Augustus paid little attention to his father, but turned, instead, to Dinah, holding the baby close to him.
"Is that the way you treated me? It is a wonder I lived. It shall have something to eat, if I have to go and get it myself. You wait; I will go and tell mamma."
From that minute, there was only one anxiety about Augustus and the baby in any of their minds;—that was he would smother it or feed it. He would watch it sleeping, and drew it in every way. If it cried, he was anxious. He was a greater trouble than the baby. It had been expected he would be sensitive and jealous when the baby came, for he had been such an object of attention himself. They were totally unprepared for the real result.
He and Dinah were in a state of perpetual andcontinual combat, from his rising to his sleeping. It seemed to him there was never such another babe as that; he could not trust Dinah to care for it. All his boyish plans for the future were changed, and everything was gauged by "when sister is big enough." He insisted that she should be named for his mother;—the dearest name in the world to him.
During Clarissa's illness, William devoted all the available time he could find to the study of the book she had brought him. He had many interruptions, for Augustus appealed to his father in his altercations with Dinah, when they were too severe for him to conquer by might of his own will.
There were many visitors, who came to inquire the health of Clarissa and her babe. Clarissa seemed very nervous if William was long away, so he did most of his reading near her. She said this uncontrollable desire to know he was close beside her arose from the mental suffering she had endured from his absence when Augustus was born. She suffered keenly then, and the same conditions brought similar sensations. She was perfectly satisfied to remain quiet if she saw him present, but if he remained long from her, she was pursued by fears and thoughts that she would not tell even him.
In her weakened condition, they quickly showed themselves in her physical depletion. She was annoyed at her weakness, but her sufferings were none the less acute because she knew that they were visionary.
She was not a weak woman in any sense of theword, but just now her husband's presence furnished her a sense of security; his absence brought weakness. The fact she had had no long or severe confinement made it still harder to account for her subsequent nervousness.
Doctors Baxter and Harrington had for some time been trying to get William to perform an experiment in psychology for them. He put them off from time to time by different excuses, because he was unwilling to leave Clarissa for a long enough time, knowing her confinement was near. Not having been with her at the time of Augustus' birth, and having no experience in such cases, he was more concerned about it than he would admit.
After her easy and well nigh painless delivery, he felt so relieved the next day but one, he went with them. He was gone almost the entire day, as the physicians asked him to visit a patient of each, who was suffering from nervous troubles, which eluded their powers, and which they felt he could relieve. They were situated at quite a distance one from the other, so it consumed considerable time to visit them.
William felt perfectly easy in his mind regarding Clarissa. He had told her where he was going, and she said she was proud he could do what others failed to do. She was comfortable and happy, when he left, laughing gaily at Augustus'concern because baby slept so long. She had an arm around each as he took his last look at them before leaving the room. That picture of home and happiness had been with him all day.
Once he would not have thought that day's work an arduous one, as he sought for years to crush every sentiment and interest but scientific research. The more work he had before him, the more contented he was; now he could not help thinking, even while he worked, of his family.
Both doctors remarked how quickly he placed each subject in a trance state; in the last instance, especially, it was very noticeable, as the sick girl was a peculiarly sensitive person, but being entirely ignorant of mesmeric power was consumed by fear, exhibiting traits bordering upon convulsions. She did the same when William began to work. Her heart exhibited such erratic tendencies of action, the three men united in the verdict it was better not to force her further.
As he witnessed the girl's suffering, he thought of his own baby girl, similarly terrorized, for it was only terror that caused the condition. Immediately the scientist and man of force was submerged, and the father was the predominating man. Without any thought but loving sympathy, he placed his hand upon the girl's head and said:
"Poor child;—do not worry;—you shall not bemolested, nor forced by me, any more than I want my baby girl so treated."
He smoothed her head, and she gave him such a look of gratitude as he could not soon forget, then closed her eyes. He saw she was passing into a comatose state, without his forcible dictation. Once placed there, he gave her the customary suggestions, telling her to wake at a certain time, then left the doctors to return home, feeling tired, but cheered by the knowledge of the presence of the three loved ones who were awaiting him.
How he pitied the two men whom he had just left, who were going to their elegant homes, but for whom there was no wife or children waiting. Often the three had communed together in the past, upon their good fortune in having a place of quiet and repose, where they would be unmolested, and free to think. Now William knew that, whatever conditions of perplexity, even of discord and confusion awaited him in his home, it was infinitely sweeter and preferable to the quiet and peace they had pretended to like, for while he joined them in congratulations upon this condition, his soul had hungered for his wife's presence. How did he know there was no similar episode in each of his two friends' lives?
They believed him when he had lied. Yes. There was no escaping the truth; he might as wellown up to himself, if he would not to anyone else. He, a truthful man, in all other respects, lied rather than reveal a heartache he felt to be a weakness. No one but himself knew he lied. How did he know that Baxter and Harrington were not lying too, actuated by the same motive—their inability to secure the companionship of the particular woman they loved.
