SUPERSTITION

"Superstition and infidelity usually go together. Professed atheists have trafficked in augury, and men who do not believe in God will believe in ghosts." To-day I take up my parable concerning superstition, to which, time out of mind, the human spirit has betaken itself as soon as it parted company with faith.

I once asked a lady who, in her earlier life, had lived in the very heart of society, and who returned to it after a long absence, what was the change which struck her most forcibly. She promptly replied, "The growth of superstition. I hear people seriously discussing ghosts. In my day people who talked in that way would have been put in Bedlam; their relations would have required no other proof that they were mad."

My own experience entirely confirms this testimony as to the development of superstition, and I have had some peculiarly favourable opportunities of observing its moral effect upon its votaries. The only superstition tolerated in my youth was table-turning, and that was always treated as more than half a joke. To sit in a darkened room round a tea-table, secretly join hands under the mahogany, and "communicate a revolving motion" to it (as Mr. Pickwick to his fists) was not bad fun when the company was mainly young and larky, but contained one or two serious people who desired to probe the mystery to its depths. Or, perhaps, our psychic force would cause the respectable piece of furniture to rear itself upon one leg, and deal out with a ponderous foot mysterious raps, which the serious people interpreted with their own admirable solemnity. I well remember a massive gentleman with an appalling stammer who proclaimed that some lost document which we had asked the table to discover would be found in the Vatican Library, "wrapped in a ragged palimpsest of Tertullian;" and the quaintness of the utterance dissolved the tables, or at least the table-turners, in laughter. This particular form of superstition became discredited among respectable people when sharpers got hold of it and used it as an engine for robbing the weak-minded. It died, poor thing, of exposure, and its epitaph was written by Browning in "Mr. Sludge, the Medium."

It was the same with ghost-stories. People told them—partly to fill gaps when reasonable conversation failed, and partly for the fun of making credulous hearers stare and gasp. But no one, except ladies as weak-minded as Byng's Half-Aunt in "Happy Thoughts," ever thought of taking them seriously. Bishop Wilberforce invented a splendid story about a priest and a sliding panel and a concealed confession; and I believe that he habitually used it as a foolometer, to test the mental capacity of new acquaintances. But the Bishop belonged to that older generation which despised superstition, and during the last few years, twaddle of this kind has risen to the dignity of a pseudo-science.

Necromancy is a favourite substitute for religion. It supplies the element of mystery without which the human spirit cannot long subsist; and, as it does not require its adherents to practise self-denial, or get up early on Sunday, or subscribe to charities, or spend their leisure in evil-smelling slums, it is a cult particularly well adapted to a self-indulgent age. I vividly remember a scene which occurred just before the Coronation. A luxurious luncheon had been prolonged by the aid of coffee, kÜmmel, and cigarettes till four o'clock; and the necromancers—surfeited, flushed, and a little maudlin—were lolling round the drawing-room fire. A whispered colloquy in a corner was heard through the surrounding chatter, and the hostess saw her opportunity. "Dear Lady De Spook, do let us hear. I know you are such a wonderful medium."

Lady De Spook. Really, it was nothing at all out of the common. I had come home dead tired from the opera, and just as I was going to bed I heard that rap—you know what I mean?

Mr. Sludge (enthusiastically). Oh yes, indeed I do! No one who has ever heard it can ever forget it.

Lady De Spook (resuming). Well, and do you know it turned out to be poor dear Lord De Spook. It was wonderful how energetically he rapped, for you know he was quite paralysed years before he died; and the curious thing was that I couldn't make out what he said. It seemed to be, "Don't buy. Sarah. Search." I was too tired to go on talking to him, so I went to bed; but next day, do you know, my maid found the coronet which his first wife, whose name was Sarah, had worn at the last Coronation. I was just going to order a new one. Wasn't it a wonderful interposition!—Such a saving!

Chorus (sentimentally). Ah, wonderful indeed! Our dear ones are never really lost to us.

Closely connected with necromancy is clairvoyance. A man whom I knew well was taken suddenly and seriously ill, and his relations, who were enthusiastic spookists, telegraphed for the celebrated clairvoyante Mrs. Endor. She duly arrived, threw herself into a trance, declared that the patient would die, came to, and declared that there was nothing much the matter, and that he would be about again in two or three days. Then, having pocketed her cheque, she returned to London. The patient grew rapidly worse, and died; and his relations, though I am sure they sincerely mourned him, were much sustained in the hour of bereavement by the thought that the opinion which Mrs. Endor had given in her trance had proved to be the right one, and that spiritual science was justified by the result.

But, after all, necromancy and clairvoyance are a little old-fashioned. Crystal-gazing is more modish. 'Tis as easy as lying. You gather open-mouthed round a glass ball, and the gifted gazer reports that which he or she can see, but which is invisible to grosser eyes. There are no bounds to the fascinating range of a crystal-gazer's fancy, nor to the awestruck credulity with which his revelations are received.

But crystal is not the only medium through which a purged eye can discern the mysterious future. Coffee-grounds, though less romantic, are very serviceable. Our hostess is an expert in this form of science, and, being a thoroughly amiable woman, she makes the coffee say pretty much what we should like to hear. "Dear Mr. Taper, this is delightful. You will be Prime Minister before you die. It is true that your party will not be in office again just yet; but 'hope on, hope ever,' and trust your star."

"Oh! Mr. Garbage, I have such good news for you. Your next book will be an immense success, and, after that, Messrs. Skin & Flint will be more liberal, and, what with the American copyright and the acting rights, you will make quite a fortune."

Closely akin to the science of coffee-grounds is that of palmistry. A wretched gipsy who "tells fortunes" at a race-meeting is sent to prison; but, when St. Berengaria's gets up a bazaar for its new vestry, a bejewelled lady sits in a secret chamber (for admission to which an extra half-crown is charged), and, after scrutinizing your line of life, tells you that you have had the influenza; and, projecting her soul into futurity, predicts that the next time you have it you will get pneumonia unless you are very careful.

Of course, these minor superstitions are mainly ridiculous, and to get up moral indignation over them would be a waste of force. But one cannot speak so lightly of the degrading cults which are grouped together under the name of Spiritualism. I have known a "Spiritual Wife" who was highly commended in spookish circles because she left her husband, family, and home in one continent and crossed the world to find her "affinity" in another. I have known a most promising boy whose health was destroyed and his career ruined by a hypnotic experiment performed on him without his parents' knowledge. I have known a mesmeric clergyman who cozened the women of his congregation out of money, character, and in some cases reason. Where occultism is pursued, all veracity and self-respect disappear; pruriency finds a congenial lodgment, and the issue is—well—what we sometimes see exhibited in all its uncomeliness at the Central Criminal Court.

The wisest lawgiver who ever lived said, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." And a great judge acted on the rule. But that was a long time ago. We have improved upon the jurisprudence of Moses and the methods of Sir Matthew Hale. Stoning and hanging are a little out of date, but boycotting is a remedy still within our reach. Whoso is wise will ponder these things, and will give occultists, male and female, an uncommonly wide berth.