Excel Programming Weekend Crash Course 1st

Edition by Peter G Aitken ISBN 9780764540622 pdf

download

https://ebookball.com/product/excel-programming-weekend-crash-
course-1st-edition-by-peter-g-aitken-isbn-9780764540622-14202/

Explore and download more ebooks or textbooks

at ebookball.com
We have selected some products that you may be interested in
Click the link to download now or visit ebookball.com
for more options!.

XML weekend crash course 1st Edition by Kay Ethier, Alan

Houser ISBN 0764547593 9780764547591

https://ebookball.com/product/xml-weekend-crash-course-1st-edition-by-
kay-ethier-alan-houser-isbn-0764547593-9780764547591-19858/

Principles of Economics Crash Course 1st Edition by

Dominick Salvatore, Eugene Diulio ISBN 0071398732
9780071398732
https://ebookball.com/product/principles-of-economics-crash-
course-1st-edition-by-dominick-salvatore-eugene-diulio-
isbn-0071398732-9780071398732-19378/

Anatomy a Crash Course 1st edition by Joanna Matthan

1435169638‎ 978-1435169630

https://ebookball.com/product/anatomy-a-crash-course-1st-edition-by-
joanna-matthan-1435169638aeurz-978-1435169630-20514/

CNC Programming Tutorials Examples G and M Codes G and M

Programming Tutorial Example Code 1st edition by Aspen
Blake ISBN B09K44LGHP 978-1234567897
https://ebookball.com/product/cnc-programming-tutorials-examples-g-
and-m-codes-g-and-m-programming-tutorial-example-code-1st-edition-by-
aspen-blake-isbn-b09k44lghp-978-1234567897-17668/
Excel VBA Step By Step Guide to Learning Excel Programming
Language for Beginners 1st Edition by Jason Jay ISBN
1976198127 9781976198120
https://ebookball.com/product/excel-vba-step-by-step-guide-to-
learning-excel-programming-language-for-beginners-1st-edition-by-
jason-jay-isbn-1976198127-9781976198120-15878/

CNC Programming Tutorials Examples G M Codes 1st edition

by Thanh Tran B09K44LGHP

https://ebookball.com/product/cnc-programming-tutorials-examples-g-m-
codes-1st-edition-by-thanh-tran-b09k44lghp-18142/

Excel 2016 Power Programming With VBA 1st Edition by

Michael Alexander, Richard Kusleika ISBN 1119067723
9781119067726
https://ebookball.com/product/excel-2016-power-programming-with-
vba-1st-edition-by-michael-alexander-richard-kusleika-
isbn-1119067723-9781119067726-15876/

Programming Role Playing Games and DirectX Course

Technology PTR 1st edition by Jim Adams 1931841098
9781931841092
https://ebookball.com/product/programming-role-playing-games-and-
directx-course-technology-ptr-1st-edition-by-jim-
adams-1931841098-9781931841092-23630/

Excel Programming Your visual blueprint for creating

interactive spreadsheets 3rd Edition by Denise Etheridge
ISBN 0470591595 9780470591598
https://ebookball.com/product/excel-programming-your-visual-blueprint-
for-creating-interactive-spreadsheets-3rd-edition-by-denise-etheridge-
isbn-0470591595-9780470591598-11178/
 Excel Programming
Weekend Crash Course®
Peter G. Aitken
 Excel Programming
Weekend Crash Course®
Peter G. Aitken
Excel Programming Weekend Crash Course®
Published by
Wiley Publishing, Inc.
909 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
www.wiley.com
Copyright © 2003 by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana. All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: 2003101920
ISBN: 0-7645-4062-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
1O/RR/QY/QT/IN
Published by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana
Published simultaneously in Canada
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except as permit-
ted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written
permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the
Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, (978) 750-8400, fax (978)
646-8700. Requests to the Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Legal Department, Wiley
Publishing, Inc., 10475 Crosspoint Blvd., Indianapolis, IN 46256, (317) 572-3447, fax (317) 572-4447,
E-Mail: [email protected].
Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and author have used their best efforts
in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or com-
pleteness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability
or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales representatives or
written sales materials. The advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for your situa-
tion. You should consult with a professional where appropriate. Neither the publisher nor author shall be
liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damages, including but not limited to special, inci-
dental, consequential, or other damages.
For general information on our other products and services or to obtain technical support, please contact
our Customer Care Department within the U.S. at 800-762-2974, outside the U.S. at 317-572-3993 or fax
317-572-4002.
Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may
not be available in electronic books.
Trademarks: Wiley, the Wiley Publishing logo and Weekend Crash Course are trademarks or registered
trademarks of Wiley Publishing, Inc. in the United States and other countries and may not be used with-
out written permission. All other trademarks are the property of their respective owners. Wiley
Publishing, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.

is a trademark of Wiley Publishing, Inc.

About the Author
Peter G. Aitken has been writing about computers and programming for over 10 years, with
some 30 books as well as hundreds of magazine and trade publication articles to his credit.
His recent book titles include Visual Basic .NET Programming with Peter Aitken, Office XP
Development with VBA, XML the Microsoft Way, Windows Script Host, and Teach Yourself Visual
Basic .NET Internet Programming in 21 Days. For several years he was a Contributing Editor
at Visual Developer Magazine where he wrote a popular Visual Basic column. He is a regular
contributor to Microsoft OfficePro magazine and the DevX Web site. Peter is the proprietor of
PGA Consulting, providing custom application and Internet development to business, acade-
mia, and government since 1994.
Credits
Acquisitions Editor Project Coordinator
Jim Minatel Maridee Ennis
Project Editor Graphics and Production Specialists
Mark Enochs Beth Brooks, Sean Decker, Carrie Foster,
Lauren Goddard, LeAndra Hosier,
Technical Editor
Kristin McMullan, Lynsey Osborn
Ken Slovak
Quality Control Technicians
Copy Editor
Laura Albert, John Tyler Connoley,
Susan Hobbs
John Greenough, Andy Hollandbeck,
Permissions Editor Carl William Pierce, Dwight Ramsey,
Laura Moss Charles Spencer
Media Development Specialist Proofreading and Indexing
Travis Silvers TECHBOOKS Production Services
 Preface

M
icrosoft Excel is a powerful spreadsheet program; in fact, it’s the most widely used
spreadsheet program worldwide, but Excel is a lot more than just a spreadsheet pro-
gram. Unknown to many users, Excel is also a sophisticated platform for develop-
ment of custom applications. Lurking behind its mild-mannered spreadsheet disguise is a
powerful and full-featured programming language called Visual Basic for Applications (VBA).
If you have recorded and played back an Excel macro, you have used VBA — perhaps with-
out being aware of it.
There’s much more to VBA programming than recording macros, however. Nearly any user
can write VBA programs to perform a wide variety of tasks in Excel, ranging from the sim-
ple, such as automating financial calculations, to the complex, such as creating a data entry
system with custom forms and data validation. Unfortunately, many users shy away from
taking advantage of Excel’s programmability because it seems too complicated, and they
cannot find a good source of information to guide them through the learning process. Excel
programming can be somewhat complicated, which is unavoidable for such a powerful tool,
but the truth is that almost any reasonably computer-literate person can learn how to pro-
gram in Excel. That’s where this book comes in handy.

Who Should Read This Book

This book is aimed at anyone who wants to use programming to improve his or her Excel
skills. Perhaps you only want to write programs for your own use, or maybe you need to cre-
ate Excel programs for use by your coworkers. In either situation, this book is aimed at you.
The book was written specifically with the nonspecialist in mind. You do not need to have
any programming knowledge or experience to use this book because everything from square
one is explained. Of course, if you do have some programming experience, it will not hurt,
but the important point is that such experience is not required.

