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diff --git a/old/389.txt b/old/389.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0e3b1d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/389.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2652 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Pan, by Arthur Machen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Great God Pan + +Author: Arthur Machen + +Posting Date: August 12, 2008 [EBook #389] +Release Date: January, 1996 +Last updated: July 3, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD PAN *** + + + + +Produced by Brandi Weed. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +THE GREAT GOD PAN + +by + +ARTHUR MACHEN + + + +CONTENTS + + I THE EXPERIMENT + II MR. CLARKE'S MEMOIRS + III THE CITY OF RESURRECTIONS + IV THE DISCOVERY IN PAUL STREET + V THE LETTER OF ADVICE + VI THE SUICIDES + VII THE ENCOUNTER IN SOHO + VIII THE FRAGMENTS + + + + +I + +THE EXPERIMENT + +"I am glad you came, Clarke; very glad indeed. I was not sure you +could spare the time." + +"I was able to make arrangements for a few days; things are not very +lively just now. But have you no misgivings, Raymond? Is it +absolutely safe?" + +The two men were slowly pacing the terrace in front of Dr. Raymond's +house. The sun still hung above the western mountain-line, but it +shone with a dull red glow that cast no shadows, and all the air was +quiet; a sweet breath came from the great wood on the hillside above, +and with it, at intervals, the soft murmuring call of the wild doves. +Below, in the long lovely valley, the river wound in and out between +the lonely hills, and, as the sun hovered and vanished into the west, a +faint mist, pure white, began to rise from the hills. Dr. Raymond +turned sharply to his friend. + +"Safe? Of course it is. In itself the operation is a perfectly simple +one; any surgeon could do it." + +"And there is no danger at any other stage?" + +"None; absolutely no physical danger whatsoever, I give you my word. +You are always timid, Clarke, always; but you know my history. I have +devoted myself to transcendental medicine for the last twenty years. I +have heard myself called quack and charlatan and impostor, but all the +while I knew I was on the right path. Five years ago I reached the +goal, and since then every day has been a preparation for what we shall +do tonight." + +"I should like to believe it is all true." Clarke knit his brows, and +looked doubtfully at Dr. Raymond. "Are you perfectly sure, Raymond, +that your theory is not a phantasmagoria--a splendid vision, certainly, +but a mere vision after all?" + +Dr. Raymond stopped in his walk and turned sharply. He was a +middle-aged man, gaunt and thin, of a pale yellow complexion, but as he +answered Clarke and faced him, there was a flush on his cheek. + +"Look about you, Clarke. You see the mountain, and hill following +after hill, as wave on wave, you see the woods and orchard, the fields +of ripe corn, and the meadows reaching to the reed-beds by the river. +You see me standing here beside you, and hear my voice; but I tell you +that all these things--yes, from that star that has just shone out in +the sky to the solid ground beneath our feet--I say that all these are +but dreams and shadows; the shadows that hide the real world from our +eyes. There is a real world, but it is beyond this glamour and this +vision, beyond these 'chases in Arras, dreams in a career,' beyond them +all as beyond a veil. I do not know whether any human being has ever +lifted that veil; but I do know, Clarke, that you and I shall see it +lifted this very night from before another's eyes. You may think this +all strange nonsense; it may be strange, but it is true, and the +ancients knew what lifting the veil means. They called it seeing the +god Pan." + +Clarke shivered; the white mist gathering over the river was chilly. + +"It is wonderful indeed," he said. "We are standing on the brink of a +strange world, Raymond, if what you say is true. I suppose the knife +is absolutely necessary?" + +"Yes; a slight lesion in the grey matter, that is all; a trifling +rearrangement of certain cells, a microscopical alteration that would +escape the attention of ninety-nine brain specialists out of a hundred. +I don't want to bother you with 'shop,' Clarke; I might give you a mass +of technical detail which would sound very imposing, and would leave +you as enlightened as you are now. But I suppose you have read, +casually, in out-of-the-way corners of your paper, that immense strides +have been made recently in the physiology of the brain. I saw a +paragraph the other day about Digby's theory, and Browne Faber's +discoveries. Theories and discoveries! Where they are standing now, I +stood fifteen years ago, and I need not tell you that I have not been +standing still for the last fifteen years. It will be enough if I say +that five years ago I made the discovery that I alluded to when I said +that ten years ago I reached the goal. After years of labour, after +years of toiling and groping in the dark, after days and nights of +disappointments and sometimes of despair, in which I used now and then +to tremble and grow cold with the thought that perhaps there were +others seeking for what I sought, at last, after so long, a pang of +sudden joy thrilled my soul, and I knew the long journey was at an end. +By what seemed then and still seems a chance, the suggestion of a +moment's idle thought followed up upon familiar lines and paths that I +had tracked a hundred times already, the great truth burst upon me, and +I saw, mapped out in lines of sight, a whole world, a sphere unknown; +continents and islands, and great oceans in which no ship has sailed +(to my belief) since a Man first lifted up his eyes and beheld the sun, +and the stars of heaven, and the quiet earth beneath. You will think +this all high-flown language, Clarke, but it is hard to be literal. +And yet; I do not know whether what I am hinting at cannot be set forth +in plain and lonely terms. For instance, this world of ours is pretty +well girded now with the telegraph wires and cables; thought, with +something less than the speed of thought, flashes from sunrise to +sunset, from north to south, across the floods and the desert places. +Suppose that an electrician of today were suddenly to perceive that he +and his friends have merely been playing with pebbles and mistaking +them for the foundations of the world; suppose that such a man saw +uttermost space lie open before the current, and words of men flash +forth to the sun and beyond the sun into the systems beyond, and the +voice of articulate-speaking men echo in the waste void that bounds our +thought. As analogies go, that is a pretty good analogy of what I have +done; you can understand now a little of what I felt as I stood here +one evening; it was a summer evening, and the valley looked much as it +does now; I stood here, and saw before me the unutterable, the +unthinkable gulf that yawns profound between two worlds, the world of +matter and the world of spirit; I saw the great empty deep stretch dim +before me, and in that instant a bridge of light leapt from the earth +to the unknown shore, and the abyss was spanned. You may look in +Browne Faber's book, if you like, and you will find that to the present +day men of science are unable to account for the presence, or to +specify the functions of a certain group of nerve-cells in the brain. +That group is, as it were, land to let, a mere waste place for fanciful +theories. I am not in the position of Browne Faber and the +specialists, I am perfectly instructed as to the possible functions of +those nerve-centers in the scheme of things. With a touch I can bring +them into play, with a touch, I say, I can set free the current, with a +touch I can complete the communication between this world of sense +and--we shall be able to finish the sentence later on. Yes, the knife +is necessary; but think what that knife will effect. It will level +utterly the solid wall of sense, and probably, for the first time since +man was made, a spirit will gaze on a spirit-world. Clarke, Mary will +see the god Pan!" + +"But you remember what you wrote to me? I thought it would be +requisite that she--" + +He whispered the rest into the doctor's ear. + +"Not at all, not at all. That is nonsense. I assure you. Indeed, it +is better as it is; I am quite certain of that." + +"Consider the matter well, Raymond. It's a great responsibility. +Something might go wrong; you would be a miserable man for the rest of +your days." + +"No, I think not, even if the worst happened. As you know, I rescued +Mary from the gutter, and from almost certain starvation, when she was +a child; I think her life is mine, to use as I see fit. Come, it's +getting late; we had better go in." + +Dr. Raymond led the way into the house, through the hall, and down a +long dark passage. He took a key from his pocket and opened a heavy +door, and motioned Clarke into his laboratory. It had once been a +billiard-room, and was lighted by a glass dome in the centre of the +ceiling, whence there still shone a sad grey light on the figure of the +doctor as he lit a lamp with a heavy shade and placed it on a table in +the middle of the room. + +Clarke looked about him. Scarcely a foot of wall remained bare; there +were shelves all around laden with bottles and phials of all shapes and +colours, and at one end stood a little Chippendale book-case. Raymond +pointed to this. + +"You see that parchment Oswald Crollius? He was one of the first to +show me the way, though I don't think he ever found it himself. That +is a strange saying of his: 'In every grain of wheat there lies hidden +the soul of a star.'" + +There was not much furniture in the laboratory. The table in the +centre, a stone slab with a drain in one corner, the two armchairs on +which Raymond and Clarke were sitting; that was all, except an +odd-looking chair at the furthest end of the room. Clarke looked at +it, and raised his eyebrows. + +"Yes, that is the chair," said Raymond. "We may as well place it in +position." He got up and wheeled the chair to the light, and began +raising and lowering it, letting down the seat, setting the back at +various angles, and adjusting the foot-rest. It looked comfortable +enough, and Clarke passed his hand over the soft green velvet, as the +doctor manipulated the levers. + +"Now, Clarke, make yourself quite comfortable. I have a couple hours' +work before me; I was obliged to leave certain matters to the last." + +Raymond went to the stone slab, and Clarke watched him drearily as he +bent over a row of phials and lit the flame under the crucible. The +doctor had a small hand-lamp, shaded as the larger one, on a ledge +above his apparatus, and Clarke, who sat in the shadows, looked down at +the great shadowy room, wondering at the bizarre effects of brilliant +light and undefined darkness contrasting with one another. Soon he +became conscious of an odd odour, at first the merest suggestion of +odour, in the room, and as it grew more decided he felt surprised that +he was not reminded of the chemist's shop or the surgery. Clarke found +himself idly endeavouring to analyse the sensation, and half conscious, +he began to think of a day, fifteen years ago, that he had spent +roaming through the woods and meadows near his own home. It was a +burning day at the beginning of August, the heat had dimmed the +outlines of all things and all distances with a faint mist, and people +who observed the thermometer spoke of an abnormal register, of a +temperature that was almost tropical. Strangely that wonderful hot day +of the fifties rose up again in Clarke's imagination; the sense of +dazzling all-pervading sunlight seemed to blot out the shadows and the +lights of the laboratory, and he felt again the heated air beating in +gusts about his face, saw the shimmer rising from the turf, and heard +the myriad murmur of the summer. + +"I hope the smell doesn't annoy you, Clarke; there's nothing +unwholesome about it. It may make you a bit sleepy, that's all." + +Clarke heard the words quite distinctly, and knew that Raymond was +speaking to him, but for the life of him he could not rouse himself +from his lethargy. He could only think of the lonely walk he had taken +fifteen years ago; it was his last look at the fields and woods he had +known since he was a child, and now it all stood out in brilliant +light, as a picture, before him. Above all there came to his nostrils +the scent of summer, the smell of flowers mingled, and the odour of the +woods, of cool shaded places, deep in the green depths, drawn forth by +the sun's heat; and the scent of the good earth, lying as it were with +arms stretched forth, and smiling lips, overpowered all. His fancies +made him wander, as he had wandered long ago, from the fields into the +wood, tracking a little path between the shining undergrowth of +beech-trees; and the trickle of water dropping from the limestone rock +sounded as a clear melody in the dream. Thoughts began to go astray +and to mingle with other thoughts; the beech alley was transformed to a +path between ilex-trees, and here and there a vine climbed from bough +to bough, and sent up waving tendrils and drooped with purple grapes, +and the sparse grey-green leaves of a wild olive-tree stood out against +the dark shadows of the ilex. Clarke, in the deep folds of dream, was +conscious that the path from his father's house had led him into an +undiscovered country, and he was wondering at the strangeness of it +all, when suddenly, in place of the hum and murmur of the summer, an +infinite silence seemed to fall on all things, and the wood was hushed, +and for a moment in time he stood face to face there with a presence, +that was neither man nor beast, neither the living nor the dead, but +all things mingled, the form of all things but devoid of all form. And +in that moment, the sacrament of body and soul was dissolved, and a +voice seemed to cry "Let us go hence," and then the darkness of +darkness beyond the stars, the darkness of everlasting. + +When Clarke woke up with a start he saw Raymond pouring a few drops of +some oily fluid into a green phial, which he stoppered tightly. + +"You have been dozing," he said; "the journey must have tired you out. +It is done now. I am going to fetch Mary; I shall be back in ten +minutes." + +Clarke lay back in his chair and wondered. It seemed as if he had but +passed from one dream into another. He half expected to see the walls +of the laboratory melt and disappear, and to awake in London, +shuddering at his own sleeping fancies. But at last the door opened, +and the doctor returned, and behind him came a girl of about seventeen, +dressed all in white. She was so beautiful that Clarke did not wonder +at what the doctor had written to him. She was blushing now over face +and neck and arms, but Raymond seemed unmoved. + +"Mary," he said, "the time has come. You are quite free. Are you +willing to trust yourself to me entirely?