Chapter 5

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Dr Porhoet had asked Arthur to bring Margaret and Miss Boyd to see him onSunday at his apartment in the Ile Saint Louis; and the lovers arrangedto spend an hour on their way at the Louvre. Susie, invited to accompanythem, preferred independence and her own reflections.To avoid the crowd which throngs the picture galleries on holidays,they went to that part of the museum where ancient sculpture is kept. Itwas comparatively empty, and the long halls had the singular restfulnessof places where works of art are gathered together. Margaret was filledwith a genuine emotion; and though she could not analyse it, as Susie,who loved to dissect her state of mind, would have done, it strangelyexhilarated her. Her heart was uplifted from the sordidness of earth,and she had a sensation of freedom which was as delightful as it wasindescribable. Arthur had never troubled himself with art till Margaret'senthusiasm taught him that there was a side of life he did not realize.Though beauty meant little to his practical nature, he sought, in hisgreat love for Margaret, to appreciate the works which excited her tosuch charming ecstasy. He walked by her side with docility and listened,not without deference, to her outbursts. He admired the correctness ofGreek anatomy, and there was one statue of an athlete which attractedhis prolonged attention, because the muscles were indicated with theprecision of a plate in a surgical textbook. When Margaret talked of theGreeks' divine repose and of their blitheness, he thought it very cleverbecause she said it; but in a man it would have aroused his impatience.Yet there was one piece, the charming statue known as La Diane deGabies, which moved him differently, and to this presently he insistedon going. With a laugh Margaret remonstrated, but secretly she was notdispleased. She was aware that his passion for this figure was due, notto its intrinsic beauty, but to a likeness he had discovered in it toherself.It stood in that fair wide gallery where is the mocking faun, with hisinhuman savour of fellowship with the earth which is divine, and thesightless Homer. The goddess had not the arrogance of the huntress wholoved Endymion, nor the majesty of the cold mistress of the skies. Shewas in the likeness of a young girl, and with collected gesture fastenedher cloak. There was nothing divine in her save a sweet strange spiritof virginity. A lover in ancient Greece, who offered sacrifice beforethis fair image, might forget easily that it was a goddess to whom heknelt, and see only an earthly maid fresh with youth and chastity andloveliness. In Arthur's eyes Margaret had all the exquisite grace of thestatue, and the same unconscious composure; and in her also breathed thespring odours of ineffable purity. Her features were chiselled withthe clear and divine perfection of this Greek girl's; her ears were asdelicate and as finely wrought. The colour of her skin was so tender thatit reminded you vaguely of all beautiful soft things, the radiance ofsunset and the darkness of the night, the heart of roses and the depth ofrunning water. The goddess's hand was raised to her right shoulder, andMargaret's hand was as small, as dainty, and as white.'Don't be so foolish,' said she, as Arthur looked silently at the statue.He turned his eyes slowly, and they rested upon her. She saw that theywere veiled with tears.'What on earth's the matter?''I wish you weren't so beautiful,' he answered, awkwardly, as though hecould scarcely bring himself to say such foolish things. 'I'm so afraidthat something will happen to prevent us from being happy. It seems toomuch to expect that I should enjoy such extraordinarily good luck.'She had the imagination to see that it meant much for the practical manso to express himself. Love of her drew him out of his character, and,though he could not resist, he resented the effect it had on him. Shefound nothing to reply, but she took his hand.'Everything has gone pretty well with me so far,' he said, speakingalmost to himself. 'Whenever I've really wanted anything, I've managed toget it. I don't see why things should go against me now.'He was trying to reassure himself against an instinctive suspicion of themalice of circumstances. But he shook himself and straightened his back.'It's stupid to be so morbid as that,' he muttered.Margaret laughed. They walked out of the gallery and turned to the quay.By crossing the bridge and following the river, they must come eventuallyto Dr. Porhoet's house.