HERR PAULUS:

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9064, 26 May 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

HERR PAULUS:

HIS RISE, HIS GREATNESS, AND HISiFALL." BY WALTER BEKANT, Author of " All Sorts and Conditions of Men," &c.

BOOK THE THIRD.

CHAPTER XIV. A W E D D I N O DAY.

Thkre are weddings which must bo festive occasions. They are- those where the course of true love has run quito smoothly c past level lawns where tho lads and lassee play lawn tennis between trim hedges, past flowering banks, past lovely town gardens and stately houses. They are those in which tho parents on both sides are convinced that the young people were made for each other. They are also those in which tho marriage settlements are everything that can be desired. Other weddings th ere are in which tho bride and the bridegroom are married under some kind of cloud. There are many and varying clouds which darken poor Humanity : tho cloud penitential ; tho cloud pecuniary ; the cloud of disobedience ; or the cloud of elopement. When a couple marry under tho shadow of such a cloud, their union must be strictly private. Paul walked alono to the church on his wedtling day. Ife had no friends; no young man in tho wholo world was more friendless ; tho medium, to begin with, is always a solitary being; he who has resigned that profession is more solitary still, because he has lost such companions as he had among the scanty and jealous members of this calling. But ho had recovered something of his gallant bearing, and walked with head erect as a bridegroom should. He was now at peace with all tfte world, because he was no longer going to prey upon thorn ; moro than that, lie was ab peace with himself ; at five-and-twenfcy the temperament is elastic and sanguine. And he was going to bo married—and he was going away—and he was going to be advised and directed for the rest of his life by his wife—a prospect which filled this remarkable young man with infinite satisfaction. In Harley-gtreet—he wae making his way to Marylebone Church—ho was stopped by nono other than Mr. Emanuel Chick.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paulus," said the general Practitioner of Spiritualism. " I bog your pardon, sir. I was in the hall the other day and I had the pleasure of hearing your remarks." " Oh ! Then I hope you were edified, Mr. Chick."

" I was. I was both edified and pleased. What Lady Augusta said afterwards—but you didn't hear that—wa3 all bally rot. Wo know—Heir Paulus—wo know," lie chuckled and rubbed hi« hands. "Now, I ask you, sir—that night when you firat sprung it on 'em, didrrt I say thafc it was nothing but mesmerism?" " You did, Chick, you certainly did." " Well, you were down upon me after that, and you'vo been down npon me over since. No more seances for Emanuol Chick. Oh, no ! He's played out, he is. Dawg bite Dawg ! That's always the way with Spiritualiste. Spoil the trade, they do, instead of stickin' together." "VVoll, Mr. Chick?" " Yes ; and now you hold your head up high just as if you hadn't gone and tola everybody oponly that you'vo boon a humbug all along." " That is so, Chick. You can't hold your head high, you see, because you haven't told anybody." " I alway thought it was your doing—Mr. Brudenel writing that letter when he told me to buy shares in his Company." "No, I knew nothing about that letter. There you wrong , me, Chick." " I don't half believe you," said the man, with a cunning look. " Well, whother you did or whether you didn't, p'raps you'll be sorry to hear that Mr. Brudonel has behaved like a gentleman." " Not at all sorry. I always thought he was a gentleman." '' And he's repaid the 'ole of that money, the 'ole of it, sir, in water shares—two thousand pounds' worth ; because it was his fault that I took the money. Two thousand pounds' worth. 1 thought you'd like to know, that's all."

* The Proprietors of the New Zealand llbratd hare purchased the sole right to publish this etory iu the North Island of New Zealand.

" Thank you, Chick, thank you. I'm very glad to know it." "We shan't see you much more over there, I take it ?" he jerked his thumb in the direction of St. John's Wood.

"No, Chick, no," he replied, cheerfully. "Good day to you—good day." Chick looked after him as he walked

away. "He's got what I never had," he murmured. "And he looks a swell. It's written in his face and it's spoken by his eyes. He is a swell, and he'll always be a swell. Wonder what he did it for. Wonder why he got up on the platform and told 'em. Wonder what his game is. You can't make much by being a converted medium—or I'd try it. I wonder, now, what he did it for."

