by the\nterm, though I still persisted in hoping that it would finally prove\nsome physical derangement or nervous hallucination. To fortify my\nunbelief the more, I tried to bring back to my memory all the arguments\nused against a faith in such superstitions, that I had ever read or\nheard. I recalled the biting sarcasms of Voltaire, the calm reasoning\nof Hume, and I repeated to myself _ad nauseam_ the words of Rousseau,\nwho said that superstition, \u201cthe disturber of Society,\u201d could never\nbe too strongly attacked. \u201cWhy should the sight, the phantasmagoria,\nrather\u201d\u2014I argued\u2014\u201cof that which we know in a waking sense to be false,\ncome to affect us at all?\u201d Why should\u2014\n\n    Names, whose sense we see not\n    Fray us with things that be not?\n\nOne day the old captain was narrating to us the various superstitions\nto which sailors were addicted; a pompous English missionary remarked\nthat Fielding had declared long ago that \u201csuperstition renders a man a\nfool,\u201d\u2014after which he hesitated for an instant, and abruptly stopped.\nI had not taken any part in the general conversation; but no sooner\nhad the reverend speaker relieved himself of the quotation, than I saw\nin that halo of vibrating light, which I now noticed almost constantly\nover every human head on the steamer, the words of Fielding\u2019s next\nproposition\u2014\u201cand _scepticism makes him mad_.\u201d\n\nI had heard and read of the claims of those who pretend to seership,\nthat they often see the thoughts of people traced in the aura of those\npresent. Whatever \u201caura\u201d may mean with others, I had now a personal\nexperience of the truth of the claim, and felt sufficiently disgusted\nwith the discovery! I\u2014a _clairvoyant_! a new horror added to my life,\nan absurd and ridiculous gift developed, which I shall have to conceal\nfrom all, feeling ashamed of it as if it were a case of leprosy. At\nthis moment my hatred to the Yamabooshi, and even to my venerable old\nfriend, the Bonze, knew no bounds. The former had evidently by his\nmanipulations over me while I was lying unconscious, touched some\nunknown physiological spring in my brain, and by loosing it had called\nforth a faculty generally hidden in the human constitution; and it was\nthe Japanese priest who had introduced the wretch into my house!\n\nBut my anger and my curses were alike useless, and could be of no\navail. Moreover, we were already in European waters, and in a few\nmore days we should be at Hamburg. Then would my doubts and fears be\nset at rest, and I should find, to my intense relief, that although\nclairvoyance, as regards the reading of human thoughts on the spot, may\nhave some truth in it, the discernment of such events at a distance,\nas I had _dreamed of_, was an impossibility for human faculties.\nNotwithstanding all my reasoning, however, my heart was sick with\nfear, and full of the blackest presentiments; I _felt_ that my doom\nwas closing. I suffered terribly, my nervous and mental prostration\nbecoming intensified day by day.\n\nThe night before we entered port I had a dream.\n\nI fancied I was dead. My body lay cold and stiff in its last sleep,\nwhilst its dying consciousness, which still regarded itself as \u201cI,\u201d\nrealizing the event, was preparing to meet in a few seconds its own\nextinction. It had been always my belief that as the brain preserved\nheat longer than any of the other organs, and was the last to cease its\nactivity, the thought in it survived bodily death by several minutes.\nTherefore, I was not in the least surprised to find in my dream that\nwhile the frame had already crossed that awful gulf \u201cno mortal e\u2019er\nrepassed,\u201d its consciousness was still in the gray twilight, the\nfirst shadows of the great Mystery. Thus my THOUGHT wrapped, as I\nbelieved, in the remnants, of its now fast retiring vitality, was\nwatching with intense and eager curiosity the approaches of its own\ndissolution, _i.e._, of its _annihilation_. \u201cI\u201d was hastening to\nrecord my last impressions, lest the dark mantle of eternal oblivion\nshould envelope me, before I had time to feel and _enjoy_, the great,\nthe supreme triumph of learning that my life-long convictions were\ntrue, that death is a complete and absolute cessation of conscious\nbeing. Everything around me was getting darker with every moment. Huge\ngray shadows were moving before my vision, slowly at first, then with\naccelerated motion, until they commenced whirling around with an almost\nvertiginous rapidity. Then, as though that motion had taken place only\nfor purposes of brewing darkness, the object once reached, it slackened\nits speed, and as the darkness became gradually transformed into\nintense blackness, it ceased altogether. There was nothing now within\nmy immediate perceptions, but that fathomless black Space, as dark as\npitch: to me it appeared as limitless and as silent as the shoreless\nOcean of Eternity upon which Time, the progeny of man\u2019s brain, is for\never gliding, but which it can never cross.\n\nDream is defined by Cato as \u201cbut the image of our hopes and fears.\u201d\nHaving never feared death when awake, I felt, in this dream of mine,\ncalm and serene at the idea of my speedy end. In truth, I felt\nrather relieved at the thought\u2014probably owing to my recent mental\nsuffering\u2014that the end of all, of doubt, of fear for those I loved,\nof suffering, and of every anxiety, was close at hand. The constant\nanguish that had been gnawing ceaselessly at my heavy, aching heart\nfor many a long and weary month, had now become unbearable; and\nif as Seneca thinks, death is but \u201cthe ceasing to be what we were\nbefore,\u201d it was better that I should die. The body is dead; \u201cI,\u201d its\nconsciousness\u2014that which is all that remains of me now, for a few\nmoments longer\u2014am preparing to follow. Mental perceptions will get\nweaker, more dim and hazy with every second of time, until the longed\nfor oblivion envelopes me completely in its cold shroud. Sweet is the\nmagic hand of Death, the great World-Comforter; profound and dreamless\nis sleep in its unyielding arms. Yea, verily, it is a welcome\nguest.... A calm and peaceful haven amidst the roaring billows of the\nOcean of life, whose breakers lash in vain the rock-bound shores of\nDeath. Happy the lonely bark that drifts into the still waters of its\nblack gulf, after having been so long, so cruelly tossed about by the\nangry waves of sentient life. Moored in it for evermore, needing no\nlonger either sail or rudder, my bark will now find rest. Welcome then,\nO Death, at this tempting price; and fare thee well, poor body, which,\nhaving neither sought it nor derived pleasure from it, I now readily\ngive up!...\n\nWhile uttering this death-chant to the prostrate form before me, I bent\nover, and examined it with curiosity. I felt the surrounding darkness\noppressing me, weighing on me almost tangibly, and I fancied I found\nin it the approach of the Liberator I was welcoming. And yet ... how\nvery strange! If real, final Death takes place in our consciousness;\nif after the bodily death, \u201cI\u201d and my conscious perceptions are\none\u2014how is it that these perceptions do not become weaker, why does\nmy _brain_-action seem as vigorous as ever now ... that I am _de\nfacto_ dead?... Nor does the usual feeling of anxiety, the \u201cheavy\nheart\u201d so-called, decrease in intensity; nay, it even seems to become\nworse ... unspeakably so!... How long it takes for full oblivion to\narrive!... Ah, here\u2019s my body again!... Vanished out of sight for a\nsecond or two, it reappears before me once more.... How white and\nghastly it looks! Yet ... its brain cannot be quite dead, since \u201cI,\u201d\nits consciousness, am still acting, since we two fancy that we still\nare, that we live and think, disconnected from our creator and its\nideating cell.\n\nSuddenly I felt a strong desire to see how much longer the progress\nof dissolution was likely to last, before it placed its last seal on\nthe brain and rendered it inactive. I examined my brain in its cranial\ncavity, through the (to me) entirely transparent walls and roof of the\nskull, and even _touched the brain-matter_.... How, or with _whose\nhands_, I am now unable to say; but the impression of the slimy,\nintensely cold matter produced a very strong impression on me, in that\ndream. To my great dismay, I found that the blood having entirely\ncongealed and the brain-tissues having themselves undergone a change\nthat would no longer permit any molecular action, it became impossible\nfor me to account for the phenomena now taking place with myself.\nHere was I,\u2014or my consciousness, which is all one\u2014standing apparently\nentirely disconnected from my brain which could no longer function....\nBut I had no time left for reflection. A new and most extraordinary\nchange in my perceptions had taken place and now engrossed my whole\nattention.... What _does_ this signify?...\n\nThe same darkness was around me as before, a black, impenetrable space,\nextending in every direction. Only now, right before me, in whatever\ndirection I was looking, moving with me which way soever I moved,\nthere was a gigantic round clock; a disk, whose large white face shone\nominously on the ebony-black background. As I looked at its huge dial,\nand at the pendulum moving to and fro regularly and slowly in Space, as\nif its swinging meant to divide eternity, I saw its needles pointing to\n_seven minutes past five_. \u201cThe hour at which my torture had commenced\nat Kioto!\u201d I had barely found time to think of the coincidence, when,\nto my unutterable horror, I felt myself going through the same, the\nidentical, process that I had been made to experience on that memorable\nand fatal day. I swam underground, dashing swiftly through the earth;\nI found myself once more in the pauper\u2019s grave and recognized my\nbrother-in-law in the mangled remains; I witnessed his terrible death;\nentered my sister\u2019s house; followed her agony, and saw her go mad. I\nwent over the same scenes without missing a single detail of them. But,\nalas! I was no longer iron-bound in the calm indifference that had then\nbeen mine, and which in that first vision had left me as unfeeling to\nmy great misfortune as if I had been a heartless thing of rock. My\nmental tortures were now becoming beyond description and well-nigh\nunbearable. Even the settled despair, the never ceasing anxiety I was\nconstantly experiencing when awake, had become now, in my dream and\nin the face of this repetition of visions and events, as an hour of\ndarkened sunlight compared to a deadly cyclone. Oh! how I suffered in\nthis wealth and pomp of infernal horrors, to which the conviction of\nthe survival of man\u2019s consciousness after death\u2014for in that dream I\nfirmly believed that my body was dead\u2014added the most terrifying of all!\n\nThe relative relief I felt, when, after going over the last scene,\nI saw once more the great white face of the dial before me was not\nof long duration. The long, arrow-shaped needle was pointing on the\ncolossal disk at\u2014_seven minutes and a-half past five_ o\u2019clock. But,\nbefore I had time to well realize the change, the needle moved slowly\nbackwards, stopped at precisely the seventh minute, and\u2014O cursed\nfate!... I found myself driven into a repetition of the same series\nover again! Once more I swam underground, and saw, and heard, and\nsuffered every torture that hell can provide; I passed through every\nmental anguish known to man or fiend. I returned to see the fatal dial\nand its needle\u2014after what appeared to me an eternity\u2014moved, as before,\nonly half a minute forward. I beheld it, with renewed terror, moving\nback again, and felt myself propelled forward anew. And so it went\non, and on, and on, time after time, in what seemed to me an endless\nsuccession, a series which never had any beginning, nor would it ever\nhave an end....\n\nWorst of all; my consciousness, my \u201cI,\u201d had apparently acquired the\nphenomenal capacity of trebling, quadrupling, and even of decuplating\nitself. I lived, felt and suffered, in the same space of time, in\nhalf-a-dozen different places at once, passing over various events\nof my life, at different epochs, and under the most dissimilar\ncircumstances; though predominant over all was my _spiritual_\nexperience at Kioto. Thus, as in the famous _fugue_ in _Don Giovanni_,\nthe heart-rending notes of Elvira\u2019s _aria_ of despair ring high above,\nbut interfere in no way with the melody of the minuet, the song of\nseduction, and the chorus, so I went over and over my travailed woes,\nthe feelings of agony unspeakable at the awful sights of my vision,\nthe repetition of which blunted in no wise even a single pang of my\ndespair and horror; nor did these feelings weaken in the least scenes\nand events entirely disconnected with the first one, that I was living\nthrough again, or interfere in any way the one with the other. It was a\nmaddening experience! A series of contrapuntal, mental phantasmagoria\nfrom real life. Here was I, during the same half-a-minute of time,\nexamining with cold curiosity the mangled remains of my sister\u2019s\nhusband; following with the same indifference the effects of the\nnews on her brain, as in my first Kioto vision, and feeling _at the\nsame time_ hell-torture for these very events, as when I returned to\nconsciousness. I was listening to the philosophical discourses of the\nBonze, every word of which I heard and understood, and was trying\nto laugh him to scorn. I was again a child, then a youth, hearing my\nmother\u2019s and my sweet sister\u2019s voices, admonishing me and teaching duty\nto all men. I was saving a friend from drowning, and was sneering at\nhis aged father who thanks me for having saved a \u201csoul\u201d yet unprepared\nto meet his Maker.\n\n\u201cSpeak of _dual_ consciousness, you psycho-physiologists!\u201d\u2014I cried, in\none of the moments when agony, mental and as it seemed to me physical\nalso, had arrived at a degree of intensity which would have killed\na dozen living men; \u201cspeak of your psychological and physiological\nexperiments, you schoolmen, puffed up with pride and book-learning!\nHere am I to give you the lie....\u201d And now I was reading the works and\nholding converse with learned professors and lecturers, who had led\nme to my fatal scepticism. And, while arguing the impossibility of\nconsciousness divorced from its brain, I was shedding tears of blood\nover the supposed fate of my nieces and nephews. More terrible than\nall: I knew, _as only a liberated consciousness can know_, that all I\nhad seen in my vision at Japan, and all that I was seeing and hearing\nover and over again now, was true in every point and detail, that it\nwas a long string of ghastly and terrible, still of real, actual, facts.\n\nFor, perhaps, the hundredth time, I had rivetted my attention on\nthe needle of the clock, I had lost the number of my gyrations and\nwas fast coming to the conclusion that they would never stop, that\nconsciousness, is, after all, indestructible, and that this was to be\nmy punishment in Eternity. I was beginning to realize from personal\nexperience how the condemned sinners would feel\u2014\u201cwere not eternal\ndamnation a logical and mathematical impossibility in an ever\nprogressing Universe\u201d\u2014I still found the force to argue. Yea, indeed; at\nthis hour of my ever-increasing agony, my consciousness\u2014now my synonym\nfor \u201cI\u201d\u2014had still the power of revolting at certain theological claims,\nof denying all their propositions, all\u2014save ITSELF.... No; I denied the\nindependent nature of my consciousness no longer, for I knew it now\nto be such. But is it _eternal_ withal? O thou incomprehensible and\nterrible Reality! But if thou art eternal, who then art thou?\u2014since\nthere is no deity, no God. Whence dost thou come, and when didst thou\nfirst appear, if thou art not a part of the cold body lying yonder?\nAnd whither dost thou lead me, who am thyself, and shall our thought\nand fancy have an end? What is thy real name, thou unfathomable\nREALITY, and impenetrable MYSTERY! Oh, I would fain annihilate thee....\n\u201cSoul-Vision\u201d!--who speaks of Soul, and whose voice is this?... It says\nthat I see now for myself, that there is a Soul in man, after all.... I\ndeny this. My Soul, my vital Soul, or the Spirit of life, has expired\nwith my body, with the gray matter of my brain. This \u201cI\u201d of mine, this\nconsciousness, is not yet proven to me as eternal. Reincarnation, in\nwhich the Bonze felt so anxious I should believe may be true.... Why\nnot? Is not the flower born year after year from the same root? Hence\nthis \u201cI\u201d once separated from its brain, losing its balance, and calling\nforth such a host of visions ... before reincarnating....\n\nI was again face to face with the inexorable, fatal clock. And as I was\nwatching its needle, I heard the voice of the Bonze, coming out of the\ndepths of its white face, saying: \u201cIn this case, I fear, _you would\nonly have to open and to shut the temple door, over and over again,\nduring a period which, however short, would seem to you an\neternity_.\u201d...\n\nThe clock had vanished, darkness made room for light, the voice of my\nold friend was drowned by a multitude of voices overhead on deck; and\nI awoke in my berth, covered with a cold perspiration, and faint with\nterror.\n\n\nVIII\n\nA TALE OF WOE\n\nWe were at Hamburg, and no sooner had I seen my partners, who could\nhardly recognize me, than with their consent and good wishes I started\nfor Nuremberg.\n\nHalf-an-hour after my arrival, the last doubt with regard to the\ncorrectness of my vision had disappeared. The reality was worse than\nany expectations could have made it, and I was henceforward doomed to\nthe most desolate life. I ascertained that I had seen the terrible\ntragedy with all its heartrending details. My brother-in-law, killed\nunder the wheels of a machine; my sister, insane, and now rapidly\nsinking towards her end; my niece\u2014the sweet flower of nature\u2019s fairest\nwork\u2014dishonored, in a den of infamy; the little children dead of a\ncontagious disease in an orphanage; my last surviving nephew at sea,\nno one knew where. A whole house, a home of love and peace, scattered;\nand I, left alone, a witness of this world of death, of desolation\nand dishonor. The news filled me with infinite despair, and I sank\nhelpless before this wholesale, dire disaster, which rose before me\nall at once. The shock proved too much, and I fainted. The last thing\nI heard before entirely losing my consciousness was a remark of the\nBurgmeister: \u201cHad you, before leaving Kioto, telegraphed to the city\nauthorities of your whereabouts, and of your intention of coming home\nto take charge of your young relatives, we might have placed them\nelsewhere, and thus have saved them from their fate. No one knew that\nthe children had a well-to-do relative. They were left paupers and\nhad to be dealt with as such. They were comparatively strangers in\nNuremberg, and under the unfortunate circumstances you could hardly\nhave expected anything else.... I can only express my sincere sorrow.