Weekend Crash Course Layout and Features

This book contains 30 sessions, each of which is designed to be completed in about 30 min-
utes. Each session has a review section at the end and a list of questions so you can test
your knowledge. The sessions are organized into six parts; the main purpose of each part is
vi Preface

to provide a convenient breaking point to help you in pacing your progress. At the end of
each part, you’ll find additional questions related to that part’s session topics. The answers
for the part review questions are provided in Appendix A.

Part I: Friday Evening

The first session provides an introduction to programming with Excel, including an overview
of many of the advantages. You’ll also find some basic information about programming in
this session.
The second session teaches you how to use the VBA Code Editor. This tool is part of the
Excel installation, and you use it to create, test, and run your programs.
Session 3 deals with the Excel Object Model. This is the set of tools that the Excel appli-
cation makes available for you to use in your programs.
Session 4 introduces you to the VBA language, your primary tool for writing programs.

Part II: Saturday Morning

Sessions 5 through 9 cover the VBA language. You need a good knowledge of the VBA lan-
guage’s elements and syntax to write programs. This includes learning about operators, con-
trol constructs, procedures, and modules, as well as how to work with dates, times, and
text. The final session in this part, Session 10, shows you how to work with Excel’s ranges
and selections.

Part III: Saturday Afternoon

Sessions 11 through 14 cover the fundamentals of controlling Excel through VBA code.
You’ll learn how to work with columns, rows, and cells; how to program with custom formu-
las and built-in functions; and how to format a worksheet. The last two sessions deal with
find and replace operations and creating custom toolbars.

Part IV: Saturday Evening

Sessions 17 and 18 show you how to use Excel’s powerful charting capabilities in your pro-
grams. Then Sessions 19 and 20 present the basics of creating custom dialog boxes for your
programs with Excel’s user forms.

Part V: Sunday Morning

Sessions 21 and 22 finish the coverage of user forms, including a complete example.
Sessions 23 through 26 deal with the topics of Excel events, security considerations,
and debugging distributing an application, and creating custom classes.
 Preface vii

Part VI: Sunday Afternoon

The remaining sessions deal with a variety of topics, including runtime errors, database
tasks, add-ins, and online help.
I recommend that you work through the sessions in order. At the very least you should
complete Sessions 1 through 9 before branching off to other topics.

The Companion Web Site

On the book’s companion Web site, you’ll find code listings of sample programs and a self-
assessment test, which consists of over 80 multiple-choice and true or false questions. Just
go to www.wiley.com/compbooks/aitken.

Features
As I have mentioned, each session is designed to take about 30 minutes. It’s not a race,
however, so don’t worry if it takes you a bit longer. It’s what you learn that’s important.
The following time-status icons let you know how much progress you’ve made throughout
each session.

The following icons identify bits of information that are set apart from the text:

A note is an important bit of information that you should know about.

Note

A tip is a suggestion for an easier or faster way to do something when pro-

gramming Excel.
Tip

This icon warns you of something you should never do.

Never

This icon points you to other sessions where related material can be found.

Cross-Ref
viii Preface

Menu selections are indicated using the ➪ symbol. Thus, File ➪ Save means to open the
File menu and then select the Save command.
Code and VBA keywords in the text are indicated by a special font like this. Code list-
ings that are separate from the text are also in this font. Italics are used to indicate place-
holders in code. Here’s an example:
SaveAs filename

When you enter this code, you do not actually type filename. Rather, you replace file-
name with a specific filename as explained in the text.
 Acknowledgments

I appreciate the efforts of all the people at Wiley who have helped make this book happen,
in particular Acquisitions Editor, Jim Minatel and Project Editor, Mark Enochs. My thanks
also go to Technical Editor, Ken Slovak, and the Copy Editor, Susan Hobbs.
 Contents at a Glance

FRIDAY.......................................................................................................2
PART I—Friday Evening ..........................................................................4
SESSION 1–Microsoft Excel Programming — Why and How ...................................5
SESSION 2–The VBA Code Editor ....................................................................17
SESSION 3–The Excel Object Model .................................................................31
SESSION 4–Syntax and Data in VBA ...............................................................47

SATURDAY ...............................................................................................66
PART II–Saturday Morning ...................................................................68
SESSION 5–Operators ....................................................................................69
SESSION 6–Control Constructs .......................................................................77
SESSION 7–Procedures and Modules ...............................................................87
SESSION 8–Working with Dates and Times ......................................................97
SESSION 9–Working with Text ......................................................................107
SESSION 10–Using Ranges and Selections ......................................................121

PART III–Saturday Afternoon ...........................................................140

SESSION 11–Working with Columns, Rows, and Cells .......................................141
SESSION 12–Programming with Custom Formulas ...........................................151
SESSION 13–Programming with Excel’s Built-In Functions ...............................161
SESSION 14–Formatting a Worksheet ............................................................171
SESSION 15–Find and Replace Operations ......................................................187
SESSION 16–Creating Custom Toolbars ..........................................................195

PART IV–Saturday Evening ................................................................208

SESSION 17–Introduction to Charts ..............................................................209
SESSION 18–Advanced Charting Techniques ...................................................225
SESSION 19–Creating Custom Dialog Boxes with User Forms .............................239
SESSION 20–Controls for User Forms .............................................................251
 xii Contents at a Glance

SUNDAY .................................................................................................268
PART V–Sunday Morning ....................................................................270
SESSION 21–Advanced User Form Techniques .................................................271
SESSION 22–A User Form Example ................................................................283
SESSION 23–Working with Events .................................................................295
SESSION 24–Security Considerations .............................................................311
SESSION 25–Debugging and Distributing an Application .................................321
SESSION 26–Defining and Using Custom Classes .............................................329

PART VI–Sunday Afternoon ...............................................................346

SESSION 27–Handling Runtime Errors ...........................................................347
SESSION 28–Database Tasks .........................................................................357
SESSION 29–Creating Add-Ins ......................................................................367
SESSION 30–Adding Online Help to Your Application ......................................379

Appendix A–Answers to Part Reviews .........................................................391

Appendix B–What’s on the Web Site............................................................397

Index .......................................................................................................399
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 No occultist could insist on the subordinate character of matter
more vehemently than Emerson—he writes:
“Nature is a mutable cloud, which is always and never the same. Through
the bruteness and toughness of matter, a subtle spirit bends all things to its
own will. The world proceeds from the same spirit as the body of man. It is a
remoter and inferior incarnation of God, a projection of God into the
unconscious.”

The Occultist sees in this world of spirit the home of that true
joy of which all earthly happiness is the shadow, and whispered
intimation. There all ideals find their realization, all highest hopes
their fulfilment; there flow abundant fountains of celestial bliss,
whose least presence makes earthly things radiant.
Of spirit, Emerson writes:
“But when following the invisible steps of thought, we come to enquire,
Whence is matter? and where to? Many truths arise to us out of the recesses
of consciousness. We learn that the highest is present to the soul of man, that
the dread universal essence which is not wisdom, or love, or beauty, or
power; but all in one, and each entirely, is that for which all things exist, and
that by which they are; that spirit creates; that behind nature, throughout
nature spirit is present. As a plant upon the earth, so a man rests upon the
bosom of God; he is nourished by unfailing fountains, and draws, at his need,
inexhaustible power.”

But to obtain a footing in this world of essential being, is to be

emancipated from the domination of Time and Space, to enter a
universe where they do not exist; for Space and Time are no
realities, but, as Carlyle says, the “deepest of all illusory
appearances.” Emancipation from Space and Time; how much
more this implies than is at first sight apparent. The first fruit of
this freedom is a feeling of eternalness, the real basis of the
doctrine of immortality. It is an attainable reality, this sense of
eternalness; let the sceptic and materialist say what they will.
Of this truth, also, we may bring Emerson as witness. He
writes:
“To truth, justice, love, the attributes of the soul, the idea of immutableness
is essentially associated. In the flowing of love, in the adoration of humility,
there is no question of continuance.”