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Do you hear that, Clarke? You are my witness. Here is the chair, +Mary. It is quite easy. Just sit in it and lean back. Are you ready?" + +"Yes, dear, quite ready. Give me a kiss before you begin." + +The doctor stooped and kissed her mouth, kindly enough. "Now shut your +eyes," he said. The girl closed her eyelids, as if she were tired, and +longed for sleep, and Raymond placed the green phial to her nostrils. +Her face grew white, whiter than her dress; she struggled faintly, and +then with the feeling of submission strong within her, crossed her arms +upon her breast as a little child about to say her prayers. The bright +light of the lamp fell full upon her, and Clarke watched changes +fleeting over her face as the changes of the hills when the summer +clouds float across the sun. And then she lay all white and still, and +the doctor turned up one of her eyelids. She was quite unconscious. +Raymond pressed hard on one of the levers and the chair instantly sank +back. Clarke saw him cutting away a circle, like a tonsure, from her +hair, and the lamp was moved nearer. Raymond took a small glittering +instrument from a little case, and Clarke turned away shudderingly. +When he looked again the doctor was binding up the wound he had made. + +"She will awake in five minutes." Raymond was still perfectly cool. +"There is nothing more to be done; we can only wait." + +The minutes passed slowly; they could hear a slow, heavy, ticking. +There was an old clock in the passage. Clarke felt sick and faint; his +knees shook beneath him, he could hardly stand. + +Suddenly, as they watched, they heard a long-drawn sigh, and suddenly +did the colour that had vanished return to the girl's cheeks, and +suddenly her eyes opened. Clarke quailed before them. They shone with +an awful light, looking far away, and a great wonder fell upon her +face, and her hands stretched out as if to touch what was invisible; +but in an instant the wonder faded, and gave place to the most awful +terror. The muscles of her face were hideously convulsed, she shook +from head to foot; the soul seemed struggling and shuddering within the +house of flesh. It was a horrible sight, and Clarke rushed forward, as +she fell shrieking to the floor. + +Three days later Raymond took Clarke to Mary's bedside. She was lying +wide-awake, rolling her head from side to side, and grinning vacantly. + +"Yes," said the doctor, still quite cool, "it is a great pity; she is a +hopeless idiot. However, it could not be helped; and, after all, she +has seen the Great God Pan." + + + +II + +MR. CLARKE'S MEMOIRS + +Mr. Clarke, the gentleman chosen by Dr. Raymond to witness the strange +experiment of the god Pan, was a person in whose character caution and +curiosity were oddly mingled; in his sober moments he thought of the +unusual and eccentric with undisguised aversion, and yet, deep in his +heart, there was a wide-eyed inquisitiveness with respect to all the +more recondite and esoteric elements in the nature of men. The latter +tendency had prevailed when he accepted Raymond's invitation, for +though his considered judgment had always repudiated the doctor's +theories as the wildest nonsense, yet he secretly hugged a belief in +fantasy, and would have rejoiced to see that belief confirmed. The +horrors that he witnessed in the dreary laboratory were to a certain +extent salutary; he was conscious of being involved in an affair not +altogether reputable, and for many years afterwards he clung bravely to +the commonplace, and rejected all occasions of occult investigation. +Indeed, on some homeopathic principle, he for some time attended the +seances of distinguished mediums, hoping that the clumsy tricks of +these gentlemen would make him altogether disgusted with mysticism of +every kind, but the remedy, though caustic, was not efficacious. Clarke +knew that he still pined for the unseen, and little by little, the old +passion began to reassert itself, as the face of Mary, shuddering and +convulsed with an unknown terror, faded slowly from his memory. +Occupied all day in pursuits both serious and lucrative, the temptation +to relax in the evening was too great, especially in the winter months, +when the fire cast a warm glow over his snug bachelor apartment, and a +bottle of some choice claret stood ready by his elbow. His dinner +digested, he would make a brief pretence of reading the evening paper, +but the mere catalogue of news soon palled upon him, and Clarke would +find himself casting glances of warm desire in the direction of an old +Japanese bureau, which stood at a pleasant distance from the hearth. +Like a boy before a jam-closet, for a few minutes he would hover +indecisive, but lust always prevailed, and Clarke ended by drawing up +his chair, lighting a candle, and sitting down before the bureau. Its +pigeon-holes and drawers teemed with documents on the most morbid +subjects, and in the well reposed a large manuscript volume, in which +he had painfully entered the gems of his collection. Clarke had a fine +contempt for published literature; the most ghostly story ceased to +interest him if it happened to be printed; his sole pleasure was in the +reading, compiling, and rearranging what he called his "Memoirs to +prove the Existence of the Devil," and engaged in this pursuit the +evening seemed to fly and the night appeared too short. + +On one particular evening, an ugly December night, black with fog, and +raw with frost, Clarke hurried over his dinner, and scarcely deigned to +observe his customary ritual of taking up the paper and laying it down +again. He paced two or three times up and down the room, and opened +the bureau, stood still a moment, and sat down. He leant back, +absorbed in one of those dreams to which he was subject, and at length +drew out his book, and opened it at the last entry. There were three +or four pages densely covered with Clarke's round, set penmanship, and +at the beginning he had written in a somewhat larger hand: + + Singular Narrative told me by my Friend, Dr. Phillips. + He assures me that all the facts related + therein are strictly and wholly True, but + refuses to give either the Surnames of the + Persons Concerned, or the Place where these + Extraordinary Events occurred. + +Mr. Clarke began to read over the account for the tenth time, glancing +now and then at the pencil notes he had made when it was told him by +his friend. It was one of his humours to pride himself on a certain +literary ability; he thought well of his style, and took pains in +arranging the circumstances in dramatic order. He read the following +story:-- + + +The persons concerned in this statement are Helen V., who, if she is +still alive, must now be a woman of twenty-three, Rachel M., since +deceased, who was a year younger than the above, and Trevor W., an +imbecile, aged eighteen. These persons were at the period of the story +inhabitants of a village on the borders of Wales, a place of some +importance in the time of the Roman occupation, but now a scattered +hamlet, of not more than five hundred souls. It is situated on rising +ground, about six miles from the sea, and is sheltered by a large and +picturesque forest. + +Some eleven years ago, Helen V. came to the village under rather +peculiar circumstances. It is understood that she, being an orphan, +was adopted in her infancy by a distant relative, who brought her up in +his own house until she was twelve years old. Thinking, however, that +it would be better for the child to have playmates of her own age, he +advertised in several local papers for a good home in a comfortable +farmhouse for a girl of twelve, and this advertisement was answered by +Mr. R., a well-to-do farmer in the above-mentioned village. His +references proving satisfactory, the gentleman sent his adopted +daughter to Mr. R., with a letter, in which he stipulated that the girl +should have a room to herself, and stated that her guardians need be at +no trouble in the matter of education, as she was already sufficiently +educated for the position in life which she would occupy. In fact, Mr. +R. was given to understand that the girl be allowed to find her own +occupations and to spend her time almost as she liked. Mr. R. duly +met her at the nearest station, a town seven miles away from his house, +and seems to have remarked nothing extraordinary about the child except +that she was reticent as to her former life and her adopted father. She +was, however, of a very different type from the inhabitants of the +village; her skin was a pale, clear olive, and her features were +strongly marked, and of a somewhat foreign character. She appears to +have settled down easily enough into farmhouse life, and became a +favourite with the children, who sometimes went with her on her rambles +in the forest, for this was her amusement. Mr. R. states that he has +known her to go out by herself directly after their early breakfast, +and not return till after dusk, and that, feeling uneasy at a young +girl being out alone for so many hours, he communicated with her +adopted father, who replied in a brief note that Helen must do as she +chose. In the winter, when the forest paths are impassable, she spent +most of her time in her bedroom, where she slept alone, according to +the instructions of her relative. It was on one of these expeditions to +the forest that the first of the singular incidents with which this +girl is connected occurred, the date being about a year after her +arrival at the village. The preceding winter had been remarkably +severe, the snow drifting to a great depth, and the frost continuing +for an unexampled period, and the summer following was as noteworthy +for its extreme heat. On one of the very hottest days in this summer, +Helen V. left the farmhouse for one of her long rambles in the forest, +taking with her, as usual, some bread and meat for lunch. She was seen +by some men in the fields making for the old Roman Road, a green +causeway which traverses the highest part of the wood, and they were +astonished to observe that the girl had taken off her hat, though the +heat of the sun was already tropical. As it happened, a labourer, +Joseph W. by name, was working in the forest near the Roman Road, and +at twelve o'clock his little son, Trevor, brought the man his dinner of +bread and cheese. After the meal, the boy, who was about seven years +old at the time, left his father at work, and, as he said, went to look +for flowers in the wood, and the man, who could hear him shouting with +delight at his discoveries, felt no uneasiness. Suddenly, however, he +was horrified at hearing the most dreadful screams, evidently the +result of great terror, proceeding from the direction in which his son +had gone, and he hastily threw down his tools and ran to see what had +happened. Tracing his path by the sound, he met the little boy, who +was running headlong, and was evidently terribly frightened, and on +questioning him the man elicited that after picking a posy of flowers +he felt tired, and lay down on the grass and fell asleep. He was +suddenly awakened, as he stated, by a peculiar noise, a sort of singing +he called it, and on peeping through the branches he saw Helen V. +playing on the grass with a "strange naked man," who he seemed unable +to describe more fully. He said he felt dreadfully frightened and ran +away crying for his father. Joseph W. proceeded in the direction +indicated by his son, and found Helen V. sitting on the grass in the +middle of a glade or open space left by charcoal burners. He angrily +charged her with frightening his little boy, but she entirely denied +the accusation and laughed at the child's story of a "strange man," to +which he himself did not attach much credence. Joseph W. came to the +conclusion that the boy had woke up with a sudden fright, as children +sometimes do, but Trevor persisted in his story, and continued in such +evident distress that at last his father took him home, hoping that his +mother would be able to soothe him. For many weeks, however, the boy +gave his parents much anxiety; he became nervous and strange in his +manner, refusing to leave the cottage by himself, and constantly +alarming the household by waking in the night with cries of "The man in +the wood! father! father!" + +In course of time, however, the impression seemed to have worn off, and +about three months later he accompanied his father to the home of a +gentleman in the neighborhood, for whom Joseph W. occasionally did +work. The man was shown into the study, and the little boy was left +sitting in the hall, and a few minutes later, while the gentleman was +giving W. his instructions, they were both horrified by a piercing +shriek and the sound of a fall, and rushing out they found the child +lying senseless on the floor, his face contorted with terror. The +doctor was immediately summoned, and after some examination he +pronounced the child to be suffering form a kind of fit, apparently +produced by a sudden shock. The boy was taken to one of the bedrooms, +and after some time recovered consciousness, but only to pass into a +condition described by the medical man as one of violent hysteria. The +doctor exhibited a strong sedative, and in the course of two hours +pronounced him fit to walk home, but in passing through the hall the +paroxysms of fright returned and with additional violence. The father +perceived that the child was pointing at some object, and heard the old +cry, "The man in the wood," and looking in the direction indicated saw +a stone head of grotesque appearance, which had been built into the +wall above one of the doors. It seems the owner of the house had +recently made alterations in his premises, and on digging the +foundations for some offices, the men had found a curious head, +evidently of the Roman period, which had been placed in the manner +described. The head is pronounced by the most experienced +archaeologists of the district to be that of a faun or satyr. [Dr. +Phillips tells me that he has seen the head in question, and assures me +that he has never received such a vivid presentment of intense evil.] + +From whatever cause arising, this second shock seemed too severe for +the boy Trevor, and at the present date he suffers from a weakness of +intellect, which gives but little promise of amending. The matter +caused a good deal of sensation at the time, and the girl Helen was +closely questioned by Mr. R., but to no purpose, she steadfastly +denying that she had frightened or in any way molested Trevor. + +The second event with which this girl's name is connected took place +about six years ago, and is of a still more extraordinary character. + +At the beginning of the summer of 1882, Helen contracted a friendship +of a peculiarly intimate character with Rachel M., the daughter of a +prosperous farmer in the neighbourhood. This girl, who was a year +younger than Helen, was considered by most people to be the prettier