Short Story: The Machine Stops

as if a poisonous wasp was perched, boring with a fiery sting down into her marrow. But as there was no wasp to chase away and with the sting getting ever fiercer and her thoughts growing ever more alarming, Christine began to show people her cheek, asking what they could see on it, and again and again she asked, but no one saw anything, and soon no one was willing to be distracted from enjoying the festivity by peeking at Christine’s cheek. Finally she succeeded in persuading an elderly woman; just then the cock was crowing, morning dawned, and all the old woman could see was nothing more than an almost invisible speck on Christine's cheek. It was nothing, the woman said, it would no doubt go away, and went on her way.

‘Christine sought to comfort herself with the thought that it was nothing and would go away soon; but the pain persisted and did not ease, and imperceptibly the little mark grew to become noticeable, and everyone saw it and asked her what was the black object on her face. No one thought it was anything special, but the comments pierced her to the quick, rekindled her gloomy thoughts, and over and over again she was forced to think that the green huntsman had kissed her on that very spot, and that the same fire that at the time and from time to time since struck through her bones like lightning now burned and gnawed continuously there. Sleep deserted her, and food tasted like burning ashes in her mouth. She dashed about erratically hither and thither, seeking relief but finding none, while the pain grew ever more intense, and the black spot grew bigger and blacker, separate dark strands emanating from it, and towards her mouth a bump seemed to be implanted on the round spot.

‘So Christine suffered and thrashed about many a long day and many a long night, revealing to no soul the fear that gnawed at her heart nor what she received from the green huntsman on the spot in her cheek; but she would have sacrificed everything in heaven and on earth to be rid of this anguish. She was by nature an insolent woman, but now she was turning wild writhing in maddening pain. A nd it happened that yet another woman was expecting a child. This time there was no great fear, the peasants were even light-hearted; they felt reassured by the thought that as long as they made certain that the priest was there in time, they could defy the green huntsman. Only Christine did not feel this way. The nearer the day of birth drew, the fiercer grew the fire on her cheek, and the more massively the black spot enlarged, thrusting out distinct legs and sprouting short hairs, shiny spots and streaks appeared on its back, and the bump turned into a head, from which what seemed like two glittering eyes flashed in fearsome venom. People shrieked aloud at the sight of

It’s not what you look at that matters. It’s what you see.

Henry David Thoreau

the poisonous spider on Christine's face, and they all fled in panic and horror when they saw how it was firmly perched and had grown out of her face. All sorts of comments and advice ensued, but whatever it might be, no one envied Christine, everyone shunning and fleeing from her at every opportunity. The more others fled, the more Christine chased after them, dashing from house to house; she knew full well that the Devil was reminding her of the promised child, and in hellish fright she pursued the folk, openly urging them to make the sacrifice. But the others were hardly bothered; whatever was tormenting Christine caused them no distress; and in their opinion she herself was to blame for her suffering, and if they could no longer evade her, they simply told her, “That is your lookout! No one has promised a child, and no one is going to give one.” She launched a furious tirade at her own husband. He fled like the others, and when he could no longer evade her, he callously told her that it was sure to get better, that it was only a wart, such as many people had; once it was fully grown the pain would cease, and then it could be easily tied off.

‘But meanwhile the pain did not cease, each of the spider’s leg felt like a hellish fire through every one of her bones, with the body of the spider like hell itself, and when the woman was about to deliver, Christine felt as if she was engulfed in a sea of flames, as if redhot knives were burrowing to her marrow, and fiery whirlwinds were whistling through her brain. The spider, however, swelled up even more, it pranced amid the short bristles, its eyes bulging forth venomously. When Christine, in her fierce anguish, met with no sympathy anywhere and saw that the expectant woman was well guarded, she tore like a madwoman down the path along which the priest had to come.

