The Land Of Mist - Doyle Arthur Conan (первая книга .TXT) 📗
Mailey had been tugging at his tawny beard while he listened to these conflicting counsels. Knowing the two men he was aware that there was not really much between them, when one got past mere words, for Smith revered the Christ as a God-like man, and Mason as a man-like God, and the upshot was much the same. At the same time he knew that their more extreme followers on either side were in very truth widely separated, so that compromise became impossible.
«What I can't understand,» said Malone, «is why you don't ask your spirit friends these questions and abide by their decisions.»
«It is not so simple as you think,» Mailey answered. «We all carry on our earthly prejudices after death, and we all find ourselves in an atmosphere which more or less represents them. Thus each would echo his old views at first. Then in time the spirit broadens out and it ends in a universal creed which includes only the brotherhood of man and the fatherhood of God. But that takes time. I have heard most furious bigots talking through the veil.»
«So have I, for that matter,» said Malone, «and in this very room. But what about the materialists? They at least cannot remain unchanged.»
«I believe their mind influences their state and that they lie inert for ages sometimes, under their own obsession that nothing can occur. Then at last they wake, realize their own loss of time, and finally, in many cases, get to the head of the procession, since they are often men of fine character and influenced by lofty motives however mistaken in their views.»
«Yes, they are often among the salt of the earth,» said the clergyman heartily.
«And they offer the very best recruits for our movement,» said Smith. «There comes such a reaction when they find by the evidence of their own senses that there really is intelligent force outside themselves, that it gives them an enthusiasm that makes them ideal missionaries. You fellows who have a religion and then add to it cannot even imagine what it means to the man who has a complete vacuum and suddenly; finds something to fill it. When I meet some poor earnest chap feeling out into the darkness I just yearn to put it into his hand.»
At this stage, tea and Mrs. Mailey appeared together. But the conversation did not flag. It is one of the characteristics of those who explore psychic possibilities that the subject is so many-sided and the interest so intense that when they meet together they plunge into the most fascinating exchange of views and experiences. It was with some difficulty that Malone got the conversation round to that which had been the particular object of his visit. He could have found no group of men more fit to advise him, and all were equally keen that so great a man as Challenger should have the best available.
Where should it be? On that they were unanimous. The large seance room of the Psychic College was the most select, the most comfortable, in every way the best appointed in London. When should it be? The sooner the better. Every spiritualist and every medium would surely put any engagement aside in order to help on such an occasion.
«Who should the medium be? Ah! There was the rub. Of course, the Bolsover circle would be ideal. It was private and unpaid, but Bolsover was a man of quick temper and Challenger was sure to be very insulting and annoying. The meeting might end in riot and fiasco. Such a chance should not be taken. Was it worth while to take him over to Paris? But who would take the responsibility of letting loose such a bull in Dr. Maupuis' china-shop?
«He would probably seize pithecanthropus by the throat and risk every life in the room,» said Mailey. «No, no, it would never do.»
«There is no doubt that Banderby is the strongest physical medium in England,» said Smith. «But we all know what his personal character is. You could not rely upon him.»
«Why not?» asked Malone. «What's the matter with him?»
Smith raised his hand to his lips.
«He has gone the way that many a medium has gone before him.»
«But surely,» said Malone, «that is a strong argument against our cause. How can a thing be good if it leads to such a result?»
«Do you consider poetry to be good?»
«Why, of course I do!»
«Yet Poe was a drunkard, and Coleridge an addict, and Byron a rake, and Verlaine a degenerate. You have to separate the man from the thing. The genius has to pay a ransom for his genius in the instability of his temperament. A great medium is even more sensitive than a genius. Many are beautiful in their lives. Some are not. The excuse for them is great. They practise a most exhausting profession and stimulants are needed. Then they lose control. But their physical mediumship carries on all the same.»
«Which reminds me of a story about Banderby,» said Mailey. «Perhaps you have not seen him, Malone. He is a funny figure at any time – a little, round, bouncing man who has not seen his own toes for years. When drunk he is funnier still. A few weeks ago I got an urgent message that he was in the bar of a certain hotel, and too far gone to get home unassisted. A friend and I set forth to rescue him. We got him home after some unsavoury adventures, and what would the man do but insist upon holding a seance. We tried to restrain him, but the trumpet was on a side-table, and he suddenly switched off the light. In an instant the phenomena began. Never were they more powerful. But they were interrupted by Princeps, his control, who seized the trumpet and began belabouring him with it. 'You rascal! You drunken rascal! How dare you!' The trumpet was all dinted with the blows. Banderby ran bellowing out of the room, and we took our departure.»
«Well, it wasn't the medium that time, at any rate,» said Mason. «But about Professor Challenger – it would never do to risk the chance.»
«What about Tom Linden?» asked Mrs. Mailey. Mailey shook his head.
«Tom has never been quite the same since his imprisonment. These fools not only persecute our precious mediums, but they ruin their powers. It is like putting a razor into a damp place and then expecting it to have a fine edge.»
«What! Has he lost his powers?»
«Well, I would not go so far as that. But they are not so good as they were. He sees a disguised policeman in every sitter and it distracts him. Still, he is dependable so far as he goes. Yes, on the whole we had better have Tom.»
«And the sitters?»
«I expect Professor Challenger may wish to bring a friend or two of his own.»
«They will form a horrible block of vibrations! We must have some of our own sympathetic people to counteract it. There is Delicia Freeman. She would come. I could come myself. You would come, Mason?»
«Of course I would.»
«And you, Smith?»
«No, no! I have my paper to look after, three services, two burials, one marriage, and five meetings all next week.»
«Well, we can easily get one or two more. Eight is Linden's favourite number. So now, Malone, you have only to get the great man's consent and the date.»
«And the spirit of confirmation,» said Mason, seriously. «We must take our partners into consultation.»
«Of course we must, padre. That is the right note to strike. Well, that's settled, Malone, and we can only await the event.»
As it chanced, a very different event was awaiting Malone that evening, and he came upon one of those chasms which unexpectedly open across the path of life. When, in his ordinary routine, he reached the office of the Gazette, he was informed by the commissionaire that Mr. Beaumont desired to see him. Malone's immediate superior was the old Scotch sub-editor, Mr. McArdle, and it was rare indeed for the supreme editor to cast a glimpse down from that peak whence he surveyed the kingdoms of the world, or to show any cognizance of his humble fellow-workers upon the slopes beneath him. The great man, clean-shaven, prosperous and capable, sat in his palatial sanctum amid a rich assortment of old oak furniture and sealing-wax-red leather. He continued his letter when Malone entered, and only raised his shrewd, grey eyes after some minutes' interval.