\u201d\n\nIt was this terrible knowledge that I might, at any rate, have saved\nmy young niece from her unmerited fate, but that through my neglect I\nhad not done so, that was killing me. Had I but followed the friendly\nadvice of the Bonze, Tamoora, and telegraphed to the authorities some\nweeks previous to my return much might have been avoided. It was all\nthis, coupled with the fact that I could no longer doubt clairvoyance\nand clairaudience\u2014the possibility of which I had so long denied\u2014that\nbrought me so heavily down upon my knees. I could avoid the censure\nof my fellow-creatures, but I could never escape the stings of my\nconscience, the reproaches of my own aching heart\u2014no, not as long as I\nlived. I cursed my stubborn scepticism, my denial of facts, my early\neducation, I cursed myself, and the whole world....\n\nFor several days I contrived not to sink beneath my load, for I had\na duty to perform to the dead and to the living. But my sister once\nrescued from the pauper\u2019s asylum, placed under the care of the best\nphysicians, with her daughter to attend to her last moments, and\nthe Jewess, whom I had brought to confess her crime, safely lodged\nin jail\u2014my fortitude and strength suddenly abandoned me. Hardly a\nweek after my arrival I was myself no better than a raving maniac,\nhelpless in the strong grip of a brain fever. For several weeks I lay\nbetween life and death, the terrible disease defying the skill of the\nbest physicians. At last my strong constitution prevailed, and\u2014to my\nlife-long sorrow\u2014they proclaimed me saved.\n\nI heard the news with a bleeding heart. Doomed to drag the loathsome\nburden of life henceforth alone, and in constant remorse; hoping for\nno help or remedy on earth, and still refusing to believe in the\npossibility of anything better than a short survival of consciousness\nbeyond the grave, this unexpected return to life added only one more\ndrop of gall to my bitter feelings. They were hardly soothed by the\nimmediate return, during the first days of my convalescence, of those\nunwelcome and unsought for visions, whose correctness and reality I\ncould deny no more. Alas the day! they were no longer in my sceptical,\nblind mind\u2014\n\n    The children of an idle brain\n    Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;\n\nbut always the faithful photographs of the real woes and sufferings\nof my fellow creatures, of my best friends.... Thus I found myself\ndoomed, whenever I was left for a moment alone, to the helpless\ntorture of a chained Prometheus. During the still hours of night,\nas though held by some pitiless iron hand, I found myself led to my\nsister\u2019s bedside, forced to watch there hour after hour, and see the\nsilent disintegration of her wasted organism; to witness and feel the\nsufferings that her own tenantless brain could no longer reflect or\nconvey to her perceptions. But there was something still more horrible\nto barb the dart that could never be extricated. I had to look, by\nday, at the childish innocent face of my young niece, so sublimely\nsimple and guileless in her pollution; and to witness, by night, how\nthe full knowledge and recollection of her dishonor, of her young life\nnow for ever blasted, came to her in her dreams, as soon as she was\nasleep. These dreams took an objective form to me, as they had done\non the steamer; I had to live them over again, night after night,\nand feel the same terrible despair. For now, since I believed in the\nreality of seership, and had come to the conclusion that in our bodies\nlies hidden, as in the caterpillar, the chrysalis which may contain\nin its turn the butterfly\u2014the symbol of the soul\u2014I no longer remained\nindifferent, as of yore, to what I witnessed in my Soul-life. Something\nhad suddenly developed in me, had broken loose from its icy cocoon.\nEvidently I no longer saw only in consequence of the identification of\nmy inner nature with a Daij-Dzin; my visions arose in consequence of a\ndirect personal psychic development, the fiendish creatures only taking\ncare that I should see nothing of an agreeable or elevating nature.\nThus, now, not an unconscious pang in my dying sister\u2019s emaciated body,\nnot a thrill of horror in my niece\u2019s restless sleep at the recollection\nof the crime perpetrated upon her, an innocent child, but found a\nresponsive echo in my bleeding heart. The deep fountain of sympathetic\nlove and sorrow had gushed out from the physical heart, and was now\nloudly echoed by the awakened soul separated from the body. Thus had I\nto drain the cup of misery to the very dregs! Woe is me, it was a daily\nand nightly torture! Oh, how I mourned over my proud folly; how I was\npunished for having neglected to avail myself at Kioto of the proffered\npurification, for now I had come to believe even in the efficacy of\nthe latter. The Daij-Dzin had indeed obtained control over me; and the\nfiend had let loose all the dogs of hell upon his victim....\n\nAt last the awful gulf was reached and crossed. The poor insane\nmartyr dropped into her dark, and now welcome grave, leaving behind\nher, but for a few short months, her young, her first-born, daughter.\nConsumption made short work of that tender girlish frame. Hardly a year\nafter my arrival, I was left alone in the whole wide world, my only\nsurviving nephew having expressed a desire to follow his sea-faring\ncareer.\n\nAnd now, the sequel of my sad, sad story is soon told. A wreck, a\nprematurely old man, looking at thirty as though sixty winters had\npassed over my doomed head, and owing to the never-ceasing visions,\nmyself daily on the verge of insanity, I suddenly formed a desperate\nresolution. I would return to Kioto and seek out the Yamabooshi. I\nwould prostrate myself at the feet of the holy man, and would not\nleave him until he had recalled the Frankenstein he had raised, the\nFrankenstein with whom at the time, it was I, myself, who would not\npart, through my insolent pride and unbelief.\n\nThree months later I was in my Japanese home again, and I at once\nsought out my old, venerable Bonze, Tamoora Hideyeri, I now implored\nhim to take me without an hour\u2019s delay, to the Yamabooshi, the innocent\ncause of my daily tortures. His answer but placed the last, the supreme\nseal on my doom and tenfold intensified my despair. The Yamabooshi had\nleft the country for lands unknown! He had departed one fine morning\ninto the interior, on a pilgrimage, and according to custom, would be\nabsent, unless natural death shortened the period, for no less than\nseven years!...\n\nIn this mischance, I applied for help and protection to other learned\nYamabooshis; and though well aware how useless it was in my case to\nseek efficient cure from any other \u201cadept,\u201d my excellent old friend\ndid everything he could to help me in my misfortune. But it was to\nno purpose, and the canker-worm of my life\u2019s despair could not be\nthoroughly extricated. I found from them that not one of these learned\nmen could promise to relieve me entirely from the demon of clairvoyant\nobsession. It was he who raised certain Daij-Dzins, calling on them to\nshow futurity, or things that had already come to pass, who alone had\nfull control over them. With kind sympathy, which I had now learned\nto appreciate, the holy men invited me to join the group of their\ndisciples, and learn from them what I could do for myself. \u201cWill alone,\nfaith in your own soul powers, can help you now,\u201d they said. \u201cBut it\nmay take several years to undo even a part of the great mischief;\u201d\nthey added. \u201cA Daij-Dzin is easily dislodged in the beginning; if left\nalone, he takes possession of a man\u2019s nature, and it becomes almost\nimpossible to uproot the fiend without killing his victim.\u201d\n\nPersuaded that there was nothing but this left for me to do, I\ngratefully assented, doing my best to believe in all that these holy\nmen believed in, and yet ever failing to do so in my heart. The demon\nof unbelief and all-denial seemed rooted in me more firmly even than\nthe Daij-Dzin. Still I did all I could do, decided as I was not to\nlose my last chance of salvation. Therefore, I proceeded without delay\nto free myself from the world and my commercial obligations, in order\nto live for several years an independent life. I settled my accounts\nwith my Hamburg partners and severed my connection with the firm.\nNotwithstanding considerable financial losses resulting from such a\nprecipitate liquidation, I found myself, after closing the accounts,\na far richer man than I had thought I was. But wealth had no longer\nany attraction for me, now that I had no one to share it with, no one\nto work for. Life had become a burden; and such was my indifference to\nmy future, that while giving away all my fortune to my nephew\u2014in case\nhe should return alive from his sea voyage\u2014I should have neglected\nentirely even a small provision for myself, had not my native partner\ninterfered and insisted upon my making it. I now recognized with\nLao-tze, that Knowledge was the only firm hold for a man to trust to,\nas it is the only one that cannot be shaken by any tempest. Wealth\nis a weak anchor in days of sorrow, and self-conceit the most fatal\ncounsellor. Hence I followed the advice of my friends, and laid aside\nfor myself a modest sum, which would be sufficient to assure me a small\nincome for life, or if I ever left my new friends and instructors.\nHaving settled my earthly accounts and disposed of my belongings at\nKioto, I joined the \u201cMasters of the Long Vision,\u201d who took me to their\nmysterious abode. There I remained for several years, studying very\nearnestly and in the most complete solitude, seeing no one but a few of\nthe members of our religious community.\n\nMany are the mysteries of nature that I have fathomed since then, and\nmany a secret folio from the library of Tzion-ene have I devoured,\nobtaining thereby mastery over several kinds of invisible beings\nof a lower order. But the great secret of power over the terrible\nDaij-Dzin I could not get. It remains in the possession of a very\nlimited number of the highest Initiates of Lao-tze, the great\nmajority of the Yamabooshis themselves being ignorant how to obtain\nsuch mastery over the dangerous Elemental. One who would reach such\npower of control would have to become entirely identified with the\nYamabooshis, to accept their views and beliefs, and to attain the\nhighest degree of Initiation. Very naturally, I was found unfit to\njoin the Fraternity, owing to many insurmountable reasons besides my\ncongenital and ineradicable scepticism, though I tried hard to believe.\nThus, partially relieved of my affliction and taught how to conjure the\nunwelcome visions away, I still remained, and do remain to this day,\nhelpless to prevent their forced appearance before me now and then.\n\nIt was after assuring myself of my unfitness for the exalted position\nof an independent Seer and Adept that I reluctantly gave up any further\ntrial. Nothing had been heard of the holy man, the first innocent cause\nof my misfortune; and the old Bonze himself, who occasionally visited\nme in my retreat, either could not, or would not, inform me of the\nwhereabouts of the Yamabooshi. When, therefore, I had to give up all\nhope of his ever relieving me entirely from my fatal gift, I resolved\nto return to Europe, to settle in solitude for the rest of my life.\nWith this object in view, I purchased through my late partners the\nSwiss _ch\u00e2let_ in which my hapless sister and I were born, where I had\ngrown up under her care, and selected it for my future hermitage.\n\nWhen bidding me farewell for ever on the steamer which took me back\nto my fatherland, the good old Bonze tried to console me for my\ndisappointments. \u201cMy son,\u201d he said, \u201cregard all that happened to you\nas your _Karma_\u2014a just retribution. No one who has subjected himself\nwillingly to the power of a Daij-Dzin can ever hope to become a _Rahat_\n(an Adept), a high-soul\u00e9d Yamabooshi\u2014unless immediately purified.\nAt best, as in your case, he may become fitted to oppose and to\nsuccessfully fight off the fiend. _Like a scar left after a poisonous\nwound, the trace of a Daij-Dzin can never be effaced from the Soul\nuntil purified by a new rebirth._ Withal, feel not dejected, but be of\ngood cheer in your affliction, since it has led you to acquire true\nknowledge, and to accept many a truth you would have otherwise rejected\nwith contempt. And of this priceless knowledge, acquired through\nsuffering and personal efforts\u2014no Daij-Dzin can ever deprive you.\nFare thee well, then, and may the Mother of Mercy, the great Queen of\nHeaven, afford you comfort and protection.\u201d\n\nWe parted, and since then I have led the life of an anchorite, in\nconstant solitude and study. Though still occasionally afflicted,\nI do not regret the years I have passed under the instruction of\nthe Yamabooshis, but feel gratified for the knowledge received. Of\nthe priest Tamoora Hideyeri I think always with sincere affection\nand respect. I corresponded regularly with him to the day of his\ndeath; an event which, with all its to me painful details, I had the\nunthanked-for privilege of witnessing across the seas, at the very hour\nin which it occurred.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAVE OF THE ECHOES\n\nA STRANGE BUT TRUE STORY[2]\n\n      [2] This story is given from the narrative of an eye-witness,\n      a Russian gentleman, very pious, and fully trustworthy.\n      Moreover, the facts are copied from the police records of P\u2014\u2014.\n      The eyewitness in question attributes it, of course, partly to\n      divine interference and partly to the Evil One.\u2014H.\u00a0P.\u00a0B.\n\n\nIn one of the distant governments of the Russian empire, in a small\ntown on the borders of Siberia, a mysterious tragedy occurred more\nthan thirty years ago. About six versts from the little town of P\u2014\u2014,\nfamous for the wild beauty of its scenery, and for the wealth of its\ninhabitants\u2014generally proprietors of mines and of iron foundries\u2014stood\nan aristocratic mansion. Its household consisted of the master, a rich\nold bachelor and his brother, who was a widower and the father of\ntwo sons and three daughters. It was known that the proprietor, Mr.\nIzvertzoff, had adopted his brother\u2019s children, and, having formed an\nespecial attachment for his eldest nephew, Nicolas, he had made him the\nsole heir of his numerous estates.\n\nTime rolled on. The uncle was getting old, the nephew was coming of\nage. Days and years had passed in monotonous serenity, when, on the\nhitherto clear horizon of the quiet family, appeared a cloud. On an\nunlucky day one of the nieces took it into her head to study the\nzither. The instrument being of purely Teutonic origin, and no teacher\nof it residing in the neighborhood, the indulgent uncle sent to St.\nPetersburg for both. After diligent search only one Professor could be\nfound willing to trust himself in such close proximity to Siberia. It\nwas an old German artist, who, sharing his affections equally between\nhis instrument and a pretty blonde daughter, would part with neither.\nAnd thus it came to pass that one fine morning the old Professor\narrived at the mansion, with his music box under one arm and his fair\nMunchen leaning on the other.\n\nFrom that day the little cloud began growing rapidly; for every\nvibration of the melodious instrument found a responsive echo in the\nold bachelor\u2019s heart. Music awakens love, they say, and the work begun\nby the zither was completed by Munchen\u2019s blue eyes. At the expiration\nof six months the niece had become an expert zither player, and the\nuncle was desperately in love.\n\nOne morning, gathering his adopted family around him, he embraced them\nall very tenderly, promised to remember them in his will, and wound up\nby declaring his unalterable resolution to marry the blue-eyed Munchen.\nAfter this he fell upon their necks and wept in silent rapture. The\nfamily, understanding that they were cheated out of the inheritance,\nalso wept; but it was for another cause. Having thus wept, they\nconsoled themselves and tried to rejoice, for the old gentleman was\nsincerely beloved by all. Not all of them rejoiced, though. Nicolas,\nwho had himself been smitten to the heart by the pretty German, and\nwho found himself defrauded at once of his belle and of his uncle\u2019s\nmoney, neither rejoiced nor consoled himself, but disappeared for a\nwhole day.\n\nMeanwhile, Mr. Izvertzoff had given orders to prepare his traveling\ncarriage on the following day, and it was whispered that he was going\nto the chief town of the district, at some distance from his home,\nwith the intention of altering his will. Though very wealthy, he had\nno superintendent on his estate, but kept his books himself. The same\nevening after supper, he was heard in his room, angrily scolding his\nservant, who had been in his service for over thirty years. This man,\nIvan, was a native of northern Asia, from Kamschatka; he had been\nbrought up by the family in the Christian religion, and was thought to\nbe very much attached to his master. A few days later, when the first\ntragic circumstance I am about to relate had brought all the police\nforce to the spot, it was remembered that on that night Ivan was drunk;\nthat his master, who had a horror of this vice had paternally thrashed\nhim, and turned him out of his room, and that Ivan had been seen\nreeling out of the door, and had been heard to mutter threats.\n\nOn the vast domain of Mr. Izvertzoff there was a curious cavern, which\nexcited the curiosity of all who visited it. It exists to this day, and\nis well known to every inhabitant of P\u2014\u2014. A pine forest, commencing\na few feet from the garden gate, climbs in steep terraces up a long\nrange of rocky hills, which it covers with a broad belt of impenetrable\nvegetation. The grotto leading into the cavern, which is known as the\n\u201cCave of the Echoes,\u201d is situated about half a mile from the site\nof the mansion, from which it appears as a small excavation in the\nhill-side, almost hidden by luxuriant plants, but not so completely\nas to prevent any person entering it from being readily seen from the\nterrace in front of the house. Entering the Grotto, the explorer finds\nat the rear a narrow cleft; having passed through which he emerges into\na lofty cavern, feebly lighted through fissures in the vaulted roof,\nfifty feet from the ground. The cavern itself is immense, and would\neasily hold between two and three thousand people. A part of it, in the\ndays of Mr. Izvertzoff, was paved with flagstones, and was often used\nin the summer as a ball-room by picnic parties. Of an irregular oval,\nit gradually narrows into a broad corridor, which runs for several\nmiles underground, opening here and there into other chambers, as large\nand lofty as the ball-room, but, unlike this, impassable otherwise than\nin a boat, as they are always full of water. These natural basins have\nthe reputation of being unfathomable.\n\nOn the margin of the first of these is a small platform, with several\nmossy rustic seats arranged on it, and it is from this spot that the\nphenomenal echoes, which give the cavern its name, are heard in all\ntheir weirdness. A word pronounced in a whisper, or even a sigh, is\ncaught up by endless mocking voices, and instead of diminishing in\nvolume, as honest echoes do, the sound grows louder and louder at\nevery successive repetition, until at last it bursts forth like the\nrepercussion of a pistol shot, and recedes in a plaintive wail down the\ncorridor.