A Journey in Other Worlds [122]
and from many others, rose
threads of coloured matter, in the form of gases, the forerunners
of miasma. He now perceived shadowy figures flitting about on
the ground and in the air, from whose eyes poured streams of
immaterial tears. Their brains, hearts, and vertebral columns
were the parts most easily seen, and they were filled with an
inextinguishable anguish and sorrow that from its very intensity
made itself seen as a blue flame. The ruffles and knickerbockers
in which some of these were attired, evidently by the effects of
the thoughts in their minds, doubtless from force of habit from
what they had worn on earth while alive, showed that they had
been dead at least two hundred years. Ayrault also now found
himself in street clothes, although when in his clubs he had worn
a dress suit.
"Tell me, fellow-spirits," he said, addressing them, "how can I
communicate with one that is still alive?"
They looked at him with moist eyes, but answered not a word.
"I attributed the misery in my heart," thought Ayrault, "entirely
to the distress at losing Sylvia, which God knows is enough; but
though I suspected it before, I now see, by my companions, that I
am in the depths of hell."
CHAPTER XII.
SHEOL.
Failing to find words to convey his thoughts, he threw himself
into an open grave, praying that the earth might hide his soul,
as he had supposed it some day would hide his body. But the
ground was like crystal, and he saw the white bones in the graves
all around him. Unable to endure these surroundings longer, he
rushed back to his old haunts, where he knew he should find the
friends of his youth. He did not pause to go by the usual way,
but passed, without stopping, through walls and buildings. Soon
he beheld the familiar scene, and heard his own name mentioned.
But there was no comfort here, and what he had seen of old was
but an incident to what he gazed on now. Praying with his whole
heart that he might make himself heard, he stepped upon a
foot-stool, and cried:
"Your bodies are decaying before me. You are burying your
talents in the ground. We must all stand for final sentence at
the last day, mortals and spirits alike-- there is not a shadow
of a shade of doubt. Your every thought will be known, and for
every evil deed and every idle word God will bring us into
judgment. The angel of death is among you and at work in your
very midst. Are you prepared to receive him? He has already
killed my body, and now that I can never die I wish there was a
grave for my soul. I was reassured by a vision that told me I
was safe, but either it was a hallucination, or I have been
betrayed by some spirit. Last night I still lived, and my body
obeyed my will. Since then I have experienced death, and with
the resulting increased knowledge comes the loss of all hope,
with keener pangs than I supposed could exist. Oh, that I had
now their opportunities, that I might write a thesis that should
live forever, and save millions of souls from the anguish of
mine! Inoculate your mortal bodies with the germs of faith and
mutual love, in a stronger degree than they dwelt in me, lest you
lose the life above."
But no one heard him, and he preached in vain.
He again rushed forth, and, after a half-involuntary effort,
found himself in the street before his loved one's home.
Scarcely knowing why, except that it had become nature to wish to
be near her, he stood for a long time opposite her dwelling.
"O house!" he cried, "inanimate object that can yet enthral me
so, I stand before your cold front as a suppliant from a very
distant realm; yet in my sadness I am colder than your stones,
more alone than in a desolate place. She that dwells within you
holds my love. I long for her shadow or the sound of her step.
I am more wretchedly in love than ever--I, an impotent, invisible
spirit. Must I bear this sorrow in addition to my others, in my
fruitless search for rest? My life
threads of coloured matter, in the form of gases, the forerunners
of miasma. He now perceived shadowy figures flitting about on
the ground and in the air, from whose eyes poured streams of
immaterial tears. Their brains, hearts, and vertebral columns
were the parts most easily seen, and they were filled with an
inextinguishable anguish and sorrow that from its very intensity
made itself seen as a blue flame. The ruffles and knickerbockers
in which some of these were attired, evidently by the effects of
the thoughts in their minds, doubtless from force of habit from
what they had worn on earth while alive, showed that they had
been dead at least two hundred years. Ayrault also now found
himself in street clothes, although when in his clubs he had worn
a dress suit.
"Tell me, fellow-spirits," he said, addressing them, "how can I
communicate with one that is still alive?"
They looked at him with moist eyes, but answered not a word.
"I attributed the misery in my heart," thought Ayrault, "entirely
to the distress at losing Sylvia, which God knows is enough; but
though I suspected it before, I now see, by my companions, that I
am in the depths of hell."
CHAPTER XII.
SHEOL.
Failing to find words to convey his thoughts, he threw himself
into an open grave, praying that the earth might hide his soul,
as he had supposed it some day would hide his body. But the
ground was like crystal, and he saw the white bones in the graves
all around him. Unable to endure these surroundings longer, he
rushed back to his old haunts, where he knew he should find the
friends of his youth. He did not pause to go by the usual way,
but passed, without stopping, through walls and buildings. Soon
he beheld the familiar scene, and heard his own name mentioned.
But there was no comfort here, and what he had seen of old was
but an incident to what he gazed on now. Praying with his whole
heart that he might make himself heard, he stepped upon a
foot-stool, and cried:
"Your bodies are decaying before me. You are burying your
talents in the ground. We must all stand for final sentence at
the last day, mortals and spirits alike-- there is not a shadow
of a shade of doubt. Your every thought will be known, and for
every evil deed and every idle word God will bring us into
judgment. The angel of death is among you and at work in your
very midst. Are you prepared to receive him? He has already
killed my body, and now that I can never die I wish there was a
grave for my soul. I was reassured by a vision that told me I
was safe, but either it was a hallucination, or I have been
betrayed by some spirit. Last night I still lived, and my body
obeyed my will. Since then I have experienced death, and with
the resulting increased knowledge comes the loss of all hope,
with keener pangs than I supposed could exist. Oh, that I had
now their opportunities, that I might write a thesis that should
live forever, and save millions of souls from the anguish of
mine! Inoculate your mortal bodies with the germs of faith and
mutual love, in a stronger degree than they dwelt in me, lest you
lose the life above."
But no one heard him, and he preached in vain.
He again rushed forth, and, after a half-involuntary effort,
found himself in the street before his loved one's home.
Scarcely knowing why, except that it had become nature to wish to
be near her, he stood for a long time opposite her dwelling.
"O house!" he cried, "inanimate object that can yet enthral me
so, I stand before your cold front as a suppliant from a very
distant realm; yet in my sadness I am colder than your stones,
more alone than in a desolate place. She that dwells within you
holds my love. I long for her shadow or the sound of her step.
I am more wretchedly in love than ever--I, an impotent, invisible
spirit. Must I bear this sorrow in addition to my others, in my
fruitless search for rest? My life