The black pearl
with emotion, alternately convincing and dominating, but more than all,
restore the accents of truth, of profound conviction, which distinguish
the woman who believes, the Seer who knows!
Is it a mirage, the play of my imagination, or the magnetic influences
of these thousands of hearts and spirits strained towards her in the
tense and breathless silence of the vast hall?
Is it the involuntary effort with which my whole being rushes forth
to receive the message of Faith and Hope which her marvellous voice
carries to my heart, filled with dark forebodings? I am oblivious
to all but that white figure, majestic, almost superhuman in its
spiritual strength. A light seems to envelop her, radiating as in an
aureole.
Yes, it is the true evangel she preaches, the Gospel of Love, taught
by the Christ to his brothers, but broadened, expanded, enfolding all
Humanity as it toils upward, life on life, towards its final goal.
The voice of the orator drops as she explains simply and lucidly how
the contradictions of life, and the presence of evil, are consequent
upon the different ages of the souls born into the world. She dwells
on the widely divergent ideals of morality, which, obviously, cannot
be the same for the infant souls of the criminal and the savage, and
for the man of genius, the saint, and seer, those elder brothers of
humanity.
The final proof of the doctrine interests me keenly--that strange
memory of past existences, glimpsed by some only in intermittent
flashes, but to others recalled and recognised as the links of a
complete and continuous chain throughout the ages.
She cites the words of Edward Carpenter, a poet, too little
known--“Every pain that I suffered in one body became a power which I
wielded in the next,” and those of Christ, “Be perfect, even as your
Father in Heaven is perfect.”
She points out the mockery of this mandate when applied to only one
short life.
“But,” she resumes, “He who spoke knew there was time enough; knew that
you could grow from strength to strength; knew that divine perfection
is your destiny, and urged you to step forward on the road that leads
thereto.
“... Oh, if I could tell you what it was to come out of all the
struggle and misery in London, and to know that it was not hopeless,
and that those miserable drunken men and women, those children of
wretchedness and vice, were only babes in the beginning of their long
life!... What joy to think that one could help them in their upward
climb, quicken their progress, inspire them with hope--that one could
say to the criminal, ‘My brother, where you are I was myself; and as
for the saints above us, we shall both grow up to take our stand where
they now stand in the eternal life.’
“Compare this doctrine with the other two theories of life, and
apply this key to the turning of the locks of human misery and human
ignorance. Study, think for yourself, and you will see that it is
true.... It will become for you what it has been to thousands of us,
the chasing away of darkness, the dawn of light, the rising of the sun
... until every child of man shall have grown to the fulness of the
stature of the Christ.”[A]
[A] NOTE.--This lecture has been published in extenso in “Australian
Lectures.”--G. Robertson & Co. Pty. Ltd.
The orator leaves the hall in a reverent silence which no one dares
break by a single note of applause. For one moment these thousands have
caught a glimpse of the ideal of perfected humanity. A great wave of
emotion has encompassed them, too deep, too holy to find expression in
word or movement. It is apparent in the dilated eyes, in the pallor of
the transfigured faces, which, for a moment, have vibrated with the
mystic tremor.
For an hour and a half the lecturer has spoken, holding her audience in
the grasp of her wonderful magnetism, not a murmur, not a sound, save
the impassioned voice penetrating, convincing, dominating all hearts,
even if only for a moment, with the great Hope. Perhaps on the majority
the impressions will be fleeting, but I am fired with the wish to
learn, to know. The thirst of science is burning in my veins.
At the door some small tables are littered with books. I take those
which some one, a member of the society, judging by her sympathetic
smile, holds out to me.
* * * * *
I have spent the night reading, and this morning I am writing to her
who has torn aside for me a corner of the veil.
XXII
Towards
the
Light
“Before thou takest thy first step, learn to discern the real from the
false, the ever-fleeting from the everlasting.”
“Voice of the Silence.”
In an interview wherein I have bared the weakness of my poor passionate
nature, the great Teacher has pointed out the only road open to me,
that of sacrifice and renunciation. She has made me understand that the
crucial moment of my life has arrived, that from the instant I reddened
with shame in the hotel I recognised the sin of my purpose. She has
given me a glimpse of a great love, elevated by suffering, ennobled
by abstinence, which will unite the soul of Allan with mine for all
time, even though our bodies, the vesture of a day, are separated by
the laws of Karma. Her eyes, unforgettable, once seen, with their
changing lights like the sea, plunge into mine with a look of ineffable
sweetness; eyes whose depths have fathomed the infinite, they have
given me their message.
Returning to the hotel which Barker has left to obtain some further
necessity for the voyage, now never to be taken, I write a note bidding
her await Mr. Russell’s arrival.
Then, heaping together clothes, souvenirs, family papers, trinkets, and
my pearl necklace, I proceed to the house of Miss Carter, the secretary
of the Theosophical Society, with whom I am to stay for a while. She
is a woman, young still, with a profile clear cut as a cameo, frank and
sympathetic in manner. What impresses me most, perhaps, is the calmness
of her demeanour, a repose nothing can disturb. In the quiet home,
simple yet charming, where she lives with her aged mother and a younger
sister bearing a sweet French name, I shall find the haven I want, the
moral aid to face this crisis as well as practical assistance to begin
a new life.
