It was a men's dinner party, and they were sitting over their cigars
and brandy and discussing magnetism. Donato's tricks and Charcot's
experiments. Presently, the sceptical, easy-going men, who cared nothing
for religion of any sort, began telling stories of strange occurrences,
incredible things which, nevertheless, had really occurred, so they
said, falling back into superstitious beliefs, clinging to these
last remnants of the marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery
of magnetism, defending it in the name of science. There was only one
person who smiled, a vigorous young fellow, a great ladies' man who was
so incredulous that he would not even enter upon a discussion of such
matters.
He repeated with a sneer:
“Humbug! humbug! humbug! We need not discuss Donato, who is merely a
very smart juggler. As for M. Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable
man of science, he produces on me the effect of those story-tellers
of the school of Edgar Poe, who end by going mad through constantly
reflecting on queer cases of insanity. He has authenticated some cases
of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena; he makes his way into
that unknown region which men are exploring every day, and unable always
to understand what he sees, he recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical
interpretation of these mysteries. I should like to hear what he says
himself.”
The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if
he had blasphemed in an assembly of monks.
One of these gentlemen exclaimed:
“And yet miracles were performed in olden times.”
“I deny it,” replied the other: “Why cannot they be performed now?”
Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some
instance of souls communicating with each other across space, or some
case of the secret influence of one being over another. They asserted
and maintained that these things had actually occurred, while the
sceptic angrily repeated:
“Humbug! humbug! humbug!”
At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his
pockets, said: “Well, I also have two stories to tell you, which I will
afterwards explain. Here they are:
“In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk,
go every year to Newfoundland to fish for cod. One night the little
son of one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his
father was dead. The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming
that his father was drowned. A month later the news came that his father
had, in fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow. The
widow then remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father's
death. Everyone said it was a miracle, and the affair caused a great
sensation. The dates were compared, and it was found that the accident
and the dream were almost coincident, whence they concluded that they
had happened on the same night and at the same hour. And there is a
mystery of magnetism.”
The story-teller stopped suddenly.
Thereupon, one of those who had heard him, much affected by the
narrative, asked:
“And can you explain this?”
“Perfectly, monsieur. I have discovered the secret. The circumstance
surprised me and even perplexed me very much; but you see, I do not
believe on principle. Just as others begin by believing, I begin by
doubting; and when I cannot understand, I continue to deny that there
can be any telepathic communication between souls; certain that my own
intelligence will be able to explain it. Well, I kept on inquiring
into the matter, and by dint of questioning all the wives of the absent
seamen, I was convinced that not a week passed without one of them, or
one of their children dreaming and declaring when they woke up that the
father was drowned. The horrible and continual fear of this accident
makes them always talk about it. Now, if one of these frequent
predictions coincides, by a very simple chance, with the death of the
person referred to, people at once declare it to be a miracle; for they
suddenly lose sight of all the other predictions of misfortune that have
remained unfulfilled. I have myself known fifty cases where the persons
who made the prediction forgot all about it a week after wards. But,
if, then one happens to die, then the recollection of the thing is
immediately revived, and people are ready to believe in the intervention
of God, according to some, and magnetism, according to others.”
One of the smokers remarked:
“What you say is right enough; but what about your second story?”
“Oh! my second story is a very delicate matter to relate. It happened
to myself, and so I don't place any great value on my own view of
the matter. An interested party can never give an impartial opinion.
However, here it is:
“Among my acquaintances was a young woman on whom I had never bestowed
a thought, whom I had never even looked at attentively, never taken any
notice of.
“I classed her among the women of no importance, though she was not
bad-looking; she appeared, in fact, to possess eyes, a nose, a mouth,
some sort of hair--just a colorless type of countenance. She was one of
those beings who awaken only a chance, passing thought, but no special
interest, no desire.
“Well, one night, as I was writing some letters by my fireside before
going to bed, I was conscious, in the midst of that train of sensuous
visions that sometimes pass through one's brain in moments of idle
reverie, of a kind of slight influence, passing over me, a little
flutter of the heart, and immediately, without any cause, without any
logical connection of thought, I saw distinctly, as if I were touching
her, saw from head to foot, and disrobed, this young woman to whom I
had never given more that three seconds' thought at a time. I suddenly
discovered in her a number of qualities which I had never before
observed, a sweet charm, a languorous fascination; she awakened in me
that sort of restless emotion that causes one to pursue a woman. But
I did not think of her long. I went to bed and was soon asleep. And I
dreamed.
“You have all had these strange dreams which make you overcome the
impossible, which open to you double-locked doors, unexpected joys,
tightly folded arms?
“Which of us in these troubled, excising, breathless slumbers, has
not held, clasped, embraced with rapture, the woman who occupied his
thoughts? And have you ever noticed what superhuman delight these happy
dreams give us? Into what mad intoxication they cast you! with what
passionate spasms they shake you! and with what infinite, caressing,
penetrating tenderness they fill your heart for her whom you hold
clasped in your arms in that adorable illusion that is so like reality!
“All this I felt with unforgettable violence. This woman was mine, so
much mine that the pleasant warmth of her skin remained in my fingers,
the odor of her skin, in my brain, the taste of her kisses, on my lips,
the sound of her voice lingered in my ears, the touch of her clasp still
clung to me, and the burning charm of her tenderness still gratified my
senses long after the delight but disillusion of my awakening.
“And three times that night I had the same dream.
“When the day dawned she haunted me, possessed me, filled my senses to
such an extent that I was not one second without thinking of her.
“At last, not knowing what to do, I dressed myself and went to call on
her. As I went upstairs to her apartment, I was so overcome by emotion
that I trembled, and my heart beat rapidly.
“I entered the apartment. She rose the moment she heard my name
mentioned; and suddenly our eyes met in a peculiar fixed gaze.
“I sat down. I stammered out some commonplaces which she seemed not to
hear. I did not know what to say or do. Then, abruptly, clasping my
arms round her, my dream was realized so suddenly that I began to doubt
whether I was really awake. We were friends after this for two years.”
“What conclusion do you draw from it?” said a voice.
The story-teller seemed to hesitate.
“The conclusion I draw from it--well, by Jove, the conclusion is that
it was just a coincidence! And then--who can tell? Perhaps it was some
glance of hers which I had not noticed and which came back that night to
me through one of those mysterious and unconscious--recollections
that often bring before us things ignored by our own consciousness,
unperceived by our minds!”
“Call it whatever you like,” said one of his table companions, when the
story was finished; “but if you don't believe in magnetism after that,
my dear boy, you are an ungrateful fellow!”