Professor Huskins Part 23

The concord and harmonious feeling between operator and subject means more than most men think, if real wisdom is to be gleaned. The psychologist who uses only will power, considering his subject in nearly the same light he would a material object, that could further his plans, and wishes, will never acquire progressive wisdom upon abstruse subjects that elude his own or his colleagues' understanding. He can to an attentive audience who are ignorant of the principles governing psychology, or mesmerism, perform through his subjects what I call "physical phenomena," confounding the audience with facts of power they can neither understand nor deny. He can fill them with awe, even horror or fear, but he is limited to feats of physical prowess, or those that are familiar to the majority of men. Request him to have a subject perform some mental feat equally wonderful, and wholly beyond his (the operator's) knowledge, and there follows a dismal failure. To be sure, the subject may answer it to the understanding and satisfaction of both questioner and operator; but compare that answer with demonstrated scientific facts, and it will often be found faulty and inaccurate, because the projecting will had only the power to force the subject into the aura of persons possessing little knowledge upon the desired subject.

A small amount of knowledge is always faulty and defective, being tinctured so much with ignorance.

In the case we are considering, Clarissa had not the power to entrance Alice, as she had never practiced in this line, and knew almost nothing of the science. Like everyone who becomes interested in its efficacy, having no experience by which to gauge her aspirations, she expected more than demonstrated facts could ill.u.s.trate. Her buoyancy of faith in Alice's utterances while in the trance state, furnished the best of conditions for Alice to work in, considering especially the refinement and goodness of Clarissa's soul.

Her natural aspirations and desires were high and worthy of attention for their own sakes. She was ambitious, progressive and desirous of learning, she had little prejudice to overcome as she had almost no knowledge of the efficacy of thought and she loved Alice for her own pure self.

Alice had had a peculiar life and development. She had been kept quite isolated; and knew little of the turmoil of material life, while the love she bore Clarissa bordered upon wors.h.i.+p. All her family loved William, and had looked to him for years as the zenith of their lives; he embodied to them all that was n.o.ble, excellent, grand and good. Never once had he failed to be a loyal, staunch foundation. Both Merle and Alice looked to him as they would their father, having supreme and unfaltering faith in his every declaration.

Their love may not have been wise and judicious, but it was sincere and earnest. The fact they made such excellent subjects was due to their love and the desire to do whatever he wished. It was never a task nor an inconvenience for them to do what he desired. They found their greatest happiness in working for and pleasing him. Whenever either of them went into a trance, it was gladly and willingly, and with the thought of being honored by being selected by so distinguished a man as the Professor.

They thought him not only the most honorable, but the wisest and most powerful man living. Their sole anxiety was to please him and to do his bidding, if by their quiescent obedience to his desire or will force they could bring contentment or satisfaction, they were not only satisfied but happy.

Alice was favored beyond Merle in this respect. She had not been forced nor coerced, even in a trance. William had been a long time developing her, but he had never asked her many questions, nor presumed upon her negative state to yield him desired knowledge.

With Merle it had been different; he had been used, from the beginning, to acquire knowledge of which the Professor was either ignorant, or about which he had his doubts; Merle consequently partook of more of the Professor's characteristics than Alice.

If Clarissa had tried to use Merle, although he was the acknowledged best subject, he could not possibly have given her the same knowledge Alice did.

Loving the Professor as they did, Merle and Alice actually adored his family; Clarissa and Augustus were not common individuals in their eyes.

You can see what an effect of inspiration or almost superhuman power this produced in Alice's life. She enjoyed any test imposed upon her for the Professor's sake, through him or his family. He was wise and good, his family were more. Her sincere love and admiration for Clarissa made her an obedient slave, through love and not force.

Both subject and operator being actuated by sentiments of love, were enabled to gather facts William, with all the force of his powers could not obtain, owing to the fact he drew limits to possibilities and actualities, judging by past or previous experiences, while Clarissa, having no past theories, offered no prejudices to obstruct the flight of Alice's imagination or inquiry.

