CHAPTER XXIV. THE EXPERIMENT
The next morning Haldane was busy in his laboratory. When he came in to lunch, looking disreputable enough in his old coat, and smelling strongly of tobacco, he said to his wife —
“By-the-by, Nell, do you remember what I told you last night about Dupré’s wonderful elixir? I forgot to tell you that I have brought some of it with me, for purposes of private experiment.” Ellen looked horrified.
“Don’t be afraid,” he continued, laughing; “your cats and dogs are safe from me. I have found a better subject, and mean to operate on him this very afternoon.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“As a sort of penance for his shamming illness, I shall kill Baptisto.”
She uttered a cry, and raised her hands in protest.
“For heavens sake, George, be warned! If you have any of that horrible stuff, throw it away.”
“Now, my dear Nell,” said the philosopher, “be reasonable; there is not the slightest cause for alarm. You will see this experiment, and it will, I hope, treble your faith in miracles.”
“I will
not
see it. I beseech you, abandon the idea. As for Baptisto – ”
At this moment the Spaniard entered the room, carrying certain dishes.
“I have been telling your mistress, Baptisto, that you are ready to be a martyr to science. At four o’clock precisely, you will be a dead man.”
Baptisto bowed solemnly.
“I am quite ready, senor.”
But here Ellen interposed.
“It is ridiculous; your master is only joking. He would not do anything so foolish, so wicked. As for you, I forbid you to encourage him.”
Baptisto bowed again, with a curious smile.
“It is for the senor to command. As he knows, he has saved my life, and he may take it whenever he pleases.”
Haldane nodded, in the act of drinking a glass of wine.
“Don’t be afraid, Baptisto. After death, there is the resurrection.”
“That, senor, is your affair,” returned the Spaniard, phlegmatically, shrugging his shoulders. “You will do with me as you please.”
And so saying, he glided from the room.
Ellen again and again entreated her husband not to proceed in his experiment; but he had long made up his mind that it was perfectly safe, and he could not be persuaded. To her gentle: spirit, the whole idea seemed horrible in the extreme; but her greatest dread was that it might be attended with danger to the subject. Haldane, however, assured her that this was impossible.
All the afternoon Haldane and Baptisto were together in the laboratory. A little after four o’clock, as Ellen was walking on the terrace, Haldane came to her, smiling and holding up a small vial.
“It is all over,” he said, “and the experiment is quite successful. Come and see.”
Not quite understanding him, she suffered him to lead her into the laboratory; but, on crossing the threshold, she uttered a cry of horror. Stretched on a sofa, lay Baptisto, moveless, and, to all seeming, without one breath of life. His eyes were wide open, but rayless; his jaw fixed, his face pale as grey marble; a peaceful smile, as of death itself, upon his handsome face. The light of the sun, just sinking towards the west, streamed in through the high window upon the apparently lifeless form. In the chamber itself there was a sickly smell, like that of some suffocating vapour. The whole scene would have startled and appalled even a strong man.
“Oh, George!” cried the lady, clasping her hands. “What have you done?”
“Don’t be alarmed,” was the reply, “Its all right!”
“But you said the experiment —
“Was successful? Perfectly. There lies our poor friend, comfortably finished.”
“But are you sure, quite sure, that he is not dead? He is not breathing.”
“Of course not. The simulation is perfect. Place your hand on his wrist – you will detect no pulse. Turn his pupils to the light – you see, they do not contract. The case would deceive a whole college of physicians.”
As he spoke, he suited the action to the word – placed his finger upon the pulse, gazed at the glazing pupils; raised one of the lifeless arms, which, on being released, fell heavily as lead.
“Horrible, horrible! For God’s sake, recover him!”
“All in good time. He has only been dead a quarter of an hour; in half an hour precisely I shall say, ‘Arise and walk.’ Feel his forehead, Nell; it is as cold as marble.”
But Ellen drew back, shuddering, and could not be persuaded to touch the sleeper.
