III
A CHAPTER ON GHOSTS
A strange thing happened that night at Stoneleigh.
For the first time in the annals of the younger Rysdale generation, thegreat bare room at the top of the house, adjoining Harold Leighton'slaboratory, had a guest. In the days of the St. Maur Brotherhood themonks used this room as an oratory. The shadowy outline of a crucifix,which had once risen above an unpretentious altar, could still be tracedin the rough plaster on the narrow east wall. At either side of thiscrucifix the blackened marks of bygone sconces were visible, while inthe north and south walls of the apartment there still remained a numberof huge spikes, rusty with age and swathed in cobwebs, from which hadhung the Fourteen Stations of the Cross.
Since the departure of the monks this oratory had been practicallyabandoned by their successors at Stoneleigh. The earlier members of theLeighton family had shared the dislike of their fellow townsmen foranything approaching "papistry." To this prejudice, as it affected theuse of the oratory, was afterwards added the belief that the gloomychamber was still frequented by certain ghostly members of the ancientBrotherhood into whose spectral doings it was just as well not to prytoo closely. A live monk was bad enough, according to some of HaroldLeighton's ancestors; but a dead monk who "haunted" was too disreputablealtogether to have anything to do with. Hence, as there was more room atStoneleigh than could profitably be used, it was thought best to closeup this ancient oratory, leaving it to such grim visitants from the pastas might choose it for a meeting place.
There had been seasons, however, when dust and cobwebs were sufficientlydisturbed to bring some semblance of cheer into the desolate apartment.Thus, the festivities accompanying the marriage of Una's grandparentshad reached their climax here in a ball at which the local worthiesmingled with a number of excellent persons from that outside world offashion vaguely known as "the city." No spectral guest, tonsured orotherwise, appeared on this occasion, and when the revels were ended thelegend that Stoneleigh's oratory was haunted no longer commanded therespect, or even the interest, of the credulous.
That was more than half a century ago; and now David Meudon was theguest of this neglected chamber. He was in a joyous mood. A man moretenacious of impressions could not have thrown off so easily theirritation caused by the meeting with Harold Leighton in the garden.The elder man's suspicions would have poisoned whatever possibilitythere might be of immediate enjoyment. The presence of Una, however, herunqualified acceptance of him, her uncle's suddenly changed attitude,effectually dulled David's resentment. Leighton had agreed, apparently,to the plan for an early wedding, and had even proposed that themarried couple should live at Stoneleigh. In spite of David's greatwealth, neither he nor his immediate ancestors had been identified witha locality peculiarly their own; they had never had a family home.With Una, on the contrary, the last of the Leightons, the ancestraltie that roots itself under some particular hearthstone was especiallystrong. She was pleased, therefore, with the offer that promised to makeStoneleigh hers--and so, in the main, was David.
He liked the old house; its history appealed to his imagination. Hestood somewhat in awe, it is true, of its present owner, and theprospect of living with him did not promise unalloyed happiness. Butthere was something about Harold Leighton, a suggestion of mystery,that went well with this ancient place, and completely satisfied David.He laughed at the Stoneleigh traditions; but when Leighton proposedspending the evening in the oratory he gladly assented. David had neverbeen in this part of the house, although he had often wanted to exploreits possible mysteries. The opportunity to do this had not come untilnow.
"Yes, there are ghosts here," Harold Leighton replied to the young man'sjesting query as he, David and Una entered the great bare room together.
"Then you believe in ghosts?"
"Of course Uncle Harold believes in them," exclaimed Una. "I believe inthem, and so do you."
"That depends. Show me one and I might."
"Well," commented Leighton; "this is the ghost room, and here we are.Perhaps your skepticism will find something to try its teeth on. Inhonor of St. Maur we ought to have a demonstration."
"Splendid!" laughed David. "But you don't mean it. People never meanwhat they say when they talk approvingly of ghosts. You are known for askeptic yourself, Mr. Leighton. You accept nothing that has not passedmuster with science."
"There may be a science of ghosts," retorted the savant. "Science isnot limited to any department of human knowledge. A scientific theoryis based on a collection of facts. How do you know I have not made acollection of ghost-facts?"
"And so have a new theory of ghosts to offer!"
"You don't really think those old monks come back, uncle?" objected Una.
"Oh, I'm not going to tell the secrets of my laboratory so easily--andto such a pair of tyros," was the evasive answer.