As he thought of his own heartaches, when alone, he felt a profound pity for them, while respecting the motives that kept them silent. It was as natural for man to love woman, as it was to breathe the air into his lungs. Yes, there must be some tragedy in each of his friends' lives. His earnest wish was they might terminate as happily as his had.
He had arrived home by the time he had reached this conclusion, and, for all his fatigue, he ascended the steps with the buoyancy and elasticity of a youth, he was so anxious to look at his treasures.
His animation and joy received a rude shock, when he saw James' face, and he happened to be the first person he met. There was such a look of anxiety and sadness there, as was not to be mistaken by anyone who knew him well. Without waiting for William to ask him the cause, he said:
"Oh, Master, I am so glad you have come!Mistress Clarissa was stricken suddenly very ill. We are much concerned about her, long ago sending to both Doctors Baxter and Harrington, thinking to bring them and you. She isn't quite herself, sir. Won't you hasten?"
No need for this last injunction, for William was already ascending the stairs with rapid strides, not waiting for all the steps. Soon he was in Clarissa's room, where he found both Dinah and Nancy; Dinah was holding the babe while Nancy tried by every means she knew to coax and divert Clarissa's attention.
One glance showed William the condition of affairs. She had a high fever; her face was red, and her eyes sparkled with an unnatural brilliancy. She was talking rapidly but disconnectedly. How he felt, he could have told no one, and, unlike his usually calm and sensible self, he rushed at once to the conclusion this was that dangerous and weakening fever that so often accompanies childbirth.
The sudden reversion from thoughts of happiness to those of acute anxiety was too great for him to immediately overcome, for like most anxious persons, he pictured the worst. Like a horrible panorama, there came before his consciousness, instantaneously, the spectacle of her death. For the time being, he lost sight, entirely, of his power to control such conditions, andinstead of being calm and collected, he was anxious, and full of thoughts of doubt and suspense. He spoke in a quick, agonized way:
"Clarissa—Clarissa."
She listened, then answered: "Yes, William; what is it?"
"Are you suffering?"
"No, William; now you have come. I thought I was alone again. That thought made me so miserable! Will you not sit with me a while until I become calm?"
"You may be sure I shall not leave you again. Now try to sleep."
He was fast gaining control of himself; as he gained in this respect, she grew more quiet and soon was fast asleep.
The doctors both came in answer to the summons, but James told them that their services were unnecessary, so they returned to their homes. After this episode, knowing the cause of the difficulty, William remained almost constantly with Clarissa, taking a large measure of happiness from the knowledge his presence was necessary to her happiness. He kept her as quiet and cheerful as possible.
As he studied the book she had given him, he discussed many points with her, when she was awake, acknowledging frankly his surprise at her quick understanding. He told her the truth whenhe said he enjoyed talking science with her better than with any man he had met, for her perception was very keen and accurate, though she had little knowledge of mesmerism, as a practical and demonstrated science.
She proved herself capable to reason, and interpret some points obscure to him, owing to the fact his mind had been trained in a certain groove of thought, and was thus prejudiced and partial; having no certainly defined theories, she could absorb and embrace new and higher facts far more quickly than he. Whenever a new assertion was presented to him, he could not help but compare it with his past work or ideas, and was prejudiced in their favor when the balance was nearly equal, owing to the fact he had performed such feats of power by following the guidance of former schools of wisdom: on the other hand, Clarissa had supreme faith in every word Alice had given her, so she tried to make William believe all the book contained.
Her will was untrained, while his was, and developed to the highest degree. What she lacked in training, she made up in persistence. She was a staunch ally of Alice's assertions, striving by every ingenuity of her mind to successfully pit Alice's ideas against William's tried experiments. Both were stubborn;—William, because he felt actual experience was of more value thantheory; Clarissa, because she knew both her own and Alice's mind was unprejudiced when the facts in the book were given.
William had entranced Alice every time, and, in fact, brought her out. Alice had never known for what reason she was entranced and did not now know she had been instigating intelligence to produce a book upon mesmeric influence.
Clarissa knew her mind had not prejudiced Alice in the slightest, as she knew too little of the science to do so; thus when it came to a conflict of faith between William and Alice, she always advocated Alice's assertions with the full might of her power.
That book had been a work of love, upon their part. Alice had said while in the trance, that the acceptance of those facts would make William a greater and more illustrious man. Clarissa believed it, and used all her power of persuasion and logic to make him understand and accept them.
She was successful, far beyond her hopes. He listened to her arguments and reasons as he would have done to no man's. When their ideas clashed, he tried by all the arguments he knew to convince her.
Take a man and woman of equally developed wisdom, and the woman's mind has been acknowledged by the most competent judges to bethe more subtle and intuitive, avowing, often, upon the impulse, precepts and assertions convincing to their listeners, which, if called upon to explain, they would be powerless to do so. This fact has given birth to the axiom "Men reason logically;—women intuitively." Thus it was that Clarissa could confound, perplex and convince William, while the deep basic principles underlying the effects she so strenuously asserted, were entirely unknown to her.