\n\nOn the day in question, Mr. Izvertzoff had mentioned his intention of\nhaving a dancing party in this cave on his wedding day, which he had\nfixed for an early date. On the following morning, while preparing for\nhis drive, he was seen by his family entering the grotto, accompanied\nonly by his Siberian servant. Half-an-hour later, Ivan returned to the\nmansion for a snuff-box, which his master had forgotten in his room,\nand went back with it to the cave. An hour later the whole house was\nstartled by his loud cries. Pale and dripping with water, Ivan rushed\nin like a madman, and declared that Mr. Izvertzoff was nowhere to be\nfound in the cave. Thinking he had fallen into the lake, he had dived\ninto the first basin in search of him and was nearly drowned himself.\n\nThe day passed in vain attempts to find the body. The police filled the\nhouse, and louder than the rest in his despair was Nicolas, the nephew,\nwho had returned home only to meet the sad tidings.\n\nA dark suspicion fell upon Ivan, the Siberian. He had been struck by\nhis master the night before, and had been heard to swear revenge. He\nhad accompanied him alone to the cave, and when his room was searched,\na box full of rich family jewelry, known to have been carefully kept\nin Mr. Izvertzoff\u2019s apartment, was found under Ivan\u2019s bedding. Vainly\ndid the serf call God to witness that the box had been given to him\nin charge by his master himself, just before they proceeded to the\ncave; that it was the latter\u2019s purpose to have the jewelry reset, as\nhe intended it for a wedding present to his bride; and that he, Ivan,\nwould willingly give his own life to recall that of his master, if\nhe knew him to be dead. No heed was paid to him, however, and he was\narrested and thrown into prison upon a charge of murder. There he was\nleft, for under the Russian law a criminal cannot\u2014at any rate, he could\nnot in those days\u2014be sentenced for a crime, however conclusive the\ncircumstantial evidence, unless he confessed his guilt.\n\nAfter a week had passed in useless search, the family arrayed\nthemselves in deep mourning; and, as the will as originally drawn\nremained without a codicil, the whole of the property passed into the\nhands of the nephew. The old teacher and his daughter bore this sudden\nreverse of fortune with true Germanic phlegm, and prepared to depart.\nTaking again his zither under one arm, the old man was about to lead\naway his Munchen by the other, when the nephew stopped him by offering\nhimself as the fair damsel\u2019s husband in the place of his departed\nuncle. The change was found to be an agreeable one, and, without much\nado, the young people were married.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTen years rolled away, and we meet the happy family once more at the\nbeginning of 1859. The fair Munchen had grown fat and vulgar. From\nthe day of the old man\u2019s disappearance, Nicolas had become morose and\nretired in his habits, and many wondered at the change in him, for now\nhe was never seen to smile. It seemed as if his only aim in life were\nto find out his uncle\u2019s murderer, or rather to bring Ivan to confess\nhis guilt. But the man still persisted that he was innocent.\n\nAn only son had been born to the young couple, and a strange child\nit was. Small, delicate, and ever ailing, his frail life seemed to\nhang by a thread. When his features were in repose, his resemblance\nto his uncle was so striking that the members of the family often\nshrank from him in terror. It was the pale shriveled face of a man\nof sixty upon the shoulders of a child nine years old. He was never\nseen either to laugh or to play, but, perched in his high chair, would\ngravely sit there, folding his arms in a way peculiar to the late Mr.\nIzvertzoff; and thus he would remain for hours, drowsy and motionless.\nHis nurses were often seen furtively crossing themselves at night, upon\napproaching him, and not one of them would consent to sleep alone with\nhim in the nursery. His father\u2019s behavior towards him was still more\nstrange. He seemed to love him passionately, and at the same time to\nhate him bitterly. He seldom embraced or caressed the child, but, with\nlivid cheek and staring eye, he would pass long hours watching him, as\nthe child sat quietly in his corner, in his goblin-like, old-fashioned\nway.\n\nThe child had never left the estate, and few outside the family knew of\nhis existence.\n\nAbout the middle of July, a tall Hungarian traveler, preceded by a\ngreat reputation for eccentricity, wealth and mysterious powers,\narrived at the town of P\u2014\u2014 from the North, where, it was said, he had\nresided for many years. He settled in the little town, in company\nwith a Shaman or South Siberian magician, on whom he was said to make\nmesmeric experiments. He gave dinners and parties, and invariably\nexhibited his Shaman, of whom he felt very proud, for the amusement of\nhis guests. One day the notables of P\u2014\u2014 made an unexpected invasion of\nthe domains of Nicolas Izvertzoff, and requested the loan of his cave\nfor an evening entertainment. Nicolas consented with great reluctance,\nand only after still greater hesitancy was he prevailed upon to join\nthe party.\n\nThe first cavern and the platform beside the bottomless lake glittered\nwith lights. Hundreds of flickering candles and torches, stuck in\nthe clefts of the rocks, illuminated the place and drove the shadows\nfrom the mossy nooks and corners, where they had crouched undisturbed\nfor many years. The stalactites on the walls sparkled brightly, and\nthe sleeping echoes were suddenly awakened by a joyous confusion of\nlaughter and conversation. The Shaman, who was never lost sight of by\nhis friend and patron, sat in a corner, entranced as usual. Crouched\non a projecting rock, about midway between the entrance and the water,\nwith his lemon-yellow, wrinkled face, flat nose, and thin beard, he\nlooked more like an ugly stone idol than a human being. Many of the\ncompany pressed around him and received correct answers to their\nquestions, the Hungarian cheerfully submitting his mesmerized \u201csubject\u201d\nto cross-examination.\n\nSuddenly one of the party, a lady, remarked that it was in that very\ncave that old Mr. Izvertzoff had so unaccountably disappeared ten years\nbefore. The foreigner appeared interested, and desired to learn more of\nthe circumstances, so Nicolas was sought amid the crowd and led before\nthe eager group. He was the host and he found it impossible to refuse\nthe demanded narrative. He repeated the sad tale in a trembling voice,\nwith a pallid cheek, and tears were seen glittering in his feverish\neyes. The company were greatly affected, and encomiums upon the\nbehavior of the loving nephew in honoring the memory of his uncle and\nbenefactor were freely circulating in whispers, when suddenly the voice\nof Nicolas became choked, his eyes started from their sockets, and with\na suppressed groan, he staggered back. Every eye in the crowd followed\nwith curiosity his haggard look, as it fell and remained riveted upon a\nweazened little face, that peeped from behind the back of the Hungarian.\n\n\u201cWhere do you come from? Who brought you here, child?\u201d gasped out\nNicolas, as pale as death.\n\n\u201cI was in bed, papa; this man came to me, and brought me here in his\narms,\u201d answered the boy simply, pointing to the Shaman, beside whom\nhe stood upon the rock, and who, with his eyes closed, kept swaying\nhimself to and fro like a living pendulum.\n\n\u201cThat is very strange,\u201d remarked one of the guests, \u201cfor the man has\nnever moved from his place.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood God! what an extraordinary resemblance!\u201d muttered an old resident\nof the town, a friend of the lost man.\n\n\u201cYou lie, child!\u201d fiercely exclaimed the father. \u201cGo to bed; this is no\nplace for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come,\u201d interposed the Hungarian, with a strange expression on\nhis face, and encircling with his arm the slender childish figure; \u201cthe\nlittle fellow has seen the double of my Shaman, which roams sometimes\nfar away from his body, and has mistaken the phantom for the man\nhimself. Let him remain with us for a while.\u201d\n\nAt these strange words the guests stared at each other in mute\nsurprise, while some piously made the sign of the cross, spitting\naside, presumably at the devil and all his works.\n\n\u201cBy-the-bye,\u201d continued the Hungarian with a peculiar firmness of\naccent, and addressing the company rather than any one in particular;\n\u201cwhy should we not try, with the help of my Shaman, to unravel the\nmystery hanging over the tragedy? Is the suspected party still lying\nin prison? What? he has not confessed up to now? This is surely very\nstrange. But now we will learn the truth in a few minutes! Let all keep\nsilent!\u201d\n\nHe then approached the Tehuktchene, and immediately began his\nperformance without so much as asking the consent of the master of\nthe place. The latter stood rooted to the spot, as if petrified with\nhorror, and unable to articulate a word. The suggestion met with\ngeneral approbation, save from him; and the police inspector, Col. S\u2014\u2014,\nespecially approved of the idea.\n\n\u201cLadies and gentlemen,\u201d said the mesmerizer in soft tones, \u201callow\nme for this once to proceed otherwise than in my general fashion. I\nwill employ the method of native magic. It is more appropriate to this\nwild place, and far more effective as you will find, than our European\nmethod of mesmerization.\u201d\n\nWithout waiting for an answer, he drew from a bag that never left his\nperson, first a small drum, and then two little phials\u2014one full of\nfluid, the other empty. With the contents of the former he sprinkled\nthe Shaman, who fell to trembling and nodding more violently than ever.\nThe air was filled with the perfume of spicy odors, and the atmosphere\nitself seemed to become clearer. Then, to the horror of those present,\nhe approached the Tibetan, and taking a miniature stiletto from his\npocket, he plunged the sharp steel into the man\u2019s forearm, and drew\nblood from it, which he caught in the empty phial. When it was half\nfilled, he pressed the orifice of the wound with his thumb, and stopped\nthe flow of blood as easily as if he had corked a bottle, after which\nhe sprinkled the blood over the little boy\u2019s head. He then suspended\nthe drum from his neck, and, with two ivory drum-sticks, which were\ncovered with magic signs and letters, he began beating a sort of\n_r\u00e9veille_, to drum up the spirits, as he said.\n\nThe bystanders, half-shocked and half-terrified by these extraordinary\nproceedings, eagerly crowded round him, and for a few moments a dead\nsilence reigned throughout the lofty cavern. Nicolas, with his face\nlivid and corpse-like, stood speechless as before. The mesmerizer had\nplaced himself between the Shaman and the platform, when he began\nslowly drumming. The first notes were muffled, and vibrated so softly\nin the air that they awakened no echo, but the Shaman quickened his\npendulum-like motion and the child became restless. The drummer then\nbegan a slow chant, low, impressive and solemn.\n\nAs the unknown words issued from his lips, the flames of the candles\nand torches wavered and flickered, until they began dancing in rhythm\nwith the chant. A cold wind came wheezing from the dark corridors\nbeyond the water, leaving a plaintive echo in its trail. Then a sort\nof nebulous vapor, seeming to ooze from the rocky ground and walls,\ngathered about the Shaman and the boy. Around the latter the aura was\nsilvery and transparent, but the cloud which enveloped the former was\nred and sinister. Approaching nearer to the platform the magician beat\na louder roll upon the drum, and this time the echo caught it up with\nterrific effect! It reverberated near and far in incessant peals; one\nwail followed another, louder and louder, until the thundering roar\nseemed the chorus of a thousand demon voices rising from the fathomless\ndepths of the lake. The water itself, whose surface, illuminated by\nmany lights, had previously been smooth as a sheet of glass, became\nsuddenly agitated, as if a powerful gust of wind had swept over its\nunruffled face.\n\nAnother chant, and a roll of the drum, and the mountain trembled to its\nfoundation with the cannon-like peals which rolled through the dark\nand distant corridors. The Shaman\u2019s body rose two yards in the air,\nand nodding and swaying, sat, self-suspended like an apparition. But\nthe transformation which now occurred in the boy chilled everyone, as\nthey speechlessly watched the scene. The silvery cloud about the boy\nnow seemed to lift him, too, into the air; but, unlike the Shaman, his\nfeet never left the ground. The child began to grow, as though the work\nof years was miraculously accomplished in a few seconds. He became\ntall and large, and his senile features grew older with the ageing\nof his body. A few more seconds, and the youthful form had entirely\ndisappeared. It was totally absorbed in another individuality, and to\nthe horror of those present who had been familiar with his appearance,\nthis individuality was that of old Mr. Izvertzoff, and on his temple\nwas a large gaping wound, from which trickled great drops of blood.\n\nThis phantom moved towards Nicolas, till it stood directly in front\nof him, while he, with his hair standing erect, with the look of a\nmadman gazed at his own son, transformed into his uncle. The sepulchral\nsilence was broken by the Hungarian, who, addressing the child phantom,\nasked him in solemn voice:\n\n\u201cIn the name of the great Master, of him who has all power, answer the\ntruth, and nothing but the truth. Restless spirit, hast thou been lost\nby accident, or foully murdered?\u201d\n\nThe specter\u2019s lips moved, but it was the echo which answered for them\nin lugubrious shouts: \u201cMurdered! murdered!! mur-der-ed!!!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere? How? By whom?\u201d asked the conjuror.\n\nThe apparition pointed a finger at Nicolas and, without removing its\ngaze or lowering its arm, retreated backwards slowly towards the lake.\nAt every step it took, the younger Izvertzoff, as if compelled by some\nirresistible fascination, advanced a step towards it, until the phantom\nreached the lake, and the next moment was seen gliding on its surface.\nIt was a fearful, ghostly scene!\n\nWhen he had come within two steps of the brink of the watery abyss, a\nviolent convulsion ran through the frame of the guilty man. Flinging\nhimself upon his knees, he clung to one of the rustic seats with a\ndesperate clutch, and staring wildly, uttered a long piercing cry of\nagony. The phantom now remained motionless on the water, and bending\nits extended finger, slowly beckoned him to come. Crouched in abject\nterror, the wretched man shrieked until the cavern rang again and\nagain: \u201cI did not.... No, I did not murder you!\u201d\n\nThen came a splash, and now it was the boy who was in the dark water,\nstruggling for his life, in the middle of the lake, with the same\nmotionless stern apparition brooding over him.\n\n\u201cPapa! papa! Save me.... I am drowning!\u201d ... cried a piteous little\nvoice amid the uproar of the mocking echoes.\n\n\u201cMy boy!\u201d shrieked Nicolas, in the accents of a maniac, springing to\nhis feet. \u201cMy boy! Save him! Oh, save him!... Yes, I confess.... I am\nthe murderer.... It is I who killed him!\u201d\n\nAnother splash, and the phantom disappeared. With a cry of horror the\ncompany rushed towards the platform; but their feet were suddenly\nrooted to the ground, as they saw amid the swirling eddies a whitish\nshapeless mass holding the murderer and the boy in tight embrace, and\nslowly sinking into the bottomless lake.\n\nOn the morning after these occurrences, when, after a sleepless night,\nsome of the party visited the residence of the Hungarian gentleman,\nthey found it closed and deserted. He and the Shaman had disappeared.\nMany are among the old inhabitants of P\u2014\u2014 who remember him; the Police\nInspector, Col. S\u2014\u2014, dying a few years ago in the full assurance that\nthe noble traveler was the devil. To add to the general consternation\nthe Izvertzoff mansion took fire on that same night and was completely\ndestroyed. The Archbishop performed the ceremony of exorcism, but\nthe locality is considered accursed to this day. The Government\ninvestigated the facts, and\u2014ordered silence.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUMINOUS SHIELD\n\n\nWe were a small and select party of light-hearted travelers. We had\narrived at Constantinople a week before from Greece, and had devoted\nfourteen hours a day ever since to toiling up and down the steep\nheights of Pera, visiting bazaars, climbing to the tops of minarets and\nfighting our way through armies of hungry dogs, the traditional masters\nof the streets of Stamboul. Nomadic life is infectious, they say, and\nno civilization is strong enough to destroy the charm of unrestrained\nfreedom when it has once been tasted. The gipsy cannot be tempted\nfrom his tent, and even the common tramp finds a fascination in his\ncomfortless and precarious existence, that prevents him taking to any\nfixed abode and occupation. To guard my spaniel Ralph from falling a\nvictim to this infection, and joining the canine Bedouins that infested\nthe streets, was my chief care during our stay in Constantinople. He\nwas a fine fellow, my constant companion and cherished friend. Afraid\nof losing him, I kept a strict watch over his movements; for the\nfirst three days, however, he behaved like a tolerably well-educated\nquadruped, and remained faithfully at my heels. At every impudent\nattack from his Mahomedan cousins, whether intended as a hostile\ndemonstration or an overture of friendship, his only reply would be to\ndraw in his tail between his legs, and with an air of dignified modesty\nseek protection under the wing of one or other of our party.\n\nAs he had thus from the first shown so decided an aversion to bad\ncompany, I began to feel assured of his discretion, and by the end\nof the third day I had considerably relaxed my vigilance. This\ncarelessness on my part, however, was soon punished, and I was made to\nregret my misplaced confidence. In an unguarded moment he listened to\nthe voice of some four-footed syren, and the last I saw of him was the\nend of his bushy tail, vanishing round the corner of a dirty, winding\nlittle back street.\n\nGreatly annoyed, I passed the remainder of the day in a vain search\nafter my dumb companion. I offered twenty, thirty, forty francs reward\nfor him. About as many vagabond Maltese began a regular chase, and\ntowards evening we were invaded in our hotel by the whole troop, every\nman of them with a more or less mangy cur in his arms, which he tried\nto persuade me was my lost dog. The more I denied, the more solemnly\nthey insisted, one of them actually going down on his knees, snatching\nfrom his bosom an old corroded metal image of the Virgin, and swearing\na solemn oath that the Queen of Heaven herself had kindly appeared to\nhim to point out the right animal. The tumult had increased to such\nan extent that it looked as if Ralph\u2019s disappearance was going to be\nthe cause of a small riot, and finally our landlord had to send for\na couple of Kavasses from the nearest police station, and have this\nregiment of bipeds and quadrupeds expelled by main force. I began to\nbe convinced that I should never see my dog again, and I was the\nmore despondent since the porter of the hotel, a semi-respectable\nold brigand, who, to judge by appearances, had not passed more than\nhalf-a-dozen years at the galleys, gravely assured me that all my pains\nwere useless, as my spaniel was undoubtedly dead and devoured too by\nthis time, the Turkish dogs being very fond of their more toothsome\nEnglish brothers.