* * * * *Meanwhile Susie wandered down the Boulevard Saint Michel, alert with theSunday crowd, to that part of Paris which was dearest to her heart. L'IleSaint Louis to her mind offered a synthesis of the French spirit, and itpleased her far more than the garish boulevards in which the English as arule seek for the country's fascination. Its position on an island inthe Seine gave it a compact charm. The narrow streets, with their arrayof dainty comestibles, had the look of streets in a provincial town. Theyhad a quaintness which appealed to the fancy, and they were very restful.The names of the streets recalled the monarchy that passed away inbloodshed, and in poudre de riz. The very plane trees had a greatersobriety than elsewhere, as though conscious they stood in a Paris whereprogress was not. In front was the turbid Seine, and below, the twintowers of Notre Dame. Susie could have kissed the hard paving stones ofthe quay. Her good-natured, plain face lit up as she realized the delightof the scene upon which her eyes rested; and it was with a little pang,her mind aglow with characters and events from history and from fiction,that she turned away to enter Dr Porhoet's house.She was pleased that the approach did not clash with her fantasies. Shemounted a broad staircase, dark but roomy, and, at the command of theconcierge, rang a tinkling bell at one of the doorways that faced her.Dr Porhoet opened in person..'Arthur and Mademoiselle are already here,' he said, as he led her in.They went through a prim French dining-room, with much woodwork and heavyscarlet hangings, to the library. This was a large room, but thebookcases that lined the walls, and a large writing-table heaped up withbooks, much diminished its size. There were books everywhere. They werestacked on the floor and piled on every chair. There was hardly space tomove. Susie gave a cry of delight.'Now you mustn't talk to me. I want to look at all your books.''You could not please me more,' said Dr Porhoet, 'but I am afraid theywill disappoint you. They are of many sorts, but I fear there are fewthat will interest an English young lady.'He looked about his writing-table till he found a packet of cigarettes.He gravely offered one to each of his guests. Susie was enchanted withthe strange musty smell of the old books, and she took a first glance atthem in general. For the most part they were in paper bindings, some ofthem neat enough, but more with broken backs and dingy edges; they wereset along the shelves in serried rows, untidily, without method or plan.There were many older ones also in bindings of calf and pigskin, treasurefrom half the bookshops in Europe; and there were huge folios likePrussian grenadiers; and tiny Elzevirs, which had been read by patricianladies in Venice. Just as Arthur was a different man in the operatingtheatre, Dr Porhoet was changed among his books. Though he preserved theamiable serenity which made him always so attractive, he had there adiverting brusqueness of demeanour which contrasted quaintly with hisusual calm.'I was telling these young people, when you came in, of an ancient Koranwhich I was given in Alexandria by a learned man whom I operated upon forcataract.' He showed her a beautifully-written Arabic work, withwonderful capitals and headlines in gold. 'You know that it is almostimpossible for an infidel to acquire the holy book, and this is aparticularly rare copy, for it was written by Kait Bey, the greatest ofthe Mameluke Sultans.'He handled the delicate pages as a lover of flowers would handlerose-leaves.'And have you much literature on the occult sciences?' asked Susie.Dr Porhoet smiled.'I venture to think that no private library contains so complete acollection, but I dare not show it to you in the presence of our friendArthur. He is too polite to accuse me of foolishness, but his sarcasticsmile would betray him.'Susie went to the shelves to which he vaguely waved, and looked with apeculiar excitement at the mysterious array. She ran her eyes along thenames. It seemed to her that she was entering upon an unknown region ofromance. She felt like an adventurous princess who rode on her palfreyinto a forest of great bare trees and mystic silences, where wan,unearthly shapes pressed upon her way.'I thought once of writing a life of that fantastic and grandiloquentcreature, Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombast vonHohenheim,' said Dr Porhoet, 'and I have collected many of his books.'He took down a slim volume in duodecimo, printed in the seventeenthcentury, with queer plates, on which were all manner of cabbalisticsigns. The pages had a peculiar, musty odour. They were stained withiron-mould.'Here is one of the most interesting works concerning the black art.It is the Grimoire of Honorius, and is the principal text-book of allthose who deal in the darkest ways of the science.'Then he pointed out the Hexameron of Torquemada and the Tableau del'Inconstance des Demons, by Delancre; he drew his finger down theleather back of Delrio's Disquisitiones Magicae and set upright thePseudomonarchia Daemonorum of Wierus; his eyes rested for an instant onHauber's Acta et Scripta Magica, and he blew the dust carefully off themost famous, the most infamous, of them all, Sprenger's MalleusMalefikorum.'Here is one of my greatest treasures. It is the Clavicula Salomonis;and I have much reason to believe that it is the identical copy whichbelonged to the greatest adventurer of the eighteenth century, JacquesCasanova. You will see that the owner's name had been cut out, but enoughremains to indicate the bottom of the letters; and these correspondexactly with the signature of Casanova which I have found at theBibliotheque Nationale. He relates in his memoirs that a copy of thisbook was seized among