Once recognise the truth that we can gain a footing in a world

free from the tyranny of time, that the soul exists in such a
world, and a new philosophy is at once required. Freedom from
Time implies the eternity of the soul, and the facts of life and
death take a new position and significance. If the soul be
eternal, death must be an illusion, a garment in which Nature
wraps some hidden law.
In the following words of Emerson, on this subject:
“It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only
retire a little from sight, and afterwards return again. Whatever does not
concern us, is concealed from us. As soon as a person is no longer related to
our present well-being, he is concealed or dies, as we say. When the man has
exhausted for the time the nourishment to be drawn from any one person or
thing, that object is withdrawn from his observation, and though still in his
immediate neighbourhood, he does not suspect its presence. Nothing is dead;
men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful
obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in
some new disguise. Jesus is not dead; he is very well alive; nor John, nor
Paul, nor Mahomet, nor Aristotle.”

we have an accurate exposition of the occult doctrine of

Reincarnation—the progressive discipline of the soul through
many lives—which has been parodied in the popular fable of
metemphsychosis.
The true occult doctrine does not picture a series of bodies in
each of which the soul makes a temporary sojourn. In this, as in
all else, it begins with spirit and then descends to matter. It
depicts that vital energy which we call a soul, alternately exuding
from itself and re-absorbing into its own nature an environment
or physical encasement, whose character varies with the
increasing stature of the soul. According to the teaching of
occultism, the successive formations of this objective shell—
whose purpose is to provide for the development of the animal
nature—alternate with periods of subjective life, which give
expansion to the powers of the soul.
 As corollary to this doctrine, occultism postulates a second—
that the incidents of each objective environment or physical life—
are not fortuitous and isolated, but that they are bound to all
that precede and follow them, and moreover that “the future is
not arbitrarily formed by any separate acts of the present, but
that the whole future is in unbroken continuity with the present,
as the present is with the past.”
To the various developments of this law, eastern philosophy
has given the name of Karma; the west has as yet no name for
it. But though unnamed, its leading ideas have not been
unperceived by those western minds which have penetrated into
the world of supernature.
Thus we find Emerson writing:
“Every secret is told, every crime is punished, every virtue rewarded, every
wrong redressed, in silence and certainty. Crime and punishment grow on one
stem; punishment is a fruit that unsuspected ripens within the flower of
pleasure which concealed it. You cannot do wrong without suffering wrong.
The thief steals from himself; the swindler swindles himself. Everything in
nature, even motes and feathers, goes by law and not by luck. What a man
sows, he reaps.”

The picture of an orderly universe, where matter is the

garment of spirit—spirit visualised—where souls march onward in
orderly procession to boundless perfection; where the life of
each permeates and flows through the life of all; where the
wrong of each is turned to the benefit of all by the firm hand of
an invisible and ever active law, incessantly disciplining and
correcting, till the last dross of self and sin is purged away, and
instead of man there remains God only, working through the
powers that were man’s; such is the conception Occultism holds.
“I know not,” says Emerson—
“I know not whether there be, as is alleged, in the upper region of our
atmosphere a permanent westerly current, which carries with it all atoms
which rise to that height, but I see that when souls reach a certain clearness
of perfection, they accept a knowledge and motive above selfishness. A
breath of Will blows eternally through the universe of souls in the direction of
the Right and Necessary. It is the air which all intellects inhale and exhale,
and it is the wind which blows the world into order and orbit.
“Let us build altars to the Beautiful Necessity which rudely or softly
educates men to the perception that there are no contingencies, that Law
rules through existence, a Law which is not intelligent but intelligence, not
personal nor impersonal—it disdains words, and passes understanding; it
dissolves persons; it vivifies nature, yet solicits the pure in heart to draw on its
all, its omnipotence.”

Discipline always and everywhere throughout the universe; to

discipline, development, all other facts are subordinate; for their
sake, all laws are enunciated, all spiritual facts are insisted on; all
truths which tend not to the melioration of human life—if any
such there be—are worthless. Discipline, development. What
development does Occultism predict for man? Man’s future
destiny, in the view of Occultism, is so stupendous, that we
prefer merely to erect a finger-post pointing out the direction of
the path, using the words of Emerson:
“The youth puts off the illusions of the child, the man puts off the ignorance
and tumultuous passions of the youth; proceeding thence, puts off the
egotism of manhood, and becomes at last a public and universal soul. He is
rising to greater height, but also to realities; the outer relations and
circumstances dying out, he is entering deeper into God, God into him, until
the last garment of egotism falls, and he is with God, shares the will and the
immensity of the First Cause.”

From first to last, Occultism has preached no doctrine more

emphatically than the necessity of dependence on the intuitions,
and the reality of interior illumination. “Seek out the way by
making the profound obeisance of the soul to the dim star that
burns within; within you is the light of the world,” writes the
Occultist.
And this doctrine is repeated again and again in the writings of
the philosopher we have been quoting from. He writes:
“A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes
across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards
and sages. From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things,
and makes us aware that we are nothing, but that the light is all. The
consciousness in each man is a sliding scale, which identifies him now with
the First Cause, and now with the flesh of his body; life above life, in infinite
degrees. There is for each a Best Counsel, which enjoins the fit word and the
fit act for every moment. There is no bar or wall in the soul where man, the
effect, ceases, and God, the cause, begins. The walls are taken away, we lie
open on one side to the deeps of spiritual nature, to the attributes of God.
The simplest person who, in his integrity, worships God, becomes God; yet for
ever and ever the influx of this better and universal self is new and
unsearchable.”

The life of one is the life of all. The good of one re-acts on all.
The walls by which selfishness conceives itself enclosed and
isolated, are unreal, have no existence. Spirit is fluid and all-
pervading; its beneficent power flows unchecked from soul to
soul, energising, harmonising, purifying. To resist all discordant
tendencies which check this salutary flow, this all-permeating
love, is to come under the reign of Universal Brotherhood; and to
the honour of Occultism be it said, that Universal Brotherhood is
blazoned highest on its standard.
“Thus,” writes Emerson—
—“Are we put in training for a love which knows not sex nor person, nor
partiality, but which seeks virtue and wisdom everywhere. One day all men
will be lovers, and every calamity will be dissolved in universal sunshine. An
acceptance of the sentiment of love throughout Christendom for a season
would bring the felon and the outcast to our side in tears, with the devotion of
his faculties to our service.”

But to the axiom “Kill out the sense of separateness” Occultism

adds another, “Yet stand alone.” Before the lesson of life can be
learnt, the soul must in some sort detach itself from its
environment, and view all things impersonally, in solitude and
stillness. There is an oracle in the lonely recess of the soul to
which all things must be brought for trial. Here all laws are
tested, all appearances weighed.
About this truth always hangs a certain solemnity, and
Emerson has given it a fitting expression in the following words:
“The soul gives itself alone, original, and pure, to the Lonely, Original, and
Pure, who, on that condition, gladly inhabits, leads, and speaks through it.
Then it is glad, young, and nimble. Behold, it saith, I am born into the great,
the universal mind. I, the imperfect, adore my own Perfect. I am somehow
receptive of the great soul, and thereby I do overlook the sun and the stars,
and feel them to be the fair accidents and effects which change and pass.
More and more the surges of everlasting nature enter into me, and I become
public and human in my regards and actions. So I come to live in thoughts,
and act with energies, which are immortal.”

The last words of this sentence lead us to the occult idea of

Mahatma-hood, which conceives a perfected soul as “living in
thoughts, and acting with energies which are immortal.”
The Mahatma is a soul of higher rank in the realms of life,
conceived to drink in the wealth of spiritual power closer to the
fountain-head, and to distil its essence into the interior of
receptive souls.
In harmony with this idea, Emerson writes:
“Truth is the summit of being; justice is the application of it to affairs. All
individual natures stand in a scale, according to the purity of this element in
them. The will of the pure runs down from them into other natures, as water
runs down from a higher into a lower vessel; this natural force is no more to
be withstood than any other natural force. A healthy soul stands united with
the Just and the True, as the magnet arranges itself with the pole, so that he
stands to all beholders like a transparent object betwixt them and the sun,
and whoso journeys towards the sun, journeys towards that person.”