“Well, go back to your promenade. I will call you when he is awakened.” Sick and terrified, Ellen obeyed her husband. Standing on the terrace, she waited for his summons; and at last it came. Haldane appeared, and beckoned; she followed him to the laboratory, and there, seated in an armchair, comfortably sipping a glass of wine, was the Spaniard – a little pale still, but otherwise not the worse for his state of coma.
“Thank God!” cried Ellen.
“I thought he would never recover. But it must have been a horrible experience.”
Baptisto smiled.
“Tell the signora all about it,” said his master. “Did you feel any pain?”
“None, senor.”
“What were your sensations? Pleasant or otherwise?”
“Quite pleasant, senor. It was like sinking into an agreeable sleep. If death is like that, it is a bagatelle.”
“Were you at all conscious?”
“Not of this world, senor, but I had bright dreams of another. I thought I was in paradise, walking in the sunshine – ah, so bright! I was sorry, senor, when I came back to this world.”
“You hear!” cried Haldane, turning to his wife. “After all, death itself may be a glorious experience; for ‘in that sleep of death what dreams may come!’ It is quite clear at least that all the phenomena of death, such as we shrink from and shudder at, may be accompanied by some kind of pleasant psychic consciousness. Bravo, Baptisto! After this, we shall call you Lazarus the second. You have passed beyond the shadow of the sepulchre, and returned to tell the tale.”
Despite the resuscitation, Ellen still revolted from the whole proceeding.
“Now you are satisfied,” she said, “promise me never to use that dreadful elixir again.”
“I think you may make your mind easy. The experiment is an ugly one, I admit, and I am not anxious to repeat it – at least, not on the human organism. For the same reason, my dear Nell, pray keep the affair to yourself, and make no confidences, even to your confessor – I should say, your clergyman, Will you promise?”
“Most certainly. I should not like any one to know you did such things. As for Mr. Santley, he would be shocked beyond measure.”
So saying, she left the two men together. In the mean time, Baptisto had-finished his wine and risen to his feet. While his master regarded him with an approving smile, he walked over to the door, softly closed it, and returning noiselessly across the room, said in a low voice —
“There is something, senor, I did not tell you. I had dreams.”
“So you said, my Baptisto.”
“Ah yes, but not all. While I was lying there, I thought that
you
were the dead man, and that the senora, your widow, had married.”
“Married?”
“The English priest.”
Haldane started, and looked in amazement at the speaker.
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Ah, senor, it was only my dream; a foolish dream. You were lying in your winding-sheet, and they were kneeling at the altar – smiling, senor. I did not like to speak of it to the senora; but it was very strange.”
Haldane forced a laugh, while, with a mysterious look, Baptisto crept from the chamber. Was it in sheer simplicity or in deep cunning that the Spaniard had spoken, touching so delicate a chord? Left alone, Haldane paced up and down the laboratory in agitation. He was not by temperament a jealous or a suspicious man, but he was troubled in spite of himself. The words sounded like a warning, almost an insinuation.
“What could the fellow mean?” he asked himself again and again. “Could he possibly have dreamed
that?
No; it is preposterous. There was malice in his eye, and mischief… Ellen married to Santley! Bah! what am I thinking about? The fellow is not a
prophet!
”
In this manner, whether in innocence or for some set purpose of his own, Baptisto contrived to poison all the sweetness of that successful experiment. When Haldane again joined his wife that evening, he was taciturn, distraught, nervous, and irritable. All his buoyancy had departed. Ellen saw the change, and puzzled herself to account for it.
She played to him, sang to him, but failed to drive the cloud from his brow.
When she had retired for the night, he still sat pondering over Baptisto’s words.
CHAPTER XXV. “BEWARE, MY LORD, OF JEALOUSY!”
If Baptisto’s object in describing a dream so ominous was to attract his master’s attention to the intimate relations between Mrs. Haldane and the clergyman, he certainly succeeded. Once assured in this direction, Haldane’s perceptions were keen enough. He noticed that the mere mention of Santley’s name filled Ellen with a sort of nervous constraint; that, although the clergyman’s visits were frequent, they were generally made at times when Haldane himself was busy and preoccupied – that is to say, during his well-known hours of work; and that, moreover, Santley, however much he liked the society of the lady, invariably avoided the husband, or, if they met, contrived to frame some excuse for speedy parting. Now, Haldane trusted his wife implicitly, and believed her incapable of any infidelity, even in thought. Still, he did not quite like the aspect of affairs. Much as he trusted his wife, he had a strong moral distrust for anything in the shape of a priest; and he determined, therefore, to keep his eyes upon the clergyman.