‘The priest strode briskly along the slope, accompanied by his sturdy sexton; neither the blazing sun nor the steep path impeded their stride, for the life of a soul was at stake and a never-ending misfortune needed to be averted, and he was also concerned about the terrible delay he had encountered in returning from a sick-bed far away. In desperation Christine threw herself in his path, clasped his knees, pleaded for deliverance from her torment and for the sacrifice of the yet unborn child, while the spider swelled all the more with a black and horrific glint on her crimson face, and glared with ghastly, hate-filled eyes at the priest’s sacred implements and symbols. But he quickly thrust Christine aside and crossed himself; he saw the enemy there all right but he refrained from fighting in order to save a soul. Christine leapt up, stormed after him and in desperation tried to hold him back, but the sexton’s strong hand kept the raging woman off the priest, and he arrived in time to protect a house, to receive the child into his consecrated hands and place it in the hands of Him Whom hell can never overpower.

Meanwhile, Christine had been waging a terrible struggle outside. She wanted to get hold of the child before it was baptised, tried to get in the house, but strong men defended it. Gusts slammed against the house and pale flashes of lightning leapt round it, but the Hand of the Lord was over it; the child was baptised, and Christine circled helplessly and in vain round the house. Gripped by ever more savage torments of hell, she let out sounds unlike anything known to a human breast; the cattle shuddered in their sheds and broke free of their halters, while the oaks rustled, horrified, in the forest.

‘In the house jubilation erupted over the fresh victory, the impotence of the green huntsman and the futile wrestling of his accomplice; but outside lay Christine, writhing on the ground in excruciating pain, her features convulsed by such extraordinary contortions and pulsating with an anguish such as no woman in childbirth on earth ever suffered, and the spider on her face continued to swell ever higher and burned ever more fierily through her body.

‘It seemed to Christine as if suddenly her face burst open, as if glowing coals were being born in it, coming alive, crawling away over her face and all her limbs, as if everything on her face was coming to life and away in a fiery crawl from her body. In the pale flashes of lightning she saw swarms of long-legged and poisonous little black spiders beyond count running over her face, scurrying down her limbs and vanishing from sight into the night, pursued by countless other long-legged and poisonous swarms. At last she could see no more swarms in pursuit, the fire in the face died away, the spider settled down, turning once more into an almost invisible speck and following with jaded eyes the hellish brood that it had spawned and dispatched into the world as a reminder that the green huntsman was neither to be betrayed nor trifled with.

‘Faint like a woman who had just given birth, Christine scrambled home; even though the fire on her face was no longer as torrid, there was no relief from the blaze in her heart; and though her weary limbs yearned for rest, the green huntsman would not leave her in peace; once he had his claws in somebody, this was what he did to them. I nside the house, however, revelry and rejoicing went on, and for a long time they failed to hear the cattle bellowing and going berserk in the shed. At last they rose, startled, and a number of them went to investigate; they returned pale with fright and brought the news that the finest cow lay dead, the rest were in such state of wild rampage as they had never seen. Something was not right, and they suspected a strange hand at work. The revelry died down, and everyone rushed to the cattle, whose lowing resounded across mountain and valley, but no one

knew what to do. They tried both worldly and spiritual arts against the spell, but to no avail; before the day dawned, death had ravaged all the cattle in the shed. But as things quieted down in one place, so the bellowing struck up on the next farm, and then the next; those who were there heard how the pestilence had reached their cowsheds and how, in their terror, the cattle called woefully to their masters for help.

‘They hurried home as though their rooftops were engulfed in flames, but they brought with them no relief; in one place as in the next death plundered the cattle, the wailing of men and animals pervaded hills and valleys, and the sun, which left the valley so blithe and merry, peered down into scenes of appalling misery. With the sunrise the peasants could at last see how the sheds where death had struck down the cattle were teeming with countless black spiders. These spiders swarmed over the livestock and fodder, poisoning whatever they touched, and if it was a living creature it was driven into a frenzy, until it soon dropped dead. No shed could be purged of these spiders once they had penetrated; it was as if they materialised from out of the ground itself, and no measures could keep them out of any shed, for abruptly they crept out of all the walls and emerged in hordes from the floorboards. The peasants drove the cattle out to the pasture, but in doing so merely drove them into the jaws of death. For no matter where a cow planted a hoof on a pasture, the ground began to stir to life; black, long-legged spiders sprouted like horrid-looking alpine flowers, creeping up the cattle, and a frightfully vicious roar sounded from the hills down to the valley. And all these spiders resembled the spider on Christine's face, just as children resemble their mother; nothing like them have ever before been seen.

