As there are few better tests of the general health of an individual
than in the things he imagines to be injurious to him, so there is
no surer evidence of the delicate condition of a State than in the
character of those who are assumed to be dangerous to it. Now, after all
that has been said of Rome and the corruptions of Roman government, I do
not know anything so decidedly damnatory as the fact, to which allusion
was lately made in Parliament, that the Papal Government had ordered Mr
Home, the spiritualist, to quit the city and the States of his Holiness,
and not to return to them.
In what condition, I would ask, must a country be when such a man is
regarded as dangerous? and in what aspect of his character does the
danger consist?
Do we want ghosts or spirits to reveal to us any more of the iniquities
of that State than we already know? Is there a detail of its corrupt
administration that the press of Europe has not spread broadcast over
the world? What could Mr Home and all his spirits tell us of peculation,
theft, subornation, bigotry, and oppression, that the least observant
traveller has not brought home with him?
And then, as to the man himself, how puerile it is to give him this
importance! The solitary bit of cleverness about him is his statement
that he has no control whatever over the spirits that attend him. Asking
him not to summon them, is pretty like asking Mr Windham not to send for
his creditors. They come pretty much as they like, and probably their
visits are about equally profitable.
In this respect Home belongs to a very low order of his art. When Bosco
promises to make a bouquet out of a mouse-trap, or Houdin engages to
concoct a batter-pudding in your hat, each keeps his word. There is no
subterfuge about the temper the spirits may happen to be in, or of their
willingness or unwillingness to present themselves. The thing is done,
and we see it--or we think we see it, which comes much to the same.
With this provision of escape Mr Home secures himself against all
failure. Should, for instance, the audience prove to be of a more
discriminating and observant character than he liked or anticipated,
and the exhibition in consequence be rendered critical, all he had to
do was, to aver that the spirits would not come; it was no breakdown
on _his_ part Homer was sulky, or Dante was hipped, or Lord Bacon
was indisposed to meet company, and there was the end of it. You were
invited to meet celebrities, but it was theirs to say if they would
present themselves.
On the other hand, when the proper element of credulity offered--when
the séance was comprised of the select few, emotional, sensitive, and
hysterical as they ought to be--when the nervous lady sat beside the
timid gentleman, and neuralgia confronted confirmed dyspepsia--the
artist could afford to be daring, and might venture on flights that
astounded even himself. What limit is there, besides, to contagional
sympathy? Look at the crowded theatre, with its many-minded spectators,
and see how one impulse, communicated occasionally by a hireling, will
set the whole mass in a ferment of enthusiastic delight. Mark, too, how
the smile, that plays like an eddy on a lake, deepens into a laugh, and
is caught up by another and another, till the whole storm breaks out in
a hearty ocean of merriment. These, if you like, are spirits; but the
great masters of them are not men like Mr Home--they have ever been,
and still are, of a very different order. Shakespeare and Molière and
Cervantes knew something of the mode to summon these imps, and could
make them come at their bidding besides.
Was it--to come back to what I started with--was it in any spirit of
rivalry that the Papal Government drove Mr Home out of Home? Was it
that, assuming to have a monopoly in the wares he dealt in, they
would not stand a contraband trade? If so, their ground is at least
defensible; for what chance of attraction would there be for the winking
Virgin in competition with him who could “make a young lady ascend to
the ceiling, and come slowly down like a parachute!”--a spiritual fact
I have heard from witnesses who really, so far as character went, might
challenge any incredulity.
If the Cardinals were jealous of the Conjuror, the thing is intelligible
enough, and one must feel a certain degree of sympathy with the
old-established firm that had spent such enormous sums, and made such
stupendous preparations, when a pretender like this could come into
competition with them, without any other properties than could be
carried conveniently about him.
But let us be practical The Pope’s Government demanded of Mr Home that
he should have no dealings with the Evil One during his stay at Rome.
Now, I ask, what should we say of the efficacy of our police system
if we were to hear that the Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard lived in
nightly terror of the pickpockets who frequented that quarter, and
came to Parliament with a petition to accord him some greater
security against their depredations? Would not the natural reply be an
exclamation of astonishment that he who could summon to his aid every
alphabetical blue-coat that ever handled a truncheon, should deem any
increased security necessary to his peace? And so, would I ask, of what
avail these crowds of cardinals--these regiments of monsignori--these
battalions of bishops, Arch and simple?--of what use all the incense
and these chanted litanies, these eternal processions, and these saintly
shin-bones borne in costly array--if one poor mortal, supposed to live
on visiting terms with the Evil One, can strike such terror into the
whole army led on by Infallibility?
If I had been possessed of any peculiar dread of coming unexpectedly
on the Devil--as the old ladies of New York used to feel long ago
about suddenly meeting with the British army--I should certainly have
comforted myself by the thought that I could always go and sit down on
the steps of the Vatican. It would immediately have occurred to me, that
as Holyrood offers its sanctuary against the sheriff, the Quirinal would
be the sure retreat against Old Nick; and I have even pictured to myself
the rage of his disappointed malice as he saw me sheltering safely
beneath a protection he dared not invade. And now I am told to
relinquish all the blessed enjoyment of this immunity; that the Pope and
the Cardinals and Antonelli himself are not a whit better off than the
rest of us; that if Mr Home gets into Rome, there is nothing to prevent
his having the Devil at his tea-parties. What an ignoble confession
is this! Who will step forward any longer and contend that this costly
system is to be maintained, and all these saintly intercessors to be
kept on the most expensive of all pension-lists, if a poor creature like
Home can overthrow it all?
Can any one conceive such a spectacle as these gorgeous men of scarlet
and purple cringing before this poor pretender, and openly avowing
before Europe that there is no peace for them till he consents to cross
the Tiber?
Why--I speak, of course, in the ignorance of a laic--but, I ask, why not
fumigate him and cleanse him? When I saw him last, the process would not
have been so supererogatory. Why not exorcise and defy him? Why not say,
Come, and bring your friend if you dare; you shall see how we will treat
you. Only try it It is what we have been asking for nigh two thousand
years. Let the great culprit step forward and plead to his indictment.
I can fancy the Pope saying this--I can picture to myself the proud
attitude of the Pontiff declaring, “I have had enough of these small
devilries, like Louis Napoleon and Victor Emmanuel--I am sick of Mazzini
and his petty followers. Let us deal with the chief of the gang at once;
if we cannot convict him, he will be at least open to a compromise.”
This, I say, I can comprehend; but it is clear and clean beyond me that
he should shirk the interview, and own he was afraid of it. It would not
surprise me to-morrow to hear that Lord Derby dreaded the Radicals, and
actually feared the debating powers of “Mr Potter of the Strikes.”