Chapter 10: Ayrault

As the, night became darker they caught sight of the earth again, shining very faintly, and in his mind’s eye Ayrault saw his sweetheart, and the old, old repining that, since reason and love began, has been in men’s minds, came upon him and almost crushed him. Without saying anything to his companions, Ayrault left the cave, and, passing through the grove in which the spirit had paid them his second visit, went slowly to the top of the hill about half a mile off, that he might the more easily gaze at the faint star on which he could picture Sylvia.

“Ah!” he said to himself, on reaching the summit, “I will stay here till the earth rises higher, and when it is far above me I will gaze at it as at heaven.”

Accordingly, he lay down with his head on a mound of sod, and watched the familiar planet.

“We were born too soon,” he soliloquized; “for had Sylvia and I but lived in the spiritual age foretold by the bishop, we might have held communion, while now our spirits, no matter how much in love, are separated absolutely by a mere matter of distance. It is a mockery to see Sylvia’s dwelling-place, and feel that she is beyond my vision. O that, in the absence of something better, my poor imperfect eyes could be transformed into those of an eagle, but with a million times the power! for though I know that with these senses I shall see the resurrection, and hear the last trump, that is but prospective, while now is the time I long for sight.”

On the plain he had left he saw his friends’ camp-fire, while on the other side of his elevation was a valley in which the insects chirped sharply, and through which ran a stream. Feeling a desire for solitude and to be as far removed as possible, he arose and descended towards the water. Though the autumn, where they found themselves, was well advanced, this night was warm, and the rings formed a great arch above his head. Near the stream the frogs croaked happily, as if unmindful of the long very long Saturnian winter; for though they were removed but about ten degrees from the equator, the sun was so remote and the axis of the planet so inclined that it was unlikely these individual frogs would see another summer, though they might live again, in a sense, in their descendants. The insects also would soon be frozen and stiff, and the tall, graceful lilies that still clung to life would be withered and dead. The trees, as if weeping at the evanescence of the life around them, shed their leaves at the faintest breeze. These fluttered to the ground, or, falling into the tranquil stream, were carried away by it, and passed from sight. Ayrault stood musing and regretting the necessity of such general death. “But,” he thought, “I would rather die than lose my love; for then I should have had the taste of bliss without its fulfilment, and should be worse off than dead. Love gilds the commonplace, and deifies all it touches. Love survives the winter, and in my present frame of mind I should prefer earth and cold with it to heaven and spring. Oh, why is my soul so clogged by my body?”

A pillar of stone standing near him was suddenly shattered, and the bishop stood where it had been.

“Because,” said the spirit, answering his thought, “it has not yet power to be free.”

“Can a man’s soul not rise till his body is dead? asked Ayrault.

The spirit hesitated.

“Oh, tell me,” pleaded Ayrault. “If I could see the girl to whom I am engaged, for but a moment, could be convinced that she loves me still, my mind would be at rest. Free my soul or spirit, or whatever it is, from this body, that I may traverse intervening space and be with her.”

“You will discover the way for yourself in time,” said the spirit.

“I know I shall at the last day, in the resurrection, when I am no longer in the flesh. Then I shall have no need of your aid; for we, know that in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like the angels of God in heaven. It is while I am mortal, and love as mortals do, that I wish to see my promised bride. A spirit may have other joys, and perhaps higher; but you who have lived in the world and loved, show me that which is now my heart’s desire. You have shown us the tomb in which Cortlandt will lie buried; now help me to go to one who is still alive.”

“I pray that God will grant you this,” said the spirit, “and make me His instrument, for I see the depth of your distress.” Saying which, he vanished, leaving no trace in his departure except that the pillar of stone returned to its place.