Chapter V: Part II: XII (3)

“... Oh, if I could tell you what it was to come out of all the struggle and misery in London, and to know that it was not hopeless, and that those miserable drunken men and women, those children of wretchedness and vice, were only babes in the beginning of their long life!... What joy to think that one could help them in their upward climb, quicken their progress, inspire them with hope--that one could say to the criminal, ‘My brother, where you are I was myself; and as for the saints above us, we shall both grow up to take our stand where they now stand in the eternal life.’

“Compare this doctrine with the other two theories of life, and apply this key to the turning of the locks of human misery and human ignorance. Study, think for yourself, and you will see that it is true.... It will become for you what it has been to thousands of us, the chasing away of darkness, the dawn of light, the rising of the sun ... until every child of man shall have grown to the fulness of the stature of the Christ.”[A]

[A] NOTE.--This lecture has been published in extenso in “Australian
Lectures.”--G. Robertson & Co. Pty. Ltd.

The orator leaves the hall in a reverent silence which no one dares break by a single note of applause. For one moment these thousands have caught a glimpse of the ideal of perfected humanity. A great wave of emotion has encompassed them, too deep, too holy to find expression in word or movement. It is apparent in the dilated eyes, in the pallor of the transfigured faces, which, for a moment, have vibrated with the mystic tremor.

For an hour and a half the lecturer has spoken, holding her audience in the grasp of her wonderful magnetism, not a murmur, not a sound, save the impassioned voice penetrating, convincing, dominating all hearts, even if only for a moment, with the great Hope. Perhaps on the majority the impressions will be fleeting, but I am fired with the wish to learn, to know. The thirst of science is burning in my veins.

At the door some small tables are littered with books. I take those which some one, a member of the society, judging by her sympathetic smile, holds out to me.

* * * * *

I have spent the night reading, and this morning I am writing to her who has torn aside for me a corner of the veil.

XXII

Towards
the
Light

“Before thou takest thy first step, learn to discern the real from the
false, the ever-fleeting from the everlasting.”

“Voice of the Silence.”

In an interview wherein I have bared the weakness of my poor passionate nature, the great Teacher has pointed out the only road open to me, that of sacrifice and renunciation. She has made me understand that the crucial moment of my life has arrived, that from the instant I reddened with shame in the hotel I recognised the sin of my purpose. She has given me a glimpse of a great love, elevated by suffering, ennobled by abstinence, which will unite the soul of Allan with mine for all time, even though our bodies, the vesture of a day, are separated by the laws of Karma. Her eyes, unforgettable, once seen, with their changing lights like the sea, plunge into mine with a look of ineffable sweetness; eyes whose depths have fathomed the infinite, they have given me their message.

Returning to the hotel which Barker has left to obtain some further necessity for the voyage, now never to be taken, I write a note bidding her await Mr. Russell’s arrival.

Then, heaping together clothes, souvenirs, family papers, trinkets, and my pearl necklace, I proceed to the house of Miss Carter, the secretary of the Theosophical Society, with whom I am to stay for a while. She is a woman, young still, with a profile clear cut as a cameo, frank and sympathetic in manner. What impresses me most, perhaps, is the calmness of her demeanour, a repose nothing can disturb. In the quiet home, simple yet charming, where she lives with her aged mother and a younger sister bearing a sweet French name, I shall find the haven I want, the moral aid to face this crisis as well as practical assistance to begin a new life.

Miss Carter helps me to dispose my small belongings in the pretty room, from whose windows I can catch the glint of the sea. The fresh pungency of the salt air brings vividly the remembrance of Allan. He is very near now. I must not weaken my resolution by thinking of his disappointment. All my strength will be required in the coming interview.

Am I strong enough to see him without yielding to his persuasions, to his reproaches, perhaps? Can I trust myself not to be carried away by my own love?

I must force myself to think of mundane things. The money I have will not last long, and I do not want to abuse the hospitality so generously offered.

My aunt’s pearls! They must be the first sacrifice. She wouldn’t blame me for selling them to preserve my honour and dignity. They are valuable and their proceeds will give me time to study this new science and think of what I am to do. Perhaps I could be a nurse. I cannot teach any longer. A governess must be beyond the breath of slander. Adelaide is a long way from Melbourne; still, distance is nothing in Australia. A spiteful word from Mrs. Forest, a rumour even, might reach here. The night I spent under Allan’s roof, my sojourn at the hotel, might easily be interpreted to my disadvantage, and I could not explain matters to an utter stranger.

