The Mystery of a Turkish Bath Part 6

"Well," interposed Mrs Jefferson eagerly, "and did you have any manifestation?"

"Oh, yes," laughed the gouty sufferer grimly, "a very material one indeed. By some accident the medium knocked down the screen just after we'd seen a spirit face floating _above_ it. In the confusion some one struck a light, and there was our medium--standing on the chair without his coat, and wrapping some transparent India muslin about himself, which had been dipped in phosphorus I believe, so that it gave out a curious s.h.i.+mmering light in the dark. You may suppose I never went in for materialistic _seances_ again."

"Still," said Mrs Jefferson, "although you may have been tricked, it doesn't stand to reason that spiritualism _is_ trickery. I've come from the very core and centre of it--so to speak. I've been at more _seances_ than I could count, and I've seen tests applied that _prove_ the manifestations are genuine. Still there are heaps of professional mediums who are not to be depended on, I grant. If you want to know the truth of spiritualism, you can always work it out for yourself. That's quite possible, only it's a deal of trouble."

"I don't believe in it," reiterated Mrs Masterman stubbornly. "All mediums are cheats and humbugs."

"Oh!" said Mrs Jefferson. "If it comes to exceptions laying down the rule, where are we? The other day a clergyman was taken before the courts for drunkenness, but I suppose you're not going to say all clergymen are drunkards. A doctor poisoned a patient by mistake, but surely we're not to cla.s.s our dear medical men as poisoners and murderers on that account. It's just the same with any abnormal or extraordinary facts that set up a new theory for investigation.

Impostors are sure to creep in, and the lazy and the indifferent and the sceptical call their exposure 'results.' Depend on it we don't half investigate subjects now-a-days, and we suffer for it by giving place and opportunity for the development of a certain cla.s.s of beings who prey on our credulity, and make profit out of our indolence and superst.i.tion."

"There's something in spiritualism, you bet," drawled the nasal voice of Mr Ray Jefferson. "I've had messages written to me, and things said that no third person could possibly have known about."

"Ah, slate writing," sneered Mrs Masterman. "I've seen that too. Just another trick."

"How do you explain that?" asked Mrs Jefferson quickly.

"Well, this way. I went to two or three different mediums so as to test them all. I found they had no objections to bringing your own slates and writing your own questions, but while they held the slate under the table they kept you talking to distract your attention, and from time to time they got convulsive jerks and movements by which it was quite possible for them to see what was written. Then you heard a scratching (the medium probably had a little bit of pencil in his finger-nail), and your answer was given you. Well, let that pa.s.s for what it's worth, but I always noticed the medium asked if I wouldn't like a message, and when I said 'yes,' he brought out _his own slate_."

"But," said Mrs Jefferson, "didn't he let you examine it first?"

"Oh yes, and wiped it over with a damp cloth. Then it was held under the table, and in a few seconds covered with 'spirit-writing.' But I found out afterwards that you can buy slates with a _false cover_, this cover fits within the frame and is exactly like the other side of the slate, but, _your spirit-message is already written_, a touch makes the cover drop off, the medium covers it with his foot in case you should look under the table, out comes the slate, and there you are!"

"On," said Mrs Jefferson angrily, "it's plain you've only been to the charlatans and impostors of spiritualism. Why, I've had a message written in a _locked_ slate while I held the key and held the slate too.

What do you say to that?"

"I've only your word for it," said Mrs Masterman sarcastically. "My slates were never locked."

"And I've only _your_ word for what you've told us," answered Mrs Jefferson with rising wrath. "I suppose my evidence may be as trustworthy."

"Well," interposed another voice, "my view of spiritualism is, that it's an intensely humiliating idea after you've done with this world to be at the beck and call of any other human being who can make you go through a variety of tricks, as if you were a performing dog, in order to convince people still in the body that there is another life. If that other life permits us to come back here and play tambourines, and knock furniture about, and write silly and ambiguous messages on slates, I don't-- myself--think it's a very desirable one."