Every professional medium in tho world, when tho story of this Great Renunciation reached his ears, wondered why Paul did it. Virtue, in cases where there is no reward visibly sticking out of a handbag, is difficult of comprehension by the professional medium.

Hetty's wedding was, therefore, private and quiet, as was suitable to tho occasion. Mr. Medlock refused to give away his daughter, but was observed at the doors of the Church looking on with a gloomy brow at the flight of all his hopes. When the service was concluded he walked away in the direction of Beaumont-street, doubtless to condole with the other victim of Paul's contumacy and Hetty's disobedience. Lavinia was present in her customary dress of black stuff, looking like a pewopener. She wept copiously during the service. Did she weep because her daughter was going away from the house of tricks and shams ? Or did she weep at the failure of her husband's scheme? Or did she weep because she herself was left behind to carry on the old, the stale old game ? Contrary to reasonable expectation, no rappings attested the satisfaction, or the contrary, felt by the spirits at the auspicious event. And they might have made tho occasion so important in the annals of spiritualism. This is how the best opportunities get fooled away. Not a single rap, not a note or a bar of celestial music, not the quiver of a single concertina. Nor, again, did the Sage of Abyssinia make a sign of friendship towards his old pupil and messenger. Think of the splendid effect of a letter straight from Izak the Falasha fluttering down from the roof of Marylebone Church upon the head of the bridegroom ! Think of the splendid 'effect of tho Philosopher's Apparition ! Sibyl and Bethiah were tho only other witnesses of tho marriage, and the bride was given away by the verger. It was a gloomy ceremony. The only actor in it who was perfectly happy was the bride. Hetty was going " out of it" at last. Farewell for ever to manifestations, seances, rappings, messages, and tho music of heaven ! No more guilty consciousness of tricks which sho could not reveal because the porformer was her own mother ; no more inquiry of any oracle—all that was done with. Paul was coming with her "out of it" too. How could she disguise her happiness and her joy ? \Y lion tho service was over and the book signed and witnessed, tho bride and bridegroom took leave of their friends in the vestry. "My daughter," said Lavinia, "when shall I ever see you again ? Oh ! Hetty, Hetty !" " 1 will write to you, mother," said Hetty. " I will write through Sibyl. You are not to know, on account of father, where we aro living. Ido not wish to see him again, ever, I think. Bub you I shall see again when—you know—l told you last night, mother." "I can't; it's no use; Haynes won't hear of it. I can't give it up. How arc we to live? Your father won't hear of it. We are going to America on a tour. It's my livelihood, child ; and now he's going to live on it, as well."

" Good-bye, mother. When you are tired of it send mo word, through Sibyl. Good-bye. Oh, mother !" she whispered once more, " give it up !"

They drove away to Victoria Station in a four-wheeled cab which had their luggage on tho top, and tho rest of the forlorn bridal party remained standing outside the church, under the great porch. Lavinia was weeping still. A very quiet wedding without a single wedding present, except certain "things" which Hetty had on —Bethiah gave her those. She would take nothing from anyone in the house where Paul had playod his adventurous game. Not a single present even from Cicely, who loved her; or from Lady Augusta, who was grateful for her services ; or from Sibyl. Her husband must not profib by so much as a single pair of gloves from that house.

'' It isn't for the marriage that I am crying-, Miss Brudcnel," said Lavinia. " Paul will make her a good husband, I'm sure. The like of him—clever and soft and easy led— mostly make good husbands when they don't take to drink. But it's the awful throwing away of the most splendid chances that were ever offered to any young couple. That's what I feel. He was ottered only yesterday—for a last chance—a half partnership, and to take the money himself, and two thousand pounds down, and he throw it up. And why ? All for a silly scruple. All because he would have to work by his cleverness and not by the spirits at all. Why, I knew from the beginning that he couldn't be a medium. You can tell a medium at iirst sight. There's a look in a medium's eye.*, even such a medium as Emanuel Chick, though he docs make the whole room smell of rum ; Paul's eyes never had that look."

" Oh ! but Mrs. Medlock, Paul and Hetty felt that it would not be honest," said Sibyl.