of +the two, though Helen's features had to a great extent softened as she +became older. The two girls, who were together on every available +opportunity, presented a singular contrast, the one with her clear, +olive skin and almost Italian appearance, and the other of the +proverbial red and white of our rural districts. It must be stated +that the payments made to Mr. R. for the maintenance of Helen were +known in the village for their excessive liberality, and the impression +was general that she would one day inherit a large sum of money from +her relative. The parents of Rachel were therefore not averse from +their daughter's friendship with the girl, and even encouraged the +intimacy, though they now bitterly regret having done so. Helen still +retained her extraordinary fondness for the forest, and on several +occasions Rachel accompanied her, the two friends setting out early in +the morning, and remaining in the wood until dusk. Once or twice after +these excursions Mrs. M. thought her daughter's manner rather peculiar; +she seemed languid and dreamy, and as it has been expressed, "different +from herself," but these peculiarities seem to have been thought too +trifling for remark. One evening, however, after Rachel had come home, +her mother heard a noise which sounded like suppressed weeping in the +girl's room, and on going in found her lying, half undressed, upon the +bed, evidently in the greatest distress. As soon as she saw her +mother, she exclaimed, "Ah, mother, mother, why did you let me go to +the forest with Helen?" Mrs. M. was astonished at so strange a +question, and proceeded to make inquiries. Rachel told her a wild +story. She said-- + +Clarke closed the book with a snap, and turned his chair towards the +fire. When his friend sat one evening in that very chair, and told his +story, Clarke had interrupted him at a point a little subsequent to +this, had cut short his words in a paroxysm of horror. "My God!" he +had exclaimed, "think, think what you are saying. It is too +incredible, too monstrous; such things can never be in this quiet +world, where men and women live and die, and struggle, and conquer, or +maybe fail, and fall down under sorrow, and grieve and suffer strange +fortunes for many a year; but not this, Phillips, not such things as +this. There must be some explanation, some way out of the terror. +Why, man, if such a case were possible, our earth would be a nightmare." + +But Phillips had told his story to the end, concluding: + +"Her flight remains a mystery to this day; she vanished in broad +sunlight; they saw her walking in a meadow, and a few moments later she +was not there." + +Clarke tried to conceive the thing again, as he sat by the fire, and +again his mind shuddered and shrank back, appalled before the sight of +such awful, unspeakable elements enthroned as it were, and triumphant +in human flesh. Before him stretched the long dim vista of the green +causeway in the forest, as his friend had described it; he saw the +swaying leaves and the quivering shadows on the grass, he saw the +sunlight and the flowers, and far away, far in the long distance, the +two figures moved toward him. One was Rachel, but the other? + +Clarke had tried his best to disbelieve it all, but at the end of the +account, as he had written it in his book, he had placed the +inscription: + +ET DIABOLUS INCARNATE EST. ET HOMO FACTUS EST. + + + +III + +THE CITY OF RESURRECTIONS + +"Herbert! Good God! Is it possible?" + +"Yes, my name's Herbert. I think I know your face, too, but I don't +remember your name. My memory is very queer." + +"Don't you recollect Villiers of Wadham?" + +"So it is, so it is. I beg your pardon, Villiers, I didn't think I was +begging of an old college friend. Good-night." + +"My dear fellow, this haste is unnecessary. My rooms are close by, but +we won't go there just yet. Suppose we walk up Shaftesbury Avenue a +little way? But how in heaven's name have you come to this pass, +Herbert?" + +"It's a long story, Villiers, and a strange one too, but you can hear +it if you like." + +"Come on, then. Take my arm, you don't seem very strong." + +The ill-assorted pair moved slowly up Rupert Street; the one in dirty, +evil-looking rags, and the other attired in the regulation uniform of a +man about town, trim, glossy, and eminently well-to-do. Villiers had +emerged from his restaurant after an excellent dinner of many courses, +assisted by an ingratiating little flask of Chianti, and, in that frame +of mind which was with him almost chronic, had delayed a moment by the +door, peering round in the dimly-lighted street in search of those +mysterious incidents and persons with which the streets of London teem +in every quarter and every hour. Villiers prided himself as a +practised explorer of such obscure mazes and byways of London life, and +in this unprofitable pursuit he displayed an assiduity which was worthy +of more serious employment. Thus he stood by the lamp-post surveying +the passers-by with undisguised curiosity, and with that gravity known +only to the systematic diner, had just enunciated in his mind the +formula: "London has been called the city of encounters; it is more +than that, it is the city of Resurrections," when these reflections +were suddenly interrupted by a piteous whine at his elbow, and a +deplorable appeal for alms. He looked around in some irritation, and +with a sudden shock found himself confronted with the embodied proof of +his somewhat stilted fancies. There, close beside him, his face +altered and disfigured by poverty and disgrace, his body barely covered +by greasy ill-fitting rags, stood his old friend Charles Herbert, who +had matriculated on the same day as himself, with whom he had been +merry and wise for twelve revolving terms. Different occupations and +varying interests had interrupted the friendship, and it was six years +since Villiers had seen Herbert; and now he looked upon this wreck of a +man with grief and dismay, mingled with a certain inquisitiveness as to +what dreary chain of circumstances had dragged him down to such a +doleful pass. Villiers felt together with compassion all the relish of +the amateur in mysteries, and congratulated himself on his leisurely +speculations outside the restaurant. + +They walked on in silence for some time, and more than one passer-by +stared in astonishment at the unaccustomed spectacle of a well-dressed +man with an unmistakable beggar hanging on to his arm, and, observing +this, Villiers led the way to an obscure street in Soho. Here he +repeated his question. + +"How on earth has it happened, Herbert? I always understood you would +succeed to an excellent position in Dorsetshire. Did your father +disinherit you? Surely not?" + +"No, Villiers; I came into all the property at my poor father's death; +he died a year after I left Oxford. He was a very good father to me, +and I mourned his death sincerely enough. But you know what young men +are; a few months later I came up to town and went a good deal into +society. Of course I had excellent introductions, and I managed to +enjoy myself very much in a harmless sort of way. I played a little, +certainly, but never for heavy stakes, and the few bets I made on races +brought me in money--only a few pounds, you know, but enough to pay for +cigars and such petty pleasures. It was in my second season that the +tide turned. Of course you have heard of my marriage?" + +"No, I never heard anything about it." + +"Yes, I married, Villiers. I met a girl, a girl of the most wonderful +and most strange beauty, at the house of some people whom I knew. I +cannot tell you her age; I never knew it, but, so far as I can guess, I +should think she must have been about nineteen when I made her +acquaintance. My friends had come to know her at Florence; she told +them she was an orphan, the child of an English father and an Italian +mother, and she charmed them as she charmed me. The first time I saw +her was at an evening party. I was standing by the door talking to a +friend, when suddenly above the hum and babble of conversation I heard +a voice which seemed to thrill to my heart. She was singing an Italian +song. I was introduced to her that evening, and in three months I +married Helen. Villiers, that woman, if I can call her woman, +corrupted my soul. The night of the wedding I found myself sitting in +her bedroom in the hotel, listening to her talk. She was sitting up in +bed, and I listened to her as she spoke in her beautiful voice, spoke +of things which even now I would not dare whisper in the blackest +night, though I stood in the midst of a wilderness. You, Villiers, +you may think you know life, and London, and what goes on day and night +in this dreadful city; for all I can say you may have heard the talk of +the vilest, but I tell you you can have no conception of what I know, +not in your most fantastic, hideous dreams can you have imaged forth +the faintest shadow of what I have heard--and seen. Yes, seen. I have +seen the incredible, such horrors that even I myself sometimes stop in +the middle of the street and ask whether it is possible for a man to +behold such things and live. In a year, Villiers, I was a ruined man, +in body and soul--in body and soul." + +"But your property, Herbert? You had land in Dorset." + +"I sold it all; the fields and woods, the dear old house--everything." + +"And the money?" + +"She took it all from me." + +"And then left you?" + +"Yes; she disappeared one night. I don't know where she went, but I am +sure if I saw her again it would kill me. The rest of my story is of no +interest; sordid misery, that is all. You may think, Villiers, that I +have exaggerated and talked for effect; but I have not told you half. +I could tell you certain things which would convince you, but you would +never know a happy day again. You would pass the rest of your life, as +I pass mine, a haunted man, a man who has seen hell." + +Villiers took the unfortunate man to his rooms, and gave him a meal. +Herbert could eat little, and scarcely touched the glass of wine set +before him. He sat moody and silent by the fire, and seemed relieved +when Villiers sent him away with a small present of money. + +"By the way, Herbert," said Villiers, as they parted at the door, "what +was your wife's name? You said Helen, I think? Helen what?" + +"The name she passed under when I met her was Helen Vaughan, but what +her real name was I can't say. I don't think she had a name. No, no, +not in that sense. Only human beings have names, Villiers; I can't say +anymore. Good-bye; yes, I will not fail to call if I see any way in +which you can help me. Good-night." + +The man went out into the bitter night, and Villiers returned to his +fireside. There was something about Herbert which shocked him +inexpressibly; not his poor rags nor the marks which poverty had set +upon his face, but rather an indefinite terror which hung about him +like a mist. He had acknowledged that he himself was not devoid of +blame; the woman, he had avowed, had corrupted him body and soul, and +Villiers felt that this man, once his friend, had been an actor in +scenes evil beyond the power of words. His story needed no +confirmation: he himself was the embodied proof of it. Villiers mused +curiously over the story he had heard, and wondered whether he had +heard both the first and the last of it. "No," he thought, "certainly +not the last, probably only the beginning. A case like this is like a +nest of Chinese boxes; you open one after the other and find a quainter +workmanship in every box. Most likely poor Herbert is merely one of +the outside boxes; there are stranger ones to follow." + +Villiers could not take his mind away from Herbert and his story, which +seemed to grow wilder as the night wore on. The fire seemed to burn +low, and the chilly air of the morning crept into the room; Villiers +got up with a glance over his shoulder, and, shivering slightly, went +to bed. + +A few days later he saw at his club a gentleman of his acquaintance, +named Austin, who was famous for his intimate knowledge of London life, +both in its tenebrous and luminous phases. Villiers, still full of his +encounter in Soho and its consequences, thought Austin might possibly +be able to shed some light on Herbert's history, and so after some +casual talk he suddenly put the question: + +"Do you happen to know anything of a man named Herbert--Charles +Herbert?" + +Austin turned round sharply and stared at Villiers with some +astonishment. + +"Charles Herbert? Weren't you in town three years ago? No; then you +have not heard of the Paul Street case? It caused a good deal of +sensation at the time." + +"What was the case?" + +"Well, a gentleman, a man of very good position, was found dead, stark +dead, in the area of a certain house in Paul Street, off Tottenham +Court Road. Of course the police did not make the discovery; if you +happen to be sitting up all night and have a light in your window, the +constable will ring the bell, but if you happen to be lying dead in +somebody's area, you will be left alone. In this instance, as in many +others, the alarm was raised by some kind of vagabond; I don't mean a +common tramp, or a public-house loafer, but a gentleman, whose business +or pleasure, or both, made him a spectator of the London streets at +five o'clock in the morning. This individual was, as he said, 'going +home,' it did not appear whence or whither, and had occasion to pass +through Paul Street between four and five a.m. Something or other +caught his eye at Number 20; he said, absurdly enough, that the house +had the most unpleasant physiognomy he had ever observed, but, at any +rate, he glanced down the area and was a good deal astonished to see a +man lying on the stones, his limbs all huddled together, and his face +turned up. Our gentleman thought his face looked peculiarly ghastly, +and so set off at a run in search of the nearest policeman. The +constable was at first inclined to treat the matter lightly, suspecting +common drunkenness; however, he came, and after looking at the man's +face, changed his tone, quickly enough. The early bird, who had picked +up this fine worm, was sent off for a doctor, and the policeman rang +and knocked at the door till a slatternly servant girl came down +looking more than half asleep. The constable pointed out the contents +of the area to the maid, who screamed loudly enough to wake up the +street, but she knew nothing of the man; had never seen him at the +house, and so forth. Meanwhile, the original discoverer had come back +with a medical man, and the next thing was to get into the area. The +gate was open, so the whole quartet stumped down the steps. The doctor +hardly needed a moment's examination; he said the poor fellow had been +dead for several hours, and it was then the case began to get +interesting. The dead man had not been robbed, and in one of his +pockets were papers identifying him as--well, as a man of good family +and means, a favourite in society, and