‘The roar of the wretched beasts had also reached the castle, and shepherds soon followed, proclaiming that their cattle had succumbed to the vermin, and in rising anger von Stoffel learned how herd after herd had been lost, learned what pact had been made with the green huntsman and how the peasants had deceived him a second time, and how the spiders resembled, as children their mother, the spider on the face of the woman from Lindau, who alone had entered into the agreement with the green huntsman and had never given a proper account of it. Then von Stoffel rode up the hill in rage and thundered at the poor peasants that he was not prepared to lose herd after herd because of them; they would have to make good whatever losses he suffered, and keep whatever promise they had made; for whatever they had taken on voluntarily, they would have to bear. He would incur no damage on their account, or if he did, he would extract it from them a thousandfold. They had better watch out. He harangued them in this vein, oblivious to what he was demanding of them, and

it did not occur to him that he had driven them to such a sad plight, reckoning only with what they had done.

‘Most of the folk had already realised that the spiders were a plague from the Devil, a warning to fulfil the agreement, and that Christine must know more than she had told them about the bargain she had struck with the green huntsman. Now they trembled again at the thought of the green huntsman, no longer laughing at him, and also quaking in fear of their worldly lord. If they appeased these overlords, what would their spiritual Lord have to say about it, would He permit it, and would He then refuse them penance? Racked with such fear, the most respected among them gathered in a solitary barn and Christine had to come and give a straightforward account of the agreement she had actually negotiated. C hristine came, savage and vindictive, tortured anew by the growing spider. ‘As she saw the men’s trepidation and no women being present, she told them plainly what had happened to her: how the green huntsman had taken her quickly at her word, and had planted a kiss on her cheek as a token, to which she had paid no special attention; how on that same spot the spider had grown, agonising her with such hellish torments, from the moment when the first child was baptised; and how the spider had spawned a teeming flock in such fiendish pains exactly as the second child was baptised and the green huntsman was duped; for he would not be made fool of with impunity, as she herself had been experiencing in her thousandfold pangs of death. Now the spider was growing again, her anguish was mounting, and if the next child was not handed to the green huntsman, there was no telling what ghastly misfortune might come next, and what horrible revenge the knight might exact.

‘So Christine told to them, and the hearts of the men quailed, and for a long time none of them would speak. By and by, stifled sounds began to come from their choked throats, and when what they uttered was pieced together, it showed that they agreed precisely with what Christine had told them, but not a single one of them had given his consent to her recommendation. Only one man stood up and spoke briefly and bluntly that the best solution seemed to him to strike Christine dead, for once she was dead, the green huntsman could still hold her responsible and would have no more hold on the living. At that, Christine burst into wild laughter, stepped right up to the man and told him to strike, as it was all right by her, but she pointed out that it was not her the green huntsman wanted but an unbaptised child, and just as he had marked her, so he would mark the hand that touched her. There was a twitch in the hand of the man who alone had spoken; he sat down

Help and further your neighbour, and thereby you will fulfil on him what you owe him! For you men are on your journey in order to mature through one another ! It avails you nothing if you injure no one because you seclude yourselves and flee from men. You thereby neglect your duty! But rich in blessing will the heaven of recognition open up to him who united with men and could detach himself again, because thereby he could experience reciprocally all that he needed, and also helped the other to advance.