William never acknowledged, even in after times, how much real knowledge Clarissa imparted to him, and as her one thought had been to avouch and do justice to Alice's work, she did not give herself the due amount of praise. When she succeeded in convincing William, upon a point of disagreement, she gave the credit instinctively to Alice.
In this communion and the almost constant conflict of wills both were growing immensely, without their consciousness of the fact, but Clarissa could never hope to be the practical demonstrator of the science that William was, and would be. She could acquire through sensitiveness, knowledge he could manifest, but could never gain originally.
This is a good proof of the law that all finite lives are fallible, one excelling in one branch of knowledge or execution, and another, in otherbranches. One eternally leans upon and depends upon the other for something, as it is only the Infinite that embraces all there is within itself.
The word "infinite" implies all; therefore, all individual or finite lives are faulty and fallible, furnishing less developed lives with power and knowledge, while they are, themselves, compelled to depend upon other lives still higher in the evolutionary chain of existence for similar favors.
Clarissa and William were both positive and strong souls, and the union of their forces and intellects meant a much stronger power than either could ever hope to reach alone. The very fact they took opposite views of the question was a beneficial factor to both. The conflict of wills drew from both higher wisdom than they knew they possessed. Neither wanted to be defeated, so each tried to bring forth the most persuasive and logical powers. The natural result was that both were benefited and advanced.
It is unnecessary to give here all the assertions made by Alice in the trance state. We will simply review and examine the most prominent and salient points, one of which was "Thought, being the offspring or expression of the individual's desire, or, as some persons prefer to state it, the soul's desire; it must partake of all the predominating chemical characteristics animating the generator at the time of its conception and birth; therefore, it was no vague, tangible force, but actual, tangible chemical substance as much as the atmosphere."
One man, if he is in normal condition, can see another one, but he cannot see the potent chemicals that compose the atmosphere; still, the force stored up and vented through the invisible agency (so far as man's sight is concerned), is capable to, and does do much damage to man and all material conditions, by this one demonstration, proving beyond the shadow of a doubt, its superiority as we might say, in chemical substance, as a weaker force can never injure a stronger one.
If there was no substance or substantiality in the atmosphere, it could not affect and destroy substance, for, without tangibility, it would pass through substances, creating no visibledisturbance. Vague nothingness never yet compelled obedience from solid matter. That which disturbs and moves is much more powerful than that which is disturbed and moved.
Thought, upon whatever plane of action we consider life, is the creator and controller of all conditions. There is not, never was, nor ever will be, a type of life so low in the evolutionary scale, as to be devoid of some kind or specie of thought. In the humblest and simplest types, this thought can vent itself in no higher form than a desire for the presence of kinds similar to itself.
Thought is subject to evolution and progression as much as any form of Infinite Life. From this one thought of desire, springs, in diversified and innumerable channels, all kinds and manners of thought. One and all having their primary origin in this humble beginning, the same as all the high achievements and possibilities man can hope to accomplish in the Infinite Ages, lie dormant in the embryo babe.
The babe, while in the state of embryo development, can express very few and limited powers; but its soul, or spirit, must contain all the latent essential powers the man will manifest throughout Eternity. Otherwise, circumstances, however potent and powerful, could not materialize the effects which are observable.
There is no power, be it ever so strong, thatcan evoke and bring forth from a life, qualities and characteristics foreign to it. Those same characteristics may be magnified, enlarged or intensified, until their true proportions are lost sight of, but is there a new factor infused into the soul? No.
A hypnotist, or psychologist, when we view them in a scientific light, is nothing but a magnet, which, consciously or unconsciously, influences and controls many, who possess similar innate traits of spirit upon different planes or stages of development.
To the minds of many, a hypnotist or psychologist is one who, by a firm and determined exercise of will, acquires the power, when they choose to assert it, to influence less self-centered minds. It is, of course, to be understood that many men who call themselves wise, believe not at all in the efficacy of one man's mind to control another man's consciousness, but all students of life know it is not what one, many, or indeed, all men believe to be true, that is the motive power of progression, but what the Infinite Law directs.
Those men who deny the creative power of thought, attributing all favorable results to the fiat dictation of a Supreme Personal Intelligence, are to be pitied rather than censured.
One might as well deny a rose seed will bring forth a rose, if it brings forth any result at all,as to say "thought is not the motive cause of every expressed result." Without a foregoing cause, there would be no motion or action of any kind. Man never moves his limbs without a thought "I want to go to such a place"; he would not have food in his stomach, if there was not the thought of hunger, which causes him to carry food from his hands to his mouth, and so on. There might be the most bountiful of feasts spread before him, and if his desire could not inspire activity and motion in his arms and hands, he might starve with plenty of edibles in sight, unless some person were inspired to feed him. His arms, hands and limbs will not operate until there has been a foregoing thought.