Occultism conceives the outer world and all its accidents to be

so many veils, shrouding the splendour of essential nature, and
tempering the fiery purity of spirit to the imperfect powers of the
understanding soul. This illusory power Occultism considers to be
the “active will of God,” a means to the ends of eternal spirit.
In the view of Occultism, life is a drama of thinly veiled souls;
as Shakespeare writes:

“We are such stuff

As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep!”
 We shall conclude with two passages from Emerson’s essays,
on the subject of illusions:
“Do you see that kitten chasing so prettily her own tail? If you could look
with her eyes, you might see her surrounded with hundreds of figures
performing complex dramas, with tragic and comic issues, long conversations,
many characters, many ups and downs of fate; and meantime it is only puss
and her tail. How long before our masquerade will end its noise of
tambourines, laughter, and shouting, and we shall find it was a solitary
performance?”

We must supplement this rather playful passage with one in a

higher strain:
“There is no chance, and no anarchy, in the universe. All is system and
gradation. Every god is there sitting in his sphere. The young mortal enters
the hall of the firmament; there is he alone with them alone, they pouring on
him benedictions and gifts, and beckoning him up to their thrones. On an
instant, and incessantly, fall snowstorms and illusions. He fancies himself in a
vast crowd which sways this way and that, and whose movement and doings
he must obey: he fancies himself poor, orphaned, insignificant. The mad
crowd drives hither and thither, now furiously commanding this thing to be
done, now that. What is he that he should resist their will, and think or act for
himself? Every moment new changes and new showers of deceptions to baffle
and distract him. And when, by-and-bye, for an instant, the air clears, and the
cloud lifts a little, there are the gods still sitting around him on their thrones—
they alone with him alone.”

Charles Johnston, F.T.S.

 THE BLOSSOM AND THE FRUIT:
THE TRUE STORY OF A MAGICIAN.

(Continued.)

By Mabel Collins,
Scribe of “The Idyll of the White Lotus,” and “Through the Gates of Gold.”

[Some of the readers of Lucifer have taken great exception to the love
passages between Fleta and Hilary, saying that they are not up to the
standard of Theosophic thought, and are out of place in the magazine. The
author can only beg that time may be given for the story to develope. None of
us that is born dies without experiencing human passion; it is the base on
which an edifice must rise at last, after many incarnations have purified it; “it
is the blossom which has in it the fruit.” Hilary is still only a man, he has not
yet learned to the full the lesson of human life and human passion. Fleta
promises him all that he can take and that plainly is only what she can give—
the deep love of the disciple. But she cannot instantly free his eyes from the
illusions caused by his own passionate heart; till he has suffered and
conquered, he cannot recognise her for what she is, the pledged servant of a
great master, of necessity more white-souled than any nun need be.
Another strange criticism is made, condemning portions of the story as
though expressive of the author’s feelings and sentiments; whereas they are
simply descriptive of the states through which Hilary is passing. They no more
express the author’s feelings than do those later parts which refer to the
ordeals of Fleta, the accepted disciple, express the author’s feelings. The two
characters of the struggling aspirant and the advanced disciple, are studies
from life. The stumbling-block of human passion which stands in Hilary’s way,
is the same which lost Zanoni his high estate; in the coming chapters of “The
Blossom and the Fruit,” we shall see Fleta flung back from the high estate she
aims at, by this same stumbling-block, in an idealised and subtle form. She
has not yet learned the bitter truth that the Occultist must stand absolutely
alone, without even companionship of thought, or sympathy of feeling, at the
times of the Initiations and the trials which precede them.—M. C.]
 CHAPTER VI.—(Continued.)