This view of the question produced a blank silence. It proceeded from a gentleman who was supposed to be a little "odd"--partly because he spoke seldom, and then with a startling originality, on any subject of discussion.

Mr and Mrs Ray Jefferson looked at one another, somewhat dismayed.

Mrs Masterman smiled triumphantly, the young poet murmured something vague about the inestimable beauty of sublime "mysteries," but the subject was temporarily extinguished. The only side hitherto considered had been the 'phenomenal,' and people--once the idea was originated-- felt really inclined to think that after all, when they quitted the earth plane, it would not be a very elevating prospect to find themselves dragged back to give _seances_ and perform tricks like a French poodle in order to convince their friends and relatives that they were _still in existence_!

The conversation only went on in subdued murmurs, and presently there was a feminine move towards the drawing-room.

Once there the great subject as to whether Madame Zairoff would or would not appear that evening, was again freely discussed. That it was an equally interesting probability to the sterner s.e.x was soon made evident by the unusual alacrity with which they joined the circle. They broke up into groups and knots, scattered through the length of the handsome, brilliantly lighted room, but a curious restlessness was apparent; no one settled down to cards or music. Even the "odd" individual moved about and dropped cynical remarks along the route of his progress, instead of sitting down to backgammon as was his wont. A few other misguided individuals, of the male s.e.x, offered and accepted bets _sotto voce_ on the chances of the Unknown appearing.

At last, when expectation had been strained almost to breaking point, it was set at rest. The doors were thrown open, and, lightly leaning on Colonel Estcourt's arm, appeared Mrs Jefferson's much talked of, and beautiful "Mystery."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

SURPRISE.

An involuntary hush fell upon the whole a.s.semblage. Not a man or woman there but felt their breath come a little quicker, their hearts beat with suppressed excitement, as that perfect figure, with its magical indolent grace, swept slowly through the room and into their midst.

It was the usual homage paid to Princess Zairoff, for she possessed that rare and delicate mixture of indifference, languor, and disdain that is in itself a distinction, and makes ordinary womanhood and beauty suddenly feel coa.r.s.e and commonplace.

She paused before Mrs Ray Jefferson, and greeted her with a soft indescribable grace, and after a few minutes' conversation permitted herself to be introduced to a few of the group around the little American. That perfect ease of manner, which held not a vestige of condescension, soon exerted its charm. One after another drew near that envied circle, anxious to pick up some stray pearl of speech from those lovely lips. The women forgot to be envious, because she never for one moment forgot or ignored them. Even gouty Mrs Masterman found that her ailment had been remembered, and was sympathetically enquired about in a way to which she was entirely unaccustomed. The poet talked as if he drew in inspiration with every glance from those starry eyes, the musician at her request moved to the piano and played some of his "Music of the Future," and it no longer seemed incomprehensible. A sense of exhilaration, of pleasure, of content, spread through the group, and animated discussion, and gave even ordinary conversation a sudden grace and charm.

It was to be expected before the evening was over, that that conversation would ascend by natural gradations from the ordinary to the intellectual, yet no one could tell exactly how or when it began to do so, any more than they could describe the strange yet clear logic by which this one woman set to rights various perplexing problems, and gave the key as it were to a n.o.bler and higher order of eclectic philosophy than they had yet ventured upon.

To Mrs Ray Jefferson, that discussion in the Baths had acted as the stimulus of an olive to the palate. She was all eagerness to resume it.

"I hope, Madame Zairoff," she said, in her brisk, lively, fas.h.i.+on, "that you will give me a little enlightenment about what you said yesterday.

This is just a leisure time with most of us, and I suppose mental culture is not incompatible with hygienic pursuits."

"a.s.suredly not," said the Princess, smiling. "The more you cultivate the mind the less you feel or care for the ailments of the body, and to give those ailments even occasional insignificance, is to first forget, and then banish them. If you draw your mind away from the thought of pain, you cease to feel pain."