If his thought or desire is strong, the physical members are but humble instruments that obey his will as operator.
Enough of this;—a hypnotist or psychologist influences and controls not only those persons they will to obey their desires, but many others whom they have not the slightest desire nor intention of influencing. They are in precisely the same position as is a material magnet which is surrounded by a large number of negatives; it becomes the centre of attraction to whatever negatives are within the radius of its magnetism or influence. It may not want those negatives, but there is no escape from their vampirage unlessthere is the conscious knowledge on the part of the psychologist of how to throw off undesirable influences or negatives.
It is possible for so many negatives to attach themselves to a material magnet they draw away, or sap, all the individual magnetism and strength of the magnet, making that which was previously strong and forceful to become weak and impotent itself; so a man who has been a strong and powerful psychologist, may become a centre of attraction to so many negative lives he may be drained of his self-centered energy, thus, instead of being a commanding life, he assumes the position of a negative himself.
Those men who are familiar with the modes and characteristics of material magnets know that, after a certain number of negatives have attached themselves to it, the magnet must either be recharged from a lodestone, or it will become a negative itself.
Every negative person within the radius of a psychologist's influence feels the same draw toward them, that material negatives do toward a magnet. The reader, of course, understands that both the material magnet and the psychologist can only draw or attract similar natures, or chemicals to themselves. There was never yet a hypnotist so strong he could draw or attract tohimself persons who were endowed with varying or opposite characteristics from his own.
You can control another's personality in those qualities or habits you could control, did they come into your own life; possibly you might, by force of will, govern and control, a condition you had never faced nor felt an inclination for in your own life, but you may be sure you cannot control this in another person's life, if you could not have conquered the same condition, had it arisen in your own.
Many persons measure what you may do by what you have done; such is neither fair nor accurate judgment. No man knows surely and positively what he would do under the severe and stern test of temptation, until he has been actually subjected to the same. He may have many theories and ideas, but these dissipate and vanish like mist before the sun, when stern realities appear. The man who thinks he would do best, often does the worst, while he who doubts his ability to rise superior to temptation, will, because he wants to prove himself better than his judgment, rise superior to the wave that wrecks and drowns him who was too confident of his personal abilities.
In answer to the question (from whence flowed the wisdom and knowledge voiced by Alice?): she gave this seemingly ambiguous answer topersons who have no knowledge of the science of thought and creation—(I glean from the highest wisdom generated by man as a mass, then for higher knowledge I am limited to the kindness and wisdom of those individuals among whom I am thrust by the will of the temporary projector.
If the question is one that is cogent to, and can be answered by embodied man, I am instinctively attracted to him, from his aura or influence, attaining the answer desired; if not, I am compelled to seek higher from disembodied individuals, but by far the strongest factor is the public thought or prejudice. The reason I give higher wisdom to Professor Huskins' wife's thought is, being unprejudiced, but desirous of wisdom, she draws from my spirit more power to probe and penetrate into the aura of those persons who possess the knowledge requisite to answer the questions from a standpoint of experience rather than theory.)
The acquisition of all known facts can only be by the absorption from a higher source.
The height of the plane of absorption depends on the state of receptiveness of the hypnotist more than the subject.
It is impossible to control the consciousness of another individual and not prejudice and limit him to a certain degree by the opinions of the operator.
The operator may have no desire to do so, and may strive to the full extent of his will to leave the subject free and untrammeled by any of his preconceived opinions, but if he did not project a certain amount of his personality into the being of the subject, he could not control him.
The subject therefore cannot hope to rise in execution above the capacity of the hypnotist, provided the hypnotist has developed his full powers.
A mesmerized subject is irresponsible for whatever sentiments he may express in a trance.
In that condition he is no longer a normal person but acts as a sensitive plate to picture and reproduce the strongest influences bearing upon him at a given time.
He is the reflector of the thoughts and opinions of others and no more to be censured for what he gives forth than is a mirror that pictures the likeness of an ugly and exceedingly unpleasant face. The fault is not the mirror's, for another, stopping before it, will reflect a handsome and pleasing picture. The mirror is limited to, and bound to reflect just such peculiarities as the object which is before it may possess, and the mesmerist's subject acts as just such a reflector for thought impressions. Several psychologists, using the same subject equally desirous of obtaining knowledge upon the same lines, can andfrequently do receive very dissimilar results; so widely different in sense as to make assimilation between them impossible. This is due to the fact each directing will, compelling the subject to go forth in search of knowledge, varies in its capability to send him to a certain point or location.
The magnetism then absorbed which deadened their own consciousness, limits their search for knowledge to just those spheres of action where they find similar kinds and classes of chemicals operative. No two men generate precisely the same kind of magnetism; therefore, no two can bring forth the same results from the same subject, unless they, by the exercise of will force, compel them to utter words and assertions they wish them to.
One must also take into consideration the varying susceptibility of the subject to the influences of different persons. A negative and good subject will manifest very different characteristics under different persons' influence.
