All Men are Ghosts. L. P. Jacks

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СКАЧАТЬ amazement that the former legend had disappeared and a new one was gradually forming. "Change the conversation," were the words I read when the swaying letters had settled down into a position of rest. Immediately afterwards the letters fluttered again and the original legend reappeared. "Certainly," I said to myself, "this house is haunted."

      Obedient to the mandate of the fluttering letters, I began at once to cast about for an opening that would change the conversation. I could find none, and I was embarrassed by the pause. There was nothing for it but to break out suddenly on a new line. But in the sequel I was astonished to observe with what ease Panhandle, in spite of the violence of the transition, turned the conversation back to its original theme.

      "My dear Panhandle," I said, "you are doubtless familiar with the remark of Charles Dickens to the effect that writers of fiction seldom dream of the characters they have created, the reason being that they know those characters to be unreal."

      "I am perfectly familiar with the passage," he replied, "but I am astonished to hear it quoted by you. Have you not often insisted, in pursuance, I suppose, of the principles of your philosophy, that characters created by imaginative genius, such as Hamlet or Faust, possess a deeper reality than beings of flesh and blood? Did you not cite instances from Dickens himself and say that Sam Weller and Mr. Micawber were more real to you than Louis XIV or George Washington?"

      "I certainly said so, and adhere to the statement."

      "Then you will not hesitate to admit that a character who is more real than George Washington is at least as capable of being interested in the problem of his own creation as George Washington could have been."

      "You are leading me into a trap," I replied.

      "I am only requiring you to be in earnest. Like many persons who express the opinion you have just reiterated, you have never taken the trouble to realise what it implies. But I will now show you its implications. Nor could a better means be found of introducing the revelations I am about to make as to what you may expect in this haunted house. It was your good genius who led you to this topic. You will learn presently that the phenomena peculiar to my house are entirely in harmony with your own philosophy on this point, that philosophy being, as I understand, some new brand of Idealism."

      "I desire you to proceed with the revelations immediately," I said. "We live in an age which abhors introductions as fiercely as Nature abhors a vacuum, and I beg you to leave it with me to adjust what you are about to deliver to the principles of my philosophy."

      "Know, then," said Panhandle, with a readiness that marked his approval of my attitude, "that your opinion as to the reality of these imaginary characters is entirely sound. Many of them are in the habit of haunting this very house, and I think it extremely probable that some will put in an appearance to-night. You have quoted Charles Dickens to the effect that their creators know them to be unreal—a remarkable error for so gifted a man. But it may astonish you to learn that they return the compliment by having no belief in the reality of their reputed creators. It is more than possible, after what you have said, that Mr. Micawber, who has now become a philosopher, will appear to you during your stay in the house. Tell him by way of experiment that his creator was a certain Charles Dickens. You will find that he wholly fails to understand what you mean. He regards himself as a fortuitous concourse of ideas. Only this morning I tried the same experiment on Colonel Newcome. I told him all about Thackeray, who, said I, was the author of his being.[1] He was utterly amazed, and just as incredulous as it is possible for so perfect a gentleman to be. He accused me of talking metaphysics."

      My long acquaintance with Panhandle had schooled me to betray no astonishment at anything he might say. So, assuming as cool an air as I could command, I merely asked:

      "Would you mind telling me, Panhandle, by what means you have managed to ascertain the views of these gentlemen concerning their creator?"

      "Like yourself," he answered, "I was convinced long ago that the creations of genius, Hamlet and the rest, are more real than the Johns, Toms, and Marys who seem to walk the earth. But, unlike you, I have not been content that so important a truth should remain at the level of a mere elegant opinion. By a course of spiritual exercises carefully devised, into which I shall presently initiate you, I have placed myself in direct communication with these personalities; and so successful has the discipline proved, that intelligent intercourse has become possible between them and me. I frequently invite them to haunt the house, and the response is always favourable. I am on terms of intimacy with the principal characters of the Classic Drama, of Shakespeare, Goethe, and many eminent novelists of modern times."

      On hearing this all my efforts to keep cool broke down.

      "Panhandle," I cried, "you must initiate me into those exercises without a moment's delay."

      "Be patient," he replied, "until you have heard the further results to which they will lead. I have not yet told you the half, and it may be that when you have heard the rest you will prefer to have no part in these Mysteries. The realm to which they will lead you has an immense population of ghosts; it is vastly more populous than our planet; and notwithstanding that my exercises have brought me abundant knowledge of them and their doings, I have not been able to classify more than a small portion of the inhabitants. The characters created by imaginative genius are only one among the orders of ghosts to whom you will presently be introduced. You will be haunted by Ideas in every variety, all of them living organisms of high complexity, and all more or less ignorant of whence they come or whose they are. Possibly you will encounter your own ideas among them; and I must warn you against claiming to be the author of any of them, even the most original. There is nothing that offends them more deeply. They have their own notions as to their origin, which they conceive to lie in something infinitely superior to the brain of a being like yourself. By many of them their reputed authors are treated with contempt; some deny the existence of these 'authors' in any capacity whatsoever; others regard them as mere phrases, metaphors, or abstractions. A notable instance is that of your friend Professor Gunn, who wrote the famous treatise to prove the non-existence of God. The potent ideas projected in the course of that work had long enjoyed an independent being of their own in the spiritual world; and it may interest you—and Professor Gunn also, if you will be kind enough to tell him what I am now saying—to learn that these ideas of his have formed themselves into a congregation or society whose principal tenet is that there is no such being as Professor Gunn. They regard him alternatively as a sun-myth or an exploded fiction."

      "How absurd!" I cried.

      "In your present darkness," he answered, "the exclamation is to be excused. But I assure you that after passing one night in this house you will find that nothing in heaven or earth is less absurd than the statement you have just heard."

      "As to your own Ideas," he continued, "know that their relation to yourself is, in their eyes, widely different from what you conceive it to be. Between yourself and them there is the utmost divergence of view on this matter. Under no circumstances whatsoever will they consent to regard themselves as your property, and no claim of that kind, nor even the semblance of a claim, must ever be suffered to appear in your dealings with these ghosts. Remember that your common-sense is their metaphysic, and their metaphysic your common-sense; what you dream of, they see; what you see, they dream of; and the consequence is that many truths, which appear to you as the least certain of your conclusions, are used by them as the familiar axioms of thought. On the other hand, what are axioms to you are often problems to them. Your cogito ergo sum, for example, will not go down in the spiritual world. For just as you, on your side of the theory of knowledge, are busy in trying to account for your Ideas, so they, on theirs, have much ado in their efforts to account for you; all of them find you the most illusive of beings, while some, as I have already hinted, deny your existence altogether, or treat you as a highly questionable hypothesis. With several of your leading Ideas I hope to СКАЧАТЬ