I met Graf Norden at Darwich University, in Dr. Held's class in Mediaeval and early-Renaissance history, which was more a study of obscure thought, and often outright occultism.
Norden was greatly interested; he had done quite a bit of exploring into the occult; in particular was he fascinated by the writings and records of a family of adepts named Dirka, who traced their ancestry back to the pre-glacial days. They, the Dirkas, had translated the Song of Yste from its legendary form into the three great languages of the dawn cultures, then into the Greek, Latin, Arabic and finally, Elizabethan English.
I told Norden that I deplored the
blind contempt in which the
world holds the occult, but had never
explored the subject very deeply. I
was content to be a spectator, letting
my imagination drift at will upon the
many currents in this dark river;
skimming over the surface was
enough for me—seldom did I take
occasional plunges into the deeps. As
a poet and dreamer, I was careful
not to lose myself in the blackness
of the pools where I disported—one
could always emerge to find a calm,
blue sky and a world that thought
nothing of these realities.
With Norden, it was different. He was already beginning to have doubts, he told me. It was not an easy road to travel; there were hideous dangers, hidden all along the way, often so that the wayfarer was not aware of them until too late. Earthmen were not very far along the path of evolution; still very young, their lack of knowledge, as a race, told heavily against such few of their number who sought to traverse unknown roads. He spoke of messengers from beyond and made references to obscure passages in the Necronomicon and Song of Yste. He spoke of alien beings, entities terribly unhuman, impossible of measurement by any human yardstick or to be combatted effectively by mankind.
Dureen came into the picture at about this time. He walked into the classroom one day during the course of a lecture; later, Dr. Held introduced him as a new member of the class, coming from abroad. There was something about Dureen that challenged my interest at once. I could not determine of what race or nationality he might be—he was very close to being beautiful, his every movement being of grace and rhythm. Yet, in no way could he be considered effeminate; he was, in a word, superb.
That the majority of us avoided him troubled him not at all. For my part, he did not seem genuine, but, with the others, it was probably his utter lack of emotion. There was, for example, the time in the lab when a test tube burst in his face, driving several splinters deep into the skin. He showed not the slightest sign of discomfort, waved aside all expressions of solicitude on the part of some of the girls, and proceeded to go on with his experiment as soon as the medico had finished with him.
The final act started when we were dealing with hypnotism, one afternoon, and were discussing the practical possibilities of the subject, following up the Rhine experiments and others. Colby presented a most ingenious argument against it, ridiculed the association of experiments in thought transference or telepathy with hypnotism, and arrived at a final conclusion that hypnotism (outside of mechanical means of induction) was impossible.
It was at this point that Dureen
