_The Memory Clearing House._
When I moved into better quarters on the strength of the success of myfirst novel, I little dreamt that I was about to be the innocentinstrument of a new epoch in telepathy. My poor Geraldine--but I mustbe calm; it would be madness to let them suspect I am insane. No,these last words must be final. I cannot afford to have themdiscredited. I cannot afford any luxuries now.
Would to Heaven I had never written that first novel! Then I mightstill have been a poor, unhappy, struggling, realistic novelist; Imight still have been residing at 109, Little Turncot Street, ChapelbyRoad, St. Pancras. But I do not blame Providence. I knew the book wasconventional even before it succeeded. My only consolation is thatGeraldine was part-author of my misfortunes, if not of my novel. Sheit was who urged me to abandon my high ideals, to marry her, and livehappily ever afterwards. She said if I wrote only one bad book itwould be enough to establish my reputation; that I could then commandmy own terms for the good ones. I fell in with her proposal, the bannswere published, and we were bound together. I wrote a rose-tintedromance, which no circulating library could be without, instead of theveracious picture of life I longed to paint; and I moved from 109,Little Turncot Street, Chapelby Road, St. Pancras, to 22, AlbertFlats, Victoria Square, Westminster.
"URGED ME TO ABANDON MY HIGH IDEALS."]
A few days after we had sent out the cards, I met my friendO'Donovan, late member for Blackthorn. He was an Irishman by birth andprofession, but the recent General Election had thrown him out ofwork. The promise of his boyhood and of his successful career atTrinity College was great, but in later years he began to manifestgrave symptoms of genius. I have heard whispers that it was in thefamily, though he kept it from his wife. Possibly I ought not to havesent him a card and have taken the opportunity of dropping hisacquaintance. But Geraldine argued that he was not dangerous, and thatwe ought to be kind to him just after he had come out of Parliament.
O'Donovan was in a rage.
"O'DONOVAN WAS IN A RAGE."]
"I never thought it of you!" he said angrily, when I asked him how hewas. He had a good Irish accent, but he only used it when addressinghis constituents.
"Never thought what?" I enquired in amazement.
"That you would treat your friends so shabbily."
"Wh-what, didn't you g-get a card?" I stammered. "I'm sure the wife--"
"Don't be a fool!" he interrupted. "Of course I got a card. That'swhat I complain of."
I stared at him blankly. The social experiences resulting from mymarriage had convinced me that it was impossible to avoid givingoffence. I had no reason to be surprised, but I was.
"What right have you to move and put all your friends to trouble?" heenquired savagely.
"I have put myself to trouble," I said, "but I fail to see how I havetaxed _your_ friendship."
"No, of course not," he growled. "I didn't expect you to see. You'rejust as inconsiderate as everybody else. Don't you think I had enoughtrouble to commit to memory '109, Little Turncot Street, ChapelbyRoad, St. Pancras,' without being unexpectedly set to study '21,Victoria Flats--?'"
"22, Albert Flats," I interrupted mildly.
"There you are!" he snarled. "You see already how it harasses my poorbrain. I shall never remember it."
"Oh yes, you will," I said deprecatingly. "It is much easier than theold address. Listen here! '22, Albert Flats, Victoria Square,Westminster.' 22--a symmetrical number, the first double even number;the first is two, the second is two, too, and the whole is two, two,too--quite aesthetical, you know. Then all the rest is royal--Albert,Albert the Good, see. Victoria--the Queen. Westminster--WestminsterPalace. And the other words--geometrical terms, Flat, Square. Why,there never was such an easy address since the days of Adam before hemoved out of Eden," I concluded enthusiastically.
"'THERE NEVER WAS SUCH AN EASY ADDRESS.'"]
"It's easy enough for you, no doubt," he said, unappeased. "But do youthink you're the only acquaintance who's not contented with his streetand number? Bless my soul, with a large circle like mine, I findmyself charged with a new schoolboy task twice a month. I shall haveto migrate to a village where people have more stability of character.Heavens! Why have snails been privileged with a domiciliary constancydenied to human beings?"
"But you ought to be grateful," I urged feebly. "Think of 22, AlbertFlats, Victoria Square, Westminster, and then think of what I mighthave moved to. If I have given you an imposition, at least admit it isa light one."
"It isn't so much the new address I complain of, it's the old. Justimagine what a weary grind it has been to master--'109, Little TurncotStreet, Chapelby Road, St. Pancras.' For the last eighteen months Ihave been grappling with it, and now, just as I am letter perfect andpostcard secure, behold all my labour destroyed, all my pains maderidiculous. It's the waste that vexes me. Here is a piece ofinformation, slowly and laboriously acquired, yet absolutely useless.Nay, worse than useless; a positive hindrance. For I am just as slowat forgetting as at picking up. Whenever I want to think of youraddress, up it will spring, '109, Little Turncot Street, ChapelbyRoad, St. Pancras.' It cannot be scotched--it must lie there blockingup my brains, a heavy, uncouth mass, always ready to spring at thewrong moment; a possession of no value to anyone but the owner, andnot the least use to _him_."
He paused, brooding on the thought in moody silence. Suddenly his facechanged.