his effects when he was arrested in Venice fortraffic in the black arts; and it was there, on one of my journeys fromAlexandria, that I picked it up.'He replaced the precious work, and his eye fell on a stout volume boundin vellum.'I had almost forgotten the most wonderful, the most mysterious, of allthe books that treat of occult science. You have heard of the Kabbalah,but I doubt if it is more than a name to you.''I know nothing about it at all,' laughed Susie, 'except that it's allvery romantic and extraordinary and ridiculous.''This, then, is its history. Moses, who was learned in all the wisdom ofEgypt, was first initiated into the Kabbalah in the land of his birth;but became most proficient in it during his wanderings in the wilderness.Here he not only devoted the leisure hours of forty years to thismysterious science, but received lessons in it from an obliging angel. Byaid of it he was able to solve the difficulties which arose during hismanagement of the Israelites, notwithstanding the pilgrimages, wars, andmiseries of that most unruly nation. He covertly laid down the principlesof the doctrine in the first four books of the Pentateuch, but withheldthem from Deuteronomy. Moses also initiated the Seventy Elders into thesesecrets, and they in turn transmitted them from hand to hand. Of all whoformed the unbroken line of tradition, David and Solomon were the mostdeeply learned in the Kabbalah. No one, however, dared to write it downtill Schimeon ben Jochai, who lived in the time of the destruction ofJerusalem; and after his death the Rabbi Eleazar, his son, and the RabbiAbba, his secretary, collected his manuscripts and from them composed thecelebrated treatise called Zohar.''And how much do you believe of this marvellous story?' asked ArthurBurdon.'Not a word,' answered Dr Porhoet, with a smile. 'Criticism has shownthat Zohar is of modern origin. With singular effrontery, it cites anauthor who is known to have lived during the eleventh century, mentionsthe Crusades, and records events which occurred in the year of Our Lord1264. It was some time before 1291 that copies of Zohar began to becirculated by a Spanish Jew named Moses de Leon, who claimed to possessan autograph manuscript by the reputed author Schimeon ben Jochai. Butwhen Moses de Leon was gathered to the bosom of his father Abraham, awealthy Hebrew, Joseph de Avila, promised the scribe's widow, who hadbeen left destitute, that his son should marry her daughter, to whomhe would pay a handsome dowry, if she would give him the originalmanuscript from which these copies were made. But the widow (one canimagine with what gnashing of teeth) was obliged to confess that she hadno such manuscript, for Moses de Leon had composed Zohar out of his ownhead, and written it with his own right hand.'Arthur got up to stretch his legs. He gave a laugh.'I never know how much you really believe of all these things you tellus. You speak with such gravity that we are all taken in, and then itturns out that you've been laughing at us.''My dear friend, I never know myself how much I believe,' returned DrPorhoet.'I wonder if it is for the same reason that Mr Haddo puzzles us so much,'said Susie.'Ah, there you have a case that is really interesting,' replied thedoctor. 'I assure you that, though I know him fairly intimately, I havenever been able to make up my mind whether he is an elaborate practicaljoker, or whether he is really convinced he has the wonderful powers towhich he lays claim.''We certainly saw things last night that were not quite normal,' saidSusie. 'Why had that serpent no effect on him though it was able to killthe rabbit instantaneously? And how are you going to explain the violenttrembling of that horse, Mr. Burdon?''I can't explain it,' answered Arthur, irritably, 'but I'm not inclinedto attribute to the supernatural everything that I can't immediatelyunderstand.''I don't know what there is about him that excites in me a sort ofhorror,' said Margaret. 'I've never taken such a sudden dislike toanyone.'She was too reticent to say all she felt, but she had been strangelyaffected last night by the recollection of Haddo's words and of his acts.She had awakened more than once from a nightmare in which he assumedfantastic and ghastly shapes. His mocking voice rang in her ears, and sheseemed still to see that vast bulk and the savage, sensual face. It waslike a spirit of evil in her path, and she was curiously alarmed. Onlyher reliance on Arthur's common sense prevented her from giving way toridiculous terrors.'I've written to Frank Hurrell and asked him to tell me all he knowsabout him,' said Arthur. 'I should get an answer very soon.''I wish we'd never come across him,' cried Margaret vehemently. 'I feelthat he will bring us misfortune.''You're all of you absurdly prejudiced,' answered Susie gaily. 'Heinterests me enormously, and I mean to ask him to tea at the studio.''I'm sure I shall be delighted to come.'Margaret cried out, for she recognized Oliver Haddo's deep banteringtones; and she turned round quickly. They were all so taken aback thatfor a moment no one spoke. They were gathered round the window and hadnot heard him come in. They wondered guiltily how long he had been thereand how much he had heard.'How on earth did you get here?' cried Susie lightly, recovering herselffirst.'No well-bred sorcerer is so dead to the finer feelings as to enter aroom by the door,' he answered, with his puzzling smile. 