H ilary found himself in a room which no longer permitted him to

regret his own rooms at home, for it was more luxurious. A
great bath stood ready filled with perfumed water, and he
hastened to bathe himself therein, with a sort of idea that he
was perhaps suffering from hallucinations, some of which he
might wash away. His scanty luggage had been brought into the
room, and when the bath was over Hilary got out a velvet suit
which he thought would do well for evening-dress in this palace
of surprises. He was but just ready when a knock came at his
door, and without further ceremony, Mark opened it and looked
in.
“Come,” he said, “we don’t wait for anybody here. The cook
won’t stand it. He is a very holy father indeed, and nobody dare
say him nay, unless it were the Princess herself. She always does
as she likes. Are you ready?”
“Quite,” replied Hilary.
Opening out of the entrance was a great oak door, double, and
very richly carved. This had been shut when Hilary passed
through before; now it stood open, and Mark led the way
through it. They entered an immense room, of which the floor
was polished so that it shone like a mirror. Two figures were
standing in the midst of this room, dressed alike in clouds of
white lace; they were the two Fletas, as to Hilary’s eyes they still
seemed.
His heart was torn as he gazed on them, waiting for a glance
of love, a gleam of love-light, to tell him which was his own, his
Fleta, his princess, the Fleta whom he served. There was none;
they had been talking together very earnestly and both looked
sad and a little weary.
As Hilary’s eyes wandered from one face to the other his mind
grew confused. And then suddenly a flash of bewitchingly
beautiful laughter came on one of the faces; and immediately he
decided that must be Adine. And yet, had he not seen just such
laughter flash across Fleta’s face? But all this passed in a
moment, and no more time was given him for thought. A table
stood at one end of the hall, set as a king’s table might be;
covered with the finest linen, edged with deep lace, and with
gold dishes of fruit upon it; it was decorated with lovely flowers.
Hilary opened his eyes a little even in the midst of his other
much greater perplexities, to see this luxury here in the midst of
the forest. And was it prepared in honour of Fleta, who ate a
crust of dry bread in an ale-house with perfect cheerfulness, or
rather, indifference? Fleta took her place at the end of the table;
at least, one sister did so, and the other took her place beside
Hilary—he could not yet determine which was which, and his
whole soul was absorbed in the attempted solution of that
problem. Mark sat at the other end of the table, evidently
prepared to do such labours of carving as might be necessary.
Two places were set at the other side of the table, but no one
came to fill them. A very elaborate dinner was served, and a very
good one; and Hilary thought he was satisfied now that it was
Adine who sat next him, for she showed herself an unmistakable
little gourmand. He had just come to this conclusion when his
attention was distracted by the great doors being thrown open
again for two persons to enter. Everyone rose, even Fleta, who
advanced with a smile to meet these new comers. Hilary rose
also and turned from the table. Two men stood there; one a man
but little older than himself, and of extremely fine appearance.
Little more than a boy, yet he had a dignity which made him
something much more, and Hilary felt immediately a kind of
jealousy, undefined, vague, but still jealousy. For Fleta had put
both her hands into those of this handsome young man and
greeted him with great warmth. At his side stood a small
shrivelled old man, in the same dress that Father Amyot always
wore. This circumstance again made Hilary wonder what had
become of Father Amyot; but he concluded Adine’s account had
been the correct one.
There was something familiar in the face of the young man, so
Hilary thought; while he was thinking this, Fleta turned and
introduced them to each other.
He was the young king to whom Fleta was betrothed.
This is a history of those things which lie behind the scenes,
not a history of that which is known to all the world. We will give
this young King the name of Alan. Let those who like fix upon his
kingdom and assign to him his true name.
He sat down opposite Hilary; and the old priest took his place
beside him. Hilary returned to his chair, feeling that all strength,
and hope, and power, and life had gone from him. By a fierce
and terrible revulsion of his whole nature and all his recent
feelings, he returned to his cynical estimate of mankind and most
of all of Fleta. She had brought him to this place simply to taunt
and harass him and show him his madness and folly in aspiring
to her love in the face of such a rival. It cut Hilary’s heart like a
knife to find the young King so magnificent a creature. And Fleta,
why had she come here to meet him? Why had she brought her
unhappy lover with her? Hilary tore himself with doubts, and
fears, and questions; and sat silent, not even noticing the plates
that were placed before him and taken away untouched. The
others talked and laughed gaily, Alan being apparently possessed
of a hundred things to say. Hilary did not hear what they were,
but it annoyed him to find his rival speaking so much in that rich,
musical voice of his, while he himself sat dumb, silenced by a
bitter pain that tore his heart.
“You are sad,” said a soft voice at his side, “it is hard, if you
love Fleta, to see her monopolised by some one else. How often
have I had to suffer it? Well, it must be so, I suppose. Why am I
sorry for you. I wonder? For if Alan were not here you would
monopolise Fleta, and have no eyes for anyone else. Ah me!”
The sigh was very tender, the voice very low and soft; and that
voice was Fleta’s voice, those lovely eyes uplifted to his were
Fleta’s eyes. Yes, it was so! He thought as he looked back. Did
he not know Fleta well enough by now?
“Ah, you are playing with me,” he exclaimed eagerly, “it is Fleta
now, not Adine! Is it not so? Oh, my love, my love, be honest
and tell me!”
 He spoke like this under cover of the others’ voices, but Fleta
looked round alarmed.
“Hush!” she said, “take care. Your life would be lost if you
revealed our secret here. After dinner is over, come with me.”
This appointment made Hilary happy again; his heart leaped
up, his pulses throbbed; all the world changed. He found some
fruit was before him, he began to eat it, and to drink the wine in
his glass. Fleta was watching him.
“You have just begun to dine!” said Fleta with a soft laugh.
“Well, never mind; you are young and strong. Do you think you
could live through a great many hardships?”
Hilary made the lover’s answer, which is so evident that it need
not be recorded. He did not know how he said it, but he desired
to tell her that for her he would endure anything. She laughed
again.
“It may be so!” she said thoughtfully; and then he caught her
eyes fixed upon him with a searching glance that for an instant
seemed to turn the blood cold in his veins. His terrible thoughts
and doubts of her returned again the more fiercely for their
momentary repulsion. He emptied his glass, but eat nothing
more, and was very glad when they all rose from the table
together, a few moments later. He followed the figure of the girl
who had sat next him since Alan’s entrance, believing that Fleta
had then changed her place. She went across the great room
and led the way into a greenhouse which opened out of it. A
very wonderful greenhouse it was, full of the strangest plants.
They were extremely beautiful, and yet in some way they
inspired in him a great repugnance. They were of many colours,
and the blossoms were variously shaped, but evidently they were
all of one species.
“These are very precious,” said Fleta, looking at the flowers
near her tenderly. “I obtain a rare and valuable substance from
them. You have seen me use it,” she added, after a moment’s
pause. Hilary longed to leave the greenhouse and sit elsewhere;
but that was so evidently not Fleta’s wish that he could not
suggest it. There were seats here and there among the flowers,
and she placed herself upon one of them, motioning Hilary to sit
beside her.
“Now,” she said, “I am going to tell you a great many things
which you have earned the right to know. To begin with, you are
now in a monastery, belonging to the most rigid of the religious
orders.”
“Are you a Catholic?” asked Hilary suddenly. And then laughed
at himself for such a question. How could Fleta be catalogued
like this? He knew her to be a creature whose thought could not
be limited.
“No,” she answered simply. “I am not a Catholic. But I belong
to this order. I fear such an answer will be so unintelligible as to
be like an impertinence. Forgive me, Hilary.”
Ah, what a tone she spoke in, gentle, sweet—the voice of the
woman he loved. Hilary lost all control over himself. He sprang to
his feet and stood before her.
“I do not want to know your religion,” he exclaimed
passionately, “I do not want to know where we are, or why we
are here. I ask you only this—Are you indeed my love given to
me, as you said this morning?—or is your love given to the king,
and are you only laughing at me. It is enough to make me think
so, to bring me here to meet him! Oh, it is a cruel insult, a cruel
mockery! For, Fleta, you have made me love you with all my
heart and soul. My whole life is yours. Be honest and tell me the
truth.”
“You have a powerful rival,” said Fleta deliberately. “Is he not
handsome, courtly, all that a king should be? And I am pledged
to him. Yes, Hilary, I am pledged to him. Would you have the
woman you love live a lie for your sake, and hourly betray the
man she marries?”
“I would have her give me her love,” said Hilary despairingly,
“at all costs, at all hazards. Oh, Fleta, do not keep me in agony.
You said this morning that you loved me, that you would give
yourself to me. Are you going to take those words back?”
“No,” said Fleta, “I am not. For I do love you, Hilary. Did I not
see you first in my sleep? Did I not dream of you? Did I not
come to your house in search of you? Unwomanly, was it not? No
one but Fleta would have done it. And Fleta would only have
done it for love. You do not know what she risked—what she
risks now—for you! Oh, Hilary, if you could guess what I have at
stake. Never mind. None can know my own danger but myself.”
“Escape from it!” said Hilary in a sort of madness. A passionate
desire to help her came over him and swept all reasonable