\n\nAll this discussion had taken place in the street at the door of the\nhotel, and I was about to give up the search for that night at least,\nand enter the hotel, when an old Greek lady, a Phanariote who had been\nhearing the fracas from the steps of a door close by, approached our\ndisconsolate group and suggested to Miss H\u2014\u2014, one of our party, that we\nshould inquire of the dervishes concerning the fate of Ralph.\n\n\u201cAnd what can the dervishes know about my dog?\u201d said I, in no mood to\njoke, ridiculous as the proposition appeared.\n\n\u201cThe holy men know all, Kyrea (Madam),\u201d said she, somewhat\nmysteriously. \u201cLast week I was robbed of my new satin pelisse, that\nmy son had just brought me from Broussa, and, as you all see, I have\nrecovered it and have it on my back now.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed? Then the holy men have also managed to metamorphose your new\npelisse into an old one by all appearances,\u201d said one of the gentlemen\nwho accompanied us, pointing as he spoke to a large rent in the back,\nwhich had been clumsily repaired with pins.\n\n\u201cAnd that is just the most wonderful part of the whole story,\u201d quietly\nanswered the Phanariote, not in the least disconcerted. \u201cThey showed me\nin the shining circle the quarter of the town, the house, and even the\nroom in which the Jew who had stolen my pelisse was just about to rip\nit up and cut it into pieces. My son and I had barely time to run over\nto the Kalindjikoulosek quarter, and to save my property. We caught the\nthief in the very act, and we both recognized him as the man shown to\nus by the dervishes in the magic moon. He confessed the theft and is\nnow in prison.\u201d\n\nAlthough none of us had the least comprehension of what she meant\nby the magic moon and the shining circle, and were all thoroughly\nmystified by her account of the divining powers of the \u201choly men,\u201d we\nstill felt somehow satisfied from her manner that the story was not\naltogether a fabrication, and since she had at all events apparently\nsucceeded in recovering her property through being somehow assisted by\nthe dervishes, we determined to go the following morning and see for\nourselves, for what had helped her might help us likewise.\n\nThe monotonous cry of the Muezzins from the tops of the minarets had\njust proclaimed the hour of noon as we, descending from the heights\nof Pera to the port of Galata, with difficulty managed to elbow our\nway through the unsavory crowds of the commercial quarter of the town.\nBefore we reached the docks we had been half deafened by the shouts and\nincessant ear-piercing cries and the Babel-like confusion of tongues.\nIn this part of the city it is useless to expect to be guided by either\nhouse numbers, or names of streets. The location of any desired place\nis indicated by its proximity to some other more conspicuous building,\nsuch as a mosque, bath or European shop; for the rest, one has to trust\nto Allah and his prophet.\n\nIt was with the greatest difficulty, therefore, that we finally\ndiscovered the British ship-chandler\u2019s store, at the rear of which\nwe were to find the place of our destination. Our hotel guide was as\nignorant of the dervishes\u2019 abode as we were ourselves; but at last a\nsmall Greek, in all the simplicity of primitive undress, consented for\na modest copper backsheesh to lead us to the dancers.\n\nWhen we arrived we were shown into a vast and gloomy hall that looked\nlike a deserted stable. It was long and narrow, the floor was thickly\nstrewn with sand as in a riding school, and it was lighted only by\nsmall windows placed at some height from the ground. The dervishes had\nfinished their morning performances, and were evidently resting from\ntheir exhausting labors. They looked completely prostrated, some lying\nabout in corners, others sitting on their heels staring vacantly into\nspace, engaged, as we were informed, in meditation on their invisible\ndeity. They appeared to have lost all power of sight and hearing, for\nnone of them responded to our questions until a great gaunt figure,\nwearing a tall cap that made him look at least seven feet high, emerged\nfrom an obscure corner. Informing us that he was their chief, the giant\ngave us to understand that the saintly brethren, being in the habit of\nreceiving orders for additional ceremonies from Allah himself, must\non no account be disturbed. But when our interpreter had explained to\nhim the object of our visit, which concerned himself alone, as he was\nthe sole custodian of the \u201cdivining rod,\u201d his objections vanished and\nhe extended his hand for alms. Upon being gratified, he intimated that\nonly two of our party could be admitted at one time into the confidence\nof the future, and led the way, followed by Miss H\u2014\u2014 and myself.\n\nPlunging after him into what seemed to be a half subterranean passage,\nwe were led to the foot of a tall ladder leading to a chamber under\nthe roof. We scrambled up after our guide, and at the top we found\nourselves in a wretched garret of moderate size, with bare walls and\ndestitute of furniture. The floor was carpeted with a thick layer of\ndust, and cobwebs festooned the walls in neglected confusion. In the\ncorner we saw something that I at first mistook for a bundle of old\nrags; but the heap presently moved and got on its legs, advanced to the\nmiddle of the room and stood before us, the most extraordinary looking\ncreature that I ever beheld. Its sex was female, but whether she was a\nwoman or child it was impossible to decide. She was a hideous-looking\ndwarf, with an enormous head, the shoulders of a grenadier, with\na waist in proportion; the whole supported by two short, lean,\nspider-like legs that seemed unequal to the task of bearing the weight\nof the monstrous body. She had a grinning countenance like the face of\na satyr, and it was ornamented with letters and signs from the Koran\npainted in bright yellow. On her forehead was a blood-red crescent;\nher head was crowned with a dusty tarbouche, or fez; her legs were\narrayed in large Turkish trousers, and some dirty white muslin wrapped\nround her body barely sufficed to conceal its hideous deformities. This\ncreature rather let herself drop than sat down in the middle of the\nfloor, and as her weight descended on the rickety boards it sent up a\ncloud of dust that set us coughing and sneezing. This was the famous\nTatmos known as the Damascus oracle!\n\nWithout losing time in idle talk, the dervish produced a piece of\nchalk, and traced around the girl a circle about six feet in diameter.\nFetching from behind the door twelve small copper lamps which he filled\nwith some dark liquid from a small bottle which he drew from his bosom,\nhe placed them symmetrically around the magic circle. He then broke a\nchip of wood from a panel of the half ruined door, which bore the marks\nof many a similar depredation, and, holding the chip between his thumb\nand finger he began blowing on it at regular intervals, alternating\nthe blowing with mutterings of some kind of weird incantation, till\nsuddenly, and without any apparent cause for its ignition, there\nappeared a spark on the chip and it blazed up like a dry match. The\ndervish then lit the twelve lamps at this self-generated flame.\n\nDuring this process, Tatmos, who had sat till then altogether\nunconcerned and motionless, removed her yellow slippers from her naked\nfeet, and throwing them into a corner, disclosed as an additional\nbeauty, a sixth toe on each deformed foot. The dervish now reached over\ninto the circle and seizing the dwarf\u2019s ankles gave her a jerk, as if\nhe had been lifting a bag of corn, and raised her clear off the ground,\nthen, stepping back a pace, held her head downward. He shook her as\none might a sack to pack its contents, the motion being regular and\neasy. He then swung her to and fro like a pendulum until the necessary\nmomentum was acquired, when letting go one foot, and seizing the other\nwith both hands, he made a powerful muscular effort and whirled her\nround in the air as if she had been an Indian club.\n\nMy companion had shrunk back in alarm to the farthest corner. Round\nand round the dervish swung his living burden, she remaining perfectly\npassive. The motion increased in rapidity until the eye could hardly\nfollow the body in its circuit. This continued for perhaps two or three\nminutes, until, gradually slackening the motion, he at length stopped\nit altogether, and in an instant had landed the girl on her knees\nin the middle of the lamp-lit circle. Such was the Eastern mode of\nmesmerization as practised among the dervishes.\n\nAnd now the dwarf seemed entirely oblivious of external objects and in\na deep trance. Her head and jaw dropped on her chest, her eyes were\nglazed and staring, and altogether her appearance was even more hideous\nthan before. The dervish then carefully closed the shutters of the only\nwindow, and we should have been in total obscurity, but that there was\na hole bored in it, through which entered a bright ray of sunlight that\nshot through the darkened room and shone upon the girl. He arranged her\ndrooping head so that the ray should fall upon the crown, after which\nmotioning us to remain silent, he folded his arms upon his bosom, and,\nfixing his gaze upon the bright spot, became as motionless as a stone\nimage. I, too, riveted my eyes on the same spot, wondering what was to\nhappen next, and how all this strange ceremony was to help me to find\nRalph.\n\nBy degrees, the bright patch, as if it had drawn through the sunbeam\na greater splendor from without and condensed it within its own\narea, shaped itself into a brilliant star, sending out rays in every\ndirection as from a focus.\n\nA curious optical effect then occurred: the room, which had been\npreviously partially lighted by the sunbeam, grew darker and darker as\nthe star increased in radiance, until we found ourselves in an Egyptian\ngloom. The star twinkled, trembled and turned, at first with a slow\ngyratory motion, then faster and faster, increasing its circumference\nat every rotation until it formed a brilliant disk, and we no longer\nsaw the dwarf, who seemed absorbed into its light. Having gradually\nattained an extremely rapid velocity, as the girl had done when whirled\nby the dervish, the motion began to decrease and finally merged into\na feeble vibration, like the shimmer of moonbeams on rippling water.\nThen it flickered for a moment longer, emitted a few last flashes, and\nassuming the density and iridescence of an immense opal, it remained\nmotionless. The disk now radiated a moon-like luster, soft and silvery,\nbut instead of illuminating the garret, it seemed only to intensify\nthe darkness. The edge of the circle was not penumbrous, but on the\ncontrary sharply defined like that of a silver shield.\n\nAll being now ready, the dervish without uttering a word, or removing\nhis gaze from the disk, stretched out a hand, and taking hold of mine,\nhe drew me to his side and pointed to the luminous shield. Looking at\nthe place indicated, we saw large patches appear like those on the\nmoon. These gradually formed themselves into figures that began moving\nabout in high relief in their natural colors. They neither appeared\nlike a photograph nor an engraving; still less like the reflection of\nimages on a mirror, but as if the disk were a cameo, and they were\nraised above its surface and then endowed with life and motion. To my\nastonishment and my friend\u2019s consternation, we recognized the bridge\nleading from Galata to Stamboul spanning the Golden Horn from the new\nto the old city. There were the people hurrying to and fro, steamers\nand gay caiques gliding on the blue Bosphorus, the many colored\nbuildings, villas and palaces reflected in the water; and the whole\npicture illuminated by the noon-day sun. It passed like a panorama,\nbut so vivid was the impression that we could not tell whether it or\nourselves were in motion. All was bustle and life, but not a sound\nbroke the oppressive stillness. It was noiseless as a dream. It was\na phantom picture. Street after street and quarter after quarter\nsucceeded one another; there was the bazaar, with its narrow, roofed\npassages, the small shops on either side, the coffee houses with\ngravely smoking Turks; and as either they glided past us or we past\nthem, one of the smokers upset the narghil\u00e9 and coffee of another,\nand a volley of soundless invectives caused us great amusement. So\nwe traveled with the picture until we came to a large building that I\nrecognized as the palace of the Minister of Finance. In a ditch behind\nthe house, and close to a mosque, lying in a pool of mud with his\nsilken coat all bedraggled, lay my poor Ralph! Panting and crouching\ndown as if exhausted, he seemed to be in a dying condition; and near\nhim were gathered some sorry-looking curs who lay blinking in the sun\nand snapping at the flies!\n\nI had seen all that I desired, although I had not breathed a word about\nthe dog to the dervish, and had come more out of curiosity than with\nthe idea of any success. I was impatient to leave at once and recover\nRalph, but as my companion besought me to remain a little while longer,\nI reluctantly consented. The scene faded away and Miss H\u2014\u2014 placed\nherself in turn by the side of the dervish.\n\n\u201cI will think of _him_,\u201d she whispered in my ear with the eager tone\nthat young ladies generally assume when talking of the worshipped _him_.\n\nThere is a long stretch of sand and a blue sea with white waves dancing\nin the sun, and a great steamer is ploughing her way along past a\ndesolate shore, leaving a milky track behind her. The deck is full\nof life, the men are busy forward, the cook with white cap and apron\nis coming out of the galley, uniformed officers are moving about,\npassengers fill the quarter-deck, lounging, flirting or reading, and a\nyoung man we both recognize comes forward and leans over the taffrail.\nIt is\u2014_him_.\n\nMiss H\u2014\u2014 gives a little gasp, blushes and smiles, and concentrates her\nthoughts again. The picture of the steamer vanishes; the magic moon\nremains for a few moments blank. But new spots appear on its luminous\nface, we see a library slowly emerging from its depths\u2014a library with\ngreen carpet and hangings, and book-shelves round the sides of the\nroom. Seated in an arm-chair at a table under a hanging lamp, is an old\ngentleman writing. His gray hair is brushed back from his forehead,\nhis face is smooth-shaven and his countenance has an expression of\nbenignity.\n\nThe dervish made an hasty motion to enjoin silence; the light on the\ndisk quivers, but resumes its steady brilliancy, and again its surface\nis imageless for a second.\n\nWe are back in Constantinople now and out of the pearly depths of the\nshield forms our own apartment in the hotel. There are our papers and\nbooks on the bureau, my friend\u2019s traveling hat in a corner, her ribbons\nhanging on the glass, and lying on the bed the very dress she had\nchanged when starting out on our expedition. No detail was lacking to\nmake the identification complete; and as if to prove that we were not\nseeing something conjured up in our own imagination, there lay upon\nthe dressing-table two unopened letters, the handwriting on which was\nclearly recognized by my friend. They were from a very dear relative\nof hers, from whom she had expected to hear when in Athens, but had\nbeen disappointed. The scene faded away and we now saw her brother\u2019s\nroom with himself lying upon the lounge, and a servant bathing his\nhead, whence, to our horror, blood was trickling. We had left the boy\nin perfect health but an hour before; and upon seeing this picture my\ncompanion uttered a cry of alarm, and seizing me by the hand dragged\nme to the door. We rejoined our guide and friends in the long hall and\nhurried back to the hotel.\n\nYoung H\u2014\u2014 had fallen downstairs and cut his forehead rather badly;\nin our room, on the dressing-table were the two letters which had\narrived in our absence. They had been forwarded from Athens. Ordering\na carriage, I at once drove to the Ministry of Finance, and alighting\nwith the guide, hurriedly made for the ditch I had seen for the first\ntime in the shining disk! In the middle of the pool, badly mangled,\nhalf-famished, but still alive, lay my beautiful spaniel Ralph, and\nnear him were the blinking curs, unconcernedly snapping at the flies.\n\n\n\n\nFROM THE POLAR LANDS\n\n(A Christmas Story)\n\n\nJust a year ago, during the Christmas holidays, a numerous society had\ngathered in the country house, or rather the old hereditary castle,\nof a wealthy landowner in Finland. Many were the remains in it of our\nforefathers\u2019 hospitable way of living; and many the medieval customs\npreserved, founded on traditions and superstitions, semi-Finnish and\nsemi-Russian, the latter imported into it by its female proprietors\nfrom the shores of the Neva. Christmas trees were being prepared and\nimplements for divination were being made ready. For, in that old\ncastle there were grim worm-eaten portraits of famous ancestors and\nknights and ladies, old deserted turrets, with bastions and Gothic\nwindows; mysterious somber alleys, and dark and endless cellars, easily\ntransformed into subterranean passages and caves, ghostly prison cells,\nhaunted by the restless phantoms of the heroes of local legends. In\nshort, the old Manor offered every commodity for romantic horrors. But\nalas! this once they serve for nought; in the present narrative these\ndear old horrors play no such part as they otherwise might.\n\nIts chief hero is a very commonplace, prosaical man\u2014let us call him\nErkler. Yes; Dr. Erkler, professor of medicine, half-German through\nhis father, a full-blown Russian on his mother\u2019s side and by education;\nand one who looked a rather heavily built, and ordinary mortal.\nNevertheless, very extraordinary things happened with him.\n\nErkler, as it turned out was a great traveler, who by his own choice\nhad accompanied one of the most famous explorers on his journeys round\nthe world. More than once they had both seen death face to face from\nsunstrokes under the Tropics, from cold in the Polar Regions. All this\nnotwithstanding, the doctor spoke with a never-abating enthusiasm\nabout their \u201cwinterings\u201d in Greenland and Novaya Zemla, and about the\ndesert plains in Australia, where he lunched off a kangaroo and dined\noff an emu, and almost perished of thirst during the passage through a\nwaterless track, which it took them forty hours to cross.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he used to remark, \u201cI have experienced almost everything, save\nwhat you would describe as _supernatural_.... This, of course if we\nthrow out of account a certain extraordinary event in my life\u2014a man\nI met, of whom I will tell you just now\u2014and its ... indeed, rather\nstrange, I may add quite _inexplicable_, results.\u201d\n\nThere was a loud demand that he should explain himself; and the doctor,\nforced to yield, began his narrative.