'You werestanding round the window, and I thought it would startle you if I chosethat mode of ingress, so I descended with incredible skill down thechimney.''I see a little soot on your left elbow,' returned Susie. 'I hope youweren't at all burned.''Not at all, thanks,' he answered, gravely brushing his coat.'In whatever way you came, you are very welcome,' said Dr Porhoet,genially holding out his hand.But Arthur impatiently turned to his host.'I wish I knew what made you engage upon these studies,' he said. 'Ishould have thought your medical profession protected you from anytenderness towards superstition.'Dr Porhoet shrugged his shoulders.'I have always been interested in the oddities of mankind. At one timeI read a good deal of philosophy and a good deal of science, and Ilearned in that way that nothing was certain. Some people, by the pursuitof science, are impressed with the dignity of man, but I was only madeconscious of his insignificance. The greatest questions of all have beenthreshed out since he acquired the beginnings of civilization and heis as far from a solution as ever. Man can know nothing, for his sensesare his only means of knowledge, and they can give no certainty. There isonly one subject upon which the individual can speak with authority, andthat is his own mind, but even here he is surrounded with darkness. Ibelieve that we shall always be ignorant of the matters which it mostbehoves us to know, and therefore I cannot occupy myself with them. Iprefer to set them all aside, and, since knowledge is unattainable, tooccupy myself only with folly.''It is a point of view I do not sympathize with,' said Arthur.'Yet I cannot be sure that it is all folly,' pursued the Frenchmanreflectively. He looked at Arthur with a certain ironic gravity. 'Doyou believe that I should lie to you when I promised to speak the truth?''Certainly not.''I should like to tell you of an experience that I once had inAlexandria. So far as I can see, it can be explained by none of theprinciples known to science. I ask you only to believe that I am notconsciously deceiving you.'He spoke with a seriousness which gave authority to his words. It wasplain, even to Arthur, that he narrated the event exactly as it occurred.'I had heard frequently of a certain shiekh who was able by means of amagic mirror to show the inquirer persons who were absent or dead, and anative friend of mine had often begged me to see him. I had never thoughtit worth while, but at last a time came when I was greatly troubled inmy mind. My poor mother was an old woman, a widow, and I had received nonews of her for many weeks. Though I wrote repeatedly, no answer reachedme. I was very anxious and very unhappy. I thought no harm could come ifI sent for the sorcerer, and perhaps after all he had the power whichwas attributed to him. My friend, who was interpreter to the FrenchConsulate, brought him to me one evening. He was a fine man, tall andstout, of a fair complexion, but with a dark brown beard. He was shabbilydressed, and, being a descendant of the Prophet, wore a green turban. Inhis conversation he was affable and unaffected. I asked him what personscould see in the magic mirror, and he said they were a boy not arrived atpuberty, a virgin, a black female slave, and a pregnant woman. In orderto make sure that there was no collusion, I despatched my servant to anintimate friend and asked him to send me his son. While we waited, Iprepared by the magician's direction frankincense and coriander-seed,and a chafing-dish with live charcoal. Meanwhile, he wrote forms ofinvocation on six strips of paper. When the boy arrived, the sorcererthrew incense and one of the paper strips into the chafing-dish, thentook the boy's right hand and drew a square and certain mystical marks onthe palm. In the centre of the square he poured a little ink. This formedthe magic mirror. He desired the boy to look steadily into it withoutraising his head. The fumes of the incense filled the room with smoke.The sorcerer muttered Arabic words, indistinctly, and this he continuedto do all the time except when he asked the boy a question.'"Do you see anything in the ink?" he said.'"No," the boy answered.'But a minute later, he began to tremble and seemed very much frightened.'"I see a man sweeping the ground," he said.'"When he has done sweeping, tell me," said the sheikh.'"He has done," said the boy.'The sorcerer turned to me and asked who it was that I wished the boyshould see.'"I desire to see the widow Jeanne-Marie Porhoet."'The magician put the second and third of the small strips of paper intothe chafing-dish, and fresh frankincense was added. The fumes werepainful to my eyes. The boy began to speak.'"I see an old woman lying on a bed. She has a black dress, and on herhead is a little white cap. She has a wrinkled face and her eyes areclosed. There is a band tied round her chin. The