A few days after that curious physiological experiment, he had the following conversation with Baptisto. It was the first day of the week.
“Baptisto, I thought you were a good Catholic?”
“So I am, senor,” returned the Spaniard, smiling.
“Yet you went to an English church-yesterday, I hear?”
“Yes, senor. I go there very often.”
“Why, pray?”
“Simply out of curiosity. Mr. Santley is a beautiful preacher, and has a silvery voice. While you were away, I went once, twice, three times. There is a young senora there who plays sweetly upon the great organ; I like to listen, to-watch the congregation.”
“Humph! By-the-bye, Baptisto, I have been thinking over the dream of yours, when – when you were lying there.”
“Yes, senor?”
“Pray, what put such a foolish idea in your head?”
“I cannot tell, senor; all I know is, it came. A foolish dream, do you say? I suppose it is because the clergyman was here so often, when you were away. And madame is so devout! I trust, senor, my dream has not given you offence; perhaps I was wrong to speak of it at all.”
Haldanes face had gone black as a thunder-cloud. Placing his hand on the other’s shoulder, and looking firmly into his face, he said —
“Listen to me, Baptisto.”
“I am listening, senor.”
“If I thought you would come back to life to tell lies about your mistress, I would have let you lie the other day and rot like a dead dog, rather than have recovered you at all. You hear? Take care! I know you do not love your mistress, but if you dare to whisper one word against her, I will drive you for ever from my door.”
Baptisto bowed his head respectfully before the storm, but retained his usual composure.
“Senor, may I speak?”
“Yes; but again, take care!”
“You should not blame me if I am jealous for your honour!”
Haldane started, and uttered an expletive.
“My honour, you dog? What do you mean?”
“This, senor. I would rather die than give you offence; and as for the senora, I love her also, for is she not your wife? But will you be angry still, when I tell you, when I warn you, to beware of that man, that priest? He is a bad man, very bad. Ah, I have watched – and seen!”
“What have you seen?” cried Haldane, clutching him by the arm. “Come, out with it!”
“Enough to show me that he is not your friend – that he is dangerous.”
“Bah! is that all? Now, listen to me, and be sure I mean what I say. I will have no servant of mine spying upon my wife. I will have no servant of mine insinuating that my honour is in danger. If I hear another word of this, if you convey to me by one look the fact that you are still prying, spying, and suspecting, I shall take you by the collar and send you flying out of my house. Now, go!”
Baptisto, who knew his master’s temper perfectly, bowed and withdrew. He had no wish to say one word more. He had thrown out a dark hint, a black seed of suspicion, and he knew that he might safely let it work. It did work, rapidly and terribly. Left alone, Haldane became a prey to the wildest fears and suspicions. He remembered now that his wife had been acquainted with this man in her girlhood; that there had even been some passage of love between them. He remembered how eagerly she had renewed the acquaintance, and with what admiring zeal the clergyman had responded. He pictured to himself the sympathetic companionship, the zealous meetings, the daily religious intercourse, of these two young people, each full of the fervour of a blind superstition. Could it be possible that they loved each other? Questioning his memory, he recalled looks, words, tones, which, although scarcely noticed at the time, seemed now of painful significance. The mere thought was sickening. Already he realized the terrible phrase-of the poet Young – “the jealous are the damned.”
Haldane was not habitually a violent man. Though passionate and headstrong by temperament, he had schooled himself to gentleness after a stormy youth, and the chilly waters of philosophy, at which he drank daily, kept his head cool and his pulses calm. But the stormy spirit, though hushed, was not altogether dead within him, and under his habitual reticence and good-humoured cynicism, there lay the most passionate idolatry for his beautiful wife. He had set her up in his heart of hearts, with a faith too perfect for much expression; and it had not occurred to him, in his remotest dreams, that any other man could ever come between them.
