“i do not believe in a future state. i am very much distressed about it.”
the speaker was a stoutish, able-bodied individual in clerical dress, with rather a handsome face and an easy agreeable manner. he addressed himself to el-râmi, who, seated at his writing-table, observed him with something of a satirical air.
“you wrote me this letter?” queried el-râmi, selecting one from a heap beside him. the clergyman bent forward to look, and, recognising his own handwriting, smiled a bland assent.
“you are the reverend francis anstruther, vicar of laneck,—a great favourite with the bishop of your diocese, i understand?”
the gentleman bowed blandly again,—then assumed a meek and chastened expression.
“that is, i was a favourite of the bishop’s at one time”—he murmured regretfully—“and i suppose i am now, only i fear that this matter of conscience——”
“oh, it is a matter of conscience?” said el-râmi slowly—“you are sure of that?”
“quite sure of that!” and the reverend francis anstruther sighed profoundly.
“‘thus conscience does make cowards of us all——’”
“i beg your pardon?” and the clergyman opened his eyes a little.
“nay, i beg yours!—i was quoting hamlet.”
“oh!”
there was a silence. el-râmi bent his dark flashing eyes on his visitor, who seemed a little confused by the close scrutiny. it was the morning after the circumstances narrated in the previous chapter,—the clock marked ten minutes to noon,—the weather was brilliant and sunshiny, and the temperature warm for the uncertain english month of may. el-râmi rose suddenly and threw open the window nearest him, as if he found the air oppressive.
“why did you seek me out?” he demanded, turning towards the reverend gentleman once more.
“well, it was really the merest accident——”
“it always is!” said el-râmi with a slight dubious smile.
“i was at lady melthorpe’s the other day, and i told her my difficulty. she spoke of you, and said she felt certain you would be able to clear up my doubts——”
“not at all. i am too busy clearing up my own,” said el-râmi brusquely.
the clergyman looked surprised.
“dear me!—i thought, from what her ladyship said, that you were scientifically certain of——”
“of what?” interrupted el-râmi—“of myself? nothing more uncertain in the world than my own humour, i assure you! of others? i am not a student of human caprice. of life?—of death? neither. i am simply trying to prove the existence of a ‘something after death’—but i am certain of nothing, and i believe in nothing, unless proved.”
“but,” said mr. anstruther anxiously—“you will, i hope, allow me to explain that you leave a very different impression on the minds of those to whom you speak, from the one you now suggest. lady melthorpe, for instance——”
“lady melthorpe believes what it pleases her to believe,”—said el-râmi quietly—“all pretty, sensitive, imaginative women do. that accounts for the immense success of roman catholicism with women. it is a graceful, pleasing, comforting religion,—moreover, it is really becoming to a woman,—she looks charming with a rosary in her hand, or a quaint old missal,—and she knows it. lady melthorpe is a believer in ideals,—well, there is no harm in ideals,—long may she be able to indulge in them.”
“but lady melthorpe declares that you are able to tell the past and the future,” persisted the clergyman—“and that you can also read the present;—if that is so, you must surely possess visionary power?”
el-râmi looked at him steadfastly.
“i can tell you the past;”—he said—“and i can read your present;—and from the two portions of your life i can calculate the last addition, the future,—but my calculation may be wrong. i mean wrong as regards coming events;—past and present i can never be mistaken in, because there exists a natural law, by which you are bound to reveal yourself to me.”
the reverend francis anstruther moved uneasily in his chair, but managed to convey into his countenance the proper expression of politely incredulous astonishment.
“this natural law,” went on el-râmi, laying one hand on the celestial globe as he spoke, “has been in existence ever since man’s formation, but we are only just now beginning to discover it, or rather re-discover it, since it was tolerably well known to the priests of ancient egypt. you see this sphere;”—and he moved the celestial globe round slowly—“it represents the pattern of the heavens according to our solar system. now a persian poet of old time declared in a few wild verses that solar systems, taken in a mass, could be considered the brain of heaven, the stars being the thinking, moving molecules of that brain. a sweeping idea,—what your line-and-pattern critics would call ‘far-fetched’—but it will serve me just now for an illustration of my meaning. taking this ‘brain of heaven’ by way of simile then, it is evident we—we human pigmies—are, notwithstanding our ridiculous littleness and inferiority, able to penetrate correctly enough into some of the mysteries of that star-teeming intelligence,—we can even take patterns of its shifting molecules”—and again he touched the globe beside him,—“we can watch its modes of thought—and calculate when certain planets will rise and set,—and when we cannot see its action, we can get its vibrations of light, to the marvellous extent of being able to photograph the moon of neptune, which remains invisible to the eye even with the assistance of a telescope. you wonder what all this tends to?—well,—i speak of vibrations of light from the brain of heaven,—vibrations which we know are existent; and which we prove by means of photography; and, because we see the results in black and white, we believe in them. but there are other vibrations in the universe, which cannot be photographed,—the vibrations of the human brain, which, like those emanating from the ‘brain of heaven,’ are full of light and fire, and convey distinct impressions or patterns of thought. people speak of ‘thought-transference’ from one subject to another as if it were a remarkable coincidence,—whereas you cannot put a stop to the transference of thought,—it is in the very air, like the germs of disease or health,—and nothing can do away with it.”