nobody's enemy, as far as could +be known. I don't give his name, Villiers, because it has nothing to +do with the story, and because it's no good raking up these affairs +about the dead when there are no relations living. The next curious +point was that the medical men couldn't agree as to how he met his +death. There were some slight bruises on his shoulders, but they were +so slight that it looked as if he had been pushed roughly out of the +kitchen door, and not thrown over the railings from the street or even +dragged down the steps. But there were positively no other marks of +violence about him, certainly none that would account for his death; +and when they came to the autopsy there wasn't a trace of poison of any +kind. Of course the police wanted to know all about the people at +Number 20, and here again, so I have heard from private sources, one or +two other very curious points came out. It appears that the occupants +of the house were a Mr. and Mrs. Charles Herbert; he was said to be a +landed proprietor, though it struck most people that Paul Street was +not exactly the place to look for country gentry. As for Mrs. Herbert, +nobody seemed to know who or what she was, and, between ourselves, I +fancy the divers after her history found themselves in rather strange +waters. Of course they both denied knowing anything about the +deceased, and in default of any evidence against them they were +discharged. But some very odd things came out about them. Though it +was between five and six in the morning when the dead man was removed, +a large crowd had collected, and several of the neighbours ran to see +what was going on. They were pretty free with their comments, by all +accounts, and from these it appeared that Number 20 was in very bad +odour in Paul Street. The detectives tried to trace down these rumours +to some solid foundation of fact, but could not get hold of anything. +People shook their heads and raised their eyebrows and thought the +Herberts rather 'queer,' 'would rather not be seen going into their +house,' and so on, but there was nothing tangible. The authorities +were morally certain the man met his death in some way or another in +the house and was thrown out by the kitchen door, but they couldn't +prove it, and the absence of any indications of violence or poisoning +left them helpless. An odd case, wasn't it? But curiously enough, +there's something more that I haven't told you. I happened to know one +of the doctors who was consulted as to the cause of death, and some +time after the inquest I met him, and asked him about it. 'Do you +really mean to tell me,' I said, 'that you were baffled by the case, +that you actually don't know what the man died of?' 'Pardon me,' he +replied, 'I know perfectly well what caused death. Blank died of +fright, of sheer, awful terror; I never saw features so hideously +contorted in the entire course of my practice, and I have seen the +faces of a whole host of dead.' The doctor was usually a cool customer +enough, and a certain vehemence in his manner struck me, but I couldn't +get anything more out of him. I suppose the Treasury didn't see their +way to prosecuting the Herberts for frightening a man to death; at any +rate, nothing was done, and the case dropped out of men's minds. Do +you happen to know anything of Herbert?" + +"Well," replied Villiers, "he was an old college friend of mine." + +"You don't say so? Have you ever seen his wife?" + +"No, I haven't. I have lost sight of Herbert for many years." + +"It's queer, isn't it, parting with a man at the college gate or at +Paddington, seeing nothing of him for years, and then finding him pop +up his head in such an odd place. But I should like to have seen Mrs. +Herbert; people said extraordinary things about her." + +"What sort of things?" + +"Well, I hardly know how to tell you. Everyone who saw her at the +police court said she was at once the most beautiful woman and the most +repulsive they had ever set eyes on. I have spoken to a man who saw +her, and I assure you he positively shuddered as he tried to describe +the woman, but he couldn't tell why. She seems to have been a sort of +enigma; and I expect if that one dead man could have told tales, he +would have told some uncommonly queer ones. And there you are again in +another puzzle; what could a respectable country gentleman like Mr. +Blank (we'll call him that if you don't mind) want in such a very queer +house as Number 20? It's altogether a very odd case, isn't it?" + +"It is indeed, Austin; an extraordinary case. I didn't think, when I +asked you about my old friend, I should strike on such strange metal. +Well, I must be off; good-day." + +Villiers went away, thinking of his own conceit of the Chinese boxes; +here was quaint workmanship indeed. + + + +IV + +THE DISCOVERY IN PAUL STREET + +A few months after Villiers' meeting with Herbert, Mr. Clarke was +sitting, as usual, by his after-dinner hearth, resolutely guarding his +fancies from wandering in the direction of the bureau. For more than a +week he had succeeded in keeping away from the "Memoirs," and he +cherished hopes of a complete self-reformation; but, in spite of his +endeavours, he could not hush the wonder and the strange curiosity that +the last case he had written down had excited within him. He had put +the case, or rather the outline of it, conjecturally to a scientific +friend, who shook his head, and thought Clarke getting queer, and on +this particular evening Clarke was making an effort to rationalize the +story, when a sudden knock at the door roused him from his meditations. + +"Mr. Villiers to see you sir." + +"Dear me, Villiers, it is very kind of you to look me up; I have not +seen you for many months; I should think nearly a year. Come in, come +in. And how are you, Villiers? Want any advice about investments?" + +"No, thanks, I fancy everything I have in that way is pretty safe. No, +Clarke, I have really come to consult you about a rather curious matter +that has been brought under my notice of late. I am afraid you will +think it all rather absurd when I tell my tale. I sometimes think so +myself, and that's just what I made up my mind to come to you, as I +know you're a practical man." + +Mr. Villiers was ignorant of the "Memoirs to prove the Existence of the +Devil." + +"Well, Villiers, I shall be happy to give you my advice, to the best of +my ability. What is the nature of the case?" + +"It's an extraordinary thing altogether. You know my ways; I always +keep my eyes open in the streets, and in my time I have chanced upon +some queer customers, and queer cases too, but this, I think, beats +all. I was coming out of a restaurant one nasty winter night about +three months ago; I had had a capital dinner and a good bottle of +Chianti, and I stood for a moment on the pavement, thinking what a +mystery there is about London streets and the companies that pass along +them. A bottle of red wine encourages these fancies, Clarke, and I +dare say I should have thought a page of small type, but I was cut +short by a beggar who had come behind me, and was making the usual +appeals. Of course I looked round, and this beggar turned out to be +what was left of an old friend of mine, a man named Herbert. I asked +him how he had come to such a wretched pass, and he told me. We walked +up and down one of those long and dark Soho streets, and there I +listened to his story. He said he had married a beautiful girl, some +years younger than himself, and, as he put it, she had corrupted him +body and soul. He wouldn't go into details; he said he dare not, that +what he had seen and heard haunted him by night and day, and when I +looked in his face I knew he was speaking the truth. There was +something about the man that made me shiver. I don't know why, but it +was there. I gave him a little money and sent him away, and I assure +you that when he was gone I gasped for breath. His presence seemed to +chill one's blood." + +"Isn't this all just a little fanciful, Villiers? I suppose the poor +fellow had made an imprudent marriage, and, in plain English, gone to +the bad." + +"Well, listen to this." Villiers told Clarke the story he had heard +from Austin. + +"You see," he concluded, "there can be but little doubt that this Mr. +Blank, whoever he was, died of sheer terror; he saw something so awful, +so terrible, that it cut short his life. And what he saw, he most +certainly saw in that house, which, somehow or other, had got a bad +name in the neighbourhood. I had the curiosity to go and look at the +place for myself. It's a saddening kind of street; the houses are old +enough to be mean and dreary, but not old enough to be quaint. As far +as I could see most of them are let in lodgings, furnished and +unfurnished, and almost every door has three bells to it. Here and +there the ground floors have been made into shops of the commonest +kind; it's a dismal street in every way. I found Number 20 was to let, +and I went to the agent's and got the key. Of course I should have +heard nothing of the Herberts in that quarter, but I asked the man, +fair and square, how long they had left the house and whether there had +been other tenants in the meanwhile. He looked at me queerly for a +minute, and told me the Herberts had left immediately after the +unpleasantness, as he called it, and since then the house had been +empty." + +Mr. Villiers paused for a moment. + +"I have always been rather fond of going over empty houses; there's a +sort of fascination about the desolate empty rooms, with the nails +sticking in the walls, and the dust thick upon the window-sills. But I +didn't enjoy going over Number 20, Paul Street. I had hardly put my +foot inside the passage when I noticed a queer, heavy feeling about the +air of the house. Of course all empty houses are stuffy, and so forth, +but this was something quite different; I can't describe it to you, but +it seemed to stop the breath. I went into the front room and the back +room, and the kitchens downstairs; they were all dirty and dusty +enough, as you would expect, but there was something strange about them +all. I couldn't define it to you, I only know I felt queer. It was +one of the rooms on the first floor, though, that was the worst. It +was a largish room, and once on a time the paper must have been +cheerful enough, but when I saw it, paint, paper, and everything were +most doleful. But the room was full of horror; I felt my teeth +grinding as I put my hand on the door, and when I went in, I thought I +should have fallen fainting to the floor. However, I pulled myself +together, and stood against the end wall, wondering what on earth there +could be about the room to make my limbs tremble, and my heart beat as +if I were at the hour of death. In one corner there was a pile of +newspapers littered on the floor, and I began looking at them; they +were papers of three or four years ago, some of them half torn, and +some crumpled as if they had been used for packing. I turned the whole +pile over, and amongst them I found a curious drawing; I will show it +to you presently. But I couldn't stay in the room; I felt it was +overpowering me. I was thankful to come out, safe and sound, into the +open air. People stared at me as I walked along the street, and one +man said I was drunk. I was staggering about from one side of the +pavement to the other, and it was as much as I could do to take the key +back to the agent and get home. I was in bed for a week, suffering +from what my doctor called nervous shock and exhaustion. One of those +days I was reading the evening paper, and happened to notice a +paragraph headed: 'Starved to Death.' It was the usual style of thing; +a model lodging-house in Marylebone, a door locked for several days, +and a dead man in his chair when they broke in. 'The deceased,' said +the paragraph, 'was known as Charles Herbert, and is believed to have +been once a prosperous country gentleman. His name was familiar to the +public three years ago in connection with the mysterious death in Paul +Street, Tottenham Court Road, the deceased being the tenant of the +house Number 20, in the area of which a gentleman of good position was +found dead under circumstances not devoid of suspicion.' A tragic +ending, wasn't it? But after all, if what he told me were true, which +I am sure it was, the man's life was all a tragedy, and a tragedy of a +stranger sort than they put on the boards." + +"And that is the story, is it?" said Clarke musingly. + +"Yes, that is the story." + +"Well, really, Villiers, I scarcely know what to say about it. There +are, no doubt, circumstances in the case which seem peculiar, the +finding of the dead man in the area of Herbert's house, for instance, +and the extraordinary opinion of the physician as to the cause of +death; but, after all, it is conceivable that the facts may be +explained in a straightforward manner. As to your own sensations, when +you went to see the house, I would suggest that they were due to a +vivid imagination; you must have been brooding, in a semi-conscious +way, over what you had heard. I don't exactly see what more can be +said or done in the matter; you evidently think there is a mystery of +some kind, but Herbert is dead; where then do you propose to look?" + +"I propose to look for the woman; the woman whom he married. She is +the mystery." + +The two men sat silent by the fireside; Clarke secretly congratulating +himself on having successfully kept up the character of advocate of the +commonplace, and Villiers wrapped in his gloomy fancies. + +"I think I will have a cigarette," he said at last, and put his hand in +his pocket to feel for the cigarette-case. + +"Ah!" he said, starting slightly, "I forgot I had something to show +you. You remember my saying that I had found a rather curious sketch +amongst the pile of old newspapers at the house in Paul Street? Here +it is." + +Villiers drew out a small thin parcel from his pocket. It was covered +with brown paper, and secured with string, and the knots were +troublesome. In spite of himself Clarke felt inquisitive; he bent +forward on his chair as Villiers painfully undid the string, and +unfolded the outer covering. Inside was a second wrapping of tissue, +and Villiers took it off and handed the small piece of paper to Clarke +without a word. + +There was dead silence in the room for five minutes or more; the two +men sat so still that they could hear the ticking of the tall +old-fashioned clock that stood outside in the hall, and in the mind of +one of them the slow monotony of sound woke up a far, far memory. He +was looking intently at the small pen-and-ink sketch of the woman's +head; it had evidently been drawn with great care, and by a true +artist, for the woman's soul looked out of the eyes, and the lips were +parted with a strange smile. Clarke gazed still at the face; it +brought to his memory one summer evening, long ago; he saw again the +long lovely valley, the river winding between the hills, the meadows +and the cornfields, the