\n\n\u201cIn 1878 we were compelled to winter on the north-western coast of\nSpitsbergen. We had been attempting to find our way during the short\nsummer to the pole; but, as usual, the attempt had proved a failure,\nowing to the icebergs, and, after several such fruitless endeavors,\nwe had to give it up. No sooner had we settled than the polar night\ndescended upon us, our steamers got wedged in and frozen between the\nblocks of ice in the Gulf of Mussel, and we found ourselves cut off\nfor eight long months from the rest of the living world.... I confess\nI, for one, felt it terribly at first. We became especially discouraged\nwhen one stormy night the snow hurricane scattered a mass of materials\nprepared for our winter buildings, and deprived us of over forty deer\nfrom our herd. Starvation in prospect is no incentive to good humor;\nand with the deer we had lost the best _plat de r\u00e9sistance_ against\npolar frosts, human organisms demanding in that climate an increase\nof heating and solid food. However, we were finally reconciled to\nour loss, and even got accustomed to the local and in reality more\nnutritious food\u2014seals, and seal-grease. Our men from the remnants of\nour lumber built a house neatly divided into two compartments, one for\nour three professors and myself, and the other for themselves; and, a\nfew wooden sheds being constructed for meteorological, astronomical\nand magnetic purposes, we even added a protecting stable for the few\nremaining deer. And then began the monotonous series of dawnless nights\nand days, hardly distinguishable one from the other, except through\ndark-gray shadows. At times, the \u201cblues\u201d we got into were fearful! We\nhad contemplated sending two of our three steamers home in September,\nbut the premature and unforeseen formation of ice walls round them had\nthwarted our plans; and now, with the entire crews on our hands, we had\nto economize still more with our meager provisions, fuel and light.\nLamps were used only for scientific purposes: the rest of the time\nwe had to content ourselves with God\u2019s light\u2014the moon and the Aurora\nBorealis.... But how describe these glorious, incomparable northern\nlights! Rings, arrows, gigantic conflagrations of accurately divided\nrays of the most vivid and varied colors. The November moonlight\nnights were as gorgeous. The play of moonbeams on the snow and the\nfrozen rocks was most striking. These were fairy nights.\n\n\u201cWell, one such night\u2014it may have been one such _day_, for all I know,\nas from the end of November to about the middle of March we had no\ntwilights at all, to distinguish the one from the other\u2014we suddenly\nespied in the play of colored beams, which were then throwing a golden\nrosy hue on the snow plains, a dark moving spot.... It grew, and seemed\nto scatter as it approached nearer to us. What did this mean?... It\nlooked like a herd of cattle, or a group of living men, trotting over\nthe snowy wilderness.... But animals there were white like everything\nelse. What then was this?... human beings?...\n\n\u201cWe could not believe our eyes. Yes, a group of men was approaching\nour dwelling. It turned out to be about fifty seal-hunters, guided by\nMatiliss, a well-known veteran mariner, from Norway. They had been\ncaught by the icebergs, just as we had been.\n\n\u201c\u2018How did you know that we were here?\u2019 we asked.\n\n\u201c\u2018Old Johan, this very same old party, showed us the way\u2019\u2014they\nanswered, pointing to a venerable-looking old man with snow-white locks.\n\n\u201cIn sober truth, it would have beseemed their guide far better to have\nsat at home over his fire than to have been seal-hunting in polar lands\nwith younger men. And we told them so, still wondering how he came to\nlearn of our presence in this kingdom of white bears. At this Matiliss\nand his companions smiled, assuring us that \u2018old Johan\u2019 _knew all_.\nThey remarked that we must be novices in polar borderlands, since we\nwere ignorant of Johan\u2019s personality and could still wonder at anything\nsaid of him.\n\n\u201c\u2018It is nigh forty-five years,\u2019 said the chief hunter, \u2018that I have\nbeen catching seals in the Polar Seas, and as far as my personal\nremembrance goes, I have always known him, and just as he is now, an\nold, white-bearded man. And so far back as in the days when I used to\ngo to sea, as a small boy with my father, my dad used to tell me the\nsame of old Johan, and he added that his own father and grandfather\ntoo, had known Johan in their days of boyhood, none of them having ever\nseen him otherwise than white as our snows. And, as our forefathers\nnicknamed him \u201cthe white-haired all-knower,\u201d thus do we, the seal\nhunters, call him, to this day.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Would you make us believe he is two hundred years old?\u2019\u2014we laughed.\n\n\u201cSome of our sailors crowding round the white-haired phenomenon, plied\nhim with questions.\n\n\u201c\u2018Grandfather! answer us, how old are you?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I really do not know it myself, sonnies. I live as long as God has\ndecreed me to. As to my years, I never counted them.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018And how did you know, grandfather, that we were wintering in this\nplace?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018God guided me. How I learned it I do not know; save that I knew\u2014I\nknew it.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE ENSOULED VIOLIN\n\n\nI\n\nIn the year 1828, an old German, a music teacher, came to Paris with\nhis pupil and settled unostentatiously in one of the quiet faubourgs\nof the metropolis. The first rejoiced in the name of Samuel Klaus; the\nsecond answered to the more poetical appellation of Franz Stenio. The\nyounger man was a violinist, gifted, as rumor went, with extraordinary,\nalmost miraculous talent. Yet as he was poor and had not hitherto\nmade a name for himself in Europe, he remained for several years in\nthe capital of France\u2014the heart and pulse of capricious continental\nfashion\u2014unknown and unappreciated. Franz was a Styrian by birth, and,\nat the time of the event to be presently described, he was a young\nman considerably under thirty. A philosopher and a dreamer by nature,\nimbued with all the mystic oddities of true genius, he reminded one of\nsome of the heroes in Hoffmann\u2019s _Contes Fantastiques_. His earlier\nexistence had been a very unusual, in fact, quite an eccentric one, and\nits history must be briefly told\u2014for the better understanding of the\npresent story.\n\nBorn of very pious country people, in a quiet burg among the Styrian\nAlps; nursed \u201cby the native gnomes who watched over his cradle\u201d;\ngrowing up in the weird atmosphere of the ghouls and vampires who play\nsuch a prominent part in the household of every Styrian and Slavonian\nin Southern Austria; educated later, as a student, in the shadow of\nthe old Rhenish castles of Germany; Franz from his childhood had\npassed through every emotional stage on the plane of the so-called\n\u201csupernatural.\u201d He had also studied at one time the \u201coccult arts\u201d with\nan enthusiastic disciple of Paracelsus and Kunrath; alchemy had few\ntheoretical secrets for him; and he had dabbled in \u201cceremonial magic\u201d\nand \u201csorcery\u201d with some Hungarian Tziganes. Yet he loved above all else\nmusic, and above music\u2014his violin.\n\nAt the age of twenty-two he suddenly gave up his practical studies in\nthe occult, and from that day, though as devoted as ever in thought\nto the beautiful Grecian Gods, he surrendered himself entirely to his\nart. Of his classic studies he had retained only that which related\nto the muses\u2014Euterpe especially, at whose altar he worshipped\u2014and\nOrpheus whose magic lyre he tried to emulate with his violin. Except\nhis dreamy belief in the nymphs and the sirens, on account probably of\nthe double relationship of the latter to the muses through Calliope and\nOrpheus, he was interested but little in the matters of this sublunary\nworld. All his aspirations mounted, like incense, with the wave of the\nheavenly harmony that he drew from his instrument, to a higher and a\nnobler sphere. He dreamed awake, and lived a real though an enchanted\nlife only during those hours when his magic bow carried him along the\nwave of sound to the Pagan Olympus, to the feet of Euterpe. A strange\nchild he had ever been in his own home, where tales of magic and\nwitchcraft grow out of every inch of the soil; a still stranger boy he\nhad become, until finally he had blossomed into manhood, without one\nsingle characteristic of youth. Never had a fair face attracted his\nattention; not for one moment had his thoughts turned from his solitary\nstudies to a life beyond that of a mystic Bohemian. Content with his\nown company, he had thus passed the best years of his youth and manhood\nwith his violin for his chief idol, and with the Gods and Goddesses of\nold Greece for his audience, in perfect ignorance of practical life.\nHis whole existence had been one long day of dreams, of melody and\nsunlight, and he had never felt any other aspirations.\n\nHow useless, but oh, how glorious those dreams! how vivid! and why\nshould he desire any better fate? Was he not all that he wanted to\nbe, transformed in a second of thought into one or another hero; from\nOrpheus, who held all nature breathless, to the urchin who piped away\nunder the plane tree to the naiads of Callirrhoe\u2019s crystal fountain?\nDid not the swift-footed nymphs frolic at his beck and call to the\nsound of the magic flute of the Arcadian Shepherd\u2014who was himself?\nBehold, the Goddess of Love and Beauty herself descending from on high,\nattracted by the sweet-voiced notes of his violin!... Yet there came\na time when he preferred Syrinx to Aphrodite\u2014not as the fair nymph\npursued by Pan, but after her transformation by the merciful Gods into\nthe reed out of which the frustrated God of the Shepherds had made\nhis magic pipe. For also, with time, ambition grows and is rarely\nsatisfied. When he tried to emulate on his violin the enchanting sounds\nthat resounded in his mind, the whole of Parnassus kept silent under\nthe spell, or joined in heavenly chorus; but the audience he finally\ncraved was composed of more than the Gods sung by Hesiod, verily of the\nmost appreciative _m\u00e9lomanes_ of European capitals. He felt jealous of\nthe magic pipe, and would fain have had it at his command.\n\n\u201cOh, that I could allure a nymph into my beloved violin!\u201d\u2014he often\ncried, after awakening from one of his day-dreams. \u201cOh, that I could\nonly span in spirit flight the abyss of Time! Oh, that I could find\nmyself for one short day a partaker of the secret arts of the Gods,\na God myself, in the sight and hearing of enraptured humanity; and,\nhaving learned the mystery of the lyre of Orpheus, or secured within my\nviolin a siren, thereby benefit mortals to my own glory!\u201d\n\nThus, having for long years dreamed in the company of the Gods of his\nfancy, he now took to dreaming of the transitory glories of fame upon\nthis earth. But at this time he was suddenly called home by his widowed\nmother from one of the German universities where he had lived for the\nlast year or two. This was an event which brought his plans to an end,\nat least so far as the immediate future was concerned, for he had\nhitherto drawn upon her alone for his meager pittance, and his means\nwere not sufficient for an independent life outside his native place.\n\nHis return had a very unexpected result. His mother, whose only love\nhe was on earth, died soon after she had welcomed her Benjamin back;\nand the good wives of the burg exercised their swift tongues for many a\nmonth after as to the real causes of that death.\n\nFrau Stenio, before Franz\u2019s return, was a healthy, buxom, middle-aged\nbody, strong and hearty. She was a pious and a God-fearing soul\ntoo, who had never failed in saying her prayers, nor had missed an\nearly mass for years during his absence. On the first Sunday after\nher son had settled at home\u2014a day that she had been longing for and\nhad anticipated for months in joyous visions, in which she saw him\nkneeling by her side in the little church on the hill\u2014she called him\nfrom the foot of the stairs. The hour had come when her pious dream was\nto be realized, and she was waiting for him, carefully wiping the dust\nfrom the prayer-book he had used in his boyhood. But instead of Franz,\nit was his violin that responded to her call, mixing its sonorous voice\nwith the rather cracked tones of the peal of the merry Sunday bells.\nThe fond mother was somewhat shocked at hearing the prayer-inspiring\nsounds drowned by the weird, fantastic notes of the \u201cDance of the\nWitches\u201d; they seemed to her so unearthly and mocking. But she almost\nfainted upon hearing the definite refusal of her well-beloved son to\ngo to church. He never went to church, he coolly remarked. It was loss\nof time; besides which, the loud peals of the old church organ jarred\non his nerves. Nothing should induce him to submit to the torture of\nlistening to that cracked organ. He was firm and nothing could move\nhim. To her supplications and remonstrances he put an end by offering\nto play for her a \u201cHymn to the Sun\u201d he had just composed.\n\nFrom that memorable Sunday morning, Frau Stenio lost her usual serenity\nof mind. She hastened to lay her sorrows and seek for consolation at\nthe foot of the confessional; but that which she heard in response\nfrom the stern priest filled her gentle and unsophisticated soul with\ndismay and almost with despair. A feeling of fear, a sense of profound\nterror, which soon became a chronic state with her, pursued her from\nthat moment; her nights became disturbed and sleepless, her days passed\nin prayer and lamentations. In her maternal anxiety for the salvation\nof her beloved son\u2019s soul, and for his _post mortem_ welfare, she made\na series of rash vows. Finding that neither the Latin petition to the\nMother of God written for her by her spiritual adviser, nor yet the\nhumble supplications in German, addressed by herself to every saint\nshe had reason to believe was residing in Paradise, worked the desired\neffect, she took to pilgrimages to distant shrines. During one of these\njourneys to a holy chapel situated high up in the mountains, she caught\ncold, amidst the glaciers of the Tyrol, and redescended only to take\nto a sick bed, from which she arose no more. Frau Stenio\u2019s vow had led\nher, in one sense, to the desired result. The poor woman was now given\nan opportunity of seeking out in _propria persona_ the saints she had\nbelieved in so well, and of pleading face to face for the recreant son,\nwho refused adherence to them and to the Church, scoffed at monk and\nconfessional, and held the organ in such horror.\n\nFranz sincerely lamented his mother\u2019s death. Unaware of being the\nindirect cause of it, he felt no remorse; but selling the modest\nhousehold goods and chattels, light in purse and heart, he resolved to\ntravel on foot for a year or two, before settling down to any definite\nprofession.\n\nA hazy desire to see the great cities of Europe, and to try his luck\nin France, lurked at the bottom of this traveling project, but his\nBohemian habits of life were too strong to be abruptly abandoned. He\nplaced his small capital with a banker for a rainy day, and started\non his pedestrian journey _via_ Germany and Austria. His violin paid\nfor his board and lodging in the inns and farms on his way, and he\npassed his days in the green fields and in the solemn silent woods,\nface to face with Nature, dreaming all the time as usual with his eyes\nopen. During the three months of his pleasant travels to and fro, he\nnever descended for one moment from Parnassus; but, as an alchemist\ntransmutes lead into gold, so he transformed everything on his way\ninto a song of Hesiod or Anacreon. Every evening, while fiddling for\nhis supper and bed, whether on a green lawn or in the hall of a rustic\ninn, his fancy changed the whole scene for him. Village swains and\nmaidens became transfigured into Arcadian shepherds and nymphs. The\nsand-covered floor was now a green sward; the uncouth couples spinning\nround in a measured waltz with the wild grace of tamed bears became\npriests and priestesses of Terpsichore; the bulky, cherry-cheeked and\nblue-eyed daughters of rural Germany were the Hesperides circling\naround the trees laden with the golden apples. Nor did the melodious\nstrains of the Arcadian demi-gods piping on their syrinxes, and audible\nbut to his own enchanted ear, vanish with the dawn. For no sooner was\nthe curtain of sleep raised from his eyes than he would sally forth\ninto a new magic realm of day-dreams. On his way to some dark and\nsolemn pine-forest, he played incessantly, to himself and to everything\nelse. He fiddled to the green hill, and forthwith the mountain and the\nmoss-covered rocks moved forward to hear him the better, as they had\ndone at the sound of the Orphean lyre. He fiddled to the merry-voiced\nbrook, to the hurrying river, and both slackened their speed and\nstopped their waves, and, becoming silent, seemed to listen to him in\nan entranced rapture. Even the long-legged stork who stood meditatively\non one leg on the thatched top of the rustic mill, gravely resolving\nunto himself the problem of his too-long existence, sent out after\nhim a long and strident cry, screeching, \u201cArt thou Orpheus himself, O\nStenio?\u201d\n\nIt was a period of full bliss, of a daily and almost hourly exaltation.\nThe last words of his dying mother, whispering to him of the horrors\nof eternal condemnation, had left him unaffected, and the only vision\nher warning evoked in him was that of Pluto. By a ready association of\nideas, he saw the lord of the dark nether kingdom greeting him as he\nhad greeted the husband of Eurydice before him. Charmed with the magic\nsounds of his violin, the wheel of Ixion was at a standstill once more,\nthus affording relief to the wretched seducer of Juno, and giving the\nlie to those who claim eternity for the duration of the punishment of\ncondemned sinners. He perceived Tantalus forgetting his never-ceasing\nthirst, and smacking his lips as he drank in the heaven-born melody;\nthe stone of Sisyphus becoming motionless, the Furies themselves\nsmiling on him, and the sovereign of the gloomy regions delighted, and\nawarding preference to his violin over the lyre of Orpheus. Taken _au\ns\u00e9rieux_, mythology thus seems a decided antidote to fear, in the face\nof theological threats, especially when strengthened with an insane and\npassionate love of music; with Franz, Euterpe proved always victorious\nin every contest, aye, even with Hell itself!\n\nBut there is an end to everything, and very soon Franz had to give up\nuninterrupted dreaming. He had reached the university town where dwelt\nhis old violin teacher, Samuel Klaus. When this antiquated musician\nfound that his beloved and favorite pupil, Franz, had been left poor\nin purse and still poorer in earthly affections, he felt his strong\nattachment to the boy awaken with tenfold force. He took Franz to his\nheart, and forthwith adopted him as his son.\n\nThe old teacher reminded people of one of those grotesque figures which\nlook as if they had just stepped out of some medieval panel. And yet\nKlaus, with his fantastic _allures_ of a night-goblin, had the most\nloving heart, as tender as that of a woman, and the self-sacrificing\nnature of an old Christian martyr. When Franz had briefly narrated to\nhim the history of his last few years, the professor took him by the\nhand, and leading him into his study simply said:\n\n\u201cStop with me, and put an end to your Bohemian life. Make yourself\nfamous. I am old and childless and will be your father. Let us live\ntogether and forget all save fame.