From Past Millennia (Published by Stiftung Gralsbotschaft, Stuttgart) ISTOCK

and listened in silence to the counsel of the others. And in halting utterances, where no one expressed himself fully but merely uttered something that was meant to convey a little, they agreed to sacrifice the next child, but no one would offer his hand in carrying the child to church slope Kilchstalden where they had left he beech trees. None had shrunk from using the Devil for what they thought was for the general good, but no one craved to make his personal acquaintance. Then Christine volunteered herself to do this, for having dealt with the Devil once, she could hardly be any more vulnerable a second time. They all knew well who was to bear the next child, but said nothing about it, and the child’s father was not there among them. After coming to mutual agreement, both spoken and unspoken, they parted. T he young woman who had sobbed apprehensively, without knowing why at the time, on that harrowing night when Christine gave her account of the green huntsman, was the one now expecting the next child. The events surrounding the previous births did not leave her in good cheer and confident, an indefinable fear weighed heavily upon her heart, which neither prayer nor confession could dislodge. She felt surrounded by a suspicious silence, no one mentioned the spider any more, and every eye directed at her evoked distrust and seemed to be calculating the hour when they might snatch her child to appease the Devil. ‘She felt so lonely and forsaken against the sinister power around her; she had no other support than her mother-in-law, a pious woman who stood by her, but what can an old woman do against a wild mob? There was her husband, who had made all kinds of good promises, but how he moaned about his cattle and gave little thought to his poor wife's fears. The priest had promised to come as quickly and as soon as he got word, but anything could happen between the moment he was summoned and his arrival; and the hapless woman had no reliable person to send but her own husband, who should be the one to protect and watch over her; what is more, the poor woman lived in the same house with Christine, and their husbands were brothers, and she had no relatives of her own, having come to the house as an orphan. Imagine then the anguish in this unfortunate woman's heart; it was only in prayer with her devout mother-in-law that she could gain a little confidence, but she lost it again the moment she met evil looks.

‘Meanwhile the pestilence persisted, and kept feeding the terror. To be sure, it was only here and there that an animal went down where the spiders made an appearance. But as soon as one person let go of the fright, or as soon as someone thought or suggested that the scourge was dying down on its own

and that they should pause to reconsider before doing wrong to a child, Christine's hellish torment flared up, the spider ballooned, and death ploughed with renewed frenzy through the herd of the one who had thought or talked in this way. Indeed, the nearer the awaited hour of birth drew, the more the distress seemed on the rise again, and they realised that they would have to plot how they could get hold of the child, certainly and without fail. They were most afraid of the husband, the father of the unborn child, and using violence against him was repugnant to them. Christine undertook to win him over to the plan, and that she did. He did not want to know about the matter, would do the bidding of his wife and fetch the priest, but would not do so in a hurry, and he would not ask about what took place during his absence; this was how he reconciled himself with his conscience, he would settle matters with God through extra masses, and maybe there was something else that could be done for the poor child's soul, he thought, maybe the good priest would wrest the child back from the Devil, and then they would all be free of the whole business, they would have kept their part of the bargain and all the same fleeced the devil. So the husband thought, and in any case, he felt that come what might, as it were he himself would bear no blame in the whole affair if he took no active part with his own hands.

‘So had the unfortunate woman been sold and, not knowing it, she clung apprehensively to a forlorn hope of rescue; the dagger thrust in her heart had been wielded in the conspiracy of men; but what the Lord above had decided was still concealed by the clouds that veil the future. I t was a year beset with storms and the period of harvest had arrived; all energies were concentrated of getting the grain into safe cover during the daylight hours. A hot afternoon had developed, heavy banks of clouds stretched their heads upwards over the dark peaks, the swallows fluttered in alarm around the roof, and the poor little woman felt so confined and uneasy left all alone in the house, for even the grandmother was outside in the field, more to help with the will than with the deed. Then splitting pains surged through her frame and everything grew dim before her eyes; she knew her hour was near and she was alone. Fear drove her from the house, and she lurched clumsily towards the field, but was soon forced to sit down. She wanted to shout into the distance, but her voice was choked inside her tight chest. She had with her a little boy, who had only just learned to use his little legs and had never before walked on his own to the field but only carried in his mother's arms. This little boy was the only messenger available to the poor woman, who did not know whether he could find the field or whether his short legs

If you discipline yourself to make your mind self-sufficient you will be least vulnerable to injury from outside.

Critias

ISTOCK

would carry him that far. But the faithful little boy saw the fear written all over his mother, he ran, fell and got up again; the cat chased his rabbit, doves and chickens scurried about his feet, his lamb gambolled along behind in a gay frolic, but the boy saw none of it, would not be diverted and faithfully delivered his message.

‘Breathless, the grandmother appeared, but the husband dallied; he had just one more cartload to discharge, he conveyed. An eternity passed, then he came, but another eternity elapsed before he finally began to trudge the long road, and meantime the hapless woman was assailed with mortal fear as her hour sped ever nearer.