“i do not exactly understand”—murmured the clergyman with some bewilderment.
“ah, you want a practical demonstration of what seems a merely abstract theory? nothing easier!”—and moving again to the table he sat down, fixing his dark eyes keenly on his visitor—“as the stars pattern heaven in various shapes, like the constellation lyra, or orion, so you have patterned your brain with pictures or photographs of your past and your present. all your past, every scene of it, is impressed in the curious little brain-particles that lie in their various cells,—you have forgotten some incidents, but they would all come back to you if you were drowning or being hanged;—because suffocation or strangulation would force up every infinitesimal atom of brain-matter into extraordinary prominence for the moment. naturally your present existence is the most vivid picture with you, therefore perhaps you would like me to begin with that?”
“begin?—how?” asked mr. anstruther, still in amazement.
“why,—let me take the impression of your brain upon my own. it is quite simple, and quite scientific. consider yourself the photographic negative, and me the sensitive paper to receive the impression! i may offer you a blurred picture, but i do not think it likely. only if you wish to hide anything from me i would advise you not to try the experiment.”
“really, sir,—this is very extraordinary!—i am at a loss to comprehend——”
“oh, i will make it quite plain to you,” said el-râmi with a slight smile—“there is no witchcraft in it—no trickery,—nothing but the commonest a b c science. will you try?—or would you prefer to leave the matter alone? my demonstration will not convince you of a ‘future state,’ which was the subject you first spoke to me about,—it will only prove to you the physiological phenomena surrounding your present constitution and condition.”
the reverend francis anstruther hesitated. he was a little startled by the cold and convincing manner with which el-râmi spoke,—at the same time he did not believe in his words, and his own incredulity inclined him to see the “experiment,” whatever it was. it would be all hocus-pocus, of course,—this oriental fellow could know nothing about him,—he had never seen him before, and must therefore be totally ignorant of his private life and affairs. considering this for a moment, he looked up and smiled.
“i shall be most interested and delighted,”—he said—“to make the trial you suggest. i am really curious. as for the present picture or photograph on my brain, i think it will only show you my perplexity as to my position with the bishop in my wavering state of mind——”
“or conscience—” suggested el-râmi—“you said it was a matter of conscience.”
“quite so—quite so! and conscience is the most powerful motor of a man’s actions, mr.—mr. el-râmi! it is indeed the voice of god!”
“that depends on what it says, and how we hear it—” said el-râmi rather dryly—“now if we are to make this ‘demonstration,’ will you put your left hand here, in my left hand? so,—your left palm must press closely upon my left palm,—yes—that will do. observe the position, please;—you see that my left fingers rest on your left wrist, and are therefore directly touching the nerves and arteries running through your heart from your brain. by this, you are, to use my former simile, pressing me, the sensitive paper, to your photographic negative—and i make no doubt we shall get a fair impression. but to prevent any interruption to the brain-wave rushing from you to me, we will add this little trifle,” and he dexterously slipped a steel band over his hand and that of his visitor as they rested thus together on the table, and snapt it to,—“a sort of handcuff, as you perceive. it has nothing in the world to do with our experiment. it is simply placed there to prevent your moving your hand away from mine, which would be your natural impulse if i should happen to say anything disagreeably true. and to do so would of course cut the ethereal thread of contact between us. now, are you ready?”
the clergyman grew a shade paler. el-râmi seemed so very sure of the result of this singular trial that it was a little bit disagreeable. but, having consented to the experiment, he felt he was compelled to go through with it, so he bowed a nervous assent. whereupon el-râmi closed his brilliant eyes, and sat for one or two minutes silent and immovable. a curious fidgetiness began to trouble the reverend francis anstruther,—he tried to think of something ridiculous, something altogether apart from himself, but in vain,—his own personality, his own life, his own secret aims seemed all to weigh upon him like a sudden incubus. presently tingling sensations pricked his arm as with burning needles,—the hand that was fettered to that of el-râmi felt as hot as though it were being held to a fire. all at once el-râmi spoke in a low tone, without opening his eyes—
“the shadow-impression of a woman. brown-haired, dark-eyed,—of a full, luscious beauty, and a violent, unbridled, ill-balanced will. mindless, but physically attractive. she dominates your thought.”
a quiver ran through the clergyman’s frame,—if he could only have snatched away his hand he would have done it then.
“she is not your wife—” went on el-râmi—“she is the wife of your wealthiest neighbour. you have a wife,—an invalid,—you have also eight children,—but these are not prominent in the picture at present. the woman with the dark eyes and hair is the chief figure. your plans are made for her——”
he paused, and again the wretched mr. anstruther shuddered.