dull red sun, and the cold white mist rising +from the water. He heard a voice speaking to him across the waves of +many years, and saying "Clarke, Mary will see the god Pan!" and then he +was standing in the grim room beside the doctor, listening to the heavy +ticking of the clock, waiting and watching, watching the figure lying +on the green chair beneath the lamplight. Mary rose up, and he looked +into her eyes, and his heart grew cold within him. + +"Who is this woman?" he said at last. His voice was dry and hoarse. + +"That is the woman who Herbert married." + +Clarke looked again at the sketch; it was not Mary after all. There +certainly was Mary's face, but there was something else, something he +had not seen on Mary's features when the white-clad girl entered the +laboratory with the doctor, nor at her terrible awakening, nor when she +lay grinning on the bed. Whatever it was, the glance that came from +those eyes, the smile on the full lips, or the expression of the whole +face, Clarke shuddered before it at his inmost soul, and thought, +unconsciously, of Dr. Phillip's words, "the most vivid presentment of +evil I have ever seen." He turned the paper over mechanically in his +hand and glanced at the back. + +"Good God! Clarke, what is the matter? You are as white as death." + +Villiers had started wildly from his chair, as Clarke fell back with a +groan, and let the paper drop from his hands. + +"I don't feel very well, Villiers, I am subject to these attacks. Pour +me out a little wine; thanks, that will do. I shall feel better in a +few minutes." + +Villiers picked up the fallen sketch and turned it over as Clarke had +done. + +"You saw that?" he said. "That's how I identified it as being a +portrait of Herbert's wife, or I should say his widow. How do you feel +now?" + +"Better, thanks, it was only a passing faintness. I don't think I +quite catch your meaning. What did you say enabled you to identify the +picture?" + +"This word--'Helen'--was written on the back. Didn't I tell you her +name was Helen? Yes; Helen Vaughan." + +Clarke groaned; there could be no shadow of doubt. + +"Now, don't you agree with me," said Villiers, "that in the story I +have told you to-night, and in the part this woman plays in it, there +are some very strange points?" + +"Yes, Villiers," Clarke muttered, "it is a strange story indeed; a +strange story indeed. You must give me time to think it over; I may be +able to help you or I may not. Must you be going now? Well, +good-night, Villiers, good-night. Come and see me in the course of a +week." + + + +V + +THE LETTER OF ADVICE + +"Do you know, Austin," said Villiers, as the two friends were pacing +sedately along Piccadilly one pleasant morning in May, "do you know I +am convinced that what you told me about Paul Street and the Herberts +is a mere episode in an extraordinary history? I may as well confess +to you that when I asked you about Herbert a few months ago I had just +seen him." + +"You had seen him? Where?" + +"He begged of me in the street one night. He was in the most pitiable +plight, but I recognized the man, and I got him to tell me his history, +or at least the outline of it. In brief, it amounted to this--he had +been ruined by his wife." + +"In what manner?" + +"He would not tell me; he would only say that she had destroyed him, +body and soul. The man is dead now." + +"And what has become of his wife?" + +"Ah, that's what I should like to know, and I mean to find her sooner +or later. I know a man named Clarke, a dry fellow, in fact a man of +business, but shrewd enough. You understand my meaning; not shrewd in +the mere business sense of the word, but a man who really knows +something about men and life. Well, I laid the case before him, and he +was evidently impressed. He said it needed consideration, and asked me +to come again in the course of a week. A few days later I received +this extraordinary letter." + +Austin took the envelope, drew out the letter, and read it curiously. +It ran as follows:-- + +"MY DEAR VILLIERS,--I have thought over the matter on which you +consulted me the other night, and my advice to you is this. Throw the +portrait into the fire, blot out the story from your mind. Never give +it another thought, Villiers, or you will be sorry. You will think, no +doubt, that I am in possession of some secret information, and to a +certain extent that is the case. But I only know a little; I am like a +traveller who has peered over an abyss, and has drawn back in terror. +What I know is strange enough and horrible enough, but beyond my +knowledge there are depths and horrors more frightful still, more +incredible than any tale told of winter nights about the fire. I have +resolved, and nothing shall shake that resolve, to explore no whit +farther, and if you value your happiness you will make the same +determination. + +"Come and see me by all means; but we will talk on more cheerful topics +than this." + +Austin folded the letter methodically, and returned it to Villiers. + +"It is certainly an extraordinary letter," he said, "what does he mean +by the portrait?" + +"Ah! I forgot to tell you I have been to Paul Street and have made a +discovery." + +Villiers told his story as he had told it to Clarke, and Austin +listened in silence. He seemed puzzled. + +"How very curious that you should experience such an unpleasant +sensation in that room!" he said at length. "I hardly gather that it +was a mere matter of the imagination; a feeling of repulsion, in short." + +"No, it was more physical than mental. It was as if I were inhaling at +every breath some deadly fume, which seemed to penetrate to every nerve +and bone and sinew of my body. I felt racked from head to foot, my +eyes began to grow dim; it was like the entrance of death." + +"Yes, yes, very strange certainly. You see, your friend confesses that +there is some very black story connected with this woman. Did you +notice any particular emotion in him when you were telling your tale?" + +"Yes, I did. He became very faint, but he assured me that it was a +mere passing attack to which he was subject." + +"Did you believe him?" + +"I did at the time, but I don't now. He heard what I had to say with a +good deal of indifference, till I showed him the portrait. It was then +that he was seized with the attack of which I spoke. He looked +ghastly, I assure you." + +"Then he must have seen the woman before. But there might be another +explanation; it might have been the name, and not the face, which was +familiar to him. What do you think?" + +"I couldn't say. To the best of my belief it was after turning the +portrait in his hands that he nearly dropped from the chair. The name, +you know, was written on the back." + +"Quite so. After all, it is impossible to come to any resolution in a +case like this. I hate melodrama, and nothing strikes me as more +commonplace and tedious than the ordinary ghost story of commerce; but +really, Villiers, it looks as if there were something very queer at the +bottom of all this." + +The two men had, without noticing it, turned up Ashley Street, leading +northward from Piccadilly. It was a long street, and rather a gloomy +one, but here and there a brighter taste had illuminated the dark +houses with flowers, and gay curtains, and a cheerful paint on the +doors. Villiers glanced up as Austin stopped speaking, and looked at +one of these houses; geraniums, red and white, drooped from every sill, +and daffodil-coloured curtains were draped back from each window. + +"It looks cheerful, doesn't it?" he said. + +"Yes, and the inside is still more cheery. One of the pleasantest +houses of the season, so I have heard. I haven't been there myself, +but I've met several men who have, and they tell me it's uncommonly +jovial." + +"Whose house is it?" + +"A Mrs. Beaumont's." + +"And who is she?" + +"I couldn't tell you. I have heard she comes from South America, but +after all, who she is is of little consequence. She is a very wealthy +woman, there's no doubt of that, and some of the best people have taken +her up. I hear she has some wonderful claret, really marvellous wine, +which must have cost a fabulous sum. Lord Argentine was telling me +about it; he was there last Sunday evening. He assures me he has never +tasted such a wine, and Argentine, as you know, is an expert. By the +way, that reminds me, she must be an oddish sort of woman, this Mrs. +Beaumont. Argentine asked her how old the wine was, and what do you +think she said? 'About a thousand years, I believe.' Lord Argentine +thought she was chaffing him, you know, but when he laughed she said +she was speaking quite seriously and offered to show him the jar. Of +course, he couldn't say anything more after that; but it seems rather +antiquated for a beverage, doesn't it? Why, here we are at my rooms. +Come in, won't you?" + +"Thanks, I think I will. I haven't seen the curiosity-shop for a +while." + +It was a room furnished richly, yet oddly, where every jar and bookcase +and table, and every rug and jar and ornament seemed to be a thing +apart, preserving each its own individuality. + +"Anything fresh lately?" said Villiers after a while. + +"No; I think not; you saw those queer jugs, didn't you? I thought so. +I don't think I have come across anything for the last few weeks." + +Austin glanced around the room from cupboard to cupboard, from shelf to +shelf, in search of some new oddity. His eyes fell at last on an odd +chest, pleasantly and quaintly carved, which stood in a dark corner of +the room. + +"Ah," he said, "I was forgetting, I have got something to show you." +Austin unlocked the chest, drew out a thick quarto volume, laid it on +the table, and resumed the cigar he had put down. + +"Did you know Arthur Meyrick the painter, Villiers?" + +"A little; I met him two or three times at the house of a friend of +mine. What has become of him? I haven't heard his name mentioned for +some time." + +"He's dead." + +"You don't say so! Quite young, wasn't he?" + +"Yes; only thirty when he died." + +"What did he die of?" + +"I don't know. He was an intimate friend of mine, and a thoroughly +good fellow. He used to come here and talk to me for hours, and he was +one of the best talkers I have met. He could even talk about painting, +and that's more than can be said of most painters. About eighteen +months ago he was feeling rather overworked, and partly at my +suggestion he went off on a sort of roving expedition, with no very +definite end or aim about it. I believe New York was to be his first +port, but I never heard from him. Three months ago I got this book, +with a very civil letter from an English doctor practising at Buenos +Ayres, stating that he had attended the late Mr. Meyrick during his +illness, and that the deceased had expressed an earnest wish that the +enclosed packet should be sent to me after his death. That was all." + +"And haven't you written for further particulars?" + +"I have been thinking of doing so. You would advise me to write to the +doctor?" + +"Certainly. And what about the book?" + +"It was sealed up when I got it. I don't think the doctor had seen it." + +"It is something very rare? Meyrick was a collector, perhaps?" + +"No, I think not, hardly a collector. Now, what do you think of these +Ainu jugs?" + +"They are peculiar, but I like them. But aren't you going to show me +poor Meyrick's legacy?" + +"Yes, yes, to be sure. The fact is, it's rather a peculiar sort of +thing, and I haven't shown it to any one. I wouldn't say anything +about it if I were you. There it is." + +Villiers took the book, and opened it at haphazard. + +"It isn't a printed volume, then?" he said. + +"No. It is a collection of drawings in black and white by my poor +friend Meyrick." + +Villiers turned to the first page, it was blank; the second bore a +brief inscription, which he read: + + +Silet per diem universus, nec sine horrore secretus est; lucet +nocturnis ignibus, chorus Aegipanum undique personatur: audiuntur et +cantus tibiarum, et tinnitus cymbalorum per oram maritimam. + + +On the third page was a design which made Villiers start and look up at +Austin; he was gazing abstractedly out of the window. Villiers turned +page after page, absorbed, in spite of himself, in the frightful +Walpurgis Night of evil, strange monstrous evil, that the dead artist +had set forth in hard black and white. The figures of Fauns and Satyrs +and Aegipans danced before his eyes, the darkness of the thicket, the +dance on the mountain-top, the scenes by lonely shores, in green +vineyards, by rocks and desert places, passed before him: a world +before which the human soul seemed to shrink back and shudder. Villiers +whirled over the remaining pages; he had seen enough, but the picture +on the last leaf caught his eye, as he almost closed the book. + +"Austin!" + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Do you know who that is?" + +It was a woman's face, alone on the white page. + +"Know who it is? No, of course not." + +"I do." + +"Who is it?" + +"It is Mrs. Herbert." + +"Are you sure?" + +"I am perfectly sure of it. Poor Meyrick! He is one more chapter in +her history." + +"But what do you think of the designs?" + +"They are frightful. Lock the book up again, Austin. If I were you I +would burn it; it must be a terrible companion even though it be in a +chest." + +"Yes, they are singular drawings. But I wonder what connection there +could be between Meyrick and Mrs. Herbert, or what link between her and +these designs?" + +"Ah, who can say? It is possible that the matter may end here, and we +shall never know, but in my own opinion this Helen Vaughan, or Mrs. +Herbert, is only the beginning. She will come back to London, Austin; +depend on it, she will come back, and we shall hear more about her +then. I doubt it will be very pleasant news." + + + +VI + +THE SUICIDES + +Lord Argentine was a great favourite in London Society. At twenty he +had been a poor man, decked with the surname of an illustrious family, +but forced to earn a livelihood as best he could, and the most +speculative of money-lenders would not have entrusted him with fifty +pounds on the chance of his ever changing his name for a title, and his +poverty for a great fortune. His father had been near enough to the +fountain of good things to secure one of the family livings, but the +son, even if he had taken orders, would scarcely have obtained so much +as this, and moreover felt no vocation for the ecclesiastical estate. +Thus he fronted the world with no better armour than the bachelor's +gown and the wits of a younger son's grandson, with which equipment he +contrived in some way to make a very tolerable fight of it. At +twenty-five Mr. Charles Aubernon saw himself still a man of struggles +and of warfare with the world, but out of the seven who stood before +him and the high places of his family three only remained. These +three, however, were "good lives," but yet not proof against the Zulu +assegais and typhoid fever, and so one morning Aubernon woke up and +found