They stood before the great fireplace which a thrifty ancestor had builtinto the east wall, and enjoyed to the full the warmth that had not asyet reached the remote spaces of the gloomy chamber. It needed a fireto bring some show of comfort to this wilderness of dust and cobwebs. Afew pieces of colonial furniture stood out in the melancholy wastes--afaded lounge, a gargantuan dresser, several stiff-backed chairs stillnursing their puritanism. At the far end of the room various objects ofa decidedly modern appearance, suggesting the workshop of a physicist,aroused David's curiosity. For an explanation of these he turned toLeighton.
"Is this your laboratory?" he asked.
"What do you think of it?" was the reply. "Plenty of space, isn'tthere? A man could have a score of ghosts here--ghosts of monks, youknow--nosing about for their comfortable old quarters."
"Not so very comfortable in their day, Uncle," suggested Una; "nor inours, for that matter."
Leighton chuckled grimly. "Are you interested in ghosts, David?" heasked, looking keenly at him.
"What do you mean by ghosts?"
"Ah, that's it! This old room--are there ghosts in it, I wonder? Thenail marks in the walls, the stains where the lights were hung, theshadowy remains of the altar--can you shake off the feeling that theBrotherhood is still at prayers here, that it still has Stoneleigh forits home?"
"The Brotherhood no longer exists."
"There's a family tradition, anyway, that assures us of its abilityto produce some excellent examples of the old-fashioned, conventionalghost. A very great aunt of mine, for instance, once ventured alone intothis room and was met by a stalwart being who scowled at her from underhis brown hood and waved her majestically out of his presence."
"That's the kind of ghost one likes to hear about and see," commentedDavid.
"It didn't please my aunt particularly. The fright prostrated her formonths. Other imaginative ancestors have heard the monks chantingtogether, and seen spectral lights moving about here at midnight."
"You speak as if you believed it all."
"I can't be defrauded of my family traditions."
"How queer it is!" exclaimed Una, who had been wandering about the roomand now rejoined Harold and David before the fireplace. "I like it,even if it is dirty. Why have you broken your rule and brought us here,Uncle? And why do you talk as if you believed in the Stoneleigh ghosts?You know you don't."
"Ghosts!" he ejaculated. "I have been making some experiments recently.I thought you might be interested in them."
"Experiments in ghosts," ruminated David, who believed Leighton capableof anything.
"Yes," said the old man, enjoying his bewilderment. "My ghosts may bedifferent from those you have in mind. If you have followed the recentdevelopments in psychology you probably know that there are ghostsattached to the living, whatever the case may be in regard to the dead."
"No, I never heard that."
"Not in those words. 'Ghosts' is not a term used by the scientist.It involves a medieval superstition. But I am interested in thingsmore than in words, and I am not afraid to say that we have beenrediscovering ghosts."
"Uncle, don't talk enigmas-
-or nonsense," remonstrated Una.
"I confess, sir, I don't follow you," added David.
"Did you ever feel that you had lost yourself?" asked Leighton abruptly.
"I don't understand."
"If you forget a thing, you lose just that much of yourself, don't you?When you sleep, you enter a world of dreams. In that world you think,speak, go through a set of vivid experiences. Awake, you are aware thatyou have had these vivid experiences--and yet, you can't possiblyremember them. You are dimly conscious that you were in another worldand that while there you thought, suffered, rejoiced, much in the sameway that you do here. At times you have a vague feeling that you haveundergone some important crisis in your dream-existence, or you wakeup with the sensation of having reached some high peak of happiness.But you cannot recall the details, or even the general outlines, ofwhat has happened. Not a scene of this dreamland, of which you are anoccasional inhabitant, can you picture to your waking thought; nor doesyour waking memory hold the visage, or even the name, of one of yourdream-associates."
"All this has to do with dreams," objected David. "It is admittedlyunreal."
"Don't rely too much on old definitions. A part of you that sleeps nowdoes experience this dream-life and finds it real. The trouble is,this dream part of you forgets; it is unable to report to the wakingpersonality what it has seen.
"But it is not only in sleep that this dream-personality takes theplace of that which we call the real self. The opium-eater inhabits aworld, opened to him by his drug, and closed, even to his memory, whenthe effects of that drug wear off. Then, there is that curious phaseof dipsomania in which the victim, apparently possessed of all hisfaculties, goes through actual experiences--travels, talks with people,transacts business--and when he recovers from his fit of intoxicationfinds it impossible to remember a single circumstance of the many knownto him while under the sway of alcohol. The phenomena of hypnotism giveinstances of similar independent mental divisions in a single humanpersonality. All this is the familiar material of modern psychology, outof which the scientists build strange and varied theories. I call thesedivided, or lost, personalities 'ghosts.'"