thoughts away. “You are so powerful, so free, there is no need
for you to encounter danger. Does it lie in these people, in this
strange place? Come back then to the city, to your home. What
is there to induce you to run risks, you that have all that the
world can offer? Is there anything you need that you cannot
have?”
“Yes,” said Fleta, “there is. I need something which no power
of royalty can give me. I need something which I may have to
sacrifice my life to obtain. Yet I am ready to sacrifice it—oh, how
ready! What is my life to me! What is my life to me! Nothing!”
She had risen and was impatiently walking to and fro, moving
her hands with a strange eager gesture as she did so; and her
eyes were all aflame. This was the woman he loved. This, who
said her life was nothing to her. Hilary forgot all else that was
strange in her words and manner in the thought of this. Could
she then return his love—no, it was impossible, if she meant
these strange and terrible words that she uttered!
“Ah, this it is that keeps me back,” she said, before he had
time to speak. Her voice had altered, and her face had grown
pale, so pale that he forgot everything else in watching her.
“This it is that keeps me from my strength, this longing for it!”
And with a heavy sigh she moved back to her seat and fell into it
with a weariness he had never seen in her before. Her head
drooped on her breast, she fell into profound thought. Presently
she spoke again, disjointedly, and in such words as seemed
unintelligible.
“I have always been too impatient, too eager,” she said sadly,
“I have always tried to take what I longed for without waiting to
earn it. So it was long ago, Hilary, when you and I stood beneath
those blossoming trees, long ages ago. I broke the peace that
kept us strong and simple. I caused the torment of pain and peril
to arise in our lives. We have to live it out—alas, Hilary, we have
to live it out!—and live beyond it. How long will it take us—how
long will it take!”
There was a despair, an agony in her voice and manner, that
were so new, he was bewildered, he hardly recognised her. Her
moods changed so strangely that he could not follow them, for
he had not the key; he could not read her thought. He sat dumb,
looking in her sad drawn face.
“My love, my love,” he murmured at last, hardly knowing that
he spoke, hardly knowing what his thought was that he spoke,
only full of longing. “Would that I could help you! Would that I
understood you!”
“Do you indeed wish to?” asked Fleta, her voice melting into a
sort of tender eagerness.
“Do you not know it?” exclaimed Hilary. “My soul is burning to
meet yours and to recognise it, to stand with you and help you.
Why are you so far off, so like a star, so removed and
unintelligible to me, who love you so! Oh, help me to change
this, to come nearer to you!”
Fleta rose slowly, her eyes fixed upon his face.
“Come,” she said. And she held out her hand to him. He put
his into it, and together, hand in hand, they left the conservatory.
They did not enter the great dining hall, where now there was
music and dancing as Hilary could see and hear. They left the
house of the strange flowers by a different doorway, which
admitted them to a long dim corridor. Fleta opened the door by a
key that was attached to a chain hanging from her waist; and
she closed it behind her. Hilary asked no questions, for she
seemed buried in thought so profound that he did not care to
rouse her.
At the end of the corridor was a small and very low doorway.
Fleta stooped and knocked, and without waiting for any answer
pushed the door open.
“May I come in, Master?” she said.
 “Come, child,” was the answer, in a very gentle voice.
“I am bringing some one with me.”
“Come,” was repeated.
They entered. The room was small, and was dimly lit by a
shaded lamp. Beside the table, on which this stood, sat a man,
reading. He put a large book which he had been holding, on to
the table, and turned towards his visitors. Hilary saw before him
the handsomest man he had ever seen in his life. He was still
young, though Hilary felt himself to be a boy beside him; he rose
from his chair and stood before them very tall and very slight,
and yet there was that in his build which suggested great
strength. He looked attentively at Hilary for a moment, and then
turned to Fleta.
“Leave him here.” Fleta bowed and immediately went out of
the room without another word. Hilary gazed upon her in
amazement. Was this the proud, imperious princess who yielded
such instant and ready obedience? It seemed incredible. But he
forgot the extraordinary sight immediately afterwards in the
interest excited by his new companion, who at once addressed
him:
“The Princess has often spoken to me of you,” he said, “and I
know she has much wished that this moment should arrive. She
will be satisfied if she thinks you appreciate with your inner
senses the step you are about to take if you accord with her
wishes. But I think it right you should know it in every aspect as
far as that is possible. If you really desire to know Fleta, to
approach her, to understand her, you must give up all that men
ordinarily value in the world.”
“I have it not to surrender,” said Hilary rather bitterly, “my life
is nothing splendid.”
“No, but you are only at the beginning of it. To you the future
is full of promise. If you desire to be the Princess Fleta’s
companion, your life is no longer your own.”
“No—it is hers—and it is hers now!”
“Not so. It is not hers now, nor will it be hers then. Not even
your love does she claim for her own. She has nothing.”
 “I don’t understand,” said Hilary simply. “She is the Princess of
this country; she will soon be the Queen of another. She has all
that the world has to give a woman.”
“Do you not know the woman you love better than to suppose
that she cares for her position in the world?” demanded this man
whom Fleta called her master. “At a word from me, at any hour,
at any time she will leave her throne and never return to it. That
she will do this certainly some day I know very well; and her
sister will take her place, the world being no wiser than it now is.
Fleta looks forward to this change eagerly.”
“Well, perhaps,” admitted Hilary.
“Neither has she your love nor your life as her own. In loving
her you love the Great Order to which she belongs, and she will
gladly give your love to its right owner. She has done this already
in bringing you to me.”
Hilary started to his feet, stung beyond endurance.
“This is mere nonsense, mere insult,” he said angrily, “Fleta
has accepted my love with her own lips.”
“That is so,” was the answer, “and she is betrothed to King
Alan.”
“I know that,” said Hilary in a low voice.
“And what did you hold Fleta to be then? A mere pleasure
seeker, playing with life like the rest, devoid of honour and
principle? Was this your estimate of the woman you loved? What
else indeed could it be, when you said, let her give her hand to
King Alan while you know her love is yours! And you could love
such a woman! Hilary Estanol, you have been reared in a
different school than this. Does not your own conscience shame
you?”
Hilary stood silent. Every word struck home. He knew not what
to say. He had been wilfully blinding himself; the bandages were
rudely drawn aside. After a long pause he spoke, hesitatingly:
“The Princess cannot be judged as other women would be;
she is unlike all others.”
“Not so, if she is what you seem to think her; then she is just
like the rest, one of the common herd.”
 “How can you speak of her in that way?”
“How can you think of her as you do, dishonouring her by your
thoughts?”
The two stood opposite each other now, and their eyes met. A
strange light seemed to struggle into Hilary’s soul as these bitter
words rang sharply on his ear. Dishonouring her? Was it
possible? He staggered back and leaned against the wall, still
gazing on the magnificent face before him.
“Who are you?” he said at last.
“I am Father Ivan, the superior of the order to which the
Princess Fleta belongs,” was the reply. But another voice spoke
when his ceased, and Hilary saw that Fleta had entered, and was
standing behind him.
“And he is the master of knowledge, the master in life, the
master in thought, of whom the Princess Fleta is but a poor and
impatient disciple. Master, forgive me! I cannot endure to hear
you speak as if you were a monk, the mere tool of a religion, the
mere professor of a miserable creed.”
She sank on her knees before Father Ivan, in an attitude
strangely full of humility. The priest bent down and lifted her to
her feet. They stood a moment in silence, side by side, Fleta’s
eyes upon his face devouring his expression with a passionate
and adoring eagerness. How splendid they looked! Suddenly
Hilary saw it, and a wild, fierce, all-devouring flame of jealousy
awoke in his heart—a jealousy such as King Alan, no, nor a
hundred King Alans, could not have roused in him.
For he saw that this Ivan, who wore a priest’s dress, yet was
evidently no priest, who spoke as if this world had no longer any
meaning for him, yet who was magnificent in his personal
presence and power—he saw that this man was Fleta’s equal.
And more, he saw that Fleta’s whole face melted and softened,
and grew strangely sweet, as she looked on him. Never had
Hilary seen it like that. Never had Hilary dreamed it could look
like that. Stumbling like a blind man he felt for the door, which
he knew was near, and escaped from the room—how he knew
not. Hurriedly he went on, through places he did not see, and at
last found himself in the open air. He went with great strides
away through the tall ferns and undergrowth until he found
himself in so quiet a spot that it appeared as if he were alone in
the great forest. Then he flung himself upon the ground and
yielded to an agony of despair which blotted out sky and trees
and everything from his gaze, like a great cloud covering the
earth.
(To be continued.)
 TWILIGHT.
I sit alone in the twilight,
Dreaming—but not as of old;
Blind to the flickering fire-light,
Mystic visions my spirit enfold.
What means this struggle within me,
This new hope of a far-off goal?
This fighting against superstition,
That would fetter my awakening soul?
Why cannot I pray as I once did,
For self before all the world?
Whence came the flash of lightning
That self from its pedestal hurled?
But what if I’m struggling blindly,
What if this new hope is vain,
Can I go back to my old faith?
A voice whispers—“Never again.”
So I will press forward—believing
Hands unseen will guide to the goal,
And tho’ dim yet the light on my pathway,
Nirväna breathes peace to my soul.

