Shadows of Ecstasy by Charles Williams (best books to read txt) đ
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buy them out. The Church fortunately has refused the secular arm.â
âDo you mock at it then?â Caithness demanded, he also having ceased to
eat.
âItâs more purely Christian than ever before,â the other answered;
âits nature is in complete defeat; there and there only it thrives.
Your wife was right, Ingram; thatâs the choice between defeat and
victory. But Iâve chosen victory and I have it. Will you eat no more?
Then,â he stood up, âyou shall come with me, Ingram; for Iâve a visit
to make. Mr. Caithness may go to his penitent if he chooses, or make
his meditations anywhere about the house or the grounds. Presently
Iâll come to the king. Vereker, do you relieve the wireless man.
Mottreux, will you be about in case the captain comes?â
They saluted and rose to their feet, as, taking Roger by the arm, he
left the room. They went by corridors and stairs to the left wing of
the house stretched backwards towards the sea, corresponding to
another wing on the right. Between the two ran a verandah, a wide
lawn, and a terrace, from which steps led down to a lower terrace, and
so on to the edge of the cliffs. And as they went the young man felt
everywhere something of that sense of distance which he had
experienced in the hall on the previous nightâa distance in which all
near things existed in a peculiar natural order. The house might have
been one of those mythical buildings which in various legends have
been lifted from the earth by music, as Troy rose to Apolloâs harping
or Pandemonium like an exhalation with the sound of dulcet symphonies.
There were no pictures, so far as he could see; instead, the walls
were covered with soft hangings, of different colours, but each colour
richer than ever he had seen it before. Here and there these deep
tapestries were worked with shapes, mostly, so far as he could
discern, symmetrical designs, though occasionally a human or non-human
figure showedâa man or a winged monster or even a small complex city
thick with houses and crowds. But Roger could not see them very well
and he was not allowed to pause to examine them. Considine walked on,
humming to himself, and again Roger recollected with a curious shock
that this mature easy form, moving so lightly and gaily beside him,
was the High Executive of African ecstasies. Suddenly he recognized
the words into which Considine had changed his humming and exclaimed,
almost stoppingââBut thatâs Shakespeare!â
ââshall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough,
âYes,â Considine answered. âDâyou think Shakespeare didnât know
something of it? Yet you must have lectured on the Tempest.â
âIf you mean that Shakespeare believed in the Second Evolution of
Man-â Roger rather desperately began.
âHe imagined its nature,â Considine answered. âThink of itâand read
Arielâs songs. Not that youâll understand them yet. Nor do I. Perhaps
no-one willâproperlyâuntil after the conquest of death. He is your
greatest poet because none but he has so greatly lived and died and
lived in his verse. âOn the batâs backââthatâs the purity of being.
He imagined it. But hereââhe paused at the door of a room, and his
voice became graverââis the physical experiment.â
He opened it and they went in. It was a large high room, and there
moved in it continually a little tender breeze, as of spring, though
there were no windows, or, if there were, they were hidden behind the
pale yellow hangings which here also hid the walls. They shook, ever
so faintly, in the movement of the air, and it seemed to Roger for a
few moments as if everywhere great fields of daffodils trembled in
that gentle wind. The vague suggestion passed, and left in its stead a
thought of a universal sun shedding a golden presence through clear
air, and then that again vanished, and he knew they were only
wonderfully wrought hangings, and some beautiful light diffused itself
over them. In the middle of the room there was a low divan, on which
lay a motionless figure. In one corner was a chair on which a man sat,
who, as they paused in the entrance, rose and came over to them.
Otherwise the room was bare.
Roger looked again at the motionless figure on the divan, gazing at it
in a sudden recollection. He knew the face, he had seen it rapt into
an ardent intention, offering itself to death and to the High
Executive of death. He turned sharply to Considine. âBut itâs
Nielsen,â he said.
Considine nodded, and said to the watcher of the dead, âThereâs no
news?â
âNone, sir,â the man said. âHe hasnât stirred or breathed.â
âItâs seven days,â Considine said absently, and walked across the room
to the couch where the dead man lay. Roger followed him, his heart
beating more quickly than usual. Whatâwhat was expected, here and
now?
Considine seemed to feel the unspoken question. He said, still looking
at Nielsen: âWeâre waiting for the result.â
Roger said: âYouâre waiting for him to live?â
âIf it may be,â Considine answered. âHe was a strong spirit.â He knelt
down by the couch and looked intently into the dead manâs eyes. Roger
waited, growing more troubled every moment with terrible expectation.
This man had intended passionately to succeed in his unpreluded task;
he had meant to live. Could so high and strong a purpose break laws
which only gods and sons of gods had suspended in the past? Lazarus,
the tale ran, had been drawn back from death by supernatural grace,
but was it alsoâwas it onlyâin the power of natural man by natural
laws to conquer death? Was the old symbolism of the mysteries true in
its reversal? was the supernatural itself but a visionary exhalation
of the natural, and could it hold nothing but what the natural held?