\u201d\n\nAnd forthwith he offered to proceed with Franz to Paris, _via_ several\nlarge German cities, where they would stop to give concerts.\n\nIn a few days Klaus succeeded in making Franz forget his vagrant life\nand its artistic independence, and reawakened in his pupil his now\ndormant ambition and desire for worldly fame. Hitherto, since his\nmother\u2019s death, he had been content to received applause only from the\nGods and Goddesses who inhabited his vivid fancy; now he began to crave\nonce more for the admiration of mortals. Under the clever and careful\ntraining of old Klaus his remarkable talent gained in strength and\npowerful charm with every day, and his reputation grew and expanded\nwith every city and town wherein he made himself heard. His ambition\nwas being rapidly realized; the presiding genii of various musical\ncenters to whose patronage his talent was submitted soon proclaimed him\n_the one_ violinist of the day, and the public declared loudly that he\nstood unrivaled by any one whom they had ever heard. These laudations\nvery soon made both master and pupil completely lose their heads.\n\nBut Paris was less ready with such appreciation. Paris makes\nreputations for itself, and will take none on faith. They had been\nliving in it for almost three years, and were still climbing with\ndifficulty the artist\u2019s Calvary, when an event occurred which put\nan end even to their most modest expectations. The first arrival of\nNiccolo Paganini was suddenly heralded, and threw Lutetia into a\nconvulsion of expectation. The unparalleled artist arrived, and\u2014all\nParis fell at once at his feet.\n\n\nII\n\nNow it is a well known fact that a superstition born in the dark days\nof medieval superstition, and surviving almost to the middle of the\npresent century, attributed all such abnormal, out-of-the-way talent as\nthat of Paganini to \u201csupernatural\u201d agency. Every great and marvelous\nartist had been accused in his day of dealings with the devil. A few\ninstances will suffice to refresh the reader\u2019s memory.\n\nTartini, the great composer and violinist of the seventeenth century,\nwas denounced as one who got his best inspirations from the Evil One,\nwith whom he was, it was said, in regular league. This accusation\nwas, of course, due to the almost magical impression he produced upon\nhis audiences. His inspired performance on the violin secured for him\nin his native country the title of \u201cMaster of Nations.\u201d The _Sonate\ndu Diable_, also called \u201cTartini\u2019s Dream\u201d\u2014as everyone who has heard\nit will be ready to testify\u2014is the most weird melody ever heard or\ninvented: hence, the marvelous composition has become the source of\nendless legends. Nor were they entirely baseless, since it was he,\nhimself, who was shown to have originated them. Tartini confessed to\nhaving written it on awakening from a dream, in which he had heard his\nsonata performed by Satan, for his benefit, and in consequence of a\nbargain made with his infernal majesty.\n\nSeveral famous singers, even, whose exceptional voices struck the\nhearers with superstitious admiration, have not escaped a like\naccusation. Pasta\u2019s splendid voice was attributed in her day to the\nfact that, three months before her birth, the diva\u2019s mother was carried\nduring a trance to heaven, and there treated to a vocal concert of\nseraphs. Malibran was indebted for her voice to St. Cecelia, while\nothers said she owed it to a demon who watched over her cradle and sung\nthe baby to sleep. Finally, Paganini\u2014the unrivaled performer, the mean\nItalian, who like Dryden\u2019s Jubal striking on the \u201cchorded shell\u201d forced\nthe throngs that followed him to worship the divine sounds produced,\nand made people say that \u201cless than a God could not dwell within the\nhollow of his violin\u201d\u2014Paganini left a legend too.\n\nThe almost supernatural art of the greatest violin player that the\nworld has ever known was often speculated upon, never understood.\nThe effect produced by him on his audience was literally marvelous,\noverpowering. The great Rossini is said to have wept like a sentimental\nGerman maiden on hearing him play for the first time. The Princess\nElisa of Lucca, a sister of the great Napoleon, in whose service\nPaganini was, as director of her private orchestra, for a long time\nwas unable to hear him play without fainting. In women he produced\nnervous fits and hysterics at his will; stout-hearted men he drove to\nfrenzy. He changed cowards into heroes and made the bravest soldiers\nfeel like so many nervous school-girls. Is it to be wondered at, then,\nthat hundreds of weird tales circulated for long years about and\naround the mysterious Genoese, that modern Orpheus of Europe? One of\nthese was especially ghastly. It was rumored, and was believed by more\npeople than would probably like to confess it, that the strings of his\nviolin were made of _human intestines, according to all the rules and\nrequirements of the Black Art_.\n\nExaggerated as this idea may seem to some, it has nothing impossible in\nit; and it is more than probable that it was this legend that led to\nthe extraordinary events which we are about to narrate. Human organs\nare often used by the Eastern Black Magician, so-called, and it is an\naverred fact that some Beng\u00e2l\u00ee T\u00e2ntrikas (reciters of _tantras_, or\n\u201cinvocations to the demon,\u201d as a reverend writer has described them)\nuse human corpses, and certain internal and external organs pertaining\nto them, as powerful magical agents for bad purposes.\n\nHowever this may be, now that the magnetic and mesmeric potencies\nof hypnotism are recognized as facts by most physicians, it may be\nsuggested with less danger than heretofore that the extraordinary\neffects of Paganini\u2019s violin-playing were not, perhaps, entirely due\nto his talent and genius. The wonder and awe he so easily excited were\nas much caused by his external appearance, \u201cwhich had something weird\nand demoniacal in it,\u201d according to certain of his biographers, as by\nthe inexpressible charm of his execution and his remarkable mechanical\nskill. The latter is demonstrated by his perfect imitation of the\nflageolet, and his performance of long and magnificent melodies on the\nG string alone. In this performance, which many an artist has tried to\ncopy without success, he remains unrivaled to this day.\n\nIt is owing to this remarkable appearance of his\u2014termed by his\nfriends eccentric, and by his too nervous victims, diabolical\u2014that\nhe experienced great difficulties in refuting certain ugly rumors.\nThese were credited far more easily in his day than they would be\nnow. It was whispered throughout Italy, and even in his own native\ntown, that Paganini had murdered his wife, and, later on, a mistress,\nboth of whom he had loved passionately, and both of whom he had not\nhesitated to sacrifice to his fiendish ambition. He had made himself\nproficient in magic arts, it was asserted, and had succeeded thereby\nin imprisoning the souls of his two victims in his violin\u2014his famous\nCremona.\n\nIt is maintained by the immediate friends of Ernst T.\u00a0W. Hoffmann, the\ncelebrated author of _Die Elixire des Teufels_, _Meister Martin_, and\nother charming and mystical tales, that Councillor Crespel, in the\n_Violin of Cremona_, was taken from the legend about Paganini. It is,\nas all who have read it know, the history of a celebrated violin, into\nwhich the voice and the soul of a famous diva, a woman whom Crespel had\nloved and killed, had passed, and to which was added the voice of his\nbeloved daughter, Antonia.\n\nNor was this superstition utterly ungrounded, nor was Hoffmann to\nbe blamed for adopting it, after he had heard Paganini\u2019s playing.\nThe extraordinary facility with which the artist drew out of his\ninstrument, not only the most unearthly sounds, but positively human\nvoices, justified the suspicion. Such effects might well have startled\nan audience and thrown terror into many a nervous heart. Add to this\nthe impenetrable mystery connected with a certain period of Paganini\u2019s\nyouth, and the most wild tales about him must be found in a measure\njustifiable, and even excusable; especially among a nation whose\nancestors knew the Borgias and the Medicis of Black Art fame.\n\n\nIII\n\nIn those pre-telegraphic days, newspapers were limited, and the wings\nof fame had a heavier flight than they have now. Franz had hardly heard\nof Paganini; and when he did, he swore he would rival, if not eclipse,\nthe Genoese magician. Yes, he would either become the most famous of\nall living violinists, or he would break his instrument and put an end\nto his life at the same time.\n\nOld Klaus rejoiced at such a determination. He rubbed his hands in\nglee, and jumping about on his lame leg like a crippled satyr, he\nflattered and incensed his pupil, believing himself all the while to be\nperforming a sacred duty to the holy and majestic cause of art.\n\nUpon first setting foot in Paris, three years before, Franz had\nall but failed. Musical critics pronounced him a rising star, but\nhad all agreed that he required a few more years\u2019 practice, before\nhe could hope to carry his audiences by storm. Therefore, after a\ndesperate study of over two years and uninterrupted preparations, the\nStyrian artist had finally made himself ready for his first serious\nappearance in the great Opera House where a public concert before\nthe most exacting critics of the old world was to be held; at this\ncritical moment Paganini\u2019s arrival in the European metropolis placed\nan obstacle in the way of the realization of his hopes, and the old\nGerman professor wisely postponed his pupil\u2019s _d\u00e9but_. At first he had\nsimply smiled at the wild enthusiasm, the laudatory hymns sung about\nthe Genoese violinist, and the almost superstitious awe with which his\nname was pronounced. But very soon Paganini\u2019s name became a burning\niron in the hearts of both the artists, and a threatening phantom in\nthe mind of Klaus. A few days more, and they shuddered at the very\nmention of their great rival, whose success became with every night\nmore unprecedented.\n\nThe first series of concerts was over, but neither Klaus nor Franz\nhad as yet had an opportunity of hearing him and of judging for\nthemselves. So great and so beyond their means was the charge for\nadmission, and so small the hope of getting a free pass from a brother\nartist justly regarded as the meanest of men in monetary transactions,\nthat they had to wait for a chance, as did so many others. But the day\ncame when neither master nor pupil could control their impatience any\nlonger; so they pawned their watches, and with the proceeds bought two\nmodest seats.\n\nWho can describe the enthusiasm, the triumphs, of this famous, and at\nthe same time fatal night! The audience was frantic; men wept and women\nscreamed and fainted; while both Klaus and Stenio sat looking paler\nthan two ghosts. At the first touch of Paganini\u2019s magic bow, both Franz\nand Samuel felt as if the icy hand of death had touched them. Carried\naway by an irresistible enthusiasm, which turned into a violent,\nunearthly mental torture, they dared neither look into each other\u2019s\nfaces, nor exchange one word during the whole performance.\n\nAt midnight, while the chosen delegates of the Musical Societies\nand the Conservatory of Paris unhitched the horses, and dragged the\ncarriage of the grand artist home in triumph, the two Germans returned\nto their modest lodging, and it was a pitiful sight to see them.\nMournful and desperate, they placed themselves in their usual seats at\nthe fire-corner, and neither for a while opened his mouth.\n\n\u201cSamuel!\u201d at last exclaimed Franz, pale as death itself. \u201cSamuel\u2014it\nremains for us now but to die!... Do you hear me?... We are worthless!\nWe were two madmen to have ever hoped that any one in this world would\never rival ... him.\u201d\n\nThe name of Paganini stuck in his throat, as in utter despair he fell\ninto his arm chair.\n\nThe old professor\u2019s wrinkles suddenly became purple. His little\ngreenish eyes gleamed phosphorescently as, bending toward his pupil, he\nwhispered to him in hoarse and broken tones:\n\n\u201c_Nein, Nein!_ Thou art wrong, my Franz! I have taught thee, and thou\nhast learned all of the great art that a simple mortal, and a Christian\nby baptism, can learn from another simple mortal. Am I to blame because\nthese accursed Italians, in order to reign unequaled in the domain of\nart, have recourse to Satan and the diabolical effects of Black Magic?\u201d\n\nFranz turned his eyes upon his old master. There was a sinister light\nburning in those glittering orbs; a light telling plainly that, to\nsecure such a power, he, too, would not scruple to sell himself, body\nand soul, to the Evil One.\n\nBut he said not a word, and, turning his eyes from his old master\u2019s\nface, gazed dreamily at the dying embers.\n\nThe same long-forgotten incoherent dreams, which, after seeming such\nrealities to him in his younger days, had been given up entirely, and\nhad gradually faded from his mind, now crowded back into it with the\nsame force and vividness as of old. The grimacing shades of Ixion,\nSisyphus and Tantalus resurrected and stood before him, saying:\n\n\u201cWhat matters hell\u2014in which thou believest not. And even if hell there\nbe, it is the hell described by the old Greeks, not that of the modern\nbigots\u2014a locality full of conscious shadows, to whom thou canst be a\nsecond Orpheus.\u201d\n\nFranz felt that he was going mad, and, turning instinctively, he\nlooked his old master once more right in the face. Then his bloodshot\neye evaded the gaze of Klaus.\n\nWhether Samuel understood the terrible state of mind of his pupil,\nor whether he wanted to draw him out, to make him speak, and thus to\ndivert his thoughts, must remain as hypothetical to the reader as\nit is to the writer. Whatever may have been in his mind, the German\nenthusiast went on, speaking with a feigned calmness:\n\n\u201cFranz, my dear boy, I tell you that the art of the accursed Italian\nis not natural; that it is due neither to study nor to genius. It\nnever was acquired in the usual, natural way. You need not stare at\nme in that wild manner, for what I say is in the mouth of millions of\npeople. Listen to what I now tell you, and try to understand. You have\nheard the strange tale whispered about the famous Tartini? He died one\nfine Sabbath night strangled by his familiar demon, who had taught\nhim how to endow his violin with a human voice, by shutting up in it,\nby means of incantations, the soul of a young virgin. Paganini did\nmore. In order to endow his instrument with the faculty of emitting\nhuman sounds, such as sobs, despairing cries, supplications, moans\nof love and fury\u2014in short, the most heart-rending notes of the human\nvoice\u2014Paganini became the murderer not only of his wife and his\nmistress, but also of a friend, who was more tenderly attached to\nhim than any other being on this earth. He then made the four chords\nof his magic violin out of the intestines of his last victim. This\nis the secret of his enchanting talent of that overpowering melody,\nthat combination of sounds, which you will never be able to master\nunless....\u201d\n\nThe old man could not finish his sentence. He staggered back before the\nfiendish look of his pupil, and covered his face with his hands.\n\nFranz was breathing heavily, and his eyes had an expression which\nreminded Klaus of those of a hyena. His pallor was cadaverous. For some\ntime he could not speak, but only gasp for breath. At last he slowly\nmuttered:\n\n\u201cAre you in earnest?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am, as I hope to help you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd.... And do you really believe that had I only the means of\nobtaining human intestines for strings, I could rival Paganini?\u201d asked\nFranz, after a moment\u2019s pause, and casting down his eyes.\n\nThe old German unveiled his face, and, with a strange look of\ndetermination upon it, softly answered:\n\n\u201cHuman intestines alone are not sufficient for our purpose; they must\nhave belonged to some one who had loved us well, with an unselfish,\nholy love. Tartini endowed his violin with the life of a virgin; but\nthat virgin had died of unrequited love for him. The fiendish artist\nhad prepared beforehand a tube, in which he managed to catch her last\nbreath as she expired, pronouncing his beloved name, and he then\ntransferred this breath to his violin. As to Paganini, I have just told\nyou his tale. It was with the consent of his victim, though, that he\nmurdered him to get possession of his intestines.\n\n\u201cOh, for the power of the human voice!\u201d Samuel went on, after a brief\npause. \u201cWhat can equal the eloquence, the magic spell of the human\nvoice? Do you think, my poor boy, I would not have taught you this\ngreat, this final secret, were it not that it throws one right into the\nclutches of him ... who must remain unnamed at night?\u201d he added, with\na sudden return to the superstitions of his youth.\n\nFranz did not answer; but with a calmness awful to behold, he left his\nplace, took down his violin from the wall where it was hanging, and,\nwith one powerful grasp of the chords, he tore them out and flung them\ninto the fire.\n\nSamuel suppressed a cry of horror. The chords were hissing upon the\ncoals, where, among the blazing logs, they wriggled and curled like so\nmany living snakes.\n\n\u201cBy the witches of Thessaly and the dark arts of Circe!\u201d he exclaimed,\nwith foaming mouth and his eyes burning like coals; \u201cby the Furies of\nHell and Pluto himself, I now swear, in thy presence, O Samuel, my\nmaster, never to touch a violin again until I can string it with four\nhuman chords. May I be accursed for ever and ever if I do!\u201d He fell\nsenseless on the floor, with a deep sob, that ended like a funeral\nwail; old Samuel lifted him up as he would have lifted a child, and\ncarried him to his bed. Then he sallied forth in search of a physician.\n\n\nIV\n\nFor several days after this painful scene Franz was very ill, ill\nalmost beyond recovery. The physician declared him to be suffering\nfrom brain fever and said that the worst was to be feared. For nine\nlong days the patient remained delirious; and Klaus, who was nursing\nhim night and day with the solicitude of the tenderest mother, was\nhorrified at the work of his own hands. For the first time since their\nacquaintance began, the old teacher, owing to the wild ravings of his\npupil, was able to penetrate into the darkest corners of that weird,\nsuperstitious, cold, and, at the same time, passionate nature; and\u2014he\ntrembled at what he discovered. For he saw that which he had failed\nto perceive before\u2014Franz as he was in reality, and not as he seemed\nto superficial observers. Music was the life of the young man, and\nadulation was the air he breathed, without which that life became a\nburden; from the chords of his violin alone, Stenio drew his life and\nbeing, but the applause of men and even of Gods was necessary to its\nsupport. He saw unveiled before his eyes a genuine, artistic, _earthly_\nsoul, with its divine counterpart totally absent, a son of the Muses,\nall fancy and brain poetry, but without a heart. While listening to\nthe ravings of that delirious and unhinged fancy Klaus felt as if\nhe were for the first time in his long life exploring a marvelous\nand untraveled region, a human nature not of this world but of some\nincomplete planet. He saw all this, and shuddered. More than once he\nasked himself whether it would not be doing a kindness to his \u201cboy\u201d to\nlet him die before he returned to consciousness.