And now, suddenly as a lightning flash illumining a dark landscape, the fear came upon him that perhaps he had been unwary and unwise. Was it possible, he asked himself, that he had’ been too studious and too book-loving, too reticent also in all those little attentions which by women, who always love sweetmeats, are so tenderly prized? Moreover, he was ten years his wife’s, elder – was that disparity of years also a barrier between their souls? No; he was sure it was not. He was sure that she was not hypocritical, and that she loved him. Wherever the blame might be, if blame there were, it was certainly not hers. She had been in all respects, a tender and a sympathetic wife; encouraging his deep study of science, even when she most distrusted its results; proud of his attainments, and eager for his success; in short, a perfect helpmate, but for her old-fashioned prejudices in the sphere of religion. Ah,
religion!
There was the one word which solved the enigma, and aroused in our philosopher’s bosom that fierce indignation which long ago led Lucretius into such passionate hate against the Phantom,=
Which with horrid head
Leered hideously from all the gates of heaven!”
It needed only this to complete his loathing for the popular theology, for all its teachers. Yes, he reflected, religion only was to blame. In its name, his wife’s sympathies had been tampered with, her spirit more or less turned against himself; in its name, his house had been secretly invaded, his domestic happiness poisoned, his peace of mind destroyed. It was the old story! Wherever this shadow of superstition crawled, craft and dissimulation began. Now, as in the beginning, it came between father and child, sister and brother, man and wife.
It so happened that when George Haldane came forth from having his dark hour alone, he rather avoided meeting his wife at once, and, taking his hat, stepped out from the laboratory on to the shrubbery path. He had scarcely done so, when his eye fell upon two figures standing together in the distance, upon the terrace of the house. One was Mrs. Haldane, wearing her garden hat and a loose shawl thrown over her shoulders. The other was the clergyman of the parish.
Haldane drew back, and watched. In that moment he knew the extent of his humiliation; for never before had he been a spy upon his wife’s actions.
Their backs were towards him. Santley was talking eagerly; Ellen was looking down. Presently they began to move slowly along the terrace, side by side.
Haldane watched them gloomily. The sunlight fell brightly upon them, and on the old Manor house, with its brilliant creepers and glittering panes, while the old chapel, with the watcher in its ruined porch, remained in shadow. It seemed like an omen. In the darkness of his hiding-place, Haldane felt satanic. Yes, there they walked – children of God, as they called themselves – in God’s sunlight; and he, the searcher for light, the unbeliever, was forgotten.
Presently Santley paused again, and, with an impassioned gesture, pointed upward. Ellen raised her head, and looked upward too, listening eagerly to his words. Haldane laughed fiercely to himself, with all the ugliness of his jealousy upon him.
Presently they disappeared into the house. A little afterwards Santley emerged from the front door, and came walking rapidly down the avenue. His manner was eager and happy, almost jubilant, and Haldane saw, when he approached, that his face looked positively radiant.
He was passing, when Haldane stepped out and confronted him. He started, paused, and a shadow fell instantaneously upon his handsome face. Recovering himself, he held out his hand. Haldane did not seem to see the gesture, but, nodding a careless greeting, said, with his habitual
sang froid
—
“Well met, Mr. Santley. Here I am again, you see, hard at work. Have you come from the house?”
“Yes,” answered Santley.
“On some new message of Christian charity and beneficence, I suppose? Ah, my dear sir, you are indefatigable. And the old women of the parish must indeed find you a Good Shepherd. Did you find my wife at home?”
“Yes.”
“And zealous, as usual, I suppose?’ Ah, what a thing it is to be pious! But let me beg you not to encourage her too much. Charity begins at home; and what with soup-kitchens, offertories, subscriptions for church repairs, and societies for the gratuitous distribution of flannel waistcoats, I am in a fair way of being ruined.”
Santley forced a laugh.
“Don’t be afraid. My errand to-day was not a begging one, I assure you.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“I was merely bringing Mrs. Haldane a book I promised to lend her. To tell the truth, she finds your library rather destitute of works of a religious nature.”
“Do you really think so?” exclaimed Haldane, drily. “Why, I thou