" It's as honest a trade as any. There's pretence everywhere. And isn't it throwing in her own mother's teeth a reflection on her own mother —that she won't let him carry on that trade? How are they to live, I should like to know ? And they are going away, and I shall lose my daughter ; because she says that she will never, never, never let that good old gentleman who offered Paul the partnership know where her husband is living. I've lost my girl. She wasn't altogether what she might have been ; she would never help her mother in tho way of her profession. And she has thrown away the most beautiful and heavenly gifts of chairvoyancQ. Oh ! what a sin and a shame it is !"

Then the two girls left hor, and walked slowly away. "It is all over now," said Bethiah. " There is nothing left to do but to take him back to America. Sibyl, don't publish any story about him." " My dear, I never intended to." " Don't let Lady Augusta publish anything. She said she was going to —you know—at the hall the other day. It might follow Paul and find him out and make him unhappy. His only chance is to forgot everything." " Can he ever forget ?" " You don't know my boy," said Bethiah. "If he wants to forgot it he will put it behind him and forget it in a week. He forgot to write to me or to his parents, for some years. Why ? Because of the incongruity betwoon the bare ugly truth and his pretensions. I suppose it would have made him uncomfortable. So while ho was in New York he was tho Signor Paolo—he learned the language off a wandering Italian—tho native village and the general store—the village shop wero forgotten and so were his father and his mother, and all his old friends. They had to be forgotten. Else he would have felt uncomfortable"

" He could make believe, in fact." "Oh ! yes. Nobody in the world could make bolieve better. I am quite sure that he felt himself an Italian when he was Signor Paolo, and he felt himself a Teacher of the Ancient Philosophy, and believed in a kind of a way in his Abyssinian Sage. Why, you heard what Lady Augusta said of him. If he had not bolieved himself in what he was teaching them, how could he have impressed her so profoundly ?" " Where did he gob his wisdom from ?" " Well, Sibyl, I come of a Puritan stock, and so I think he got it out of a certain Book in which he used to read a good deal when he was a boy. I have seen him in our own garden declaiming aloud the splendid passages of Isaiah and Ezekiel. He drew upon his memory. I am sure of it, because Cicely once tried to reproduce some of his discourse, and I remembered the ideas and the language." " Has he communicated with his mother ?"

" Yes, 1 made him write. He expressed his penitence for his long silence, and said that if he had been doing any good for himself he should have written before ; but that he was ashamed to toll the story of ill-spent Tims. I have dissuaded him from telling all the story, or any of it. His mother would be too truly horrified if she

knew it. He told her, however, that he was bringing a ■wife home with him." " But," said Sibyl, " how will Hetty like living with the old people ?" "She will not live with them. Paul can never go back to the little town. I think he must live in the country, but near a great town, perhaps near Boston. It is not likely that people will remember Signor Paolo, even in New York, and in Boaton they have probably never even heard of him. It was only among Spiritualists that he was known."

" Do you think that Paul will ever be able to do the rough work of a journalist? Have they not to attend meetings and be up all night and run about perpetually ?" " I do not expect that he will do that. But our journals want all kinds of work ; they are the literature of the people ; they present reading of every kind. Paul will quickly learn to provide the kind of thing which will take and sell. He is quick to see, and I know that he can write." " Poor Paul! Poor Hetty !" " She is not to be pitied at all. She loves her husband. That is everything." "Bebhiah." Sibyl touched her hand—it is a woman's sign of affection and consideration. " Why is it—why did not Paul fall in love with you ?" "Well, Sibyl, I don't quite know. It is just as well as it is. For my part I have always loved the boy—and if he had reminded me that he was not, after all, my brother, I might—but this is rubbish. I urn his sister and I love him just as much as ever. And so, you see, Sibyl, as I am his sister, I can never let him want, can I ?" # * * # *