A nurse in a hospital, or in a private home, is independent. Apart from that, the work attracts me. I shall find greater outlet for my activities, for my affections, and so fill the void caused by the absence of Allan, my dear lost love.

Miss Carter utters an exclamation when I show her my necklace. She is a woman after all, this serious Theosophist, and cannot repress the admiration we women feel for beautiful pearls, which, feminine in their nature, seem to be dependent on us for their exquisite chatoyant lustre.

“What a magnificent black pearl. It should be very valuable.”

“It is. But I can’t sell it. It’s an heirloom, and then....” I stop, hesitatingly.

Miss Carter’s eyes question me affectionately.

Why not confide in her? She looks kindness itself, and since she is to instruct me in the Great Teaching it would be better if she knew all my history. She will believe me when I tell her that I am guilty of imprudence only, and help me, should I be in danger of succumbing to temptation.

She listens attentively to the story of the black pearl, and is not in the least astonished at my dreams.

“The magnetism of the Begum, impregnated in it, has been sufficient to awaken in you the memory of past lives,” she says.

“Do you really believe, then, that Mr. Russell may have been the Rajah? Not a word has made me suppose that he retains the least memory of such a life.”

“Few people can retrace their past existences,” replies Miss Carter, “but you are a little psychic, and the astral world has been opened by the influence of the Begum’s jewel, added to other agencies more powerful still. We have friends in the spiritual world as in the physical,” she adds, putting her hand affectionately on mine, “and no doubt they have been sent to show you this love, strong enough to persist through different personalities, so that you may purify it entirely.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to destroy it ruthlessly?”

“No. Rather guard it. Love is a divine force, a spark from the sacred fire. To destroy it would be heresy, mutilation, atrophy of the soul!”

“It would be better,” she continues thoughtfully, “to yield to this love which the world holds guilty than to deny it.... But it would be better still to ennoble it, to raise it beyond material desires, not only in you, but in the man whose life is linked to yours by so strong a chain.”

“You think, then, I ought to write to Allan and see him?”

“Certainly. It would be cowardice to shirk it, and the first quality to be acquired is moral strength. Virtue is not true virtue until tested. Besides, it is his due. Souls meet, form friendships, and ties, in order to help each other through wrong-doing, and through love which has caught a glimmer of the light.” Pausing a moment, she resumes, “Nothing will soften the blow to his love, to his pride as a man, so much as the sight of the suffering, the grief you share with him. Your duty is to help him, this Allan you love so devotedly, sustain him, make an appeal to his higher nature so that he will renounce you voluntarily, ennobling himself in turn by the sacrifice.”

“And this pearl,” she adds, raising the detached pendant, “is it not the symbol of your present life? By the marvellous agency of powers which change evil into beauty, the grain of sand, the speck of dirt on the gleaming nacre, are transmuted into a precious gem.

“In the series of lives knitted together by the soul, the life of suffering and sacrifice from which the higher self emerges, that is the black pearl of the necklace.”

* * * * *

Miss Carter has just announced that Allan is in the drawing-room. He has lost no time on receipt of my note. Pausing at the door, I can hear him pacing up and down with quick, irritated steps. I send a silent prayer to the angels and archangels, or whatever may be the names of those who have us under their care, for words that shall touch him, appease his anger, and bring him to the voluntary surrender of my love.

His eyes sombre, his mouth stern, Allan greets me with a curt

“Why are you here? What has happened that you have not waited for me at the hotel?”

His voice is hard, vibrating with the anger he tries to control.

“Listen, Allen, and try to understand me.”

“That is easy. A word will suffice. Are you going with me? Yes or no?”

“Yes, if you absolutely exact it. No, if you will be generous enough to give me back my promise.”

“Don’t expect that. If your departure depends only on me, let us start at once”--proceeding towards the door.

“Sit down first, Allan. Grant me a few minutes. Surely it’s serious enough, with all its consequences, to warrant that.”

Allan regards me, amazed at my calmness, which indeed surprises myself. The mastery which he exercises over me seems for the nonce to have lost its influence. I am quite collected, and absolute mistress of myself.

He sits down, however, and I take a seat beside him.

“Allan, I swear, if after hearing me you still insist upon it, I will follow you; I will be your mistress, the slave of your desires. You may possess my body, but it will be at the expense of my soul, of my love, perhaps.”

“Your love, Jeanne! What has changed it like this? For you did love me,” seizing my hands in his; “I have seen it in your eyes, felt it in the trembling of your body--the body you throw at me as a victim is thrown to a ferocious beast. Have I not felt your heart throb as you lay in my arms, heard the sigh which was but the echo of my own.”