bed is in a sort ofhole, in the wall, and there are shutters to it."The boy was describing a Breton bed, and the white cap was the coiffethat my mother wore. And if she lay there in her black dress, with a bandabout her chin, I knew that it could mean but one thing.'"What else does he see?" I asked the sorcerer.'He repeated my question, and presently the boy spoke again.'"I see four men come in with a long box. And there are women crying.They all wear little white caps and black dresses. And I see a man in awhite surplice, with a large cross in his hands, and a little boy in along red gown. And the men take off their hats. And now everyone iskneeling down."'"I will hear no more," I said. "It is enough."'I knew that my mother was dead.'In a little while, I received a letter from the priest of the village inwhich she lived. They had buried her on the very day upon which the boyhad seen this sight in the mirror of ink.'Dr Porhoet passed his hand across his eyes, and for a little while therewas silence.'What have you to say to that?' asked Oliver Haddo, at last.'Nothing,' answered Arthur.Haddo looked at him for a minute with those queer eyes of his whichseemed to stare at the wall behind.'Have you ever heard of Eliphas Levi?' he inquired. 'He is the mostcelebrated occultist of recent years. He is thought to have known moreof the mysteries than any adept since the divine Paracelsus.''I met him once,' interrupted Dr Porhoet. 'You never saw a man who lookedless like a magician. His face beamed with good-nature, and he wore along grey beard, which covered nearly the whole of his breast. He was ofa short and very corpulent figure.''The practice of black arts evidently disposes to obesity,' said Arthur,icily.Susie noticed that this time Oliver Haddo made no sign that the tauntmoved him. His unwinking, straight eyes remained upon Arthur withoutexpression.'Levi's real name was Alphonse-Louis Constant, but he adopted that underwhich he is generally known for reasons that are plain to the romanticmind. His father was a bootmaker. He was destined for the priesthood, butfell in love with a damsel fair and married her. The union was unhappy.A fate befell him which has been the lot of greater men than he, and hiswife presently abandoned the marital roof with her lover. To consolehimself he began to make serious researches in the occult, and in duecourse published a vast number of mystical works dealing with magic inall its branches.''I'm sure Mr Haddo was going to tell us something very interesting abouthim,' said Susie.'I wished merely to give you his account of how he raised the spirit ofApollonius of Tyana in London.'Susie settled herself more comfortably in her chair and lit a cigarette.'He went there in the spring of 1856 to escape from internal disquietudeand to devote himself without distraction to his studies. He had lettersof introduction to various persons of distinction who concernedthemselves with the supernatural, but, finding them trivial andindifferent, he immersed himself in the study of the supreme Kabbalah.One day, on returning to his hotel, he found a note in his room. Itcontained half a card, transversely divided, on which he at oncerecognized the character of Solomon's Seal, and a tiny slip of paper onwhich was written in pencil: The other half of this card will be givenyou at three o'clock tomorrow in front of Westminster Abbey. Next day,going to the appointed spot, with his portion of the card in his hand, hefound a baronial equipage waiting for him. A footman approached, and,making a sign to him, opened the carriage door. Within was a lady inblack satin, whose face was concealed by a thick veil. She motioned himto a seat beside her, and at the same time displayed the other part ofthe card he had received. The door was shut, and the carriage rolledaway. When the lady raised her veil, Eliphas Levi saw that she was ofmature age; and beneath her grey eyebrows were bright black eyes ofpreternatural fixity.'Susie Boyd clapped her hands with delight.'I think it's delicious, and I'm sure every word of it is true,' shecried. 'I'm enchanted with the mysterious meeting at Westminster Abbeyin the Mid-Victorian era. Can't you see the elderly lady in a hugecrinoline and a black poke bonnet, and the wizard in a ridiculous hat,a bottle-green frock-coat, and a flowing tie of black silk?''Eliphas remarks that the lady spoke French with a marked Englishaccent,' pursued Haddo imperturbably. 