She only waited patiently for answers to questions she furnished, having the most complete faith and belief in the facts Alice avouched. Not having definite ideas or theories upon the subject, she accepted without comment, or prejudice, what William would have disputed. William's mind brought into the balance, would have outweighed any new facts that she gave.

Alice and Clarissa were actuated by love both for William and for science, and the desire to do the best that lay in their individual spirits, prompted them to rise above the limits, temporarily, of their own possible achievements. Neither of them, reading the accounts of what they had done, would have or could have valued it the same as he did, or as any other person who possessed knowledge upon that line of thought.

They could acquire this knowledge, but could not practice it owing to the same principle that causes the mirror to be capable of producing the reflection, but not the tangible object which it may transiently picture.

Clarissa did not pretend to understand the laws governing the phenomena Alice avouched. This fact made her cling all the more tenaciously to them. She knew her own mind or will had not, consciously or unconsciously, influenced her, and her confidence and faith mounted higher because of this fact.

William did not like to acknowledge the fallacy and fallibility of thought as a creative power, and Clarissa, knowing less of its power, gave full credence to all that Alice said. The united action or combination of these two loving and loyal souls produced a large amount of evidence or truth of life's actual manifestation. This truth, William could neither deny nor condemn; he could not understand all the narrated a.s.sertions or facts at once. Upon those points where he felt to disagree, there was always some a.s.sertion or ill.u.s.tration he could not refute, which drew his mind away from old theories, compelling him to accept, even against his desires and will, the a.s.sertions as given.

He never acknowledged the advance in wisdom he made at this time; possibly it was well he did not, as, if he had acknowledged himself in error or faulty, they might have ceased to contemplate him as their hero. This hero-wors.h.i.+p was the princ.i.p.al factor that had brought about the best results, lifting their souls out of the ordinary grooves, and endowing them with momentary powers they could not live up to, but he, their hero, gleaning knowledge of these facts, could live up to and practice them.

Studying life closely, we find that the most fluent talkers lack executive ability. Both are needed to materialize the most perfect results. There must first come the realization of possibility beyond all phases of expressed life that have been. It is the province of a concentrator to materialize these possibilities.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

As William and Clarissa talked over these scientific problems, the mother's anxiety and perplexity kept presenting new problems to William.

His love for Clarissa, as well as for his children, made him negative and receptive to many thoughts and conjectures of theirs he would not have noticed in a stranger. One of the princ.i.p.al factors and questions occurring to Clarissa's mind was, having children of her own, a boy and a girl, would she wish to see them influenced and controlled by another and outside influence from their own, the same as Merle and Alice were?

She knew her husband's motives were worthy and excellent, that he would not impel them to do any deed he would not inspire his own child to do, but he was only one man, and all men are not as honorable and trustworthy as he. Many men, having the same degree of power, would have used it for less honorable purposes. She knew just enough of it, to know that the subject is not responsible and ought never to be blamed (where justice is rife,) for the motive or intent that inspired the operator.

Before her range of vision was continually rising the picture of Augustus or her baby girl, controlled and influenced by some powerful mind concentrator. How did she know what such a person might make them do?

This one thought haunted her like an unwelcome and unbidden guest, and as her latest darling, the baby girl, lay close to her breast, she pondered upon the subject more than she ever had with Augustus. Once there had been a time when she had courted this influence, thinking it might possibly, by some agency not known to her, restore strength and vigor to his limbs. To obtain the power of locomotion for him had been her supreme thought and desire. To gain this, she would have offered herself a glad and willing sacrifice upon any altar that might have presented itself between her and her goal.

When her girl baby was given her, for her keeping, its presence, enriched by her husband's love and solicitude, her thoughts instead of pa.s.sing into the groove or channel of personal disappointment, roamed into the path of conjecture and speculation of what might happen in the babe's life.

She was still prejudiced by the popular thought, that will excuse in a man's life that which they will not endeavor to condone in a woman's. As she would hold that small, helpless baby close to her, finding satisfaction in the intimate a.s.sociation of touch, she could not help but think of the time or season when Augustus and this child would mature and reach conditions proximate to those of Merle and Alice.