‘Out in the field Christine had been watching everything with gloating. A scorching sun beat down over the hard labour, but the spider hardly burned her at all, and she felt light on her feet for next few hours. She carried on gaily with the work and did not hurry to return home, knowing how slow the pace of the messenger was. Only when the last sheaf had been loaded and gusts of wind heralded the approaching thunderstorm did Christine hasten onwards to the prey, which she felt certain was hers, or so she thought. And to many a soul that she passed on her way home she gave a meaningful wave, and they nodded to her, quickly carrying the message home; many a knee trembled at the news, and in their panic many a soul wanted to pray but could not. ‘Inside the small room the poor woman whimpered, and each minute turned into an eternity, and the grandmother could not calm her woe neither with prayers nor comforting words. She had locked the room securely and placed heavy equipment against the door. So long as they were alone in the house, they held together, but when they saw Christine coming home and heard her prowling by the door along with several more footsteps and furtive whispers outside, and no priest or any other faithful friend in sight, and as the moment, otherwise so longedfor, drew ever nearer, it can be imagined what fear gripped the wretched women, as if they were floundering in boiling oil, at their wit’s end and in despair. They could hear how Christine did not budge from the door; the tragic woman could feel the fiery eyes of her savage sister-in-law penetrating through the door, which burned right rough her body and soul. Then the first whimper of a newborn child filtered through the door and was quickly smothered, but too late. The door flew open from a furious, calculated shove, and as a tiger pouncing on its prey, Christine swooped upon the hapless woman who had just given birth. The old woman hurled herself to meet the tempest, and is struck down, while the young mother, in the sacred fear of motherhood, struggled to her feet, but her weak body collapsed and the child was in Christine's hands; a blood-curdling scream broke forth from the mother’s heart, and then she was shrouded in the black shadows of unconsciousness.

Recoiling fear gripped the men as Christine emerged with the stolen child. The foreboding of a dreadful future dawned on them, but no one had the courage to interfere, and the dread of the Devil's scourge was stronger than the fear of God. Christine alone did not waver, her face was glowing, radiant like that of a victorious warrior, and it seemed to her as if the spider were caressing her cheek with a gentle tickling; the flashes of lightning that flickered about her on the way to the church slope Kilchstalden seemed to her merry lights, the thunder like a tender rumble, and the vengeful storm like a sweet purr.

‘Hans, the husband of the hapless woman, had kept his promise all too well. He had sauntered along on his way, making a leisurely inspection of every field, gazed after every bird, and before the thunderstorm had paused to watch as the fish in the brook leapt up to snap at gnats. Then he lurched suddenly and began to forge ahead, and was on the point of breaking into a run; there was something within that was driving him and was making his hair stand on end: it was his conscience warning him of the wages in store for a father who betrayed his wife and child, together with the love he still bore for his wife and his unborn child. But then something else held him back, something that was stronger than the first; it was his fear of the people, his fear of the devil, and the love of the things that the Devil could snatch from him. Then he trudged along slowly again, slowly as a man on his last walk to his place of execution. Maybe he really was on such a walk, for after all not many a man realises it at the time, and if h did, he would not embark upon it or would do it differently.

‘So it was late before he got to Sumiswald. Black clouds swept over the Münneberg, heavy raindrops sizzled in the dust, and the dull tolling of the little bell in the tower began to admonish people to think of God and beseech Him to stay His storm from turning into judgment over them. The priest stood in front of his house prepared for any errand, at the ready to set out when his Lord, Who moved along in the heavens above, might call him to a dying man or to a burning house or anywhere else. When he saw Hans approaching, he recognised the call to a difficult errand; he gathered up his vestments and sent word to his sexton to find someone to take his place at the bell and come accompany him. In the meantime he served Hans a refreshing drink, which would be most welcome after his brisk walk in the sultry air, although Hans hardly needed it, but the priest had no suspicion of his treachery. Hans relished his refreshment leisurely. The sexton appeared with some delay and gladly shared in the drink Hans offered him. The priest stood before them, armed and ready, spurning any drink, which he did not need for such errand and battle as lay ahead. He was reluctant to ask someone to come away from a drink of hospitality and did not like to violate a guest’s privilege, but he was

aware of a duty higher than the duty of hospitality, and this waste of time exasperated him.