The passion I thought dead is surging through me. My whole body is crying out for him.... No, no, I must fight still, for his sake, for our divine love.

“I do love you, Allan, with all the strength of my nature, body and soul, but now that I have realised the shame of this love, I cannot yield to it without debasing myself, without, more terrible still, risking the real, the eternal love which will unite us for ever, if we have the strength to keep it pure.”

“Silly nonsense! The foolish imaginings of a head filled with these new doctrines. What! Quit the substance for the shadow! Forego present happiness for visionary felicity. We love each other. We are young, rich, free to go where we will! Give rein to your love, Jeanne; let mine sweep you away. Let us enjoy life. Come, sweetheart, it is so beautiful, so real. Dismiss these morbid ideas, these foolish theories. Leave this transcendent love to the woman who has perverted your imagination, who has taken possession of you only to destroy you.”

I repress my irritation at the thought that Barker must have followed me on the night of our arrival. Nothing I say must add to his anger.

“On the contrary, Allan, it is that very woman who has induced me to receive you, counselled me to keep to my word, if you insist upon it. But, oh, my beloved! Try to understand this love, the only real love, which is better than the vain passion of a few hours.”

“I am only mortal, a man, not a spirit, whom the love of the angels can satisfy,” replies Allan, a smile of bitter irony curving his lips.

“Allan, believe me, before I heard a word of the theories you term silly I blushed with shame at the thought of what I had nearly become. A chance meeting with some old friends, from whom I had to hide, lest they should recognise me, showed me the abyss at my feet. To be compelled to go through life, avoiding all who once knew me, reduced to seek the society of _déclassés_ like myself.... Allan, Allan, for our love’s sake do not condemn me to such an existence. There will be no joy in it for you, my poor love; you will suffer seeing my misery.”

“It’s your pride, Jeanne, which won’t let you forget the idea of your reputation.”

“My reputation! That’s compromised as it is. If you only want the sacrifice of my honour, I will make it willingly. Must I proclaim myself in the eyes of all, your mistress? Very well. I consent. But to have to deceive you, to feign a happiness I no longer feel! That will kill all the good left in me. I shall be but a cheerless companion, my darling.”

Allan regards me anxiously. His anger has melted at sight of my distress.

“Jeanne, are you quite sure you cannot throw off this morbid view of things, that my love cannot make you forget this fictitious shame?”

My strength is giving way and I fall at his feet, weeping silently.

I have failed. I am too broken to fight longer. But my weakness, my mute despair, have accomplished what my supplications could not.

After a moment’s struggle with himself, Allan raises me gently, tenderly.

“Forgive me, Jeanne, for having troubled your life. I love you too well, too deeply to condemn you to an existence, which I see would be slow martyrdom. I thought my devotion would make amends for everything, and give you happiness. That is the only excuse I have to offer for my violence. I wanted to tear you away from the sad, lonely life you were leading in Melbourne. I thought my love, such as it is, would be a protection.”

His hand caresses my hair lightly. A wave of tenderness passes through me.

“Rest assured, Jeanne, that if I had not thought I was acting for your happiness, as well as my own, I would not have taken you to my house. I would not have compromised your honour.”

“What are you going to do now?” breaks in Allan, descending more quickly, as men always do, to the ordinary affairs of life.

“At least, let me have the poor consolation of knowing you independent. I will place in a bank----”

“No, Allan! Money must never be a question between us. Besides, it isn’t necessary. The sale of a necklace will give me several hundred pounds, which will see me through my probationary stage.”

Allan’s face contracts at the mere idea.

“It is the best way, darling, to forget my grief. Don’t think you are going to be the only one to suffer. But the suffering will be noble....”

“Ah, well! I am going to get a divorce, you know.”

“No. I don’t want happiness at the price of your dishonour, any more than my own. You would feel it keenly if you broke your word.... Allan, I swear I will never be yours while your wife lives.”

“But if she were to die....” A gleam of hope kindles his sombre eyes.

“Stop!” placing my hand on his mouth to prevent further utterance. “Not another word! Thoughts kill sometimes as surely as a dagger. Though we may be far apart, dear, our spirits may be in touch. When sleep comes, our freed souls may unite in a love, which has nothing earthy, nothing guilty in it.”

Allan shakes his head sadly. He has no faith in the life of dreams. He regards as an illusion what to me is a dear reality.

When our emotion has grown calmer, Allan says,

“And Billy, who is expecting you on board, what must I do with him?”

“Poor little Billy!” In my grief, I had quite forgotten my little page.