"But that would require a far stronger mental capacity than we possess,"

said Mrs Masterman. Then she suddenly remembered that she had not felt a single gouty twinge the whole evening, because her mental consciousness had been unusually excited. This remembrance made her grow suddenly thoughtful and attentive to the discussion.

"I think," said Princess Zairoff, gently; "that we all make a great mistake in setting any absolute limit to our mental capacity. It is quite within our own power to dwarf or extend it. If we are content to rest satisfied with a small amount of knowledge we can do so, and even cease to suffer in our own self-esteem by feeling we are stupid, or indolent, or ignorant. Our perceptions are gradually blunted, and society is kind enough to case most of its remarks and opinions in a sugar-coating, so that the real truth never reaches us. We gradually find, then, that an opinion that soothes our personal vanity and self-esteem is a very pleasant opinion. So long as we cherish that falsehood, so long do we blunt our faculties of progress. Now it seems a very extraordinary thing to me, who have long been accustomed to investigate and direct the psychic side of nature, to find such numbers and numbers of people who don't believe in _any psychic laws at all_, far less care to investigate them as knowledge. The reason is simply this, that they all are convinced that _one_ trivial, petty earth-life is the one life for which they were created and are responsible, therefore the only one they feel bound to investigate."

She paused and looked at the circle of grave and wondering faces.

"You have heard of the law of Karma, I suppose?" she said.

There was a murmur, vague, spontaneous, or doubtful, according to the amount of comprehension excited by the question.

"It is a pity," resumed the Princess, "that it is not more generally understood. What is the difficulty? I learnt it in my childhood just as your English children learn their catechism. You have taken up the doctrine of Evolution very strongly, but Karma is its very leading law, so to speak. Man is perpetually working out and developing afresh the energies, aspirations, and character with which his spirit was originally endowed. He becomes, as it were, the product of the better part of himself, that struggles to the surface again and again during periods of incarceration in the flesh."

"Then you would convey that we all live over and over again?"

"Most certainly. It is the only rational way to account for the injustice, the sorrows, and the miseries of earth. It gives long opportunities for the modification of character; it acts as retribution to the evil and the vicious and the selfish; it gives a far deeper sense of responsibility than the shallow acceptance of mere creeds, because a man's good or evil deeds become a series of actions with inevitable consequences. If you teach him that he can throw off the results of a bad life, and of all it has entailed upon his fellow man, by a brief spell of penitence, or a blind, irrational faith in the sacrifice of a Being he has neglected and ignored during the greater part of that life, you really are only pandering to the selfish and cowardly side of his nature."

A little shudder ran through the group at these bold words. Mrs Ray Jefferson lifted her head and cast glances of triumph about, as one who should say, "I told you she would shock you all!"

There was scarcely a man or woman there who did not attend church on Sundays, and who had not managed to make a comfortable compact between the tenets of religion and the demands of social and worldly pleasures.

Not one who, if taken to task on the momentous subject of a spiritual future, could have given any rational explanation of why he or she held certain vague ideas on the subject of salvation, or put off the deeper consideration of the subject to some indefinite period when they would have had their fill of vanities, and lost either the means or the desire to pursue them.

And yet there was a subtle _frou-frou_ of rustling skirts as the women drew slightly away, and a decided appearance of discomfort on the faces of the men, to whom an unpleasant truth was suddenly and sharply conveyed, and who found themselves strangely powerless to combat, or argue out its real meaning.

CHAPTER NINE.

DISCUSSION.

Colonel Estcourt came to the rescue.

"No doubt," he said, "the subject and this view of the subject seems a little strange to our friends here. We must remember they have not been accustomed to hear it freely discussed, as we have."

"It _is_ strange," said Mrs Jefferson, rallying her energies, "but we should not s.h.i.+rk its consideration for that reason. I quite agree with Madame Zairoff that people don't think half seriously enough of their real natures, the mysterious inner _something_ which we all feel we possess, but whose voice we stifle in the din of the world. And yet,"