himself Lord Argentine, a man of thirty who had faced the +difficulties of existence, and had conquered. The situation amused him +immensely, and he resolved that riches should be as pleasant to him as +poverty had always been. Argentine, after some little consideration, +came to the conclusion that dining, regarded as a fine art, was perhaps +the most amusing pursuit open to fallen humanity, and thus his dinners +became famous in London, and an invitation to his table a thing +covetously desired. After ten years of lordship and dinners Argentine +still declined to be jaded, still persisted in enjoying life, and by a +kind of infection had become recognized as the cause of joy in others, +in short, as the best of company. His sudden and tragical death +therefore caused a wide and deep sensation. People could scarcely +believe it, even though the newspaper was before their eyes, and the +cry of "Mysterious Death of a Nobleman" came ringing up from the +street. But there stood the brief paragraph: "Lord Argentine was found +dead this morning by his valet under distressing circumstances. It is +stated that there can be no doubt that his lordship committed suicide, +though no motive can be assigned for the act. The deceased nobleman +was widely known in society, and much liked for his genial manner and +sumptuous hospitality. He is succeeded by," etc., etc. + +By slow degrees the details came to light, but the case still remained +a mystery. The chief witness at the inquest was the deceased's valet, +who said that the night before his death Lord Argentine had dined with +a lady of good position, whose name was suppressed in the newspaper +reports. At about eleven o'clock Lord Argentine had returned, and +informed his man that he should not require his services till the next +morning. A little later the valet had occasion to cross the hall and +was somewhat astonished to see his master quietly letting himself out +at the front door. He had taken off his evening clothes, and was +dressed in a Norfolk coat and knickerbockers, and wore a low brown hat. +The valet had no reason to suppose that Lord Argentine had seen him, +and though his master rarely kept late hours, thought little of the +occurrence till the next morning, when he knocked at the bedroom door +at a quarter to nine as usual. He received no answer, and, after +knocking two or three times, entered the room, and saw Lord Argentine's +body leaning forward at an angle from the bottom of the bed. He found +that his master had tied a cord securely to one of the short bed-posts, +and, after making a running noose and slipping it round his neck, the +unfortunate man must have resolutely fallen forward, to die by slow +strangulation. He was dressed in the light suit in which the valet had +seen him go out, and the doctor who was summoned pronounced that life +had been extinct for more than four hours. All papers, letters, and so +forth seemed in perfect order, and nothing was discovered which pointed +in the most remote way to any scandal either great or small. Here the +evidence ended; nothing more could be discovered. Several persons had +been present at the dinner-party at which Lord Argentine had assisted, +and to all these he seemed in his usual genial spirits. The valet, +indeed, said he thought his master appeared a little excited when he +came home, but confessed that the alteration in his manner was very +slight, hardly noticeable, indeed. It seemed hopeless to seek for any +clue, and the suggestion that Lord Argentine had been suddenly attacked +by acute suicidal mania was generally accepted. + +It was otherwise, however, when within three weeks, three more +gentlemen, one of them a nobleman, and the two others men of good +position and ample means, perished miserably in the almost precisely +the same manner. Lord Swanleigh was found one morning in his +dressing-room, hanging from a peg affixed to the wall, and Mr. +Collier-Stuart and Mr. Herries had chosen to die as Lord Argentine. +There was no explanation in either case; a few bald facts; a living man +in the evening, and a body with a black swollen face in the morning. +The police had been forced to confess themselves powerless to arrest or +to explain the sordid murders of Whitechapel; but before the horrible +suicides of Piccadilly and Mayfair they were dumbfoundered, for not +even the mere ferocity which did duty as an explanation of the crimes +of the East End, could be of service in the West. Each of these men who +had resolved to die a tortured shameful death was rich, prosperous, and +to all appearances in love with the world, and not the acutest research +should ferret out any shadow of a lurking motive in either case. There +was a horror in the air, and men looked at one another's faces when +they met, each wondering whether the other was to be the victim of the +fifth nameless tragedy. Journalists sought in vain for their scrapbooks +for materials whereof to concoct reminiscent articles; and the morning +paper was unfolded in many a house with a feeling of awe; no man knew +when or where the next blow would light. + +A short while after the last of these terrible events, Austin came to +see Mr. Villiers. He was curious to know whether Villiers had +succeeded in discovering any fresh traces of Mrs. Herbert, either +through Clarke or by other sources, and he asked the question soon +after he had sat down. + +"No," said Villiers, "I wrote to Clarke, but he remains obdurate, and I +have tried other channels, but without any result. I can't find out +what became of Helen Vaughan after she left Paul Street, but I think +she must have gone abroad. But to tell the truth, Austin, I haven't +paid much attention to the matter for the last few weeks; I knew poor +Herries intimately, and his terrible death has been a great shock to +me, a great shock." + +"I can well believe it," answered Austin gravely, "you know Argentine +was a friend of mine. If I remember rightly, we were speaking of him +that day you came to my rooms." + +"Yes; it was in connection with that house in Ashley Street, Mrs. +Beaumont's house. You said something about Argentine's dining there." + +"Quite so. Of course you know it was there Argentine dined the night +before--before his death." + +"No, I had not heard that." + +"Oh, yes; the name was kept out of the papers to spare Mrs. Beaumont. +Argentine was a great favourite of hers, and it is said she was in a +terrible state for sometime after." + +A curious look came over Villiers' face; he seemed undecided whether to +speak or not. Austin began again. + +"I never experienced such a feeling of horror as when I read the +account of Argentine's death. I didn't understand it at the time, and +I don't now. I knew him well, and it completely passes my +understanding for what possible cause he--or any of the others for the +matter of that--could have resolved in cold blood to die in such an +awful manner. You know how men babble away each other's characters in +London, you may be sure any buried scandal or hidden skeleton would +have been brought to light in such a case as this; but nothing of the +sort has taken place. As for the theory of mania, that is very well, +of course, for the coroner's jury, but everybody knows that it's all +nonsense. Suicidal mania is not small-pox." + +Austin relapsed into gloomy silence. Villiers sat silent, also, +watching his friend. The expression of indecision still fleeted across +his face; he seemed as if weighing his thoughts in the balance, and the +considerations he was resolving left him still silent. Austin tried to +shake off the remembrance of tragedies as hopeless and perplexed as the +labyrinth of Daedalus, and began to talk in an indifferent voice of the +more pleasant incidents and adventures of the season. + +"That Mrs. Beaumont," he said, "of whom we were speaking, is a great +success; she has taken London almost by storm. I met her the other +night at Fulham's; she is really a remarkable woman." + +"You have met Mrs. Beaumont?" + +"Yes; she had quite a court around her. She would be called very +handsome, I suppose, and yet there is something about her face which I +didn't like. The features are exquisite, but the expression is +strange. And all the time I was looking at her, and afterwards, when I +was going home, I had a curious feeling that very expression was in +some way or another familiar to me." + +"You must have seen her in the Row." + +"No, I am sure I never set eyes on the woman before; it is that which +makes it puzzling. And to the best of my belief I have never seen +anyone like her; what I felt was a kind of dim far-off memory, vague +but persistent. The only sensation I can compare it to, is that odd +feeling one sometimes has in a dream, when fantastic cities and +wondrous lands and phantom personages appear familiar and accustomed." + +Villiers nodded and glanced aimlessly round the room, possibly in +search of something on which to turn the conversation. His eyes fell +on an old chest somewhat like that in which the artist's strange legacy +lay hid beneath a Gothic scutcheon. + +"Have you written to the doctor about poor Meyrick?" he asked. + +"Yes; I wrote asking for full particulars as to his illness and death. +I don't expect to have an answer for another three weeks or a month. I +thought I might as well inquire whether Meyrick knew an Englishwoman +named Herbert, and if so, whether the doctor could give me any +information about her. But it's very possible that Meyrick fell in +with her at New York, or Mexico, or San Francisco; I have no idea as to +the extent or direction of his travels." + +"Yes, and it's very possible that the woman may have more than one +name." + +"Exactly. I wish I had thought of asking you to lend me the portrait +of her which you possess. I might have enclosed it in my letter to Dr. +Matthews." + +"So you might; that never occurred to me. We might send it now. Hark! +what are those boys calling?" + +While the two men had been talking together a confused noise of +shouting had been gradually growing louder. The noise rose from the +eastward and swelled down Piccadilly, drawing nearer and nearer, a very +torrent of sound; surging up streets usually quiet, and making every +window a frame for a face, curious or excited. The cries and voices +came echoing up the silent street where Villiers lived, growing more +distinct as they advanced, and, as Villiers spoke, an answer rang up +from the pavement: + +"The West End Horrors; Another Awful Suicide; Full Details!" + +Austin rushed down the stairs and bought a paper and read out the +paragraph to Villiers as the uproar in the street rose and fell. The +window was open and the air seemed full of noise and terror. + +"Another gentleman has fallen a victim to the terrible epidemic of +suicide which for the last month has prevailed in the West End. Mr. +Sidney Crashaw, of Stoke House, Fulham, and King's Pomeroy, Devon, was +found, after a prolonged search, hanging dead from the branch of a tree +in his garden at one o'clock today. The deceased gentleman dined last +night at the Carlton Club and seemed in his usual health and spirits. +He left the club at about ten o'clock, and was seen walking leisurely +up St. James's Street a little later. Subsequent to this his movements +cannot be traced. On the discovery of the body medical aid was at once +summoned, but life had evidently been long extinct. So far as is +known, Mr. Crashaw had no trouble or anxiety of any kind. This painful +suicide, it will be remembered, is the fifth of the kind in the last +month. The authorities at Scotland Yard are unable to suggest any +explanation of these terrible occurrences." + +Austin put down the paper in mute horror. + +"I shall leave London to-morrow," he said, "it is a city of nightmares. +How awful this is, Villiers!" + +Mr. Villiers was sitting by the window quietly looking out into the +street. He had listened to the newspaper report attentively, and the +hint of indecision was no longer on his face. + +"Wait a moment, Austin," he replied, "I have made up my mind to mention +a little matter that occurred last night. It stated, I think, that +Crashaw was last seen alive in St. James's Street shortly after ten?" + +"Yes, I think so. I will look again. Yes, you are quite right." + +"Quite so. Well, I am in a position to contradict that statement at +all events. Crashaw was seen after that; considerably later indeed." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because I happened to see Crashaw myself at about two o'clock this +morning." + +"You saw Crashaw? You, Villiers?" + +"Yes, I saw him quite distinctly; indeed, there were but a few feet +between us." + +"Where, in Heaven's name, did you see him?" + +"Not far from here. I saw him in Ashley Street. He was just leaving a +house." + +"Did you notice what house it was?" + +"Yes. It was Mrs. Beaumont's." + +"Villiers! Think what you are saying; there must be some mistake. How +could Crashaw be in Mrs. Beaumont's house at two o'clock in the +morning? Surely, surely, you must have been dreaming, Villiers; you +were always rather fanciful." + +"No; I was wide awake enough. Even if I had been dreaming as you say, +what I saw would have roused me effectually." + +"What you saw? What did you see? Was there anything strange about +Crashaw? But I can't believe it; it is impossible." + +"Well, if you like I will tell you what I saw, or if you please, what I +think I saw, and you can judge for yourself." + +"Very good, Villiers." + +The noise and clamour of the street had died away, though now and then +the sound of shouting still came from the distance, and the dull, +leaden silence seemed like the quiet after an earthquake or a storm. +Villiers turned from the window and began speaking. + +"I was at a house near Regent's Park last night, and when I came away +the fancy took me to walk home instead of taking a hansom. It was a +clear pleasant night enough, and after a few minutes I had the streets +pretty much to myself. It's a curious thing, Austin, to be alone in +London at night, the gas-lamps stretching away in perspective, and the +dead silence, and then perhaps the rush and clatter of a hansom on the +stones, and the fire starting up under the horse's hoofs. I walked +along pretty briskly, for I was feeling a little tired of being out in +the night, and as the clocks were striking two I turned down Ashley +Street, which, you know, is on my way. It was quieter than ever there, +and the lamps were fewer; altogether, it looked as dark and gloomy as a +forest in winter. I had done about half the length of the street when I +heard a door closed very softly, and naturally I looked up to see who +was abroad like myself at such an hour. As it happens, there is a +street lamp close to the house in question, and I saw a man standing on +the step. He had just shut the door and his face was towards me, and I +recognized Crashaw directly. I never knew him to speak to, but I had +often seen him, and I am positive that I was not mistaken in my man. I +looked