K. D. K.
 THE SPIRIT OF HEALING.

It is somewhat difficult to say what real or theosophical work is

when exactly defined, and, in consequence, it becomes very
easy to speak of an effort as untheosophical—that is not
sufficiently unselfish in motive. The fact is that the word
Theosophy has such a very wide meaning, embracing, as it does,
the true spirit of all creeds and religions, and confining itself to
none in particular, that no work done in the spirit of truth and
wisdom is really untheosophical. Hence, unless the speaker is
possessed of more knowledge than ordinary men concerning the
causes which underlie our actions, the application of the word
untheosophical is incorrect. In fact, if it is once granted that it is
possible to work from an impersonal standpoint in favour of a
particular creed or religion, that work becomes theosophical in
character. Thus it is only work (in the widest sense of the word
and on all planes) from the personal standpoint, and which,
therefore, militates against Universal Brotherhood, which can
really be described as untheosophical. But this by no means
presupposes that work which has outwardly the appearance of
theosophical genuineness is not really selfish. It is, of course, the
old story of the wolf in sheep’s clothing. We do but need one
example—the truly-called profession of Medicine. We constantly
hear of the wonderful self-sacrifice of medical men; of men who
die at their posts rather than desert a possible case in times of
epidemic and cholera; of men who suck tracheotomy tubes with
almost certain death by diphtheria staring them in the face;
finally we hear, though but seldom, of the honest, earnest
devotion of a lifetime in places and districts where the fees are
so small that it is barely possible for the doctor to live on his
earnings. These are the heroes of the profession. Their work, for
the most part, consists of an unselfish devotion to the alleviation
of suffering, culminating in a final sacrifice of their personal
selves—for death is nothing less than this. But we must turn to
the less favourable side of the picture—the struggle not for a
living, but for wealth, and work, fired by ambition and the search
for fame. Of course, apart from the personal, selfish element in
it, the ambitious struggle in other professions than those of the
Church or Medicine is of no great or unnatural harm; but in these
two cases it is more than harmful, it is a degrading betrayal of
trust. It is Simonism with a vengeance; yes, kind friends, it
approaches very nearly to the case of Judas, who held the bag,
and betrayed his Master with a kiss. It may be asked why this
sweeping denunciation is made of the two noblest professions;
of those two which, considered from the ethical standpoint,
consist of devotion to the service of man? The reason is not very
far to seek. The power which true healers possess—healers alike
of body and soul, is not one which can be sold for money or
bartered for wealth and fame. At least, if the possibility does
exist, it bears a suspicious resemblance to the old idea of selling
one’s soul to the devil in exchange for power and prosperity. It
may be replied to this that there is no harm in bartering
knowledge of drugs, of pathology, diagnosis of disease, surgical
skill, etc.—in short, all the knowledge acquired by education—for
money. I answer No! for it is material given for material, and
nothing more. But these are not the sole properties of the true
healer, and those who do not possess these other properties I
speak of are not healers, and while they may profess medicine[59]
and may be in it, are yet not of it.
As regards the Church and its professors of religion, the case is
even worse; they have no material products of education to
barter, and for the most part are contented with telling their flock
to “do as I bid you, and not as I do.” But among them there are
noble examples of unswerving unselfishness and devotion,
although for the most part those who enter the Church are too
young to understand fully the nature of their high calling.
Unfortunately the call in too many cases is not a call to minister
and heal souls, but to make a living and heal the souls in the
process. But again, it may be asked, what are these wonderful
powers which constitute the true healer, and which are not to be
bought or sold? The first one which occurs naturally to the mind
is the power of sympathy. The old joke in Punch about “the good
bedside manner” has a considerable substratum of truth when
divested of its unpleasing folly. The substratum of that manner is
that which is given by sympathy; and this is one of the first
elements which constitute the power of healing. It gives the
power of suffering with the patient and therefore of
understanding what the sufferer is enduring. It is beyond
diagnosis, although it assists it by being much surer—at least, as
to the reality of the suffering. But this power of sympathy only
expresses a part of the meaning of the power to heal. Sympathy
tends to annihilate the personal distinctions between the healer
and the sufferer; it tends to exalt the consciousness of the healer
not only to know the remedy for the disease, but to be himself
the power of cure, and also it is a vast occult power in virtue of
which all the “elder brethren” of the Universal Brotherhood live
their lives; in virtue of which the world’s great enlighteners have
not only lived their lives but lived their death, in order that they
might benefit the sufferers who despised and rejected them. But
this power of sympathy and the kindred powers which constitute
the true healer, are really secret powers and secret remedies.
Therefore they are openly tabooed by the medical profession,
although the said professors cannot avoid using them. But secret
remedies are to some degree justly avoided. For it is but natural
to regard secret remedies with suspicion. At best their use seems
like working in the dark and blindly, and, consequently, any
results obtained must be empirical. Again, the medical profession
seems to plume and feather itself upon possessing a slight
leaven of its ideal condition, and, by constituting itself into a kind
of trades’ union, declines as a body to have anything to do with
any remedy of which the composition is not made fully known.
This, at least, is the more charitable view, for, on the other hand,
the doctors know only too well how eagerly the public rushes
after any new “quack” medicine, and seeks to cure itself without
calling in their aid. The doctors reply to this that they will have
nothing to do with a medicine whose composition is a secret,
and which is therefore devoted, to a great extent, to replenishing
the purse of its discoverer, and not to the cure of diseases from a
love of man and a hatred of suffering. This is a very high-
sounding idea, and a noble one, when it is not what the
Americans would call only “high-falutin.” But even when a
remedy is made public property, it is not necessarily pro bono
publico; in fact, as a rule, it serves only the good of the
dispensing chemist. He sees the prescription and notes it, the
public does not; and, as a rule, the chemist obtains the drugs
cheaply, and compounds them at the same rate as this medicine
was originally sold under the patent of its discoverer. Still, with all
the dislike of the profession for secret remedies, there is no
doubt at all that in the case of the heads of the profession some
of the best results are obtained by the use of prescriptions,
which practically constitute a secret formula. The especial
combination which the particular man has discovered to be of
use is his property, and his only until he writes a book, for the
various chemists who make it up, and the various patients who
drink it, are not to the full aware of its value and use. The
difference between this and quack medicine lies merely in the
peculiar names and large advertisements, but very often these
are balanced by the fame of the particular surgeon or physician.
But, in all honour to physicians and surgeons, who do in many
cases have and show a large-hearted sympathy for suffering, it
must be remembered that many of the greatest and busiest of
them give hours of their valuable time to those who are too poor
to pay in any other form than that of grateful thanks. There are,
again, others who disregard all the rules which govern trades’
union society, and boldly take their stand upon Christ’s dictum,
that “the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the
Sabbath.” In other words, they say that any medicine which they
personally find valuable in the alleviation of pain and disease
must be used even at the risk of themselves being called
“unprofessional.” Again, others will use these so-called secret
remedies, and say nothing about it, preferring to pin their faith
to the wittily termed eleventh commandment, “Thou shalt not be
found out.” At this point it is possible to draw a parallel between
the use of the terms “untheosophical” and “unprofessional.” It
would seem that both are used in very much the same trades’
union sense. In the case of the word “unprofessional,” it is to be
regretted that it is due very largely to a lack of charity and of the
spirit of enquiry. In the case of the word “untheosophical” it is
often used in consequence of a lack of charity, and further in the
spirit of scandal and gossip. Unless a man or woman is a
theosophist pure and simple, who carries out in their entirety,
the objects of the Theosophical Society, the use of the word
untheosophical betrays them to be untheosophical and to fail in
carrying out those objects which they have promised to further
to the best of their power.
In the light of the foregoing it is now possible to examine the
manner in which Count Mattei’s remedies have been received.
The Count himself is a member of a noble family of Bologna, he
has travelled much, but returned there in 1847, and took part in
the movement which led to the liberation of Italy. In early life he
much wished to study medicine, but was prevented from doing
so by his father’s wish. Still his desire for knowledge was not
quenched, and he attempted to follow the bent of his own mind.
He rightly concluded that the instincts of the lower animals
would lead them to search for herbs and plants which would cure
their ailments, and that careful observation of these instincts
might disclose medicines of the greatest value to human
sufferers. Thus he adopted the habit of taking walks in the
company of a number of dogs which were suffering from various
diseases, and carefully watched their proceedings. Gradually the
new pharmacopœia assumed shape, and the instinct of the dogs
showed that particular diseases were met by particular remedies.
These observations were made more than sixty years ago, and
were not forgotten amid the occupations of a busy life. Indeed,
when those occupations became less, Count Mattei returned with
ardour to his earlier studies. He became a deputy in the Roman
Parliament, but retired into private life after finding that his
political views were not those of the men by whom he was
surrounded. After this retirement the Count devoted himself to
the study of medicine, in order that he might fit himself to apply
certain principles which he believed he had discovered to be
valuable for sick and suffering humanity. By his own account and
the testimony of his patients he was not deceived, and the
present remedies which bear his name are the result of twenty-
five years’ unceasing labour and experiment. He rapidly acquired
an enormous practice, and during the early years of it his advice
and his medicines were entirely gratis. But an unfortunate
combination of circumstances, as well as the expense entailed by
the preparation of the remedies, rendered it necessary for the
Count to demand some small remuneration for his services. Then
he learned that his bounty was abused, and that certain doctors,
who had asked and obtained the remedies from him, departed
from Bologna and retailed the remedies at extravagantly
exorbitant prices. To such an extent was this carried that there
exist authentic cases where a thaler was demanded for a single
globule, and for the globules (20-30) necessary to give a bath,
1,000 francs were asked in New York. Some idea of the extortion
may be given when Count Mattei refers to the thaler price as
being 1,350 times the price at Bologna. This would be enough to
justify any amount of secrecy on Count Mattei’s part, more
especially as that secrecy entirely prevents the adulteration of
the medicines which would inevitably follow, were they to
become commercial property.
We have only too familiar an example in the ranks of the
medical profession. Many of his confrères have been appealed to
for the support of a physician, named Warburg. At this date it
seems hardly possible to believe that this gentleman was the
happy discoverer of Warburg’s Fever Tincture. Perhaps in this
country the value of the compound was not so highly
appreciated as in India. But it is impossible to open any treatise
on either surgery or medicine which is about twenty years old
and not find the use of Warburg’s tincture specially urged in all
cases of high fever, and especially in cases of malarial fever and
pyæmia. The compound had an enormous sale, and yielded a
very substantial income to its discoverer, but as soon as he
yielded to the pressure of professional opinion, and consented to
publish his formula so that it might obtain an extended use, he
obtained the reward of such philanthropy. Every chemist now
prepares the prescription and sells it at very nearly the original
price, and what is more, never refunds a fraction of a farthing in
the shape of a royalty to the discoverer. Consequently, we have
before us the edifying spectacle of the learned discoverer
compelled to exist on the charity of his professional confrères.
Count Mattei has, at all events, protected himself against this, for
although he states that in the event of his death he has provided
against the loss of his secret to the world, and intends to leave it
carefully as a legacy to suffering humanity, there is not the
slightest doubt that he alone is the possessor of his own secret.
That it is possible to obtain wealth from using this system is very
evident. Certain among the chief of his followers are in the habit
of visiting London at intervals, and the number of those who
consult them is really wonderful. I am assured by an eye-witness
that the crowd is far beyond that which besieges the door of the
most fashionable physician of the day. When one reads the
literature of the subject, one becomes more and more astonished
at its simplicity. All diseases resolve themselves into three main
forms, and constitutions vary accordingly. There are sanguine
and lymphatic constitutions, and the various combinations of
these two; there are also febrile disturbances and diseases of the
liver and spleen. Consequently there are three chief medicines,
which are used in an extraordinary state of dilution. It is no use,
here at least, to discuss the value of these infinitesimal doses, so
that may be left for future discussion. To a professional mind the
most extraordinary claim on Count Mattei’s part will be that of
curing cancer by internal and external medicines, and wholly
without the use of the knife. He claims positively to cure every
case in which the cancer has not ulcerated, and to cure a large
proportion even of those which have already done so. Even of
those which have been neglected, and have remained long in the
ulcerated state, he claims to restore a certain proportion (though
not a large one) to health. Of course, to any man who has seen
the difficulty which attends the early diagnosis of cancer, these
claims are very high-sounding indeed—almost to absurdity. The
difficulties which attend diagnosis, even almost to the time when
the knife has been used, and the tissue submitted to the
microscope, are very great. But in Count Mattei’s second division
there is no such difficulty. It is then possible by certain
indications, as well as by the use of the microscope, to be sure
of the nature of the disease. Here Mattei steps in and claims
that, by the use of one of his medicines, which exerts an electric
influence on cancer, and by one of what he terms his vegetable
electricities, he can restore the sufferer to health. Surely
conservative surgery, if it be worthy of the name, will investigate
such a claim. Of the vegetable electricities there is no doubt
whatever. Cases of neuralgia and sciatica and articular rheumatic
pain have been seen to yield to them as to magic; consequently,
even in the last stages of cancer, when there is no refuge save
the grave left to the sufferer, I have reason to believe Count
Mattei, to some extent, when he claims to enable the said
sufferer to sink gently away in full consciousness, and without
the use of morphia.
To those who know anything of the occult uses and powers of
plants, the fact that Count Mattei gathers his herbs at particular
phases of the moon, will convey a good deal of meaning.
Further, they will feel an additional assurance as to their value,
and will no longer wonder, on one side at least, that Count Mattei
chooses to keep his secret. It would seem probable to some
extent that Count Mattei is one of the “elder brethren” of the
race, although how far he is consciously so may be a matter for
speculation, which could only be set at rest by Mattei himself and
his compeers and superiors. What is definitely certain is that his
system of medicine in its theories, if not in its practice, is a
distinct step in advance in the healing art. Mattei is one of those
pioneers of advance who spend the greater part of their lives in
introducing for public use a secret of which they have become
possessed. Mr. Keeley, of Philadelphia,[60] appears to be another
of those pioneers who are in advance of their times. But Mr.
Keeley, in his work, resembles Friar Bacon, who blessed (?) the
world with gunpowder. No doubt civilization has been
enormously extended by its aid; but however much use it may
have been to man in adapting the face of nature to his service, it
has at any rate subserved the gratification of his passions. Count
Mattei appears to have none of these “defects of his qualities,”
and to have endeavoured to bless the world without giving to it
attendant curses. Still it is always possible that when his secret
shall become known it will draw attention to plants which have
just as destructive and poisonous an influence as the plants and
herbs he uses have of healing power. At all events, at present his
secret is of use to the world, and so far as may be seen he
makes a just and “brotherly” use of it. Has enough been said
above to show that the fact that his medicines are “secret”
compounds should be no barrier to their use? What is still more
important is that true theosophists should recognise that Count
Mattei has done what they endeavour to do, and devoted his life
to Real Work.
A. I. R.
 THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY’S CONVENTION OF 1887.