\n\nBut he loved his pupil too well to dwell for long on such an idea.\nFranz had bewitched his truly artistic nature, and now old Klaus felt\nas though their two lives were inseparably linked together. That he\ncould thus feel was a revelation to the old man; so he decided to save\nFranz, even at the expense of his own old and, as he thought, useless\nlife.\n\nThe seventh day of the illness brought on a most terrible crisis. For\ntwenty-four hours the patient never closed his eyes, nor remained for a\nmoment silent; he raved continuously during the whole time. His visions\nwere peculiar, and he minutely described each. Fantastic, ghastly\nfigures kept slowly swimming out of the penumbra of his small dark\nroom, in regular and uninterrupted procession, and he greeted each by\nname as he might greet old acquaintances. He referred to himself as\nPrometheus, bound to the rock by four bands made of human intestines.\nAt the foot of the Caucasian Mount the black waters of the river Styx\nwere running.... They had deserted Arcadia, and were now endeavoring\nto encircle within a seven-fold embrace the rock upon which he was\nsuffering....\n\n\u201cWouldst thou know the name of the Promethean rock, old man?\u201d he roared\ninto his adopted father\u2019s ear.... \u201cListen then, ... its name is ...\ncalled ... Samuel Klaus....\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes!...\u201d the German murmured disconsolately. \u201cIt is I who killed\nhim, while seeking to console. The news of Paganini\u2019s magic arts struck\nhis fancy too vividly.... Oh, my poor, poor boy!\u201d\n\n\u201cHa, ha, ha, ha!\u201d The patient broke into a loud and discordant laugh.\n\u201cAye, poor old man, sayest thou?... So, so, thou art of poor stuff,\nanyhow, and wouldst look well only when stretched upon a fine Cremona\nviolin!...\u201d\n\nKlaus shuddered, but said nothing. He only bent over the poor maniac,\nand with a kiss upon his brow, a caress as tender and as gentle as that\nof a doting mother, he left the sick-room for a few instants, to seek\nrelief in his own garret. When he returned, the ravings were following\nanother channel. Franz was singing, trying to imitate the sounds of a\nviolin.\n\nToward the evening of that day, the delirium of the sick man became\nperfectly ghastly. He saw spirits of fire clutching at his violin.\nTheir skeleton hands, from each finger of which grew a flaming claw,\nbeckoned to old Samuel.... They approached and surrounded the old\nmaster, and were preparing to rip him open ... him \u201cthe only man on\nthis earth who loves me with an unselfish, holy love, and ... whose\nintestines can be of any good at all!\u201d he went on whispering, with\nglaring eyes and demon laugh....\n\nBy the next morning, however, the fever had disappeared, and by the end\nof the ninth day Stenio had left his bed, having no recollection of his\nillness, and no suspicion that he had allowed Klaus to read his inner\nthought. Nay; had he himself any knowledge that such a horrible idea as\nthe sacrifice of his old master to his ambition had ever entered his\nmind? Hardly. The only immediate result of his fatal illness was, that\nas, by reason of his vow, his artistic passion could find no issue,\nanother passion awoke, which might avail to feed his ambition and his\ninsatiable fancy. He plunged headlong into the study of the Occult\nArts, of Alchemy and of Magic. In the practice of Magic the young\ndreamer sought to stifle the voice of his passionate longing for his,\nas he thought, for ever lost violin....\n\nWeeks and months passed away, and the conversation about Paganini\nwas never resumed between the master and the pupil. But a profound\nmelancholy had taken possession of Franz, the two hardly exchanged a\nword, the violin hung mute, chordless, full of dust, in its habitual\nplace. It was as the presence of a soulless corpse between them.\n\nThe young man had become gloomy and sarcastic, even avoiding the\nmention of music. Once, as his old professor, after long hesitation,\ntook out his own violin from its dust-covered case and prepared to\nplay, Franz gave a convulsive shudder, but said nothing. At the first\nnotes of the bow, however, he glared like a madman, and rushing out\nof the house, remained for hours, wandering in the streets. Then old\nSamuel in his turn threw his instrument down, and locked himself up in\nhis room till the following morning.\n\nOne night as Franz sat, looking particularly pale and gloomy, old\nSamuel suddenly jumped from his seat, and after hopping about the room\nin a magpie fashion, approached his pupil, imprinted a fond kiss upon\nthe young man\u2019s brow, and squeaked at the top of his shrill voice:\n\n\u201cIs it not time to put an end to all this?\u201d...\n\nWhereupon, starting from his usual lethargy, Franz echoed, as in a\ndream:\n\n\u201cYes, it is time to put an end to this.\u201d\n\nUpon which the two separated, and went to bed.\n\nOn the following morning, when Franz awoke, he was astonished not\nto see his old teacher in his usual place to greet him. But he had\ngreatly altered during the last few months, and he at first paid no\nattention to his absence, unusual as it was. He dressed and went into\nthe adjoining room, a little parlor where they had their meals, and\nwhich separated their two bedrooms. The fire had not been lighted since\nthe embers had died out on the previous night, and no sign was anywhere\nvisible of the professor\u2019s busy hand in his usual housekeeping duties.\nGreatly puzzled, but in no way dismayed, Franz took his usual place\nat the corner of the now cold fire-place, and fell into an aimless\nreverie. As he stretched himself in his old arm-chair, raising both\nhis hands to clasp them behind his head in a favorite posture of his,\nhis hand came into contact with something on a shelf at his back; he\nknocked against a case, and brought it violently on the ground.\n\nIt was old Klaus\u2019 violin-case that came down to the floor with such\na sudden crash that the case opened and the violin fell out of it,\nrolling to the feet of Franz. And then the chords, striking against\nthe brass fender emitted a sound, prolonged, sad and mournful as the\nsigh of an unrestful soul; it seemed to fill the whole room, and\nreverberated in the head and the very heart of the young man. The\neffect of that broken violin-string was magical.\n\n\u201cSamuel!\u201d cried Stenio, with his eyes starting from their sockets,\nand an unknown terror suddenly taking possession of his whole being.\n\u201cSamuel! what has happened?... My good, my dear old master!\u201d he called\nout, hastening to the professor\u2019s little room, and throwing the door\nviolently open. No one answered, all was silent within.\n\nHe staggered back, frightened at the sound of his own voice, so changed\nand hoarse it seemed to him at this moment. No reply came in response\nto his call. Naught followed but a dead silence ... that stillness\nwhich, in the domain of sounds, usually denotes death. In the presence\nof a corpse, as in the lugubrious stillness of a tomb, such silence\nacquires a mysterious power, which strikes the sensitive soul with a\nnameless terror.... The little room was dark, and Franz hastened to\nopen the shutters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSamuel was lying on his bed, cold, stiff, and lifeless.... At the sight\nof the corpse of him who had loved him so well, and had been to him\nmore than a father, Franz experienced a dreadful revulsion of feeling,\na terrible shock. But the ambition of the fanatical artist got the\nbetter of the despair of the man, and smothered the feelings of the\nlatter in a few seconds.\n\nA note bearing his own name was conspicuously placed upon a table near\nthe corpse. With trembling hand, the violinist tore open the envelope,\nand read the following:\n\n  MY BELOVED SON, FRANZ,\n\n  When you read this, I shall have made the greatest sacrifice that\n  your best and only friend and teacher could have accomplished for\n  your fame. He, who loved you most, is now but an inanimate lump\n  of clay. Of your old teacher there now remains but a clod of cold\n  organic matter. I need not prompt you as to what you have to do\n  with it. Fear not stupid prejudices. It is for your future fame\n  that I have made an offering of my body, and you would be guilty\n  of the blackest ingratitude were you now to render useless this\n  sacrifice. When you shall have replaced the chords upon your\n  violin, and these chords a portion of my own self, under your\n  touch it will acquire the power of that accursed sorcerer, all the\n  magic voices of Paganini\u2019s instrument. You will find therein my\n  voice, my sighs and groans, my song of welcome, the prayerful sobs\n  of my infinite and sorrowful sympathy, my love for you. And now,\n  my Franz, fear nobody! Take your instrument with you, and dog the\n  steps of him who filled our lives with bitterness and despair!...\n  Appear in every arena, where, hitherto, he has reigned without a\n  rival, and bravely throw the gauntlet of defiance in his face.\n  O Franz! then only wilt thou hear with what a magic power the\n  full notes of unselfish love will issue forth from thy violin.\n  Perchance, with a last caressing touch of its chords, thou wilt\n  remember that they once formed a portion of thine old teacher, who\n  now embraces and blesses thee for the last time.\n\n        SAMUEL\n\nTwo burning tears sparkled in the eyes of Franz, but they dried up\ninstantly. Under the fiery rush of passionate hope and pride, the two\norbs of the future magician-artist, riveted to the ghastly face of the\ndead man, shone like the eyes of a demon.\n\nOur pen refuses to describe that which took place on that day, after\nthe legal inquiry was over. As another note, written with the view\nof satisfying the authorities, had been prudently provided by the\nloving care of the old teacher, the verdict was, \u201cSuicide from causes\nunknown;\u201d after this the coroner and the police retired, leaving the\nbereaved heir alone in the death-room, with the remains of that which\nhad once been a living man.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nScarcely a fortnight had elapsed from that day, ere the violin had been\ndusted, and four new, stout strings had been stretched upon it. Franz\ndared not look at them. He tried to play, but the bow trembled in his\nhand like a dagger in the grasp of a novice-brigand. He then determined\nnot to try again, until the portentous night should arrive, when he\nshould have a chance of rivaling, nay, of surpassing, Paganini.\n\nThe famous violinist had meanwhile left Paris, and was giving a series\nof triumphant concerts at an old Flemish town in Belgium.\n\n\nV\n\nOne night, as Paganini, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, was sitting\nin the dining-room of the hotel at which he was staying, a visiting\ncard, with a few words written on it in pencil, was handed to him by a\nyoung man with wild and staring eyes.\n\nFixing upon the intruder a look which few persons could bear, but\nreceiving back a glance as calm and determined as his own, Paganini\nslightly bowed, and then dryly said:\n\n\u201cSir, it shall be as you desire. Name the night. I am at your service.\u201d\n\nOn the following morning the whole town was startled by the appearance\nof bills posted at the corner of every street, and bearing the strange\nnotice:\n\n  On the night of ... at the Grand Theater of ... and for the\n  first time, will appear before the public, Franz Stenio, a German\n  violinist, arrived purposely to throw down the gauntlet to the\n  world-famous Paganini and to challenge him to a duel\u2014upon their\n  violins. He purposes to compete with the great \u201cvirtuoso\u201d in the\n  execution of the most difficult of his compositions. The famous\n  Paganini has accepted the challenge. Franz Stenio will play, in\n  competition with the unrivaled violinist, the celebrated \u201cFantaisie\n  Caprice\u201d of the latter, known as \u201cThe Witches.\u201d\n\nThe effect of the notice was magical. Paganini, who, amid his greatest\ntriumphs, never lost sight of a profitable speculation, doubled the\nusual price of admission, but still the theater could not hold the\ncrowds that flocked to secure tickets for that memorable performance.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last the morning of the concert day dawned, and the \u201cduel\u201d was in\neveryone\u2019s mouth. Franz Stenio, who, instead of sleeping, had passed\nthe whole long hours of the preceding midnight in walking up and\ndown his room like an encaged panther, had, toward morning, fallen\non his bed from mere physical exhaustion. Gradually he passed into a\ndeath-like and dreamless slumber. At the gloomy winter dawn he awoke,\nbut finding it too early to rise he fell to sleep again. And then he\nhad a vivid dream\u2014so vivid indeed, so life-like, that from its terrible\nrealism he felt sure that it was a vision rather than a dream.\n\nHe had left his violin on a table by his bedside, locked in its case,\nthe key of which never left him. Since he had strung it with those\nterrible chords he never let it out of his sight for a moment. In\naccordance with his resolution he had not touched it since his first\ntrial, and his bow had never but once touched the human strings,\nfor he had since always practised on another instrument. But now in\nhis sleep he saw himself looking at the locked case. Something in\nit was attracting his attention, and he found himself incapable of\ndetaching his eyes from it. Suddenly he saw the upper part of the case\nslowly rising, and, within the chink thus produced, he perceived two\nsmall, phosphorescent green eyes\u2014eyes but too familiar to him\u2014fixing\nthemselves on his, lovingly, almost beseechingly. Then a thin, shrill\nvoice, as if issuing from these ghastly orbs\u2014the voice and orbs of\nSamuel Klaus himself\u2014resounded in Stenio\u2019s horrified ear, and he heard\nit say:\n\n\u201cFranz, my beloved boy.... Franz, I cannot, no, _I cannot_ separate\nmyself from ... _them_!\u201d\n\nAnd \u201cthey\u201d twanged piteously inside the case.\n\nFranz stood speechless, horror-bound. He felt his blood actually\nfreezing, and his hair moving and standing erect on his head....\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s but a dream, an empty dream!\u201d he attempted to formulate in his\nmind.\n\n\u201cI have tried my best, Franzchen.... I have tried my best to sever\nmyself from these accursed strings, without pulling them to pieces\n...\u201d pleaded the same shrill, familiar voice. \u201cWilt thou help me to do\nso?...\u201d\n\nAnother twang, still more prolonged and dismal, resounded within the\ncase, now dragged about the table in every direction, by some interior\npower, like some living wriggling thing, the twangs becoming sharper\nand more jerky with every new pull.\n\nIt was not for the first time that Stenio heard those sounds. He had\noften remarked them before\u2014indeed, ever since he had used his master\u2019s\nviscera as a footstool for his own ambition. But on every occasion a\nfeeling of creeping horror had prevented him from investigating their\ncause, and he had tried to assure himself that the sounds were only a\nhallucination.\n\nBut now he stood face to face with the terrible fact, whether in dream\nor in reality he knew not, nor did he care, since the hallucination\u2014if\nhallucination it were\u2014was far more real and vivid than any reality.\nHe tried to speak, to take a step forward; but, as often happens in\nnightmares, he could neither utter a word nor move a finger.... He felt\nhopelessly paralyzed.\n\nThe pulls and jerks were becoming more desperate with each moment, and\nat last something inside the case snapped violently. The vision of his\nStradivarius, devoid of its magical strings, flashed before his eyes,\nthrowing him into a cold sweat of mute and unspeakable terror.\n\nHe made a superhuman effort to rid himself of the incubus that held\nhim spell-bound. But as the last supplicating whisper of the invisible\nPresence repeated:\n\n\u201cDo, oh, do ... help me to cut myself off\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nFranz sprang to the case with one bound, like an enraged tiger\ndefending its prey, and with one frantic effort breaking the spell.\n\n\u201cLeave the violin alone, you old fiend from hell!\u201d he cried, in hoarse\nand trembling tones.\n\nHe violently shut down the self-raising lid, and while firmly pressing\nhis left hand on it, he seized with the right a piece of rosin from\nthe table and he drew on the leathered-covered top the sign of the\nsix-pointed star\u2014the seal used by King Solomon to bottle up the\nrebellious djins inside their prisons.\n\nA wail, like the howl of a she-wolf moaning over her dead little ones,\ncame out of the violin-case:\n\n\u201cThou art ungrateful ... very ungrateful, my Franz!\u201d sobbed the\nblubbering \u201cspirit-voice.\u201d \u201cBut I forgive ... for I still love thee\nwell. Yet thou canst not shut me in ... boy. Behold!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cHE VIOLENTLY SHUT DOWN THE SELF-RAISING LID AND DREW ON\nTHE LEATHER-COVERED TOP THE SIGN OF THE SIX-POINTED STAR, THE SEAL OF\nKING SOLOMON.\u201d]\n\nAnd instantly a grayish mist spread over and covered case and table,\nand rising upward formed itself first into an indistinct shape. Then it\nbegan growing, and as it grew, Franz felt himself gradually enfolded in\ncold and damp coils, slimy as those of a huge snake. He gave a terrible\ncry and\u2014awoke; but, strangely enough, not on his bed, but near the\ntable, just as he had dreamed, pressing the violin-case desperately\nwith both his hands.\n\n\u201cIt was but a dream, ... after all,\u201d he muttered, still terrified, but\nrelieved of the load on his heaving breast.\n\nWith a tremendous effort he composed himself, and unlocked the case to\ninspect the violin. He found it covered with dust, but otherwise sound\nand in order, and he suddenly felt himself as cool and determined as\never. Having dusted the instrument he carefully rosined the bow,\ntightened the strings and tuned them. He even went so far as to try\nupon it the first notes of the \u201cWitches\u201d; first cautiously and timidly,\nthen using his bow boldly and with full force.\n\nThe sound of that loud, solitary note\u2014defiant as the war trumpet of a\nconqueror, sweet and majestic as the touch of a seraph on his golden\nharp in the fancy of the faithful\u2014thrilled through the very soul of\nFranz. It revealed to him a hitherto unsuspected potency in his bow,\nwhich ran on in strains that filled the room with the richest swell\nof melody, unheard by the artist until that night. Commencing in\nuninterrupted _legato_ tones, his bow sang to him of sun-bright hope\nand beauty, of moonlit nights, when the soft and balmy stillness\nendowed every blade of grass and all things animate and inanimate with\na voice and a song of love. For a few brief moments it was a torrent of\nmelody, the harmony of which, \u201ctuned to soft woe,\u201d was calculated to\nmake mountains weep, had there been any in the room, and to soothe\n\n    ... even th\u2019 inexorable powers of hell,\n\nthe presence of which was undeniably felt in this modest hotel room.