Tales of the Wonder Club Volume I Part 11

"What book is that?" I asked, at the same time looking at the t.i.tle.

"Ah! Shakespeare. That is Charles' favourite author."

"I know it, doctor. Oh, how often have we read it together; but now, alas!"

"Why alas?" asked I.

"Ah, doctor," she replied, shaking her head slowly, "I never see him now. You are curing him, and me, too. Of what value to me is a body in perfect health, when it imprisons within it a wounded soul?"

"Come, let me see if I can't bring some balm to the wounded soul," I said, producing from my pocket Charles' letter.

"From him?" she exclaimed. "Oh, doctor, I shall be for ever grateful to you. I dreamt I received a letter from him last night. How is he--better? Stay, let me read."

She tore open the letter and read in an undertone, just loud enough for me to hear:

"Angel of my dreams--Charles in the flesh pens thee these poor lines, greeting. How art thou, now shut from me! The doors of the body have closed upon my spirit, and I feel that I no more belong to the same order of beings as a few nights ago. For me now thou may'st wait in vain in the garden, by the trysting tree, in the wild forest, by the sea sh.o.r.e, in the desert, by the foaming cataract, on the bleak mountain top, or by moonlight on the crags of the wild glacier, wherever the wings of thy spirit may carry thee. I cannot follow thee. I linger in chains of clay, and languish from day to day in my prison-house of flesh, whilst thou---- But, stay, perhaps the lot I bear may be thy own; perhaps the doors of the flesh may have closed upon _thy_ spirit also.

Oh, if it be that our souls are for ever banished from that Paradise which they have so often revelled in together! What have we further to look forward to but those earthly joys known to the most grovelling mortal? This is a melancholy prospect, my Edith, for us who remember (however, indistinctly--from the growth of that clay--over _thy_ spirit perchance, as well as my own) those divine joys we experienced together when our spirits walked untrammelled from our bonds of clay and our souls melted into the harmony of those spheres which are their proper element. How the weight of this mortal coil oppresses me as I write! I can think of nothing that is untainted with the gross material nature that surrounds me. My dreams of late confirm my horrible suspicions.

When, the other night, I sought thee at the garden gate, where enter only spirits untrammelled by the flesh, didst thou hear that voice that turned me away, and bid me return to earth? Oh! Edith, let us both make another effort before it is too late. Perhaps even now----"

Here the patient dropped her voice, and her eye scanned the paper in silence, from which I inferred that there was something about myself in it that she did not wish me to know; but I had heard enough. Charles wanted to persuade his lady-love to battle against all my efforts to bring her round to a proper state of health, and intended doing the same himself. Here was a regular conspiracy--two patients already all but on the point of death, had leagued together to starve themselves outright, and so baffle all the doctor's efforts to save them. Oh, it was downright suicide. I did not know exactly what to do.

"This is the last time I'll act as Mercury between two lovers," thought I.

I had a momentary thought of watching for an opportunity to get the letter into my hands, un.o.bserved by my patient after she had finished reading it, and then of crumpling it up abstractedly, and throwing it into the fire, as it was winter and a large fire was made up in the patient's room, thinking that the impression might wear off her mind after having read the letter only once; but how might not her lover's words influence her if she were allowed to read and re-read his letter when left alone? No opportunity, however, presented itself, for after she had finished reading it she kissed it fervently and placed it in her bosom and held it there, glancing at me rather suspiciously, as I thought, as if she read my intentions in my face; but this might have been fancy.

However, I tried what I could do in the way of argument, to show the advantage of keeping a sound mind in a sound body, besides pointing out the probability of her some day--perhaps before long--meeting her lover in the flesh, and that there was no reason why they need not eventually be happy. I talked to her much of Charles, and hoped to see her again soon, though I should not call so very often now, as my visits would not be necessary. I left her, giving instructions to her parents to administer to her all sorts of nutritious food, as I had done to the parents of Charles concerning their son.