Safely returned from my long tour of ten months, my first duty

upon reaching home is to remind the Branches that the time
approaches for the Annual Meeting of the Convention of the
General Council—27th to 30th of December. It appears that the
attendance this year will be much larger than ever before; some
thinking that we shall register between 200 and 300 Delegates:
besides the old, there will be some twenty new Branches entitled
to representation and votes. The yearly extension of our Society
is thus steadily augmenting the strength of the General Council,
and the importance of its Annual Convention. As the Society
settles gradually upon its constitutional basis, the volume of
committee and parliamentary work lessens and more time
becomes available for theosophical lectures, the formation of
friendships, and the cultivation of a good mutual understanding
as to the work before us.
The Adyar Library, to which considerable gifts of old MSS. and
books have been made since last December, is already being put
to use. The Dwaita Catechism was issued at the last Convention,
and at this year’s the Vishistadvaita and Advaita Catechisms will
be ready; as will also a compilation of Buddhistic Morals from the
sacred literature of Ceylon. It is hoped that members of our
many Branches will kindly bring forward as many ancient works
upon every Department of Aryan knowledge as they can procure
for this best of national monuments, the Adyar Library.
Every effort will be made to promote the comfort of Delegates,
as heretofore. Lectures are being arranged for, but learned
Mofussil members who are willing to read discourses upon
special topics interesting to Delegates, are requested to at once
correspond with the Secretary, and if the MSS. are ready, to send
them in for approval.
 * * * * * * * * *
In conclusion let me assure our colleagues of all races, creeds
and colors, that a hearty and brotherly welcome awaits them at
their Theosophical home at Adyar.
Adyar, 17th October, 1887.
H. S. Olcott, p.t.s.
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebookball.com