Somehow, there was an innate horror in her mind, when she thought of their being in as complete subjection to the will and dictation of others as Merle and Alice were to that of her husband.

This thought did not arise from anything she had seen either suffer, or pa.s.s through at her husband's dictation; on the contrary, so far as man's sight is privileged to scan material conditions, they had been benefited and a.s.sisted by his presence and power in their lives; still, that was no guarantee that every mesmerist wrought equally good effects in his subjects' lives.

For a while, she kept these conjectures to herself, but the more she reasoned, the less certain she felt, and finally she concluded to consult William upon the subject. She knew he would laugh at her, and that was the reason she had not consulted him before; possibly his ridicule might relieve her anxiety.

One morning, they all (except Clarissa, who was still confined to her bed,) sat watching Dinah wash and dress the baby. Augustus was now always up and present at that occasion, causing Dinah no end of trouble and annoyance by his countless questions and absurd directions. He seemed to think the babe was his particular charge, and suffered keen jealousy if he were not allowed to hold her as long as he thought the rest did. She was the one topic of interest and conversation of which he never wearied, although he tried the patience of others recounting her excellence.

This morning, he had been unusually quiet and docile, so much so, that when the baby was dressed, Dinah put her into his arms, kissed him and patted his head before she went out. To her faithful heart, he would never be anything but a baby of a larger growth. She knew something was troubling him, and thought the baby would do him good.

His father and mother were quietly watching what was to them a lovely picture, for Augustus was an unusually handsome child, and the baby gave promise of being equally attractive, even at this early stage of its development, although it must be confessed, it (of course) looked similar to other equally young babies.

For quite a time, nothing was said. The parents were filled with pride and happiness as they looked at that fair picture; those darlings were theirs; the offsprings of their love for each other. The thought caused each to seek the other's eyes. William rose to go to Clarissa, meaning to tell her how happy he was. As he pa.s.sed his children he stooped to kiss them, for his heart was very warm just then.

Naturally, he kissed Augustus first and was surprised to see the boy trembling, and as he turned to look in his face, he found the child's eyes swimming in tears. He drew his arm more tightly around him and said:

"My boy, what is it that troubles you? Tell me. Let me share your grievance, or remove it."

The look that answered his loving inquiry haunted William for a long time, and he was glad that Clarissa had not seen it. It was a look of torture as keen as one might expect to see in some animal, wounded to the death, and who makes no moan while its life blood oozes away. The cause of such a look was more than he could divine. He drew both children closely to him, and spoke again:

"Augustus, tell me."

The tears which ran down the boy's face were his only reply, while William plainly felt the trembling of the child's body increase. The sight of the boy's suffering was excruciating torture to him. He loosed his hold upon Augustus, taking the baby from him, and carrying it to Clarissa, who looked wonderingly at him for an explanation. He had none to offer.

Augustus had not tried to resist when his father took his charge from him, which was a new thing for him. Placing the babe beside its mother, William returned quickly to Augustus, without kissing them both as was his wont, and lifting the boy out of his chair, bore him in his arms to his own private room. He let the tempest of tears vent itself without comment, contenting himself by holding the boy close to him and stroking his head. When he felt that Augustus was becoming calmed, he said:

"Now, Augustus, will you tell me of your sorrow?"

No answer, but Augustus' arms clung closer about his neck, and his head nestled restlessly from one place to another, but he would not look his father in the face. William waited patiently, knowing the boy's nervous temperament, then spoke again, tenderly and lovingly:

"Can not my boy trust his father's love?--"

He never finished the utterance; the answer was so unexpected, and so poignant of torture, it deprived him, temporarily, of both speech and logical thought.

"Father, will she be ashamed of me when she gets older?"

"Ashamed of her brother? What an odd question! She will be proud of you,--what thought prompted such a question?"

"Father, do you think she will ever walk?"

"Yes, my boy."