I let some little time pa.s.s over before I called upon either of my lover-patients again. I at length called upon Charles, and found him all but recovered. Though still weak, his face had filled out considerably, and his nerves were no longer so morbidly acute, and his countenance had lost to a great extent that supernatural look that characterised it on my first visit; still, it was far from being the face of a man in robust health. I thought him silent and reserved towards me, but when I told him I had delivered his letter, and talked to him of his lady-love, he brightened up a little. I told him I should take the stage on the morrow to visit Edith.

He wanted me to take another letter, but I pleaded great hurry and escaped from the house. When I saw Edith again, she also had improved in health immensely, thanks to the careful watching of my friend's wife, who was like a real mother to her, and would _not_ allow her to starve herself. Seeing her so nearly recovered, I recommended a little change of air as soon as convenient.

Upon my departure Edith managed to slip a _billet-doux_ into my hand, directed to Charles; that is to say, without address, for I had not told her where he lived. We were not left alone on this interview, the wife of my friend being present all the while, so the note had to be pa.s.sed into my hand clandestinely. There was no getting out of it, and I had to deliver it to Charles as soon as I arrived in town. His eyes sparkled when he saw her writing.

"Look here, what Edith says about you!" said he, somewhat bitterly. He read as follows:

"DEAREST CHARLES,--Your own true Edith writes to you in the flesh by our common but well-meaning enemy, Dr. Bleedem."

"There!" he said, "that's what she thinks of you."

"Enemy!" I cried, in astonishment.

"Yes, enemy; but well-meaning, you see, she says," he continued, in a softened tone.

He then continued to read:

"The poor man thinks, no doubt, that he has achieved a great thing in bringing us privileged seers into the world of spirits back into this mundane sphere, fit only for beings of his order. Of course, what else could be expected of him? The nature of his profession, the grossness of his being, compel him to think and act in the way of grovelling mortals; but let us not be too hard upon him; he is a good man, and means well."

"There!" he observed, "you see, she is charitably disposed towards you.

I don't know that I feel disposed to be so lenient."

At this odd beginning of a love-letter, and still odder allusion to myself, I fairly burst out laughing.

"Oh! laugh away," he said; "it is a fine triumph to rob two beings of the very essence of their happiness."

I had not done laughing, and he was nearly catching the infection. He observed in the words of his favourite poet, that, my lungs did crow like chanticleer, and I did laugh _sans_ intermission.

He took up the letter again, and read a great portion to himself, or half aloud. I caught the following pa.s.sage:

"Do you remember, Charles, when, in the early days of our courtship, you used nightly to serenade me under my window in the enchanted castle, and how long it was before you knew that I, like yourself, had an earthly body that had an existence of its own? And when I told you that my parents--or rather, my adopted parents--were not in the land of spirits, but that they inhabited the same world in which, in the daytime, we ourselves were forced to vegetate; and when you thereupon asked me with whom I shared the castle, do you remember the horror, the rage, and indignation you felt when you heard that I was held captive within that enchanted castle by a horrible wizard, who tortured me and tried all his base arts to make me yield to his love? Oh! Charles, I often look back to that time. I can see the bold outline of that rude, ma.s.sive building on a rock frowning on the lake below. I feel myself yet at my cas.e.m.e.nt, gazing out in search of your bark, which pa.s.sed nightly close to my window, and I fancy I hear your touch upon the lute reverberating through the night air.

"With what horror I remember being torn from my window on that night by my captor, as I was waving my handkerchief to you on the lake. Oh! the torture I underwent within those unhallowed walls after you left me; the scenes I was compelled to witness, the oaths I was forced to hear; and then the infernal hideousness of the countenance of my demon captor!