A week later Tom and Sibyl stood upon the platform at St. Pancras* They were come to say good-bye to the man who had saved their fortunes and persuaded a consent to their marriage out of Mr. Brudenel. " For such services," said Tom, " I would even shake hands with a dynamitard." It was not an ordinary leave-taking. They could not say "Come again soon," or " We expect you over again next year," or " We shall not be happy till you repeat your visit." Nothing of that sort could even be hinted at, because Paul must never return to England; not until everyone of the multitude who fiHed that hall and heard that confession had passed away. "You will write, Hetty," said Sibyl. " Write to Cicely first, and to me sometimes. Tell me what you are doing and how you are getting on. My poor Hetty !" "I am very happy. I am going to be as happy as the day is long," she said, bravely, taking her husband's hand. "Now," said Bethiah, "the guard is looking at the tickets. Good-bye, Sibyl. 1 will write to you as well, if you will let me. Here is a little present for you. Lay it at the bottom of your desk, and look at it now and then. Good-bye." " Paul," said Tom, holding his hand with the linn grasp of friendship, " we are your debtors. We can never pay that debt Some day, perhaps, you will remember that fact. Promise me bhat, if occasion arises, you will remember it." Paul shook his head.

"It is good of you both," lie said, " to see us off. I shall not readily forget that, anyhow." , Then the train rolled away and they were gone. Sibyl opened tho parting present when she readied home.

It wo 3 a pencil sketch of Paul's face drawn by Bethiah. The face was idealised. It was Paul as he might be. Paul filled with noble thoughts. Paul purified. Every face may bo thus idealised and purified. My dear young lady, you think yourself beautiful as things are. You would be astonished at your own beauty could you see your face when it has passed through this process. "Yes," said Sibyl, "I shall look at it sometimes. It is with this expression on his face that I shall remember Paul."

Epilogue. Six weeks after their wedding Tom and Sibyl came home again. The period of profound meditation and philosophic calm which we call the honeymoon had nob saddened them, or made them discontented with their lot, or diminished thoir hopefulness for the future. Quite the contrary. They were profoundly satisfied with themselves and with thoir lot and with the world in general. As for Paul and the late events, which wo have rescued from oblivion, they, had nearly forgottem then. Paul was only one more of the many impostors and pretenders who had fastened for a space upon Sibyl's father, different from the rest in tho fact that, oddly enough, he had not endeavoured to get any money for himself, and that lie was a comely and well-mannered youth, and that lie had repented in sackcloth and covered his head with ashes and rent his garments and wailed aloud and done penanco and confessed his siii3 before the assembled multitude. These incidents in his career would naturally keep his memory green for a apace. But he was passing out of Sibyl's mind in her new wedded life, and his portrait lies at the bottom of a drawer full of letters, and she never bikes it out to look at it. Tom is enough, you see, to iill all her thoughts. As for Paul's teaching—that wonderful philosophy which so moved the heart of Lady Augusta —nothing of it has yet been written down, and now I do not think any will be written down. Nobody talks about it, and tho promised present of the Book of Wisdom, written by King Solomon and taken to Abyssinia by Prince Menelck, has not yet arrived. "I do hope, Tom," said Sibyl—it was before her marriage—" that the house is going to be kept clear of the whole spirit business. If Paul did nothing else, he cleared tho house of all that rubbish. My father ceased for awhile, at least, to believe in his old mediums. Ido hope that the effect will be lasting. But I fear, Tom, I fear. They have both been engaged too long in their liesearch to abandon it altogether even after such a blow as this."

" But they will not acknowledge it to be a blow," said Tom.

"No." Sibyl sighed. " They never will acknowledge any blow, however hard, though they feel it all the time. One medium after another arrives and shows off his little tricks, and gets applanse and money. Then he is discredited. It is set down to the mocking spirit and tho lying spirit. But he is discredited all the Rciino, and has to go away. As for Paul, you heard what Lady Augusta said at the conference about his wonderful and apostolical teaching. Well, it is already nearly forgotten. He is discredited, and he is gone. He will soon be remembered only as one among many, though he was the brightest and the cleverest of them all. But the Cau3e is never abandoned—never even considered in any danger. Why, Tom, though I hate the wholo thing, I find myself actually believing it sometimes, just bocause, I suppose, I have been in the habit of hearing ifc always spoken of as a true thing of which there can be no doubt." " You can make people believe anything," said Tom, " if you keep speaking of it as if it were established beyond any doubt."