“wait—wait!” exclaimed el-râmi suddenly in a tone of animation—“now it comes clearly. you have decided to leave the church, not because you do not believe in a future state,—for this you never have believed at any time—but because you wish to rid yourself of all moral and religious responsibility. your scheme is perfectly distinct. you will make out a ‘case of conscience’ to your authorities, and resign your living,—you will then desert your wife and children,—you will leave your country in the company of the woman whose secret lover you are——”
“stop!” cried the reverend mr. anstruther, savagely endeavouring to wrench away his hand from the binding fetter which held it remorselessly to the hand of el-râmi—“stop! you are telling me a pack of lies!”
el-râmi opened his great flashing orbs and surveyed him first in surprise, then with a deep unutterable contempt. unclasping the steel band that bound their two hands together, he flung it by, and rose to his feet.
“lies?” he echoed indignantly. “your whole life is a lie, and both nature and science are bound to give the reflex of it. what! would you play a double part with the eternal forces and think to succeed in such desperate fooling? do you imagine you can deceive supreme omniscience, which holds every star and every infinitesimal atom of life in a network of such instant vibrating consciousness and contact that in terrible truth there are and can be ‘no secrets hid’? you may if you like act out the wretched comedy of feigning to deceive your god—the god of the churches,—but beware of trifling with the real god,—the absolute ego sum of the universe.”
his voice rang out passionately upon the stillness,—the clergyman had also risen from his chair, and stood, nervously fumbling with his gloves, not venturing to raise his eyes.
“i have told you the truth of yourself,”—continued el-râmi more quietly—“you know i have. why then do you accuse me of telling you lies? why did you seek me out at all if you wished to conceal yourself and your intentions from me? can you deny the testimony of your own brain reflected on mine? come, confess! be honest for once,—do you deny it?”
“i deny everything;”—replied the clergyman,—but his accents were husky and indistinct.
“so be it!”—and el-râmi gave a short laugh of scorn. “your ‘case of conscience’ is evidently very pressing. go to your bishop—and tell him you cannot believe in a future state,—i certainly cannot help you to prove that mystery. besides, you would rather there were no future state,—a ‘something after death’ must needs be an unpleasant point of meditation for such as you. oh yes!—you will get your freedom;—you will get all you are scheming for, and you will be quite a notorious person for a while on account of the delicacy of your sense of honour and the rectitude of your principles. exactly!—and then your final coup,—your running away with your neighbour’s wife will make you notorious again—in quite another sort of fashion. ah!—every man is bound to weave the threads of his own destiny, and you are weaving yours;—do not be surprised if you find you have made of them a net wherein to become hopelessly caught, tied, and strangled. it is no doubt unpleasant for you to hear these things,—what a pity you came to me!”
the reverend francis anstruther buttoned his glove carefully.
“oh, i do not regret it,” he said. “any other man might perhaps feel himself insulted, but——”
“but you are too much of a ‘christian’ to take offence—yes, i daresay!” interposed el-râmi satirically,—“i thank you for your amiable forbearance! allow me to close this interview”—and he was about to ring the bell, when his visitor said hastily and with an effort at appearing unconcerned—
“i suppose i may rely on your secrecy respecting what has passed?”
“secrecy?” and el-râmi raised his black eyebrows disdainfully. “what you call secrecy i know not. but if you mean that i shall speak of you and your affairs,—why, make yourself quite easy on that score. i shall not even think of you after you have left this room. do not attach too much importance to yourself, reverend sir,—true, your name will soon be mentioned in the newspapers, but this should not excite you to an undue vanity. as for me, i have other things to occupy me, and clerical ‘cases of conscience,’ such as yours, fail to attract either my wonder or admiration!” here he touched the bell.—“féraz!” this as his young brother instantly appeared—“the door!”
the reverend francis anstruther took up his hat, looked into it, glanced nervously round at the picturesque form of the silent féraz, then, with a sudden access of courage, looked at el-râmi. that handsome oriental’s fiery eyes were fixed upon him,—the superb head, the dignified figure, the stately manner, all combined to make him feel uncomfortable and awkward; but he forced a faint smile—it was evident he must say something.
“you are a very remarkable man, mr. ... el-râmi”—he stammered. ... “it has been a most interesting ... and ... instructive morning!”
el-râmi made no response other than a slight frigid bow.
the clergyman again peered into the depths of his hat.
“i will not go so far as to say you were correct in anything you said”—he went on—“but there was a little truth in some of your allusions,—they really applied, or might be made to apply, to past events,—bygone circumstances ... you understand? ...”
el-râmi took one step towards him.
“no more lies in heaven’s name!” he said in a stern whisper. “the air is poisoned enough for to-day. go!”
such a terrible earnestness marked his face and voice that the reverend francis retreated abruptly in alarm, and, stumbling out of the room hastily, soon found himself in the open street with the great oaken door of el-râmi’s house shut upon him. he paused a moment, glanced at the sky, then at the pavement, shook his head, drew a long breath, and seemed on the verge of hesitation; then he looked at his watch,—smiled a bland smile, and, hailing a cab, was driven to lunch at the criterion, where a handsome woman with dark hair and eyes met him with mingled flattery and upbraiding, and gave herself pouting and capricious airs of offence, because he had kept her ten minutes waiting.
