I went successively to see the astrologers, the palmists, the fallen and
familiar sibyls who flatter themselves that they can read the Future in
the cards, in coffee-grounds, in the inflorescence of white of egg
dissolved in a glass of water, and so on (for nothing must be neglected,
and, though the apparatus be sometimes singular, it may happen that a
particle of truth lies concealed under the absurdest practices). I went,
above all, to see the most famous of the prophetesses who, under the
names of clairvoyants, seers, mediums, and the rest, are able to
substitute for their own consciousness the consciousness and even a
portion of the unconsciousness of their interrogators and who are, in
the main, the most direct heiresses of the pythonesses of old. In this
ill-balanced world, I met with much knavery, simulation and gross lying.
But I had also the occasion to study certain incontestable phenomena
close at hand. These are not enough to decide whether it be given to man
to rend the tissue of illusions that hides the Future from him; but they
throw a somewhat strange light upon that which passes in the place which
to us seems the most inviolable, I mean the holy of holies of the
"Buried Temple," in which our most intimate thoughts and the forces that
lie beneath them and are unknown to us go in and out without our
knowledge and grope in search of the mysterious road that leads to
future events.
V
It would be wearisome to relate what happened to me with those prophets
and seers. I will content myself with briefly telling one of the most
curious experiences, which, moreover, sums up most of the others: the
psychology of them all is very nearly identical.
The seer in question is one of the most famous in Paris. She claims to
incarnate, in her hypnotic state, the spirit of an unknown little girl
called Julia. Having made me sit down at a table that stood between us,
she begged me to _tutoyer_ Julia and to speak to her gently, as one
speaks to a child of seven or eight years. Thereupon, her features, her
eyes, her hands, her whole body were for some seconds unpleasantly
convulsed; her hair came untied; and the expression of her face changed
completely and became artless, puerile. The voice, shrill and clear, of
a small child next came from that great, ripe woman's body and asked
with a little lisp:
"What do you want? Are you troubled? Is it for yourself or for some one
else that you have come to see me?"
"For myself."
"Very well; will you help me a little? Lead me in thought to the place
where your troubles are."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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