‘He was ready, he said finally, for a woman in distress, who was about to be assailed by a vile outrage, was waiting. He had vowed to place himself and his sacred weapons between the woman and the crime, and so they must come now without delay; there would be more up above for the one who has not slaked his thirst here below. At this point Hans, husband of the expectant woman, remarked that there was no need for any great hurry, as his wife was inclined to make heavy weather of everything. And forthwith a flash of lightning blazed into the room, blinding them all, and a peal of thunder broke over the house, shaking it to its foundations. Then after he had finished saying his grace the sexton spoke: “Listen to the conditions outside, the heavens themselves have confirmed what Hans said, that we should wait, and what good would it do if we did go, we would never make it up there alive, and in any case he himself said that there was no need to hurry where his wife was concerned.” A nd indeed such a storm was raging as had not often been experienced in living memory. It was blowing up a gale from every gorge and every valley, gusts from all sides, the winds coming from all directions to converge on Sumiswald, and every cloud turned into a warring army, with one cloud storming the next, each trying to slay the other. It was a battle of the clouds, and storm-clouds gathered, and flash after flash of lightning struck down as if trying to cleave a passage through the earth’s core to the other side. The thunder roared incessantly, the storm howled furiously, the clouds’ bosom burst, and deluge upon deluge poured down.

‘The tempest howled, blustered and roared as if these were meant to fuse into the last trump, heralding doom to the worlds, and fiery sheaves rained down upon the village as if to erupt every hut in flames; but the servant of the One Who speaks through thunder and to Whom lightning is but a servant has nothing to fear from these fellow servants of the same Lord, and he who treads the way of God can confidently leave God’s storms to His Will. And so the preacher strode undaunted through the storm towards Kilchstalden, carrying with him the consecrated sacred weapons and his heart was with God. But the two companions followed with less courage, for their hearts were elsewhere; they were unwilling to go down the church slope Kilchstalden, at least not in such weather and not so late, and Hans still had an additional special reason to hesitate. They pleaded with the priest to turn back, to go by other ways, saying that than Hans knew shorter paths while the sexton knew better ones, both warning of flooding in the valley from the swollen Gruĥ ne River. But the priest did not listen, paid no attention to their pleas; driven by an indescribable urge, he

He who conquers others is strong; He who conquers himself is mighty.

Lao Tse

pressed on towards Kilchstalden on the wings of prayer, his feet hitting no stone, and no flash of lightning blinding his eyes; quaking and a long way behind him, and protected, or so they thought, by the holy sacraments the priest was carrying, Hans and the sexton followed.

‘But when they had reached the outskirts of the village and got to where the slope descended into the valley, the priest suddenly stopped and shielded his eyes with his hand. Down the slope from the chapel a red feather was shimmering in the flash of lightning, and the priest's keen eye caught sight of a swarthy head protruding from a green hedge, with the red feather swaying on top this head. And as he gazed even further, he saw a wild figure bounding rapidly down the opposite slope as if chased by the wildest gusts of wind and flying towards the swarthy head, on which, like a banner, the red feather was swaying.

‘Seeing this, there stirred in the priest a sacred urge to do battle, which overcomes those with hearts dedicated to God the moment they sense the presence of the Devil, just as the impulse that surges upon the seed-corn when it germinates or penetrates the flower when about to unfold or overcomes the hero facing the drawn sword of his enemy. And like a parched man into the cool waters of the stream, or a hero into battle, the priest dashed down the slope, plunged into the fiercest battle, thrust himself between the green huntsman and Christine, who was about to place the baby in the other's arms, and calling out the names of the Holy Trinity in between them and raising the sacred host to the green huntsman’s face, he sprinkled holy water over the child, splashing Christine at the same time. Howling in dreadful pain the green huntsman took flight, darting away like a glowing red streak until the earth devoured him; touched by the holy water, Christine is cauterised with a frightful hiss, like wool in a fire, or lime in water, shrinkng, hissing and spewing flames, until she merged with the black, grotesquely swollen, fearsome spider on her face, hissing and shrivelling together, and then perched herself, rife with poison, right on top of the child, and malevolent glances shot like lightning at the priest. The latter sprinkled holy water at the spider, the drops sizzling like water on hot stone; the spider grew larger and larger, stretching its black legs farther and farther over the child’s body and glowering more and more venomously at the priest; and then the priest, with the courage of his fervent faith, reached out a bold hand to grab hold of it. It was as if he were reaching into scorching thorns, but undaunted he held his grip rockfast and hurled the vermin away, grabbed the child and without delay hastened with it to the mother.