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 hiscolleagues' 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 thandemonstrated facts could illustrate. 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 worship. 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 noble, 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 themto 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 dothe 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 assertions or facts at once. Upon those points where hefelt to disagree, there was always some assertion or illustration he could not refute, which drew his mind away from old theories, compelling him to accept, even against his desires and will, the assertions 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-worship was the principal 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.
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 principal 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 mindconcentrator. 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 passing 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 association of touch, she could not help but think of the time or season when Augustus and this childwould 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 pass 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 assisted 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 werenot 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 passed 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."
"When she sees all the other boys walking, willshe be ashamed her brother has to be wheeled around?"
William answered promptly:
"No; my son."
But that was the keenest pain he had ever felt, to witness the boy's suffering, who was paying the price or the penalty of his own ignorance and selfishness. The boy suffered keenly, but the father more as he had a larger capacity for suffering. There was one thought that brought a small degree of light; it was that Clarissa was spared this suffering. How his heart ached for the boy, words cannot express.
They had tried in every possible way since Augustus' birth to reconcile him to his infirmity. When he had expressed envy for boys who could run and play, they had told him of the gifts and talents he possessed, and that they were far more estimable and valuable than those the boys whom he envied had. So much care had been taken with him, he had not thought of his inability to walk in the light of shame, until he had thought of what that tiny babe, whom he idolized and whom he wanted to think he was as dear to as she was to him, would think of him, who could not guide her faltering steps, because he could not steady and control his own.
He could not endure the thought that others could do for her what he could not; no one lovedher better (he thought, none so well,) yet they could do for her what he could not; following this train of thought, it flashed upon his consciousness she might be ashamed of him because he was not like other boys.
The thought was too strong and horrible for him to bear without giving some sign of suffering. She was his idol; all his plans were made from the point of her supposed pleasure or displeasure; if she pitied him, he could not endure it. He would rather she hated him. He could endure pity from some one he did not care for, but never from Baby Clarissa. He had not realized the enormity of his affliction until now. In the past, he had been petted and loved, indulged and looked up to, and accustomed to this homage from his birth, he had grown to believe it to be only his due; his just deserts. Now there was a new factor and force come into his life, dearer far than himself. He had felt, since the baby's coming, he must watch over her and care for her, and his anxiety for her comfort so far transcended his own, he forgot himself, a thing he had never done before, and probably never would even now were it not for this helpless little stranger who had come into his life.
Never having walked nor played, he did not fully realize the many pleasures from which he was debarred, but it was borne home to hisconsciousness suddenly and forcibly by the fact that the might of his love would not permit him to do what a common stranger with no personal interest in her might do. It was unbearable. Stinging horror filled his soul at the thought of the comparison she might draw between himself and other boys. He longed so ardently to be her ideal and hero among boys, the same as she was and would always be among girls, that jealousy became a fiery tormentor.
There was a time when his mother had been the principal object of his interest and inspirations. It seemed as though all the force of his nature, disappointed in his mother's loyalty to him as the one point of interest on the earth, had been transplanted to this babe, gaining intensity from the change, rather than losing it. Not even his parents realized the strength of this devotion.
He could not help but partake of all the ardor and enthusiasm of their souls, and this ardor, in the present state of his development, showed itself in the admiration he felt for his baby sister, and as a consequence, his suffering was both keen and loyal.
When his father, whom he considered the grandest and wisest upon the earth (having heard so many eulogies upon his powers and prowess,) assured him that Baby Clarissa would esteem him, and honor him, he brought forth adeep sigh of satisfaction. He believed more fully in what his father said than what his mother did. This was probably due to the fact that his father had compelled from him that which his mother never tried to exact.
Those persons who have made life a deep and profound study, have ever found masters to be admired while servants are endured. Augustus had governed and ruled, thus made servants of persons whom he had come in contact with, until he had met his father. His father conquered his imperative will, consequently his admiration had increased in proportion to the degree he was conquered.
When he was a little more himself, William told him how proud Clarissa would be of his art and music. Those boys who could romp and play could not do what he could, and his sister would be as proud of his talent as his parents were. He soon became cheerful and contented again. Then with a mutual promise of secrecy concerning this interview, they returned to Clarissa's room.
The baby was sleeping, but Clarissa was anxious to know what had disturbed Augustus, still, being told that the interview was to be a secret between father and son, and seeing Augustus cheerful, she desisted from her inquiries, thinking it was some boyish whim William had granted.
William had, however, received a pang ofremorse he would not soon forget. Augustus was the innocent sufferer for a lifetime for his own hasty, unreasonable temper, while he, the cause, was a physically perfect and happy man, coming forth from his past sufferings a better one, while his boy paid the heavy price of his baseness.
