GENERISIS
presents THE GOLDEN DAWN
Episode 34 - THE MAGE of MENLO PARK!
The
mighty steamer Kiel proved fleet as her reputation augured; we entered New York
harbor late upon the afternoon of December 30, 1899. Since my departure both
the British and the Boers had rebuffed President McKinley's efforts at
mediating a settlement. A journalist, Winston Churchill, jailed as a spy in
Natal, had escaped from General Jouvert... plague had broken out in Bombay and
Hungarians were in a panic owing to suspected ritual murder of children
conducted by the Jews. "We in England do not much like the swarming and
rapidly increasing Jewish element," proclaimed an editorial in the last
issue of the Times I'd brought.
Fortunately,
I'd not spent five days with old newspapers for company, as Pixie Smith was
also sailed to New York to find her fortune with a gallery owner and
photographer, one Steiglitz, who'd arranged for her paintings to be shown after
the New Year. "Are you certain this Steiglitz shall provide the shelter
which he promised, as well as space on his wall?" I asked as our baggage
was carried ashore.
"If
he does not, you may expect me to present myself upon your father's doorstop, a
babe in a basket..."
"And
does this mean you shall accompany me to Mr. Morgan's midnight recital?"
"I
would not miss that for all of the tea in China. Mark Twain and Roger Fry
declare his generosity to be without bounds once he sets his mind upon
acquiring what he desires. Do you think he might covet a tarot of that place...
Wall Street?"
"I
think such deck might have too many Fools and Devils at the expense of the
lesser suits. Give me a kiss and we shall toast the new century tomorrow night
at the Opera."
The
sun was sinking through the window of Richard Cameron's office by the time I
arrived - my father as unfortunately apoplectic as on that day I was expelled
from University once I'd had explained the reason for my return.
"Your
allegations upon the character and motives of Doctor Vartanian are sensational
and are, moreover, unprogressive! All society has embraced this fellow...
Edison is passe... Vartanian and his polyphasic current are of the century to
come."
"Because
you think you can make more money from that man," I accused, quite losing
my temper, "you overlook the threat his punitive current poses, not merely
to New York but the world..."
"Balderdash!"
Father interrupted, "... psychic, psychotic rot! I sent you away to be
educated, instead you have followed around rogue Theosophists like a little
dog, sniffing sausages, then come back presuming to tell me how I must run my
business? Get out!... in deference to your mother's memory, I shall allow you a
key, no... this!" And he removed money from his waistcoat, hurling the
bills downward so as to have the satisfaction of watching as I plucked them
from the carpet. "I don't want it said that Richard Cameron cut off even
so unworthy a heir without wherewithal to find a slum to hang his hat until he
found useful employment. Perhaps you could join your precious Edison digging
ditches... that's an occupation worthy of the both of you."
"Father,"
I replied, letting the money lie, "I have passed through a season in the
Old World among people who followed old, ignorant passions out of habit, of
spite or out of principle... however misguided... but not until I returned did
I observe how souls may sink below even the sub-basements of Hell for sheer
avarice..."
"Out!"
he demanded. "You have always been nothing and shall hence be less... it
is I who am the real victim of the loosening of the bonds of capacity; this
trivial and traumatic generation that insinuates itself into society like
mildew. It is we... the elders... who are true progressives; mankind's future
lies with Vartanian currents, not Edison's dreams. Go... I extended only
paternal charity... no more! And take that with you!" he waved, indicating
the parcel I had brought over the Atlantic.
"I'd
sleep rough rather than beneath your roof," I declared. "But tonight
I shall nap en route to Menlo Park!"
So
it was that at three in the morning... coincidentally, that hour at which Sarah
Bernhardt once presented herself to Edison... I stood in a cold rain before the
inventor's door holding two packages now, having recouped the newer of the
twain from University before departing. Of course it was not the genius himself
who answered my summons... as in Bernhardt's memory or the romance of
Villiers... but a large, grim-faced butler.
"Sir!"
I appealed, "... my name is Cameron, Arthur Cameron, my father being one
of those who finances Edison's rival, Dr. Vartanian. I have a message of grave
importance... and evidence for your employer..." and I shook the damp
packages so to emphasize my desperation.
The
butler stood unmoved. "You seem a madman!" he finally said.
"Go... Mr. Edison's fortunes may be in temporary decline but he is still
well regarded by the police hereabouts."
So
in desperation I made the sign of the Wolf... the butler arched an eyebrow.
"Wait
here!" he said, pointing downward. "Cross this threshold and you will
be shot."
I
complied, shivering... but presently the inventor himself manifested... clad in
a black silk robe and smoking a cigar.
"You
are the son of my enemy's patron?" Edison directed my attention downward
to the pocket of his dressing gown. "Yes, I always carry a revolver. So
speak truth, boy... or suffer the consequences!
"Your
enemy is plotting to corrupt the world-soul with his occult
electricity..." I blurted out.
"I
have known that for a decade," the inventor shrugged "...Vartanian
was once my Parisian agent. Oh he's a devil, yes, and worse... a common
thief... but men such as Richard Cameron believe him to stand at the right hand
of God. And yes, I have heard how he spreads the rumor he's from the moon or
stars, and you begin to bore me..."
"I
have proof you can employ against him with my father and others in Wall Street,"
I objected, "even Mr. Morgan..."
"All
of society and finance have turned on me," Edison replied, "...there
is no more left to say save that they shall receive a punitive current of ten,
no... one hundred times the magnitude they wield against me for having embraced
that quack! You've quite failed to interest me... boy... if you hurry you can
make the first train back to New York."