“You must keep him. Don’t let him go back to his mother. Send him to school. I will write to tell him to obey you in everything.... One day, perhaps, when we are older and wiser, we may see each other again.”

I cannot send him away without a gleam of hope.

“Jeanne, I am leaving you free. Before I go”--his voice becomes pleading--“will you give me one kiss, one kiss of ardent love.”

Our lips meet in a long impassioned kiss of love and despair.

XXIII

The
Vision

“I knew such a man (whether in the body or out of the body I cannot
tell: God knoweth). How that he was caught up into Paradise and heard
unspeakable words.”
ST. PAUL, Cor. xii. 3-4.

Seated in an easy chair in the little white room which Miss Carter has had prepared for me, I live again the strained hours through which I have just passed--the crisis which marks a new era in my life.

In imagination I follow the wake of two vessels furrowing their way through the dark waters of the Gulf lit only by the scintillant stars. They carry away with them the two potent forces which have battled for my soul.

On the luxuriously fitted yacht, all the pleasures of the senses, the delights of material life, enchanting voyages to far-off wonder-filled lands as caprice or fancy dictate, lands where the fruits of forbidden love, envenomed, but, ah, so sweet, might have been gathered, appeasing for a time at least my passionate craving for love, for art and beauty! On board, Allan alone, sad, but resigned, thinking of me, perhaps, at this very instant, his thoughts meeting mine in love and tenderness as each moment increases the distances between us.

On the other, a huge ocean liner--fitting symbol of duty, cleaving inflexibly the narrow track, regardless of wind and wave--the white-robed, stately figure who had stood before me at the parting of the ways! She, too, is being borne away to raise before other troubled souls the beacon of Hope, the desire of the Immaterial. I am conscious of an infrangible bond--a bond of the spirit--linking me with her for ever. She will sustain me in moments of weakness and despair, in the mean and sordid monotony of the days to come. Under her influence I shall see shining ever more clearly the Light of the Ideal, the star whose glimmer I can feebly descry on the sombre horizon of my future.

Half musing thus, wearied and shaken with the emotions of the preceding days, weakened by sleeplessness and fasting, for I have been unable to swallow anything but a few drops of milk, I sink into a sort of physical unconsciousness. My spirit, partly freed from its envelope of flesh, becomes suddenly sensitive to vivid and intense life. Vague, sweet harmonies float around me, luminous waves vibrate in the ambient ether. Soon they seem to condense, unite and compose a mystic scene, visible to the eyes of my spirit.

Through the quivering ether there glimmers palely, opalesquely, the interior of a cell well-known to me. Before a Crucifix the Missionary of the lepers is kneeling. I can follow the movement of his pallid lips as they frame a fervent prayer.

The faint light clinging around him shows dimly the ravages of the dread disease. Ethereal flames issue from the Stigmata, the feet, hands and pierced side of the Saviour. They surround the young priest as with an aureole.

From the heart of the Crucified flows another radiant beam, soft, roseate, brilliant, streaming forth and rising like an immense jet of Love.

Enraptured, I gaze upon this unearthly light. Borne along by the great Force-current emanating from the God-Man I see ascend all the Disciples of the Divine Master of the Occident, martyrs, apostles, mystics filled with the Divine Madness, all the myriad throngs of Christianity.

Then I perceive around me faint flashes and turbid flames still glowing with the reeking passions of earth. They envelop Allan and me. Our two souls are linked and form but one. The flames lick and whirl around us. Brighter, more scintillant and dazzling, they ascend purified in glowing spirals. Sparks and flashes and flames group, meet, fuse, and unite in seven rays of living, pulsating Light. Sound mingles with colour in the Grand Diapason. The seven resplendent notes of the Mystic Gamut respond to the seven colours and chant sonorously the Name Ineffable. The whirling spiral mass of light and sound carries us upward, upward, still upward....

The vibrations increase in intensity. The great columns of fire unite to form the Divine Triangle. The Mystic Seven has merged into the Three--the Trinity of Life, Love and Wisdom. The glowing, flashing, three-faceted flame irradiates the Heavens, the Worlds, the whole Universe.

Form, colour and sound commingle, and, glowing and vibrating, the Flame resolves into the Absolute, the Eternal.... The Three have become the One.

* * * * *

What matter now the sufferings of my life, the monotony of thankless work, the dreary waiting for a happiness which may never be realised! In a moment of ineffable ecstasy I have placed my lips to the Divine chalice. I know, O my Allan, that one day we shall be united in the bosom of the God of Wisdom, of Beauty, and of Love.

THE END.

B. R. GOWAN & CO., Printers, Melbourne.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.