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Fan, issue 2, July 1945

Page 16

16

That even Joan of Arc, who saw visions and heard voices, might have actually seen and heard some small part of another existing plane, another dimension---?

As I looked up at Phillip Maxton standing there with that pleading look in his eyes, an alternate thought presented itself. Could it be that such a brilliant thinker as Maxton was a victim of his own convictions to the extent that he forced himself into seeing and hearing things, so that he could believe his own theories of toher Dimensional worlds? I determined to feel him out to see just how far he had gone.

"Tell me," I said, hearking back to something that had struck in my mind -- "you mentioned having heard this other-worldly violin several times, and it's always the same violin. How do you know it's the same?"

"Because," he insisted half weary of tone, "it's not only the same violin but the same melody -- an initial melody that hasn't ended yet. I always hear it on a few sustained chords, weaving a slow but unmistakable pattern -- a spell over me. This all began less than a year ago. I've heard it more than a dozen times since. That melody remains unfinished, though it is drawing to a close that will come very soon now.

"My theory is that the vibratory rate of this other dimension is infinitely faster than ours, so that a simple melody lasting a few minutes to a being of that dimension -- say the violin-player herself -- would last a year to me. Do you wonder that I am going mad? During the past year I have sought Storms wherever and whenever possible, so that I might not lose the contact. I must not. I feel that that music is being directed at me, drawing me, and I must hear the end. I feel that it's a prelude to something -- vast, undreamed of!"

"Maxton!" I said eagerly. "A moment ago you said something about the violin player herself. Why did you signify the feminine? How do you know---"

But he seemed to anticipate me, and he explained with an eager rush of words before I could finish:

"Because I have seen as well as heard. With me Storm and Fire are correlative to the senses. In the pain, the vision I have seen in this other dimension beyond the flame is dim, and far-away and misty; but in some of the more lucid flashes I've glimpsed the vague outline of a maiden who plays her fears and her longing upon the violin. I believe that she wants me, needs me. It is such compelling music that I know I shall never rest until I penetrate into her world and reach her side---"

He stopped. His voice was desperate, and he sought my eyes, but I avoided his lest he notice my disbelief.

But he noticed.

Saving...

16 That even Joan of Arc, who saw visions and heard voices, might have actually seen and heard some small part of another existing plane, another dimension---? As I looked up at Phillip Maxton standing there with that pleading look in his eyes, an alternate thought presented itself. Could it be that such a brilliant thinker as Maxton was a victim of his own convictions to the extent that he forced himself into seeing and hearing things, so that he could believe his own theories of toher Dimensional worlds? I determined to feel him out to see just how far he had gone. "Tell me," I said, hearking back to something that had struck in my mind -- "you mentioned having heard this other-worldly violin several times, and it's always the same violin. How do you know it's the same?" "Because," he insisted half weary of tone, "it's not only the same violin but the same melody -- an initial melody that hasn't ended yet. I always hear it on a few sustained chords, weaving a slow but unmistakable pattern -- a spell over me. This all began less than a year ago. I've heard it more than a dozen times since. That melody remains unfinished, though it is drawing to a close that will come very soon now. "My theory is that the vibratory rate of this other dimension is infinitely faster than ours, so that a simple melody lasting a few minutes to a being of that dimension -- say the violin-player herself -- would last a year to me. Do you wonder that I am going mad? During the past year I have sought Storms wherever and whenever possible, so that I might not lose the contact. I must not. I feel that that music is being directed at me, drawing me, and I must hear the end. I feel that it's a prelude to something -- vast, undreamed of!" "Maxton!" I said eagerly. "A moment ago you said something about the violin player herself. Why did you signify the feminine? How do you know---" But he seemed to anticipate me, and he explained with an eager rush of words before I could finish: "Because I have seen as well as heard. With me Storm and Fire are correlative to the senses. In the pain, the vision I have seen in this other dimension beyond the flame is dim, and far-away and misty; but in some of the more lucid flashes I've glimpsed the vague outline of a maiden who plays her fears and her longing upon the violin. I believe that she wants me, needs me. It is such compelling music that I know I shall never rest until I penetrate into her world and reach her side---" He stopped. His voice was desperate, and he sought my eyes, but I avoided his lest he notice my disbelief. But he noticed.