"Oh! Charles, shall I ever forget the night on which you rode up to the wizard's castle on a spirit charger, habited as a cavalier, and bearing a ladder of ropes under your mantle which you reached up to me on the point of your lance; how I descended, and you placed me behind you on your steed and galloped away; how, ere we were far from the castle, my flight was discovered, and the wizard and all his demon host mounted their demon chargers and started in pursuit of us; how they gained on us; how we avoided them for miles by hardly half-a-horse's length, until we arrived at a bridge across a river of fire, over which none but the pure in love can pa.s.s? Dost remember, Charles, how bravely thy spirit charger bore us over in safety, and how, when the fell magician endeavoured to follow us with his evil crew, how the bridge tumbled to atoms, and the demon host was swallowed up in the fiery waves? Then how, when our charger was spent, we turned him out to graze, the sun having risen; and how, having arrived at the sea sh.o.r.e, we found a boat, which we entered, and steered onward in search of further adventure. How swiftly, how gallantly we sailed, as if borne on by the good spirits, until we reached an island, where the inhabitants welcomed us and claimed us as their king and queen. Charles! do you remember all this?

But why call up all these reminiscences? They are over now, and pa.s.sed as a dream, and this hence-forward must be our life. I know nothing of your life in the flesh, my spirit lover, or what may be your social position in this world. No matter, whatever it be, and in spite of whatever obstacles may raise themselves to our happiness in this vale of tears, remember that I am ever thine in the spirit,

"EDITH L----."

Having concluded, he folded up the letter, kissed it, and pressed it to his heart.

"And do you remember all the details of that strange adventure alluded to by Miss Edith, as having happened to you both? Do you remember really having taken part in this strange romance in another phase of existence?" I asked.

"Certainly I do," he replied; "every particular of it."

"Strange!" I muttered, to myself. "Then these _dreams_, as we ordinary mortals would say, are really to such beings as yourself _facts_--phases of another existence," I remarked.

"Precisely so," said he.

"Then your being king of an island was no mere phantasy," said I; "but as much a fact----"

"As much a fact as that while in the flesh I am a poor devil," he replied.

"Well, I never thought I should have a royal patient," I observed, smiling.

"Ah!" he said, "now do you see the extent of the wrong that you have done me? You have robbed me of a kingdom in bringing me back to health."

"Many a sick monarch would be glad to exchange his kingdom for good health," I retorted.

This was almost my last visit to Charles. I _did_ call again, but it was long after he had completely recovered.

Months pa.s.sed away, when one day I casually met Charles in the streets.

He had quite recovered, and was looking very well. He had much to tell me, so, as I had a little spare time on hand, we strolled into the park, and being a hot day, we sat down together beneath the shade of a tree in a solitary spot. He seemed to have grown more reconciled to humanity, having now only a dim recollection of the intensity of the joys he used to experience in his dreams. I touched upon the subject nearest his heart, and he commenced a recital of all that had happened to him since we last met. I shall endeavour to give his own words as nearly as possible.

"You will remember, doctor," he began, "that you left me without giving me the address of Miss L----" (Edith took the surname of my friend the squire, as if she were his own daughter, her real name being unknown).

"I called upon you afterwards on purpose to inquire, and was informed that you were out of town. I had no one now to apply to for information, and was in despair. I did not know what to do with myself in town during the summer, so I thought I would try a little country air. I loitered about first in one country place, then in another, without any fixed purpose. I had been reading Shakespeare one day, and upon closing the book, I resolved I would take a pilgrimage to the birth place of the great Swan of Avon.

"I had never yet visited this retreat, so I started at once, and determined to put up in the village for some time. With what a thrill of delight, awe, and enthusiasm I crossed the threshold of that humble domicile! _His_ foot had once crossed that same spot! Here was the window that _he_ used to look out of. The identical gla.s.s, too, all carefully preserved by a network of wire. _His_ table and _his_ chair!

There was something magical to me in that low-roofed chamber, with its old-fashioned beams.

"This, then, was the birthplace of that giant brain destined to illumine the world with the rays of his genius! Who knows how many plays had been conceived and worked out within those four walls? To me, the spot was hallowed ground. _I_ could not inscribe my name on those sacred panels.

It seemed almost sacrilege for me to sit down in his chair, but I did so; and begged to be left alone for a time, that I might meditate on the life and genius of the greatest of poets.