"Ghosts of the living, not of the dead."
"More uncanny than the old-fashioned kind," mused Una. "Fancy meetingone's own ghost!"
"Cases of such meetings are on record; Shelley's, for instance," saidLeighton drily.
"The thing is strange and worth investigating. But," added Davidlaughingly, "I am not an investigator."
"It is fascinating," declared Una emphatically. "Tell us more about it,Uncle Harold. You spoke of an experiment----"
"The experiment, by all means," said David. "Just what is it?"
"Trapping a ghost," was the laconic answer.
"And if you succeed in trapping it----?"
"Ah, then--science generally leaves its ghosts to take care ofthemselves. It's a good rule."
"You say you are going to trap a ghost: you don't really mean that,"protested Una.
"Remember, there are two kinds of ghosts. As a scientist I am notinterested in the ghosts of the dead. If they exist outside of fairytales and theology let some one else hunt them. But I am interested inthe other and more profitable kind--the ghosts of the living."
"I don't understand," said David.
"It needs explanation. Remember what I said as to the phenomenapresented by the dreamer, the hypnotic subject, the dipsomaniac, thenarcomaniac. In each of these cases one human mind seems capable ofdivision into two independent halves. And each half seems to forget,or to be ignorant of the doings of its mate. Now, I am hunting for thisGhost of the Forgotten."
"Sounds romantic," remarked David. "According to your theory, don'tyou need a hypnotized subject--or at least a dipsomaniac--for yourexperiment?"
"No. The Ghost of the Forgotten lurks in all of us. The man or woman inwhom this Ghost is not to be found is exceptional. I doubt if such abeing exists--a being whose Book of the Past is as clear, as legible, ashis Book of the Present."
"But, your experiment, Uncle," demanded Una; "show it to us."
"I need help for a satisfactory trial. An experiment isn't a picture,or a book, you know. It needs a victim of some kind. What do you say,David?" he asked, turning abruptly to him.
"You want me for the victim?" laughed David. "I'm ready. Feel just likemy namesake before he tackled that husky Philistine. Tell me what I'm todo."
They were standing at the fireplace, Una with one arm through herlover's, the other resting on her uncle's shoulder. A scarcelyperceptible frown clouded Leighton's features before he accepted David'soffer.
"I merely want you to answer some questions," he said finally. "Youwill think them trivial; but I want you to answer them under unusualconditions. Let me show you my latest prize and explain things."
Leighton strode to the center of the room and thence down to that end ofit where the tools of his laboratory were kept. David and Una followed,enjoying the momentary relief from the scrutiny of the old savant, whowas now, apparently, engrossed in his scientific apparatus. There wasnot much of the latter in sight, and to the novice unfamiliar with theinterior of a physicist's laboratory, and who carries away a confusedimpression of glass and metal jars, tubes, coils of wire, electricbatteries, revolving discs, and all the nameless paraphernalia of such aplace, the appointments of Harold Leighton's workshop would seem simpleenough. Yet, the machine before which Leighton paused comprised oneof the newest discoveries in this branch of science. Its sensationalpurpose was to measure and probe the mind through the purely physicaloperations of the body.
What appeared to be, at first glance, an ordinary galvanometer stoodby itself on a table. Its polished brass frame, its flawless glasscylinder enclosing the coils of wire, recording discs and needle,suggested nothing more than the instrument, familiar to the physicist,by which an electric current is measured and tested. Connected with thisgalvanometer, however, was a curious contrivance consisting of a mirror,over the spotless surface of which, when the machine was in operation,a ray of light, projected from an electrified metal index, or finger,moved back and forth. The exact course of this ray of light, the twistsand turns made by it in traversing the mirror, was transferred by anautomatic pencil to a sheet of paper carried on a revolving cylinder.This paper thus became a permanent record of whatever experiment hadbeen attempted.
That the subjects investigated by this unique galvanometer were humanand not inanimate was indicated by two electrodes, attached by wireshanging from the machine, intended to be grasped by the hands of aperson undergoing the test. Its use, also, as a detector of humanthought and emotion, and not of mechanical force, was described by itsname--the Electric Psychometer.
The Gilded Man: A Romance of the Andes Page 4