The thought was nearly unbearable. From that time he became very sensitive to Augustus' affliction. He resolutely made up his mind the boy should walk if there was remedial virtue in magnetism. It should become his one duty and ambition to study those limbs until they should bear up, unsupported, the boy's body. He would never rest until he had accomplished it. He was the cause of the boy's suffering, and he would be his healer. If it was possible, his love increased for Augustus from this time.
Merle came to take Augustus out, and William and Clarissa were left alone; for a time both were silent, each wanting to impart to the other the thoughts that were troubling them, but scarcely knowing how to begin. Before the recent interview with Augustus, William would not have hesitated referring to his condition and declaring his intention to try to remove it, but now he felt a sense of embarrassment hard to explain, and none the less excruciating because of that fact.
He could not overcome the thought he was a coward to let an innocent child suffer for him, and felt deep shame. Unconsciously a deep sigh escaped him which attracted Clarissa's attention. She was likewise deep in meditation, wondering how William would receive her avowal of dislike to have either of her children mesmerized. Hearing the sigh, she said:
"What is troubling you, William?"
"Nothing," said William.
"But you gave such a deep sigh—something unpleasant provoked it surely.—Probably you think I cannot understand or appreciate it. Well, I hope it will not trouble you long."
"I hope not, Clarissa;—I am going to try andmake Augustus walk. The cause of his inability to do so is nerve enervation. Thus the chords and muscles are not supplied with sufficient energy to support his body. I believe by the infusion of new and powerful magnetism, they will perform the necessary and customary functions. It would be vastly different were he not perfectly formed. His limbs are as perfect as any child's could be; they are simply weak and impotent. Another great factor to his disadvantage is his thought and the thought of all those around him that he cannot walk. I intend to eradicate that thought from his consciousness, making him have faith in the ability of his limbs to support him. I think, Clarissa, I never suffered so, thinking of our boy's weakness, as I did just now when he went out with Merle.—Merle buoyant and well, but a needed support to my son, who is physically perfect as he. I will take from Augustus the thought he cannot walk. I will will myself to see him walking, running, and playing like other children, then I will make him see himself as I see him. Think how happy we shall be, Clarissa, when that boy steps. I feel responsible for his weakness; therefore, I am glad I have studied Mind Power so thoroughly; if I had not done so, our boy, whom we love so well, would have suffered all his life; now I believe I can cure him—"
"Shall you hypnotize him to do this?"
"Certainly."
"Then I prefer him to be as he is—"
"Clarissa! You do not know what you are saying."
"Yes, I do, William;—that is why I say that I should prefer him lame or impotent rather than have him mesmerized."
"I do not know what to make of that assertion.—It sounds as though you doubted my ability to do what I have in mind."
"I do not doubt your ability in the slightest degree, but I do not want Augustus nor our baby mesmerized as you do Merle and Alice."
"Clarissa, you astonish me.—I gave you credit for possessing intellectual powers beyond the ordinary woman. Now you object to what most women would hail with joy. Why do you not want our children mesmerized by their own father, who loves them not one whit less than you do? You imply by your remark I have in some manner injured Merle and Alice by my power. I cannot help resenting that remark, as I have been using Merle for years, and he has not, in all that time, done one thing but was worthy of a gentleman. I kept him well until the time when I suffered so acutely at seeing you so unexpectedly, that my mental torture reflected upon him. Even that experience taught me a valuable lesson, so a similar condition will never occur again. Go to theMillards; ask them if I have brought anything into their lives they regretted, or anything but good. Mrs. Millard is not afraid to trust her children to me after our long experience together, but you, the mother of my own children, do not dare to trust me with yours. Think of it! Would I not gladly, think you, offer myself, a living sacrifice, before harm should come to either of them? My desire is to remedy the evil and wrong I unconsciously did years ago, and for which an innocent and irresponsible person is suffering. Why, even you, yourself, came to me, a stranger, and wanted my help to do the very thing I propose to do now. You would have trusted our boy to a stranger, but will not to his own father. I—"
"That is enough, William. I can see that you are still the same William I married. Hasty—rushing to conclusions—"
"Who would not rush to conclusions? I never pretended to be a saint—"
"If you did, persons would not believe it who saw you just now—"
"Probably they would give that distinguished title to you, who are so much more estimable in all ways. My memory is sufficiently clear to remember you always sought—"
"William, have you no sense of either love or shame? You talk to me this way when I am ill, and our baby here beside me."
"What love have you for me, when you do not trust my own boy to me?"
"I love you as my husband, but I am not willing my children shall either of them be mesmerized, even by their father."
"You are not willing? May I ask you how you are going to help it if I feel inclined to do so? I can mesmerize you any time I want to. How are you going to protect your children from what you cannot protect yourself from?"
"By the might of my mother's love."
"Ha—ha! So you think a mother's indulgent, negative love a secure protection from positive and well directed thoughts. Wonderful logic, that. It is worthy a woman's brain. You may be, as I know you are, a proficient musician, but you have much to learn about science. Like all ignorant persons, you talk loquaciously where you know nothing, and possess no power. It is really ludicrous. You, a negative sensitive, defy me. Why, I could, if I chose to exert the might of my will, make you shrink from the embraces of both of your children, as though they were serpents; yet you say I shall not mesmerize my own children.—Excuse me, I cannot help laughing."