As he stood gazing a shock went through him, for it seemed to him that
a quiver passed over the dead manâs face. Considine stiffened where he
knelt, and threw out a hand to beckon the third watcher who ran
quietly and silently to the other side of the couch. He also knelt,
and together the two concentrated themselves on the again unchanging
figure. It was motionless in the self-closed stillness of the dead;
pallor had touched it, and yet a pallor whichâand again the smallest
quiver seemed to pass through the dead face. Roger thought to himself,
âItâs a trance, itâs epilepsy, itâs-â But Considine was there, and he
did not believeâeven in that wild rational effort to explain away a
thing which hadnât happened and wouldnât and couldnât happen he did
not believeâthat Considine made mistakes of this kind. The man had
meant to die; undoubtedly on that evening in Hampstead he had meant to
die. This was no booby show, no conjurerâs trick; it was man at the
extreme point of his powers sending all those powers to the
enlargement of his dominion. The master of the adepts kneeled there,
seeking to aid the initiate through the experiment which he himself,
called to a different duty, had not yet dared, as the Pope aided St.
Francis on a more glorious business than his own. Roger steadied
himself; if man could attempt this man could watch the attempt. This
was his first test and he would not fail. He would open himself to the
knowledge, to the experience of the sight, he would fill himself with
it; who could tell but one day he, he himself, might lie on such a
couch to await and compel such aâŠresurrection?
It wasâit was happening. The eyelids flickered. Considineâs gaze was
fixed on them; he was leaning forward as if to catch the first glimpse
of the returning consciousness, to meet and hold it lest it should
fail. A ripple of darkness or light seemed to pass down the body; in
the infinitesimal vibration of all its hues none could tell whether it
were darkness or light that shook it. The eyelids flickered again;
Roger caught himself in the midst of a passionate wish that they
should open; they might hold madness or horror; they might strike him
and blast him with their power or splendour or ungodly terror. Or they
might be gayâgay beyond all dreaming: âmerrily, merrily shall I liveâŠâ
No; he couldnât bear such piercing glee-âon a batâs backâ-death
the bat ridden and flown by a laughing joy. He couldnât bear it; he
looked at Considine, and for a brief fraction of a second Considineâs
eyes flashed at him and away, but in that swift meeting Roger felt
command and nourishment and burning expectation, and in its power he
set himself again to await revelation.
But for awhile it seemed as if all was done. The body was again rigid
and there lay before the straining eyes only the awful barricade of
death. Roger thought suddenly how absurd it wasâall this abstraction
and personification; there was no such thing as death, there were only
dead men and dead things. Men tried to make dead men bearable,
comprehensible, friendly, by giving to them a general name. Death as
an imagined person might be terrifying, but he was, so imagined,
human. But Death was nothing of the sort; Death was neither Azrael nor
any other immortal shadowy beingâit was only dead men and dead
things. âInsubstantial Death is amorousââeven the poets pretend; no,
not alwaysââO but to die and go we know not whereâŠâ and to come
back.
It moved. The hand extended along the couch moved, simultaneously with
what seemed a breath. Roger strangled a cry. The hand jerked again, so
tiny a jerk that only its force made it perceptible. Something was
trying to move that rigid organism, and not quite succeeding. But the
signs of its presence spasmodically showed. The nostrils quivered
slightly; the lips just parted. The fingers twitched.
Considine said: âHelp him then,â and at once the third man leapt into
activity, and others who had silently entered the room behind Roger,
unnoticed by his fascinated attention, ran softly up. He thought
afterwards that some bell must have been rung by the other watcher
when first the body had stirred, and that these had gathered in
readiness. They were about the dead man; they concerned themselves
busily with it; they did this and the other, Roger didnât very well
know what, for he was trying not to hope they would be unsuccessful.
All the time Considine hardly moved, save to put himself in a more
convenient position for the workers; all the time his eyes remained
fixed on those closed eyes, and his will waited for the moment when it
could unite itself with the restored will of the dead.
After so much toil and vigil they failed. What time was spent there
Roger hardly knew. But suddenly he knew a difference in the body about
which they stood or moved. It changed to a more dreadful pallor; a
greyness crept over it. Beyond the knowledge even of the adept it
endured withdrawal; the kingdom so nearly grasped fell away. The
neophyte of death was swallowed up in death; beyond all earlier
semblance, and before their eyes, he died indeed. Considine signed to
the workers to cease; he said to them: âLook,â and they obeyed. He
said again: âLook, look as masters. Donât lose a moment; change this
into victory within you. Death here shall be life in you; feel it,
imagine it, draw it into yourselves; as with all experience, so with
this. Live by it; feed on it and live.â
But he himself rose to his feet, and with a sign to Roger to accompany
him went out of the room.
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