\nSuddenly, the solemn _legato_ chant, contrary to all laws of harmony,\nquivered, became _arpeggios_, and ended in shrill _staccatos_, like the\nnotes of a hyena laugh. The same creeping sensation of terror, as he\nhad before felt, came over him, and Franz threw the bow away. He had\nrecognized the familiar laugh, and would have no more of it. Dressing,\nhe locked the bedeviled violin securely in its case, and, taking it\nwith him to the dining-room, determined to await quietly the hour of\ntrial.\n\n\nVI\n\nThe terrible hour of the struggle had come, and Stenio was at his\npost\u2014calm, resolute, almost smiling.\n\nThe theater was crowded to suffocation, and there was not even standing\nroom to be got for any amount of hard cash or favoritism. The singular\nchallenge had reached every quarter to which the post could carry it,\nand gold flowed freely into Paganini\u2019s unfathomable pockets, to an\nextent almost satisfying even to his insatiate and venal soul.\n\nIt was arranged that Paganini should begin. When he appeared upon\nthe stage, the thick walls of the theater shook to their foundations\nwith the applause that greeted him. He began and ended his famous\ncomposition \u201cThe Witches\u201d amid a storm of cheers. The shouts of public\nenthusiasm lasted so long that Franz began to think his turn would\nnever come. When, at last, Paganini, amid the roaring applause of a\nfrantic public, was allowed to retire behind the scenes, his eye fell\nupon Stenio, who was tuning his violin, and he felt amazed at the\nserene calmness, the air of assurance, of the unknown German artist.\n\nWhen Franz approached the footlights, he was received with icy\ncoldness. But for all that, he did not feel in the least disconcerted.\nHe looked very pale, but his thin white lips wore a scornful smile as\nresponse to this dumb unwelcome. He was sure of his triumph.\n\nAt the first notes of the prelude of \u201cThe Witches\u201d a thrill of\nastonishment passed over the audience. It was Paganini\u2019s touch, and\u2014it\nwas something more. Some\u2014and they were the majority\u2014thought that never,\nin his best moments of inspiration, had the Italian artist himself,\nin executing that diabolical composition of his, exhibited such an\nextraordinary diabolical power. Under the pressure of the long muscular\nfingers of Franz, the chords shivered like the palpitating intestines\nof a disemboweled victim under the vivisector\u2019s knife. They moaned\nmelodiously, like a dying child. The large blue eye of the artist,\nfixed with a satanic expression upon the sounding-board, seemed to\nsummon forth Orpheus himself from the infernal regions, rather than the\nmusical notes supposed to be generated in the depths of the violin.\nSounds seemed to transform themselves into objective shapes, thickly\nand precipitately gathering as at the evocation of a mighty magician,\nand to be whirling around him, like a host of fantastic, infernal\nfigures, dancing the witches\u2019 \u201cgoat dance.\u201d In the empty depths of\nthe shadowy background of the stage, behind the artist, a nameless\nphantasmogoria, produced by the concussion of unearthly vibrations,\nseemed to form pictures of shameless orgies, of the voluptuous hymens\nof a real witches\u2019 Sabbat.... A collective hallucination took hold\nof the public. Panting for breath, ghastly, and trickling with the\nicy perspiration of an inexpressible horror, they sat spell-bound,\nand unable to break the spell of the music by the slightest motion.\nThey experienced all the illicit enervating delights of the paradise\nof Mahommed, that come into the disordered fancy of an opium-eating\nMussulman, and felt at the same time the abject terror, the agony of\none who struggles against an attack of _delirium tremens_.... Many\nladies shrieked aloud, others fainted, and strong men gnashed their\nteeth in a state of utter helplessness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen came the _finale_. Thundering uninterrupted applause delayed its\nbeginning, expanding the momentary pause to a duration of almost a\nquarter of an hour. The bravos were furious, almost hysterical. At\nlast, when after a profound and last bow, Stenio, whose smile was as\nsardonic as it was triumphant, lifted his bow to attack the famous\n_finale_, his eye fell upon Paganini, who, calmly seated in the\nmanager\u2019s box, had been behind none in zealous applause. The small\nand piercing black eyes of the Genoese artist were riveted to the\nStradivarius in the hands of Franz, but otherwise he seemed quite cool\nand unconcerned. His rival\u2019s face troubled him for one short instant,\nbut he regained his self-possession and, lifting once more his bow,\ndrew the first note.\n\nThen the public enthusiasm reached its acme, and soon knew no bounds.\nThe listeners heard and saw indeed. The witches\u2019 voices resounded in\nthe air, and beyond all the other voices, one voice was heard\u2014\n\n    Discordant, and unlike to human sounds;\n    It seem\u2019d of dogs the bark, of wolves the howl;\n    The doleful screechings of the midnight owl;\n    The hiss of snakes, the hungry lion\u2019s roar;\n    The sounds of billows beating on the shore;\n    The groan of winds among the leafy wood,\n    And burst of thunder from the rending cloud;\u2014\n    \u2019Twas these, all these in one....\n\nThe magic bow was drawing forth its last quivering sounds\u2014famous among\nprodigious musical feats\u2014imitating the precipitate flight of the\nwitches before bright dawn; of the unholy women saturated with the\nfumes of their nocturnal Saturnalia, when\u2014a strange thing came to pass\non the stage. Without the slightest transition, the notes suddenly\nchanged. In their aerial flight of ascension and descent, their melody\nwas unexpectedly altered in character. The sounds became confused,\nscattered, disconnected ... and then\u2014it seemed from the sounding-board\nof the violin\u2014came out squeaking, jarring tones, like those of a street\nPunch, screaming at the top of a senile voice:\n\n\u201cArt thou satisfied, Franz, my boy?... Have not I gloriously kept my\npromise, eh?\u201d\n\nThe spell was broken. Though still unable to realize the whole\nsituation, those who heard the voice and the _Punchinello_-like tones,\nwere freed, as by enchantment, from the terrible charm under which\nthey had been held. Loud roars of laughter, mocking exclamations of\nhalf-anger and half-irritation were now heard from every corner of the\nvast theater. The musicians in the orchestra, with faces still blanched\nfrom weird emotion, were now seen shaking with laughter, and the whole\naudience rose, like one man, from their seats, unable yet to solve the\nenigma; they felt, nevertheless, too disgusted, too disposed to laugh\nto remain one moment longer in the building.\n\nBut suddenly the sea of moving heads in the stalls and the pit\nbecame once more motionless, and stood petrified as though struck by\nlightning. What all saw was terrible enough\u2014the handsome though wild\nface of the young artist suddenly aged, and his graceful, erect figure\nbent down, as though under the weight of years; but this was nothing\nto that which some of the most sensitive clearly perceived. Franz\nStenio\u2019s person was now entirely enveloped in a semi-transparent mist,\ncloud-like, creeping with serpentine motion, and gradually tightening\nround the living form, as though ready to engulf him. And there were\nthose also who discerned in this tall and ominous pillar of smoke a\nclearly-defined figure, a form showing the unmistakable outlines of\na grotesque and grinning, but terribly awful-looking old man, whose\nviscera were protruding and the ends of the intestines stretched on the\nviolin.\n\nWithin this hazy, quivering veil, the violinist was then seen, driving\nhis bow furiously across the human chords, with the contortions of a\ndemoniac, as we see them represented on medieval cathedral paintings!\n\nAn indescribable panic swept over the audience, and breaking now,\nfor the last time, through the spell which had again bound them\nmotionless, every living creature in the theater made one mad rush\ntowards the door. It was like the sudden outburst of a dam, a human\ntorrent, roaring amid a shower of discordant notes, idiotic squeakings,\nprolonged and whining moans, cacophonous cries of frenzy, above which,\nlike the detonations of pistol shots, was heard the consecutive\nbursting of the four strings stretched upon the sound-board of that\nbewitched violin.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the theater was emptied of the last man of the audience, the\nterrified manager rushed on the stage in search of the unfortunate\nperformer. He was found dead and already stiff, behind the footlights,\ntwisted up into the most unnatural of postures, with the \u201ccatguts\u201d\nwound curiously around his neck, and his violin shattered into a\nthousand fragments....\n\nWhen it became publicly known that the unfortunate would-be rival of\nNiccolo Paganini had not left a cent to pay for his funeral or his\nhotel-bill, the Genoese, his proverbial meanness notwithstanding,\nsettled the hotel-bill and had poor Stenio buried at his own expense.\n\nHe claimed, however, in exchange, the fragments of the Stradivarius\u2014as\na momento of the strange event.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n_There is no Religion Higher than Truth_\n\nTHE\n\nUNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD\n\nAND\n\nTHEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY\n\n_Established for the benefit of the people of the earth & all creatures_\n\n\nOBJECTS\n\nThis BROTHERHOOD is part of a great and universal movement which has\nbeen active in all ages.\n\nThis Organization declares that Brotherhood is a fact. Its principal\npurpose is to teach Brotherhood, demonstrate that it is a fact in\nnature and make it a living power in the life of humanity.\n\nIts subsidiary purpose is to study ancient and modern religions,\nscience, philosophy and art; to investigate the laws of nature and the\ndivine powers in man.\n\n                     *       *\n\nTHE UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD AND THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY, founded by H.\u00a0P.\nBlavatsky in New York, 1875, continued after her death under the\nleadership of the co-founder, William Q. Judge, and now under the\nleadership of their successor, Katherine Tingley, has its Headquarters\nat the International Theosophical Center, Point Loma, California.\n\nThis Organization is not in any way connected with nor does it endorse\nany other societies using the name of Theosophy.\n\n                     *       *\n\nTHE UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD AND THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY welcomes to\nmembership all who truly love their fellow men and desire the\neradication of the evils caused by the barriers of race, creed, caste\nor color, which have so long impeded human progress; to all sincere\nlovers of truth and to all who aspire to higher and better things than\nthe mere pleasures and interests of a worldly life, and are prepared to\ndo all in their power to make Brotherhood a living power in the life of\nhumanity, its various departments offer unlimited opportunities.\n\nThe whole work of the Organization is under the direction of the Leader\nand Official Head, Katherine Tingley, as outlined in the Constitution.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDo Not Fail to Profit by the Following\n\nIt is a regrettable fact that many people use the name of Theosophy and\nof our Organization for self-interest, as also that of H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky,\nthe Foundress, to attract attention to themselves and to gain public\nsupport. This they do in private and public speech and in publications,\nalso by lecturing throughout the country. Without being in any way\nconnected with THE UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD AND THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY, in\nmany cases they permit it to be inferred that they are, thus misleading\nthe public, and many honest inquirers are hence led away from the\ntruths of Theosophy as presented by H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky and her successors,\nWilliam Q. Judge and Katherine Tingley, and practically exemplified in\ntheir Theosophical work for the uplifting of humanity.\n\n\n\n\nThe International Brotherhood League\n\n(Founded in 1897 by Katherine Tingley)\n\n\nITS OBJECTS ARE:\n\n1. To help men and women to realize the nobility of their calling and\ntheir true position in life.\n\n2. To educate children of all nations on the broadest lines of\nUniversal Brotherhood; and to prepare destitute and homeless children\nto become workers for humanity.\n\n3. To ameliorate the condition of unfortunate women, and assist them to\na higher life.\n\n4. To assist those who are, or have been in prisons, to establish\nthemselves in honorable positions in life.\n\n5. To abolish capital punishment.\n\n6. To bring about a better understanding between so-called savage\nand civilized races, by promoting a closer and more sympathetic\nrelationship between them.\n\n7. To relieve human suffering resulting from flood, famine, war, and\nother calamities; and, generally, to extend aid, help and comfort to\nsuffering humanity throughout the world.\n\n\nFor further information regarding the above Notices, address\n\n            KATHERINE TINGLEY\n  INTERNATIONAL THEOSOPHICAL HEADQUARTERS,\n                    POINT LOMA, CALIFORNIA\n\n\n\n\nBooks Recommended to Inquirers\n\nFor _complete_ BOOK LIST write to THE THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING CO.,\nPoint Loma, California\n\n\n  =Bhagavad Gita=; (W.\u00a0Q. Judge, Am. Edition) pocket size,\n    Morocco, gilt edges                                  $1.00\n    Red leather                                            .75\n    _The pearl of the scriptures of the East._\n\n  =Echoes from the Orient=; (W.\u00a0Q. Judge) cloth            .50\n    Paper                                                  .25\n    _21 valued articles, giving a broad outline of\n    the Theosophical doctrines, written for the\n    newspaper-reading public._\n\n  =Epitome of Theosophical Teachings, An=\n    (W.\u00a0Q. Judge), 40 pages                                .15\n\n  =Yoga Aphorisms= (translated by W.\u00a0Q. Judge), pocket\n    size, leather                                          .75\n\n  =Isis Unveiled=, by H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky. 2 vols, royal 8vo,\n    about 1400 pages; cloth; with portrait of the author.\n    _New Point Loma Edition with a preface._ Postpaid    $7.00\n\n  =Key to Theosophy, The=; (H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky). _New Point\n    Loma Edition, with Glossary and exhaustive Index.\n    Portraits of H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky and W.\u00a0Q. Judge._ 8vo,\n    cloth, 400 pages. Postpaid                           $2.25\n    _A clear exposition of Theosophy in form of question\n    and answer. The book for students._\n\n  =Nightmare Tales= (H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky). _Illustrated by R.\n    Machell, R.\u00a0A._ A collection of the weirdest tales ever\n    written down by any mortal. They contain paragraphs of\n    the profoundest mystical philosophy.\n    Cloth                                                  .60\n    Paper                                                  .35\n\n  =Life at Point Loma, The=: Some notes by Katherine\n    Tingley, Leader and Official Head of the UNIVERSAL\n    BROTHERHOOD AND THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY                   .15\n    Reprinted from the _Los Angeles Post_, Dec., 1902.\n\n  =Concentration, Culture of= (W.\u00a0Q. Judge)                .15\n\n  =Hypnotism: Theosophical views on= (40 pages)            .15\n\n  =Light on the Path=; (M.\u00a0C.) with comments,\n    Bound in black leather                                 .75\n    Embossed paper                                         .25\n\n  =Mysteries of the Heart Doctrine, The.= Prepared by\n    KATHERINE TINGLEY and her pupils. Square, 8vo.\n    Cloth                                                $2.00\n    Paper                                                $1.25\n    A SERIES OF 8 PAMPHLETS comprising the Different\n    Articles in above; paper; each                         .25\n\n  =Secret Doctrine, The.= The Synthesis of Science,\n    Religion, and Philosophy, by H.\u00a0P. Blavatsky. _New\n    Point Loma Edition._ Two Vols. Royal 8vo., about 1500\n    pages; cloth. Postage prepaid                       $10.00\n    To be reprinted from the original edition of 1888, as\n    published by H.\u00a0P. 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It is intended to add others\nfrom time to time, to cover most of the technical aspects of Theosophy\nin a direct and simple way, thus forming a Theosophical library of\ninestimable value to inquirers. No one interested in Theosophy can\nafford to do without them.\n\n\nLotus Group Literature\n\nLOTUS LIBRARY FOR CHILDREN\n\n_Introduced under the direction of Katherine Tingley_\n\n  =1. The Little Builders, and their Voyage to Rangi=\n    (R.\u00a0N.)                                                .50\n\n  =2. 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Yearly\n    subscription, postpaid                                 .75\n    A. Goud, Peperstraat, ingang Papengang, No. 14,\n    Groningen, Holland\n\nSubscriptions to the above four Magazines may be secured also through\n_The Theosophical Publishing Company_, Point Loma, California\n\n\n  _Neither the editors of the above publications, nor the officers\n    of the_ UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD AND THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY, _or of\n    any of its departments, receive salaries or other remuneration_.\n\n  _All profits arising from the business of the Theosophical\n    Publishing Co. are devoted to Humanitarian Work. All who assist\n    in this work are directly helping the great cause of Humanity._\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note\n\n\nThe following corrections have been made, on page\n\n7 \u201csitua-ation\u201d changed to \u201csituation\u201d (a clearer comprehension of the\nsituation)\n\n13 \u201d added (perish in the Ocean of M\u00e2y\u00e2.\u201d)\n\n14 \u201csanctury\u201d changed to \u201csanctuary\u201d (had only peeped into the\nsanctuary)\n\n16 \u201csancity\u201d changed to \u201csanctity\u201d (purity and sanctity of their lives)\n\n67 \u201cproceded\u201d changed to \u201cproceeded\u201d (I proceeded without delay)\n\n68 \u201cwierdness\u201d changed to \u201cweirdness\u201d (are heard in all their weirdness)\n\n72 \u201cunaccoutably\u201d changed to \u201cunaccountably\u201d (had so unaccountably\ndisappeared ten years before)\n\n97 \u201cunforseen\u201d changed to \u201cunforeseen\u201d (the premature and unforeseen\nformation)\n\n112 \u201cunparalled\u201d changed to \u201cunparalleled\u201d (The unparalleled artist\narrived)\n\n133 \u201cthe the\u201d changed to \u201cthe\u201d (he carefully rosined the bow)\n\n142 \u201cin in\u201d changed to \u201cin\u201d (in many cases they permit).\n\nOtherwise the original has been preserved, including unusual and\ninconsistent spelling, hyphenation and capitalisation.","title":"Nightmare Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":39480}