'She addressed him as follows:"Sir, I am aware that the law of secrecy is rigorous among adepts; and Iknow that you have been asked for phenomena, but have declined to gratifya frivolous curiosity. It is possible that you do not possess thenecessary materials. I can show you a complete magical cabinet, but Imust require of you first the most inviolable silence. If you do notguarantee this on your honour, I will give the order for you to be drivenhome."'Oliver Haddo told his story not ineffectively, but with a comic gravitythat prevented one from knowing exactly how to take it.'Having given the required promise Eliphas Levi was shown a collection ofvestments and of magical instruments. The lady lent him certain books ofwhich he was in need; and at last, as a result of many conversations,determined him to attempt at her house the experience of a completeevocation. He prepared himself for twenty-one days, scrupulouslyobserving the rules laid down by the Ritual. At length everythingwas ready. It was proposed to call forth the phantom of the divineApollonius, and to question it upon two matters, one of which concernedEliphas Levi and the other, the lady of the crinoline. She had at firstcounted on assisting at the evocation with a trustworthy person, but atthe last moment her friend drew back; and as the triad or unity isrigorously prescribed in magical rites, Eliphas was left alone. Thecabinet prepared for the experiment was situated in a turret. Fourconcave mirrors were hung within it, and there was an altar of whitemarble, surrounded by a chain of magnetic iron. On it was engravedthe sign of the Pentagram, and this symbol was drawn on the new, whitesheepskin which was stretched beneath. A copper brazier stood on thealtar, with charcoal of alder and of laurel wood, and in front a secondbrazier was placed upon a tripod. Eliphas Levi was clothed in a whiterobe, longer and more ample than the surplice of a priest, and he woreupon his head a chaplet of vervain leaves entwined about a golden chain.In one hand he held a new sword and in the other the Ritual.'Susie's passion for caricature at once asserted itself, and she laughedas she saw in fancy the portly little Frenchman, with his round, redface, thus wonderfully attired.'He set alight the two fires with the prepared materials, and began, atfirst in a low voice, but rising by degrees, the invocations of theRitual. The flames invested every object with a wavering light. Presentlythey went out. He set more twigs and perfumes on the brazier, and whenthe flame started up once more, he saw distinctly before the altar ahuman figure larger than life, which dissolved and disappeared. He beganthe invocations again and placed himself in a circle, which he hadalready traced between the altar and the tripod. Then the depth of themirror which was in front of him grew brighter by degrees, and a paleform arose, and it seemed gradually to approach. He closed his eyes, andcalled three times upon Apollonius. When he opened them, a man stoodbefore him, wholly enveloped in a winding sheet, which seemed more greythan black. His form was lean, melancholy, and beardless. Eliphas felt anintense cold, and when he sought to ask his questions found it impossibleto speak. Thereupon, he placed his hand on the Pentagram, and directedthe point of his sword toward the figure, adjuring it mentally by thatsign not to terrify, but to obey him. The form suddenly grew indistinctand soon it strangely vanished. He commanded it to return, and then felt,as it were, an air pass by him; and, something having touched the handwhich held the sword, his arm was immediately benumbed as far as theshoulder. He supposed that the weapon displeased the spirit, and set itdown within the circle. The human figure at once reappeared, but Eliphasexperienced such a sudden exhaustion in all his limbs that he was obligedto sit down. He fell into a deep coma, and dreamed strange dreams. But ofthese, when he recovered, only a vague memory remained to him. His armcontinued for several days to be numb and painful. The figure had notspoken, but it seemed to Eliphas Levi that the questions were answered inhis own mind. For to each an inner voice replied with one grim word:dead.''Your friend seems to have had as little fear of spooks as you haveof lions,' said Burdon. 'To my thinking it is plain that all thesepreparations, and the perfumes, the mirrors, the pentagrams, must havethe greatest effect on the imagination. My only surprise is that yourmagician saw no more.''Eliphas Levi talked to me himself of this evocation,' said Dr Porhoet.'He told me that its influence on him was very great. He was no longerthe same man, for it seemed to him that something from the world beyondhad passed into his soul.''I am astonished that you should never have tried such an interestingexperiment yourself,' said Arthur to Oliver Haddo.'I have,' answered the other calmly. 'My father lost his power of speechshortly before he died, and it was plain that he sought with all hismight to tell me something. A year after his death, I called up hisphantom from the grave so that I might learn what I took to be a dyingwish. The circumstances of the apparition are so similar to those I havejust told you that it would only bore you if I repeated them. The onlydifference was that my father actually spoke.''What did he say?' asked Susie.'He said solemnly: "Buy Ashantis, they are bound to go up."'I did as he told me; but my father was always unlucky in speculation,and they went down steadily. I sold out at considerable loss, andconcluded that in the world beyond they are as ignorant of the tendencyof the Stock Exchange as we are in this vale of sorrow.'Susie could not help laughing. But Arthur shrugged his shouldersimpatiently. It disturbed his practical mind never to be certain ifHaddo was serious, or if, as now, he was plainly making game of them.