Naturally, on their returu home, Lady Augusta gave a dinner party. Sibyl saw, without astonishment, yet with sorrow, that there had been already a return to the gods of the old school—the pre-Pauline period, so to speak. The Rev. Benjamin Rudge was a guest; Mr. Emanuol Chick was present; Mr. Amelius Horton, Mr. Athelstan Kilburn, Mrs. Tracy Hanley and her husband, with others of the Persuasion. It was a large dinner party, and during the period of waiting, Sibyl became aware that there was another guest of honour beside hereelf.

" We aro to have another intellectual feast this evening," she heard the Rev. Benjamin Rudge's loud voice proclaim. "So much is cortain. It is a lady—they say from Russia—but we have not heard her name. She has arrived, and is in the house already." That well-known and uncomfortable sensation of having seen the thing already, crept over Sibyl, and her heart sank because she found that this dinner was to be followed by another manifestation of peculiar interest. " Yes, my dear," said her father, tapping his knuckles with his glasses, and speaking with the fidgety nervousness which she knew so well. " We have a visitor whose social position alone guarantees her good faith, bhe is not by any means an unknown adventuress, such as we have sometimes entertained. She is a Russian Princess of the highest family—even connected with the Imperial House. Her manifestations prove a very advanced stage of Spiritualistic effort. But you shall see, my child, and judge for yourself. We always prefer to be judged by those who aro hostile to us. Tom shall himself pronounce an opinion." " It is not," Emanuel Chick was saying ; "it is not by making experiments and

showing off fireworks in magnetism that we can accomplish results. Wβ have gofc to feel our way step by by little. We have got to encounter lying spirits and mocking spirite. But think of the results we have already achieved. It is a science, sir, and ifc must be conducted on scientific methods. The medium must feel his way. He ought to be endowed by the State, and the results ought to be published in full so as to remain on record."

Here the Russian phenomenon — the Princess Olga Alexandrovna—appeared afc the door.

She was young and remarkable in appearance, if not beautiful. She was dressed in black velvet and lace, very rich, simple, and striking. She stood for a moment in the doorway, where the light fell full upon her, just as an actress when she appears upon the stage stands for a moment in order to let the audience take in the beauty of her face, her figure, and her raiment. This young lady's features were regular ; her features were sharp—her friends said they were of extreme delicacy ; her voice was sharp and rather rasping ; her hair was dark, nearly black ; and her eyes matched her hair. In other circles and in former times they would have been called " bold." Her mouth was firm—even hard ; her smile was ready—her friends called it winning ; those who did not like her so much said that it was hard and void of merriment. Her name was Olga Alexandrovna, and she was a native of St. Petersburg, but she had the look of the Tartar. She said sharp things, sometimes very rude things, but her friends said they were epigrams, and she had written a book —it was in French, but had been translated into English, which old-fashioned people would not suffer to enter their houses, or to be upon their tables. Her friends said it was a book in which for the first time a woman had dared to speak the truth. The dinner was like one of the old Functious which Sibyl remembered so well, and those which the natural liveliness of Paul had banished. It was as dull, as stupid, and as solemn. A whole Bench of Beadles could not have dined together more solemnly; the whole body of Cathedral Vergers could not have been more solemn. Everybody wanted to hear what the new Prophetess would say; and her remarks were sometimes inaudible.