‘And as his battle came to an end, the battle of the clouds also ceased, and they hurried back into their dark chambers; soon the valley was bathed in gentle starlight wherein shortly before the fiercest battle had

Created by God the Lord more delicately and finely than man, woman was placed into life to serve this life as an ornament, like the flower in the garden. Man should look up to women with reverence.

Mohammed

ISTOCK

been raging, and almost out of breath the priest reached the house in which the wicked deed had been perpetrated against both mother and child.

‘The mother lay still unconscious, having fainted away with a piercing scream; beside her the old woman sat in prayer, for she still trusted in God, believing that He was mightier than the Devil’s malevolence. In bringing back the child, the priest was also able to revive mother. Beholding her baby again as he awoke, a blissful rapture suffused her, such as is known only to angels in heaven, and in the mother's arms the priest baptised the child in the name of God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit; and now it was wrested from the Devil's sway forever, until in the future the soul had to decide of its own free will whether or not to yield to him. But God protected it from such, for its soul had now been delivered into His grace while the body was left poisoned by the spider.

‘Soon the child’s soul departed this world, the little body covered with scorch-marks. The poor mother shed many a tear, but when each part goes back to where it belongs, the soul to God, the body to the earth, comfort arrives, sooner to the one and later to the other.

As soon as the priest had performed his sacred duty, he began to feel a strange itching in the hand and arm with which he grabbed and hurled away the spider. He observed tiny blotches on his hand, visibly they grew larger and swelled up, while the horror of death surged through his heart. He blessed the two women and hurried home, intent as a loyal warrior on returning the holy weapons to where they belonged, so that they might be available for his successor. His arm swelled up considerably, erupting in black bumps that bulged more and more enormously; he struggled wearily against death, but he did not succumb to it

‘When he reached the slope Kilchstalden, he saw Hans, the father who forgot God and whose whereabouts had been a mystery, lying on his back in the middle of the road. His face was swollen and burnt horribly and in the middle of it sat the spider, huge, black and ghastly. It puffed up at the approach of the priest, the hairs rearing up poisonously on its back, its eyes flashing with venomous intent at him, like a cat poised to spring into the face of its mortal enemy. The priest began reciting a holy verse and raised the sacred weapons, at which the spider gave a start, recoiled on its long legs from the blackened face, and lost itself in the hissing grass. Thereafter the priest made his way straight home, placed the sacred host in its place, and while ferocious pains ravaged his body unto death, his soul waited in sweet tranquillity for its God, for Whom it had valiantly fought the good fight, and God did not let it wait long.

But such blissful peace as waits calmly on the Lord did not exist down in the valley, no up on the mountains.

Dear Lord, Give me a few friends who will love me for what I am, and keep ever burning before my vagrant steps the kindly light of hope... And though I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams, teach me to be thankful for life, and for time's olden memories that are good and sweet. And may the evening's twilight find me gentle still.

~Irish Prayer

In these turbulent times, the liberating Word of Truth rings into the Cosmos!

‘In order to convey to mankind such knowledge, which gives them a clear and intelligible conviction of the working of God in His Justice and Love, I have written the Work “In the Light of Truth”, which leaves no gap, contains the answer to every question, and clearly shows mankind how wonderful are the ways in Creation that are upheld by many servants of His Will.’ ‘Not a single question remains unsolved for you; a great understanding arises within you of the mysterious working of the adamantine Laws in Creation, which guide you with the outworkings of your volition; and as a crowning for your trouble comes the wonderful divining of a Wisdom, of an Omnipotence, of a Love and of a Justice that can only issue from God, Whose Being you therewith discover!’ Abd-ru-shin

Discover P E A R L Magazine For people looking to delve into questions that agitate humanity and seeking in humility to expand the mind and shatter ignorance. Subscribe Now (digital and print): www.pearl-magazine.com

December 2019 November 2019

Belonging beyond it all In simple supplication... and more

October 2019

The rules that bind Hidden connections... and more

September 2019

Wanderers Beyond mortality... and more Woman and her vocation World events... and more

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