Mal Moulée: A Novel

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"You think they retain their interest in and love for us, the same there as here?"

"Oh, yes, assuredly. Yet often our sorrows seem, to their enlarged vision, as the sorrows of children over broken toys seem to us; yet they strive to comfort us."

"If that is true," interposed Percy, "why was it, that after my mother died, and I used to lie awake at night, and plead with Heaven to let me feel her touch, or see her face, if only for a second, why did she not come to me?"

"Because," Helena answered gently, "there are restrictions upon their liberty, there are limits to their powers, even as there are to our own. They live higher, freer, more exalted lives, but they are not gods. I remember when I was first sent from home to boarding-school, how bitter was my homesickness and sorrow. I used to write tear-blotted letters to my mother, begging her to come to me. She did not come; other and more important duties detained her at home. She knew it was better for me to remain and overcome my loneliness. So your mother in the spirit world may have been detained by the wonderful tasks given her to do. Yet on other occasions she no doubt comes to you, as she came this morning. I think we can not expect frequent companionship from these pure spirits, however, unless we cultivate the better part of our natures. They will not linger near us if we are wholly earthly in our aims and ambitions, and immoral in our lives."

"I believe that—I am certain of it in my own experience," Percy said, in a low voice. "Whenever I violate a principle, my mother flies from me as in fear. She has been absent many months, Miss Maxon, until your voice wooed her back."

"Therein lies the great religious lesson in this belief;" continued Helena. "I find that even my petty tempers, my uncharitable feelings, or thoughtless criticisms of other people, frighten away this holy company. I have to set a constant watch upon my mind and heart, to let no evil or selfish thought enter, if I would retain their helpful and loving influences. It is no easy task, Mr. Durand. It is constant warfare, between the material and the spiritual nature. But the results are glorious. Often when I have put to rout evil feelings, and selfish thoughts, back to my soul, like a flock of white doves, the spirits of comforting friends fly, lifting me into an atmosphere so heavenly and beautiful, that I seem scarcely to belong to earth. Oh surely, God could not give better employment to his angels, than to let them sometimes comfort us, like this. Surely, there is nothing irreverent or wrong in this belief."

"No, it is the sweetest of all beliefs," Percy answered. "It robs death of all its horrors, and it is a belief which is gaining ground. Do you not think so?"

"Yes, indeed, with the more intellectual classes. There was a time, when it was considered an evidence of ignorance to profess any faith in spirit aid. Now it is considered an evidence of ignorance to declare positively that there is nothing in it. But sensible believers do not waste their time in seeking after crude miracles—miracles which can help no human soul, and only serve to confuse and puzzle the intellect. They turn their attention rather to the development of their own higher natures, which enables them to understand and enjoy these beautiful truths."

"Do you believe that the spirits of our dear ones ever reveal themselves to us?" asked Percy, growing more and more interested. "Have you ever been blessed by such a vision?"

"Never, though I have longed for it. Yet I believe others have been so blessed. You know the Bible overflows with such occurrences. We have, there, the inspired record of the re-appearance upon earth after death—of Samuel, Moses, Elijah, and Christ himself. If we believe the Bible, we must believe these things occurred. And I think God loves his people now as dearly as He loved them then. But I have no belief in, and no patience with, the miserable artifice and wicked pretense of the so-called materializing mediums. I do not believe the lovely spirit of my dear mother could be shown to me through any cabinet—like a jack-in-a-box. The idea that the spirits of the intellectual dead have nothing better to do than move furniture or rap on ceilings and floors, is disgusting and nonsensical in my view. I am a good deal of a Swedenborgian: I think with him, that the body—the eye—is merely a telescope, through which the soul gazes. What the soul sees, and how far it sees, depends upon many conditions, just as a clear or a murky atmosphere, and the mechanism of his instrument, influences the observations of the astronomer. When the soul, and the body, and the spiritual atmosphere are all in perfect condition, I believe we can see the spirit forms about us. You know St. Paul says: 'Run your race in patience, for you are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.' But in our gross material lives, these conditions seldom occur. As for myself, I am satisfied with the comfort and strength I receive through unseen presences. I do not ask, or seek anything more."