"But
I... I..." I stammered, "I seek only he who has made a prisoner of
echoes..."
Edison
had reached to close the door, but turned back with a smile. "You've read
Villiers?" he said. "No man has translated his opus into English, so
you must have been to Paris... you're rather young to have known him..."
"I
only knew of him," I admitted, "...he is now gone, of course, but his
memory survives in those who were his comrades and his pupils!"
"Of
course! Now L'Eve Futur... I return to it now and again when at the door of
despair... a state I find myself nearing often, these days. Come, come in! Why
do you stand out in the rain... Hamilton!"
The
butler appeared... flexing his wrists as if for some muscular duty of eviction.
"This
is... is... a friend, perhaps, we shall see," Edison added with a still
questioning inclination of the elbow that held the revolver in his robe.
"Bring him dry clothes and something warm to drink... are you
temperate?"
"Seldom..."
I confessed.
"Good!"
replied Edison. "Two decades ago I joined a group of Theosophists with
Colonel Olcott, Bill James and Doubleday... whose baseball game has recently gained
such favor... but I confess to having lapsed since the passing of Madame. We
used to have grand conversations... which I conceive in memory as tiny
particles whirring through the aether in eternal combat, a parliament of tiny
intelligences that added up to genius in those days when the right
prevailed."
"Did
Vartanian ever participate in these discussions?" I was moved to ask.
"Where
thesis and antithesis cannot be resolved," the inventor allowed,
"their host is apt to go mad..."
"Are
you speaking of Vartanian?" I asked, "or Villiers?"
"Exactly!"
Edison responded. "The one a thief, the other a poet of the streets who
fixed upon me as a vision afar, but attributed inventions that still tax my
capacities. My reality still falls short of his dream, yet I struggle
onwards."
Hamilton
returned with a flask and robe, leading me to a bath where I could wipe and
comb my madman's hair besides shedding my wet clothes. I returned to take the
chair Edison offered.
"Now...
you have proven yourself Adept... so how may I help you?"
"The
issue, sir, is rather how we together can help save the world from itself...
and from Vartanian!" Edison winced at the name, nodding to the butler to
hurry at his publican's duty. "Fortunately I have brought a
cinematographic reel from Monsieur Melies..."
"I
know that man," Edison sat up, "...one of those magicians of Paris.
Moving pictures were once a preoccupation of mine, but I have turned over my
interests to Mr. Porter in order to focus my resources on the
phonograph..."
"But
if cinema and phonograph were married to create talking pictures and... more...
a document that would expose and destroy Vartanian?"
"Go
on..." said Edison, fully alert now.
"Morgan
is throwing a grand fete tomorrow night at the Opera to mark the passage of the
old century into the new... a gala of singers, declaimers... and moving
pictures..."
"I
anticipate your suggestion, sir... I have agents within Morgan's empire to
accomplish this. You're quite correct," said Edison, "...Vartanian's
a menace who must be stopped by any means, foul or fair."
And
the inventor accepted my offer of the flatter of the satchels, scrutinizing the
package within.
"So
this is a moving picture that speaks... with the help of one of my
cylinders?"
"If
these simple instructions which Monsieur Melies has included are followed, it
shall not merely speak sir... nor even accuse, it shall condemn!"
"Good...
but what is... this?" Unbidden, Edison had helped himself to my other
parcel, opening it and turning pale with fright.
"That
was not meant for you," I said, "...it is an ancient obligation I
must fulfill this morning before my return..."
Edison
sat back warily. "I shall have my man take you wherever you desire
tomorrow. Hamilton... prepare a bed for young Mr. Cameron. We have much to
do... and little time! But perhaps Vartanian will prove one of Bulwer-Lytton's
spectres after all... 'if we manfully walk up to the phantom, stretch our hands
to seize it, lo! it fades into thin air, the cheat of our eyesight dispelled
and we shall never be ghost-ridden again!' Do you know that, sir?"
"Kenelm
Chillingly," I replied having learned, if nothing else through my European
adventures, every salient remark in Lord Lytton's index.
"Exactly!
I foresee the ruin of our Balkan rival... you know, don't you, those who help
me bring this about do so because they fear his polyphasic current will damage
their trusts in copper and rubber..."
"I
would accept the hand of the Devil himself to see an end to Vartanian.
Perhaps," I added, "I already have."
Through
Edison's hospitality I enjoyed several hours' sleep, a light breakfast and then
Hamilton conveyed me, in one of Mr. Ford's carriages, to a small general store
at a New Jersey crossroads... the haunt of the surviving Wampanoag. An Indian
in shabby Western dress approached suspiciously...
"I've
come to return to you the remains of your chief," I said, extending the
parcel...
Suspicion
turned to wonder... half a dozen red Indians gathered, speaking rapidly in
their ancestral tongue... as the one who appeared to be their spokesman removed
the skull of Wampanoag which I had taken from its place of concealment...
between the stone loins of a stone General's nameless horse.
"He
has had a strange journey, this fellow, but now I can return him to you... his
family," I said to the Indians without revealing the indignities Wampanoag
had suffered in the interim.
"In
families hope becomes," said the Indian, "and in hope the realizing
of many dreams..."
"Someone
who considers himself learned said that in dreams begin responsibilities...
well, that is one less of those for me."
"We
thank you, stranger," the Red Indian said and, upon an impulse, I made the
sign of the Wolf... which he returned. Then Hamilton drove me to the terminal.
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