Sibyl thought of the first evening when Herr Paulus came ; and how the people craned their necks and strained their ears to catch his words. But Herr Paulus, Sibyl thought, being a women, and therefore perhaps prejudiced, was a great deal more interesting than Princess Olga Alexandrovna, and much better looking. The Princess, it presently appeared, belonged not to Paul s School of the Ancient Way—which was peculiar to himself—but to that of the modern Occult Philosophy, whose prophet is—or was—none other than Madame Blavatsky. A good many people know by this time fehe language of the school, which has followers and puts forward pretensions. The Princess talked glibly of Thibet, Mahatmiis, Astral Bodies, Karma, Yogees, and the Esoteric Buddhism. The guests, especially Lady Augusta, listened and fancied that knowledge of the moat valuable kind was being imbibed at every pore. But Mr. Emanuel Chick paid no attention to the beautiful talk, making the best of his time over the truly excellent dinner and the wine, which he could not get anywhere else. It is the unhappy lot of mediums to acquire a taste for good old port and fine claret, which cannot be gratified except on these rare occasions when they are invited to such a hospitable board as Lady Augusta's. Mr. Chick was quite happy, and did not care twopence what the Russian medium whs saying. His enemy, Paul, was gone, after such a disgrace as would have snuffed out any medium—even himself—for ever. Mr. Brudenel had given him back the money that he had lost. He had also called him in just as before, to carry on Research on the old lines. Princess Olga Alexandrovna, therefore, talked after her kind, and the company listened. Just now there is a good deal of talk after her kind ; one hears—but perhaps even ae I write the thing is going out of fashion—of strictly private and select circles where the disciples gathor together and whisper about coming marvels and great achievements, and the great and wonderful disclosures which are to be made the day after to-morrow. They have not seen these achievements, but they have been heard of. The coming marvels are on their way, but they have not arrived. The day after to-morrow is the. only day which never comes. To morrow is certain. Not the day after to morrow, which never arrives. No doubt the wheels of the chariots which bear the new Prophets can even now be heard, by those who have ears, rumbling across the world from far off Lassa. But up to the present moment Madame Blavatsky stands alone and is as yet unsurpassed. Fortunately for the sacred Cause of Occult Philosophy, she is her own Prophet and does not use any of her bushels for the hiding of her light. She has also retained the services of another and more accomplished Prophet, who is always proclaiming the Truth divine. Between the two that Truth is certain to prevail.

The manifestations were over. "Lady Augusta," said the Rev. Benjamin Rudge, with notebook in hand, "we nave had a glorious—a glorious evening. Never before, in man's memory, has there been such a generous, such a noble outpouring of spirit influence upon any circle. It must be recorded in public, and that without delay. And, oh ! Lady Augusta, when we get our College at last, what an opportunity, what a chance for the honour of the country if -we could secure Princess Olga Alexandrovna for one of our Professors ! That College ! How gladly would I act as its secretary, Lady Augusta ! What zeal, w-hat energy, would I throw into the cause !" "We shall see, Mr. Rudge," said Lady Augusta. "The evening has been a re markable one, indeed." " What do you say, Chick ?" asked Tom sotto vocc.

"Fireworks, Mr. Langston, fireworks." His voice was just a little thick. The soundest port will produce this effect upon some constitutions. "Same as Horr Paulus. Fireworks and mesmerism and conjuring. Just the same Give em ropo for a bit, and they will all come back to me and the old methods. Same as they did with him. Nothing like science, Mr. Langston, after all. Why, I could give you results —"

"Princess—oh! Princess Olga Alexandrpvna," murmured Mrs. Tracy Hanley, " I must, I feel I must, implore you to come to my Sunday evonings. Not to do anything, unless you like ; not to teach us, but to rest —to rest— among friends. We are all friends at my Sunday evenings. May I have your promise to come? You are so great and so highly gifted that you will nave many invitations from those who would merely like to show a Russian Princess in their rooms, and get you to exhibit your wonderful powers for the admiration and envy of their friends. But with us you will have repose ani the quiet talk which refreshes the soul. You will come—only say that you will come. Oh, Princess, there has never been such an evening." "My Friends." It was the voice of Mr. Cyrus Brudenel. He had now assumed his pince-nez, and his face was radiant and his voice triumphant. "My dear friends, we have never been associated at an evening marked throughout by such splendid manifestation of power. This night will ever be remembered as one of distinct advance—we are indeed nearer to the spirits. We have taken a step within the unknown land, and had such a glimpse as has never been vouchsafed before. Princess Olga Alexandrovna, I do not say that we thank you. Such a word is too feeble to express the joy of our hearts. Wo congratulate ourselves upon your arrival. We feel too deeply for expression the help that you will give us—the English seekers in Spiritualism." Sibyl again experienced that uncomfortable sensation of having seen the thing before, perhaps because she recognised a certain look in her father's eyes, which told her what was coming. "My Friends," he said, with firm voice and becoming gesture of hand and foot, "we stand—we stand at last, I say—upon the SOLID ROCK !" the end.

Another 'new story of thrilling interest will be commenced on June 2. It is by the able and well-known author, Bertha M. Clay, and is entitled "A. HEART'S IDOL." Ib is one of the best that has been produced by that talented author, and will afford our readers a great fund of entertainment).