While William had been talking, he had not been looking at Clarissa. When she spoke, he turned his eyes to her, and he would not admit to anyone his surprise at the strength of characterhe found there. He was too thorough a master of his work, not to recognize positive resistance when he met it. If anyone had told him Clarissa could have looked him firmly, unflinchingly in the eye, and dared him to use his will, he would not have believed it. She spoke calmly and slowly: "I defy your power; now when I am sick and weak, or at any future time, to influence me in the slightest degree. You may be sure you will never affect my children by any thought suggestions while my brain is clear and in normal condition. Try it.—Begin upon me.—I not only do not fear you.—I defy you and your boasted power.—You shall never mesmerize Augustus. If I knew you had the power (which I doubt) to make him walk, and that was the price to pay, I should say, 'Leave him as he is; a cripple,' but you cannot mesmerize him."
As she spoke, Clarissa had risen to a sitting position in the bed. Her eyes shone with a feverish lustre. An impartial observer would have recognized the fact that here were two positive souls clashing in no ordinary encounter. Undoubtedly they would have given the credit of the final outcome to William, as he was working from the tried basis of experience, while she was voicing the natural sentiments of a loving mother's heart. Scientists have seen equally zealous mothers changed so they would have felt verysimilar to William. He thought he knew Clarissa, but he had yet some points to learn about her. The baby woke, disturbed by the unwonted voices, and began to cry.—Clarissa reached down, and drew her close up to her, then looked defiantly up at William, and continued:
"You—you brave man of science, say you can make me dread my baby's influence. Do it. Now is as good an opportunity as any man could ask, for we are alone. I hold her lovingly to me—I defy you to make me put her down. You are a coward—I see by your eyes you do not intend to try. Only cowards talk without acting. Your words sound well to any person who is afraid of you; I am not. I only feel I am chagrined and ashamed to look my children in the face, and say, 'I chose and gave you such a coward of a man for a father.' I—"
"Clarissa, stop; you will make yourself ill."
"I will not stop. I will tell you my opinion of you.—I defy you and your power to influence me, or my children. You have yet to learn what power and might there lies in a mother's love. I have not your power or experience. I may not use my thoughts as scientifically as to furnish my name with the lustre which surrounds yours, but I have power to protect my children from yours, or any other man's thoughts, or the united thoughts of them all. Put your mind upon me.You can hypnotize me any time, can you? Do it now. Make me fear my baby. Do not dare approach my bed, nor touch this child.—I do not care to listen to your further conversation. This is my apartment. If you have left the faint shadow even, of a gentlemanly instinct, you will leave it now, and forbear to thrust your unwelcome presence upon me again until I am able to take my children and leave."
"Clarissa—Clarissa!—You will not—"
"Have I not asked you to leave me and my baby alone? If you come one step nearer—"
"But, Clarissa, you are making yourself ill. I cannot leave you in this way."
"I cannot breathe the same air with you. My children appear serpents to me! You are the serpent. If you do not leave this room at once, my child and I will."
"Calm yourself."
"Not while you are here. I have all the strength of a lioness battling for her young. Openly or secretly, you can never control or mesmerize a child of mine. Try it, if you think you are stronger than I. You have taunted me with negativeness. Words are easily spoken. I ask you to substantiate that claim. Negatives, as I understand it, cannot look a hypnotist in the eye without quailing. We will see who has the stronger power, you or I. I am looking at youfixedly. Why do you not influence me? You who are so proud of your power, ought not to falter when only confronted by a sick woman."
"Clarissa, you will really make yourself ill. I did—"
"Do not talk to me.—Your presence is unbearable. Go by yourself; put your mind upon me and my darlings, but never thrust—"
"I will not listen. You will not banish me again?"
"So long as Eternity lasts, may I never—"
"You shall not say those words."
"I will—"
"I say you shall not."
"See your face—"
"Clarissa, you are not yourself. I will go. Calm yourself."
"May this be the last time my eyes rest upon your form."
"My God! You do not mean that—"
"I mean every word—"
"You will not leave me again?"
"Not one step nearer. Do not dare try to touch me nor one of my children. With all your boasted power, you will have no difficulty making me do what you want me to. Just now, while you are getting there, I prefer your room to your company; if you persist in remaining, I shall leave."
"I cannot go without—"
"Your excuses are unnecessary.—Go.—After you reach your apartments put your whole power of science upon me and my children; you will not affect one of us three."
"Clarissa! I wanted to help Augustus—"
"Leave here now, or I will."
"Do not try to rise, dear—"
"Then leave me; and so long as life lasts, never enter my presence again, unless you have me under such perfect mesmeric influence, I am as you have said, 'Afraid of my own children.' Will you go or shall I?"