into his face for a moment, and then--I will confess the +truth--I set off at a good run, and kept it up till I was within my own +door." + +"Why?" + +"Why? Because it made my blood run cold to see that man's face. I +could never have supposed that such an infernal medley of passions +could have glared out of any human eyes; I almost fainted as I looked. +I knew I had looked into the eyes of a lost soul, Austin, the man's +outward form remained, but all hell was within it. Furious lust, and +hate that was like fire, and the loss of all hope and horror that +seemed to shriek aloud to the night, though his teeth were shut; and +the utter blackness of despair. I am sure that he did not see me; he +saw nothing that you or I can see, but what he saw I hope we never +shall. I do not know when he died; I suppose in an hour, or perhaps +two, but when I passed down Ashley Street and heard the closing door, +that man no longer belonged to this world; it was a devil's face I +looked upon." + +There was an interval of silence in the room when Villiers ceased +speaking. The light was failing, and all the tumult of an hour ago was +quite hushed. Austin had bent his head at the close of the story, and +his hand covered his eyes. + +"What can it mean?" he said at length. + +"Who knows, Austin, who knows? It's a black business, but I think we +had better keep it to ourselves, for the present at any rate. I will +see if I cannot learn anything about that house through private +channels of information, and if I do light upon anything I will let you +know." + + + +VII + +THE ENCOUNTER IN SOHO + +Three weeks later Austin received a note from Villiers, asking him to +call either that afternoon or the next. He chose the nearer date, and +found Villiers sitting as usual by the window, apparently lost in +meditation on the drowsy traffic of the street. There was a bamboo +table by his side, a fantastic thing, enriched with gilding and queer +painted scenes, and on it lay a little pile of papers arranged and +docketed as neatly as anything in Mr. Clarke's office. + +"Well, Villiers, have you made any discoveries in the last three weeks?" + +"I think so; I have here one or two memoranda which struck me as +singular, and there is a statement to which I shall call your +attention." + +"And these documents relate to Mrs. Beaumont? It was really Crashaw +whom you saw that night standing on the doorstep of the house in Ashley +Street?" + +"As to that matter my belief remains unchanged, but neither my +inquiries nor their results have any special relation to Crashaw. But +my investigations have had a strange issue. I have found out who Mrs. +Beaumont is!" + +"Who is she? In what way do you mean?" + +"I mean that you and I know her better under another name." + +"What name is that?" + +"Herbert." + +"Herbert!" Austin repeated the word, dazed with astonishment. + +"Yes, Mrs. Herbert of Paul Street, Helen Vaughan of earlier adventures +unknown to me. You had reason to recognize the expression of her face; +when you go home look at the face in Meyrick's book of horrors, and you +will know the sources of your recollection." + +"And you have proof of this?" + +"Yes, the best of proof; I have seen Mrs. Beaumont, or shall we say +Mrs. Herbert?" + +"Where did you see her?" + +"Hardly in a place where you would expect to see a lady who lives in +Ashley Street, Piccadilly. I saw her entering a house in one of the +meanest and most disreputable streets in Soho. In fact, I had made an +appointment, though not with her, and she was precise to both time and +place." + +"All this seems very wonderful, but I cannot call it incredible. You +must remember, Villiers, that I have seen this woman, in the ordinary +adventure of London society, talking and laughing, and sipping her +coffee in a commonplace drawing-room with commonplace people. But you +know what you are saying." + +"I do; I have not allowed myself to be led by surmises or fancies. It +was with no thought of finding Helen Vaughan that I searched for Mrs. +Beaumont in the dark waters of the life of London, but such has been +the issue." + +"You must have been in strange places, Villiers." + +"Yes, I have been in very strange places. It would have been useless, +you know, to go to Ashley Street, and ask Mrs. Beaumont to give me a +short sketch of her previous history. No; assuming, as I had to +assume, that her record was not of the cleanest, it would be pretty +certain that at some previous time she must have moved in circles not +quite so refined as her present ones. If you see mud at the top of a +stream, you may be sure that it was once at the bottom. I went to the +bottom. I have always been fond of diving into Queer Street for my +amusement, and I found my knowledge of that locality and its +inhabitants very useful. It is, perhaps, needless to say that my +friends had never heard the name of Beaumont, and as I had never seen +the lady, and was quite unable to describe her, I had to set to work in +an indirect way. The people there know me; I have been able to do some +of them a service now and again, so they made no difficulty about +giving their information; they were aware I had no communication direct +or indirect with Scotland Yard. I had to cast out a good many lines, +though, before I got what I wanted, and when I landed the fish I did +not for a moment suppose it was my fish. But I listened to what I was +told out of a constitutional liking for useless information, and I +found myself in possession of a very curious story, though, as I +imagined, not the story I was looking for. It was to this effect. +Some five or six years ago, a woman named Raymond suddenly made her +appearance in the neighbourhood to which I am referring. She was +described to me as being quite young, probably not more than seventeen +or eighteen, very handsome, and looking as if she came from the +country. I should be wrong in saying that she found her level in going +to this particular quarter, or associating with these people, for from +what I was told, I should think the worst den in London far too good +for her. The person from whom I got my information, as you may +suppose, no great Puritan, shuddered and grew sick in telling me of the +nameless infamies which were laid to her charge. After living there for +a year, or perhaps a little more, she disappeared as suddenly as she +came, and they saw nothing of her till about the time of the Paul +Street case. At first she came to her old haunts only occasionally, +then more frequently, and finally took up her abode there as before, +and remained for six or eight months. It's of no use my going into +details as to the life that woman led; if you want particulars you can +look at Meyrick's legacy. Those designs were not drawn from his +imagination. She again disappeared, and the people of the place saw +nothing of her till a few months ago. My informant told me that she +had taken some rooms in a house which he pointed out, and these rooms +she was in the habit of visiting two or three times a week and always +at ten in the morning. I was led to expect that one of these visits +would be paid on a certain day about a week ago, and I accordingly +managed to be on the look-out in company with my cicerone at a quarter +to ten, and the hour and the lady came with equal punctuality. My +friend and I were standing under an archway, a little way back from the +street, but she saw us, and gave me a glance that I shall be long in +forgetting. That look was quite enough for me; I knew Miss Raymond to +be Mrs. Herbert; as for Mrs. Beaumont she had quite gone out of my +head. She went into the house, and I watched it till four o'clock, +when she came out, and then I followed her. It was a long chase, and I +had to be very careful to keep a long way in the background, and yet +not lose sight of the woman. She took me down to the Strand, and then +to Westminster, and then up St. James's Street, and along Piccadilly. +I felt queerish when I saw her turn up Ashley Street; the thought that +Mrs. Herbert was Mrs. Beaumont came into my mind, but it seemed too +impossible to be true. I waited at the corner, keeping my eye on her +all the time, and I took particular care to note the house at which she +stopped. It was the house with the gay curtains, the home of flowers, +the house out of which Crashaw came the night he hanged himself in his +garden. I was just going away with my discovery, when I saw an empty +carriage come round and draw up in front of the house, and I came to +the conclusion that Mrs. Herbert was going out for a drive, and I was +right. There, as it happened, I met a man I know, and we stood talking +together a little distance from the carriage-way, to which I had my +back. We had not been there for ten minutes when my friend took off +his hat, and I glanced round and saw the lady I had been following all +day. 'Who is that?' I said, and his answer was 'Mrs. Beaumont; lives in +Ashley Street.' Of course there could be no doubt after that. I don't +know whether she saw me, but I don't think she did. I went home at +once, and, on consideration, I thought that I had a sufficiently good +case with which to go to Clarke." + +"Why to Clarke?" + +"Because I am sure that Clarke is in possession of facts about this +woman, facts of which I know nothing." + +"Well, what then?" + +Mr. Villiers leaned back in his chair and looked reflectively at Austin +for a moment before he answered: + +"My idea was that Clarke and I should call on Mrs. Beaumont." + +"You would never go into such a house as that? No, no, Villiers, you +cannot do it. Besides, consider; what result..." + +"I will tell you soon. But I was going to say that my information does +not end here; it has been completed in an extraordinary manner. + +"Look at this neat little packet of manuscript; it is paginated, you +see, and I have indulged in the civil coquetry of a ribbon of red tape. +It has almost a legal air, hasn't it? Run your eye over it, Austin. It +is an account of the entertainment Mrs. Beaumont provided for her +choicer guests. The man who wrote this escaped with his life, but I do +not think he will live many years. The doctors tell him he must have +sustained some severe shock to the nerves." + +Austin took the manuscript, but never read it. Opening the neat pages +at haphazard his eye was caught by a word and a phrase that followed +it; and, sick at heart, with white lips and a cold sweat pouring like +water from his temples, he flung the paper down. + +"Take it away, Villiers, never speak of this again. Are you made of +stone, man? Why, the dread and horror of death itself, the thoughts of +the man who stands in the keen morning air on the black platform, +bound, the bell tolling in his ears, and waits for the harsh rattle of +the bolt, are as nothing compared to this. I will not read it; I +should never sleep again." + +"Very good. I can fancy what you saw. Yes; it is horrible enough; but +after all, it is an old story, an old mystery played in our day, and in +dim London streets instead of amidst the vineyards and the olive +gardens. We know what happened to those who chanced to meet the Great +God Pan, and those who are wise know that all symbols are symbols of +something, not of nothing. It was, indeed, an exquisite symbol beneath +which men long ago veiled their knowledge of the most awful, most +secret forces which lie at the heart of all things; forces before which +the souls of men must wither and die and blacken, as their bodies +blacken under the electric current. Such forces cannot be named, cannot +be spoken, cannot be imagined except under a veil and a symbol, a +symbol to the most of us appearing a quaint, poetic fancy, to some a +foolish tale. But you and I, at all events, have known something of the +terror that may dwell in the secret place of life, manifested under +human flesh; that which is without form taking to itself a form. Oh, +Austin, how can it be? How is it that the very sunlight does not turn +to blackness before this thing, the hard earth melt and boil beneath +such a burden?" + +Villiers was pacing up and down the room, and the beads of sweat stood +out on his forehead. Austin sat silent for a while, but Villiers saw +him make a sign upon his breast. + +"I say again, Villiers, you will surely never enter such a house as +that? You would never pass out alive." + +"Yes, Austin, I shall go out alive--I, and Clarke with me." + +"What do you mean? You cannot, you would not dare..." + +"Wait a moment. The air was very pleasant and fresh this morning; +there was a breeze blowing, even through this dull street, and I +thought I would take a walk. Piccadilly stretched before me a clear, +bright vista, and the sun flashed on the carriages and on the quivering +leaves in the park. It was a joyous morning, and men and women looked +at the sky and smiled as they went about their work or their pleasure, +and the wind blew as blithely as upon the meadows and the scented +gorse. But somehow or other I got out of the bustle and the gaiety, +and found myself walking slowly along a quiet, dull street, where there +seemed to be no sunshine and no air, and where the few foot-passengers +loitered as they walked, and hung indecisively about corners and +archways. I walked along, hardly knowing where I was going or what I +did there, but feeling impelled, as one sometimes is, to explore still +further, with a vague idea of reaching some unknown goal. Thus I +forged up the street, noting the small traffic of the milk-shop, and +wondering at the incongruous medley of penny pipes, black tobacco, +sweets, newspapers, and comic songs which here and there jostled one +another in the short compass of a single window. I think it was a cold +shudder that suddenly passed through me that first told me that I had +found what I wanted. I looked up from the pavement and stopped before +a dusty shop, above which the lettering had faded, where the red bricks +of two hundred years ago had grimed to black; where the windows had +gathered to themselves the dust of winters innumerable. I saw what I +required; but I think it was five minutes before I had steadied myself +and could walk in and ask for it in a cool voice and with a calm face. +I think there must even then have been a tremor in my words, for the +old man who came out of the back parlour, and fumbled slowly amongst +his goods, looked oddly at me as he tied the parcel. I paid what he +asked, and stood leaning by the counter, with a strange reluctance to +take up my goods and go. I asked about the business, and learnt that +trade was bad and the profits cut down sadly; but then the street was +not what it was before traffic had been diverted, but that was done +forty years ago, 'just before my father died,' he said. I got away at +last, and walked along sharply; it was a dismal street indeed, and I +was glad to return to the bustle and the noise. Would you like to see +my purchase?" + +Austin said nothing, but nodded his head slightly; he still looked +white and sick. Villiers pulled out a drawer