Miss Carter helps me to dispose my small belongings in the pretty
room, from whose windows I can catch the glint of the sea. The fresh
pungency of the salt air brings vividly the remembrance of Allan.
He is very near now. I must not weaken my resolution by thinking of
his disappointment. All my strength will be required in the coming
interview.
Am I strong enough to see him without yielding to his persuasions, to
his reproaches, perhaps? Can I trust myself not to be carried away by
my own love?
I must force myself to think of mundane things. The money I have will
not last long, and I do not want to abuse the hospitality so generously
offered.
My aunt’s pearls! They must be the first sacrifice. She wouldn’t blame
me for selling them to preserve my honour and dignity. They are
valuable and their proceeds will give me time to study this new science
and think of what I am to do. Perhaps I could be a nurse. I cannot
teach any longer. A governess must be beyond the breath of slander.
Adelaide is a long way from Melbourne; still, distance is nothing in
Australia. A spiteful word from Mrs. Forest, a rumour even, might reach
here. The night I spent under Allan’s roof, my sojourn at the hotel,
might easily be interpreted to my disadvantage, and I could not explain
matters to an utter stranger.
A nurse in a hospital, or in a private home, is independent. Apart
from that, the work attracts me. I shall find greater outlet for my
activities, for my affections, and so fill the void caused by the
absence of Allan, my dear lost love.
Miss Carter utters an exclamation when I show her my necklace. She is
a woman after all, this serious Theosophist, and cannot repress the
admiration we women feel for beautiful pearls, which, feminine in their
nature, seem to be dependent on us for their exquisite chatoyant lustre.
“What a magnificent black pearl. It should be very valuable.”
“It is. But I can’t sell it. It’s an heirloom, and then....” I stop,
hesitatingly.
Miss Carter’s eyes question me affectionately.
Why not confide in her? She looks kindness itself, and since she is to
instruct me in the Great Teaching it would be better if she knew all
my history. She will believe me when I tell her that I am guilty of
imprudence only, and help me, should I be in danger of succumbing to
temptation.
She listens attentively to the story of the black pearl, and is not in
the least astonished at my dreams.
“The magnetism of the Begum, impregnated in it, has been sufficient to
awaken in you the memory of past lives,” she says.
“Do you really believe, then, that Mr. Russell may have been the Rajah?
Not a word has made me suppose that he retains the least memory of such
a life.”
“Few people can retrace their past existences,” replies Miss Carter,
“but you are a little psychic, and the astral world has been opened
by the influence of the Begum’s jewel, added to other agencies more
powerful still. We have friends in the spiritual world as in the
physical,” she adds, putting her hand affectionately on mine, “and
no doubt they have been sent to show you this love, strong enough to
persist through different personalities, so that you may purify it
entirely.”
“But wouldn’t it be better to destroy it ruthlessly?”
“No. Rather guard it. Love is a divine force, a spark from the sacred
fire. To destroy it would be heresy, mutilation, atrophy of the soul!”
“It would be better,” she continues thoughtfully, “to yield to this
love which the world holds guilty than to deny it.... But it would be
better still to ennoble it, to raise it beyond material desires, not
only in you, but in the man whose life is linked to yours by so strong
a chain.”
“You think, then, I ought to write to Allan and see him?”
“Certainly. It would be cowardice to shirk it, and the first quality to
be acquired is moral strength. Virtue is not true virtue until tested.
Besides, it is his due. Souls meet, form friendships, and ties, in
order to help each other through wrong-doing, and through love which
has caught a glimmer of the light.” Pausing a moment, she resumes,
“Nothing will soften the blow to his love, to his pride as a man, so
much as the sight of the suffering, the grief you share with him.
Your duty is to help him, this Allan you love so devotedly, sustain
him, make an appeal to his higher nature so that he will renounce you
voluntarily, ennobling himself in turn by the sacrifice.”
“And this pearl,” she adds, raising the detached pendant, “is it not
the symbol of your present life? By the marvellous agency of powers
which change evil into beauty, the grain of sand, the speck of dirt on
the gleaming nacre, are transmuted into a precious gem.
“In the series of lives knitted together by the soul, the life of
suffering and sacrifice from which the higher self emerges, that is the
black pearl of the necklace.”
* * * * *
Miss Carter has just announced that Allan is in the drawing-room. He
has lost no time on receipt of my note. Pausing at the door, I can hear
him pacing up and down with quick, irritated steps. I send a silent
prayer to the angels and archangels, or whatever may be the names of
those who have us under their care, for words that shall touch him,
appease his anger, and bring him to the voluntary surrender of my love.
His eyes sombre, his mouth stern, Allan greets me with a curt
“Why are you here? What has happened that you have not waited for me at
the hotel?”