"Do not rise. You are not able."
"Then leave me."
"Not this way.—You misunderstood me—"
"You are mistaken. I understood you perfectly."
"Clarissa, do not banish me."
"Coward! I thought you were going to do all manner of things with me.—Go;—either you or I leave here. I cannot endure your presence. I cannot—"
"I cannot live without you again—"
"Where is the power of which you have boasted so much? I thought you said you could mesmerize me any time you chose. This pleading does not balance well with your large assertions; I must have some proof of them. I throw you achallenge. We will see who has the stronger power; I say I shall leave you and your home just as soon as I am able to do so. If you are as strong as you pretend, capable of controlling me at any time, you need not worry. If you want me to stay, all you have to do is to will me to, making me dislike my children.—Go.—Your presence is like a pestilence to me. I do not want my babe to breathe it.—Go—"
"I cannot—"
"Then I have more power than you."
Before William could divine her purpose, she had risen from the bed, and, with the babe in her arms, she left the room. He started after her, alarmed at the results that might follow; but he met Dinah, who resisted him, by saying:
"Mistress Clarissa is anxious to stay in Augustus' room, and does not want to see anyone."
To the servant, this seemed to be only one of the vagaries of the sick woman. She had heard it said: "A very sick person turns against the one he loves best." So when her mistress said that only Augustus was to be admitted to see her, she felt her master's banishment was only one of the symptoms of her sickness. She was loyal to both, but Clarissa's sickness naturally appealed to her more than William's opinions and prejudices.
How precious this sympathy was just at this time, nobody knew but Clarissa herself.Clarissa naturally felt that she was the sole protector and guardian of her children, whom she loved better than herself. She had no reason to doubt William's affection for his family. Her present attitude toward him was the result of her fear of mesmeric influence, not her husband himself. He, being the strongest exponent of the science of whom she knew, and telling her of his intention to mesmerize Augustus had caused her (fearing that he would do so) to picture in William, all the possible evil to be wrought by such a power, exercised by an unscrupulous man.
Fear was the artist and conjurer that distorted to her eyes even William's visage, as well as his intentions. Without her being conscious of the fact, her fears had produced a state of self-psychology, consequently, she could not see clearly nor truly, but beheld only those points in William of which she was afraid.
A little knowledge of anything is often productive of harm. Clarissa had but a limited knowledge of her husband's power, thus gave him credit for possessing more than he really had. While defying him, she exaggerated his possible power, but was sincere in her assertions she would protect herself and her children. She was not afraid of him; it was her children she worried about. Unconsciously, William had been responsible for this condition. When he said he couldmake her shrink from her children's embraces as though they were serpents, he gave her such a shock of horror, to think there was any power that could so change the channel of natural affection, she went directly to the opposite extreme, and saw William as the serpent because he had suggested the possibility of so horrible a thing.
It is impossible to talk and reason with a psychologized person when they have an opposite opinion in mind, and Clarissa, being self-psychologized, by fear, was no more amenable to reason than if she had been put into the condition by another person.
She loved William, but in this highly wrought nervous state, she could not see her kind and loving husband, who was an indulgent and thoughtful father. She could not believe he was actuated by a worthy motive when he spoke of mesmerizing Augustus. She pictured him selfish, commanding and cruel, and no amount of reasoning could change her.
If the children were not with her all the time, she felt he had taken them away to punish her. Keeping Augustus confined so much made him restless and nervous when the baby was sleeping. He was contented enough while he could hold her. When he began to manifest unrest, Clarissa imagined his father's mind was upon him, trying to draw him away from her, and she struggledwith all the might of her soul to amuse and please him.
To Augustus, his father was a wonderful man. He loved to talk of him and what persons said of him. He often said "Let us call father." He did not understand his father's banishment from his mother's room, for he had been almost a constant presence there. Every time he mentioned his father, Clarissa thought "that is William's mind affecting him."
Finally, she would not permit the boy to leave the room, telling him that, being sick, she enjoyed having him always with her. This pleased him, so he would draw while the baby slept, or Dinah and his mother would tell him stories of their past life.
The sound of William's step or voice affected Clarissa's nerves so visibly as to be plainly observable to anyone. Sometimes she saw him right before her, then she would draw the baby close, set her teeth firmly together, looking at the image defiantly until it would disappear, when she would sink back, weak and despondent. Life was a perpetual nightmare and horror to her, and she often thought "How long can I live this way?" Then "I must gain strength for the children's sake. We will go away soon now."
She wondered if her voice had been affected by the birth of her babe. She almost dreadedtesting it, still, if it had entirely gone, her children were more to her than her voice. Her joy was complete when, upon testing it, allowing for physical weakness, she was aware that her tones were, if anything, richer than of old. That fact gave her courage. She was not afraid to face life alone again, nor did she regret having returned to William, for she now had another treasure added to her life. The thoughts of how William would suffer, being left alone again, did not occur to her. Her whole thought was bounded by her children's presence.