in the bamboo table, and +showed Austin a long coil of cord, hard and new; and at one end was a +running noose. + +"It is the best hempen cord," said Villiers, "just as it used to be +made for the old trade, the man told me. Not an inch of jute from end +to end." + +Austin set his teeth hard, and stared at Villiers, growing whiter as he +looked. + +"You would not do it," he murmured at last. "You would not have blood +on your hands. My God!" he exclaimed, with sudden vehemence, "you +cannot mean this, Villiers, that you will make yourself a hangman?" + +"No. I shall offer a choice, and leave Helen Vaughan alone with this +cord in a locked room for fifteen minutes. If when we go in it is not +done, I shall call the nearest policeman. That is all." + +"I must go now. I cannot stay here any longer; I cannot bear this. +Good-night." + +"Good-night, Austin." + +The door shut, but in a moment it was open again, and Austin stood, +white and ghastly, in the entrance. + +"I was forgetting," he said, "that I too have something to tell. I +have received a letter from Dr. Harding of Buenos Ayres. He says that +he attended Meyrick for three weeks before his death." + +"And does he say what carried him off in the prime of life? It was not +fever?" + +"No, it was not fever. According to the doctor, it was an utter +collapse of the whole system, probably caused by some severe shock. +But he states that the patient would tell him nothing, and that he was +consequently at some disadvantage in treating the case." + +"Is there anything more?" + +"Yes. Dr. Harding ends his letter by saying: 'I think this is all the +information I can give you about your poor friend. He had not been +long in Buenos Ayres, and knew scarcely any one, with the exception of +a person who did not bear the best of characters, and has since left--a +Mrs. Vaughan.'" + + + +VIII + +THE FRAGMENTS + +[Amongst the papers of the well-known physician, Dr. Robert Matheson, +of Ashley Street, Piccadilly, who died suddenly, of apoplectic seizure, +at the beginning of 1892, a leaf of manuscript paper was found, covered +with pencil jottings. These notes were in Latin, much abbreviated, and +had evidently been made in great haste. The MS. was only deciphered +with difficulty, and some words have up to the present time evaded all +the efforts of the expert employed. The date, "XXV Jul. 1888," is +written on the right-hand corner of the MS. The following is a +translation of Dr. Matheson's manuscript.] + +"Whether science would benefit by these brief notes if they could be +published, I do not know, but rather doubt. But certainly I shall +never take the responsibility of publishing or divulging one word of +what is here written, not only on account of my oath given freely to +those two persons who were present, but also because the details are +too abominable. It is probably that, upon mature consideration, and +after weighting the good and evil, I shall one day destroy this paper, +or at least leave it under seal to my friend D., trusting in his +discretion, to use it or to burn it, as he may think fit. + +"As was befitting, I did all that my knowledge suggested to make sure +that I was suffering under no delusion. At first astounded, I could +hardly think, but in a minute's time I was sure that my pulse was +steady and regular, and that I was in my real and true senses. I then +fixed my eyes quietly on what was before me. + +"Though horror and revolting nausea rose up within me, and an odour of +corruption choked my breath, I remained firm. I was then privileged or +accursed, I dare not say which, to see that which was on the bed, lying +there black like ink, transformed before my eyes. The skin, and the +flesh, and the muscles, and the bones, and the firm structure of the +human body that I had thought to be unchangeable, and permanent as +adamant, began to melt and dissolve. + +"I know that the body may be separated into its elements by external +agencies, but I should have refused to believe what I saw. For here +there was some internal force, of which I knew nothing, that caused +dissolution and change. + +"Here too was all the work by which man had been made repeated before +my eyes. I saw the form waver from sex to sex, dividing itself from +itself, and then again reunited. Then I saw the body descend to the +beasts whence it ascended, and that which was on the heights go down to +the depths, even to the abyss of all being. The principle of life, +which makes organism, always remained, while the outward form changed. + +"The light within the room had turned to blackness, not the darkness of +night, in which objects are seen dimly, for I could see clearly and +without difficulty. But it was the negation of light; objects were +presented to my eyes, if I may say so, without any medium, in such a +manner that if there had been a prism in the room I should have seen no +colours represented in it. + +"I watched, and at last I saw nothing but a substance as jelly. Then +the ladder was ascended again... [here the MS. is illegible] ...for one +instance I saw a Form, shaped in dimness before me, which I will not +farther describe. But the symbol of this form may be seen in ancient +sculptures, and in paintings which survived beneath the lava, too foul +to be spoken of... as a horrible and unspeakable shape, neither man nor +beast, was changed into human form, there came finally death. + +"I who saw all this, not without great horror and loathing of soul, +here write my name, declaring all that I have set on this paper to be +true. + +"ROBERT MATHESON, Med. Dr." + + * * * * * + +...Such, Raymond, is the story of what I know and what I have seen. +The burden of it was too heavy for me to bear alone, and yet I could +tell it to none but you. Villiers, who was with me at the last, knows +nothing of that awful secret of the wood, of how what we both saw die, +lay upon the smooth, sweet turf amidst the summer flowers, half in sun +and half in shadow, and holding the girl Rachel's hand, called and +summoned those companions, and shaped in solid form, upon the earth we +tread upon, the horror which we can but hint at, which we can only name +under a figure. I would not tell Villiers of this, nor of that +resemblance, which struck me as with a blow upon my heart, when I saw +the portrait, which filled the cup of terror at the end. What this can +mean I dare not guess. I know that what I saw perish was not Mary, and +yet in the last agony Mary's eyes looked into mine. Whether there can +be any one who can show the last link in this chain of awful mystery, I +do not know, but if there be any one who can do this, you, Raymond, are +the man. And if you know the secret, it rests with you to tell it or +not, as you please. + +I am writing this letter to you immediately on my getting back to town. +I have been in the country for the last few days; perhaps you may be +able to guess in which part. While the horror and wonder of London was +at its height--for "Mrs. Beaumont," as I have told you, was well known +in society--I wrote to my friend Dr. Phillips, giving some brief +outline, or rather hint, of what happened, and asking him to tell me +the name of the village where the events he had related to me occurred. +He gave me the name, as he said with the less hesitation, because +Rachel's father and mother were dead, and the rest of the family had +gone to a relative in the State of Washington six months before. The +parents, he said, had undoubtedly died of grief and horror caused by +the terrible death of their daughter, and by what had gone before that +death. On the evening of the day which I received Phillips' letter I +was at Caermaen, and standing beneath the mouldering Roman walls, white +with the winters of seventeen hundred years, I looked over the meadow +where once had stood the older temple of the "God of the Deeps," and +saw a house gleaming in the sunlight. It was the house where Helen had +lived. I stayed at Caermaen for several days. The people of the +place, I found, knew little and had guessed less. Those whom I spoke +to on the matter seemed surprised that an antiquarian (as I professed +myself to be) should trouble about a village tragedy, of which they +gave a very commonplace version, and, as you may imagine, I told +nothing of what I knew. Most of my time was spent in the great wood +that rises just above the village and climbs the hillside, and goes +down to the river in the valley; such another long lovely valley, +Raymond, as that on which we looked one summer night, walking to and +fro before your house. For many an hour I strayed through the maze of +the forest, turning now to right and now to left, pacing slowly down +long alleys of undergrowth, shadowy and chill, even under the midday +sun, and halting beneath great oaks; lying on the short turf of a +clearing where the faint sweet scent of wild roses came to me on the +wind and mixed with the heavy perfume of the elder, whose mingled odour +is like the odour of the room of the dead, a vapour of incense and +corruption. I stood at the edges of the wood, gazing at all the pomp +and procession of the foxgloves towering amidst the bracken and shining +red in the broad sunshine, and beyond them into deep thickets of close +undergrowth where springs boil up from the rock and nourish the +water-weeds, dank and evil. But in all my wanderings I avoided one +part of the wood; it was not till yesterday that I climbed to the +summit of the hill, and stood upon the ancient Roman road that threads +the highest ridge of the wood. Here they had walked, Helen and Rachel, +along this quiet causeway, upon the pavement of green turf, shut in on +either side by high banks of red earth, and tall hedges of shining +beech, and here I followed in their steps, looking out, now and again, +through partings in the boughs, and seeing on one side the sweep of the +wood stretching far to right and left, and sinking into the broad +level, and beyond, the yellow sea, and the land over the sea. On the +other side was the valley and the river and hill following hill as wave +on wave, and wood and meadow, and cornfield, and white houses gleaming, +and a great wall of mountain, and far blue peaks in the north. And so +at last I came to the place. The track went up a gentle slope, and +widened out into an open space with a wall of thick undergrowth around +it, and then, narrowing again, passed on into the distance and the +faint blue mist of summer heat. And into this pleasant summer glade +Rachel passed a girl, and left it, who shall say what? I did not stay +long there. + +In a small town near Caermaen there is a museum, containing for the +most part Roman remains which have been found in the neighbourhood at +various times. On the day after my arrival in Caermaen I walked over +to the town in question, and took the opportunity of inspecting the +museum. After I had seen most of the sculptured stones, the coffins, +rings, coins, and fragments of tessellated pavement which the place +contains, I was shown a small square pillar of white stone, which had +been recently discovered in the wood of which I have been speaking, +and, as I found on inquiry, in that open space where the Roman road +broadens out. On one side of the pillar was an inscription, of which I +took a note. Some of the letters have been defaced, but I do not think +there can be any doubt as to those which I supply. The inscription is +as follows: + + DEVOMNODENT--i-- + FLA--v--IVSSENILISPOSSV--it-- + PROPTERNVP--tias-- + --qua--SVIDITSVBVMB--ra-- + +"To the great god Nodens (the god of the Great Deep or Abyss) Flavius +Senilis has erected this pillar on account of the marriage which he saw +beneath the shade." + +The custodian of the museum informed me that local antiquaries were +much puzzled, not by the inscription, or by any difficulty in +translating it, but as to the circumstance or rite to which allusion is +made. + + * * * * * + +...And now, my dear Clarke, as to what you tell me about Helen Vaughan, +whom you say you saw die under circumstances of the utmost and almost +incredible horror. I was interested in your account, but a good deal, +nay all, of what you told me I knew already. I can understand the +strange likeness you remarked in both the portrait and in the actual +face; you have seen Helen's mother. You remember that still summer +night so many years ago, when I talked to you of the world beyond the +shadows, and of the god Pan. You remember Mary. She was the mother of +Helen Vaughan, who was born nine months after that night. + +Mary never recovered her reason. She lay, as you saw her, all the +while upon her bed, and a few days after the child was born she died. +I fancy that just at the last she knew me; I was standing by the bed, +and the old look came into her eyes for a second, and then she +shuddered and groaned and died. It was an ill work I did that night +when you were present; I broke open the door of the house of life, +without knowing or caring what might pass forth or enter in. I +recollect your telling me at the time, sharply enough, and rightly too, +in one sense, that I had ruined the reason of a human being by a +foolish experiment, based on an absurd theory. You did well to blame +me, but my theory was not all absurdity. What I said Mary would see +she saw, but I forgot that no human eyes can look on such a sight with +impunity. And I forgot, as I have just said, that when the house of +life is thus thrown open, there may enter in that for which we have no +name, and human flesh may become the veil of a horror one dare not +express. I played with energies which I did not understand, you have +seen the ending of it. Helen Vaughan did well to bind the cord about +her neck and die, though the death was horrible. The blackened face, +the hideous form upon the bed, changing and melting before your eyes +from woman to man, from man to beast, and from beast to worse than +beast, all the strange horror that you witness, surprises me but +little. What you say the doctor whom you sent for saw and shuddered at +I noticed long ago; I knew what I had done the moment the child was +born, and when it was scarcely five years old I surprised it, not once +or twice but several times with a playmate, you may guess of what kind. +It was for me a constant, an incarnate horror, and after a few years I +felt I could bear it no more, and I sent Helen Vaughan away. You know +now what frightened the boy in the wood. The rest of the strange +story, and all else that you tell me, as discovered by your friend, I +have contrived to learn from time to time, almost to the last chapter. +And now Helen is with her companions... + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great God Pan, by Arthur Machen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GOD PAN *** + +***** This file should be named 389.txt or 389.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/389/ + +Produced by Brandi Weed. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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