"But isn't it of value to anybody _but_ the owner?" he exclaimedexcitedly. "Are there not persons in the world who would jump at thechance of acquiring it? Don't stare at me as if I was a comet. Lookhere! Suppose some one had come to me eighteen months ago and said,'Patrick, old man, I have a memory I don't want. It's 109, LittleTurncot Street, Chapelby Road, St. Pancras! You're welcome to it, ifit's any use to you.' Don't you think I would have fallen on thatman's--or woman's--neck, and watered it with my tears? Just think whata saving of brain-force it would have been to me--how many pettyvexations it would have spared me! See here, then! Is your last placelet?"
"Yes," I said. "A Mr. Marrow has it now."
"Ha!" he said, with satisfaction. "Now there must be lots of Mr.Marrow's friends in the same predicament as I was--people whosebrains are softening in the effort to accommodate '109, Little TurncotStreet, Chapelby Road, St. Pancras.' Psychical science has made suchgreat strides in this age that with a little ingenuity it shouldsurely not be impossible to transfer the memory of it from my brain totheirs."
"'PEOPLE WHOSE BRAINS ARE SOFTENING.'"]
"But," I gasped, "even if it was possible, why should you give awaywhat you don't want? That would be charity."
"You do not suspect me of that?" he cried reproachfully. "No, my ideasare not so primitive. For don't you see that there is a memory _I_want--'33, Royal Flats--'"
"22, Albert Flats," I murmured shame-facedly.
"22, Albert Flats," he repeated witheringly. "You see how badly I wantit. Well, what I propose is to exchange my memory of '109, LittleTurncot Street, Chapelby Road, St. Pancras'" (he always rolled itslowly on his tongue with morbid self-torture and almost intolerablereproachfulness), "for the memory of '22, Albert Square.'"
"But you forget," I said, though I lacked the courage to correct himagain, "that the people who want '109, Little Turncot Street,' are notthe people who possess '22, Albert Flats.'"
"Precisely; the principle of direct exchange is not feasible. What iswanted, therefore, is a Memory Clearing House. If I can only discoverthe process of thought-transference, I will establish one, so as tobring the right parties into communication. Everybody who has oldmemories to dispose of will send me in particulars. At the end of eachweek I will publish a catalogue of the memories in the market, andcirculate it among my subscribers, who will pay, say, a guinea a year.When the subscriber reads his catalogue and lights upon any memory hewould like to have, he will send me a postcard, and I will then bringhim into communication with the proprietor, taking, of course, acommission upon the transaction. Doubtless, in time, there will be asupplem
entary catalogue devoted to 'Wants,' which may induce people toscour their brains for half-forgotten reminiscences, or persuade themto give up memories they would never have parted with otherwise. Well,my boy, what do you think of it?"
"'THE SUBSCRIBER READS HIS CATALOGUE.'"]
"It opens up endless perspectives," I said, half-dazed.
"It will be the greatest invention ever known!" he cried, inflaminghimself more and more. "It will change human life, it will make a newepoch, it will effect a greater economy of human force than all themachines under the sun. Think of the saving of nerve-tissue, think ofthe prevention of brain-irritation. Why, we shall all live longerthrough it--centenarians will become as cheap as Americanmillionaires."
Live longer through it! Alas, the mockery of the recollection! He leftme, his face working wildly. For days the vision of it interrupted myown work. At last, I could bear the suspense no more and went to hishouse. I found him in ecstasies and his wife in tears. She wasbeginning to suspect the family skeleton.
"_Eureka!_" he was shouting. "_Eureka!_"
"What is the matter?" sobbed the poor woman. "Why don't you speakEnglish? He has been going on like this for the last five minutes,"she added, turning pitifully to me.
"'WHAT IS THE MATTER?'"]
"_Eureka!_" shouted O'Donovan. "I must say it. No new invention iscomplete without it."
"Bah! I didn't think you were so conventional," I said contemptuously."I suppose you have found out how to make the memory-transferringmachine?"
"I have," he cried exultantly. "I shall christen it the noemagraph, orthought-writer. The impression is received on a sensitised plate whichacts as a medium between the two minds. The brow of the purchaser ispressed against the plate, through which a current of electricity isthen passed."
He rambled on about volts and dynamic psychometry and other hardwords, which, though they break no bones, should be strictly confinedin private dictionaries.
"I am awfully glad you came in," he said, resuming his mother tongueat last--"because if you won't charge me anything I will try the firstexperiment on you."
I consented reluctantly, and in two minutes he rushed about the roomtriumphantly shouting, "22, Albert Flats, Victoria Square,Westminster," till he was hoarse. But for his enthusiasm I should havesuspected he had crammed up my address on the sly.
He started the Clearing House forthwith. It began humbly as an atticin the Strand. The first number of the catalogue was naturally meagre.He was good enough to put me on the free list, and I watched withinterest the development of the enterprise. He had canvassed hisacquaintances for subscribers, and begged everybody he met to send himparticulars of their cast-off memories. When he could afford toadvertise a little, his _clientele_ increased. There is always apublic for anything _bizarre_, and a percentage of the populationwould send thirteen stamps for the Philosopher's Stone, post free. Ofcourse, the rest of the population smiled at him for an ingeniousquack.
The "Memories on Sale" catalogue grew thicker and thicker. The editionissued to the subscribers contained merely the items, but O'Donovan'scopy comprised also the names and addresses of the vendors, and nowand again he allowed me to have a peep at it in strict confidence. Theinventor himself had not foreseen the extraordinary uses to which hisnoemagraph would be put, nor the extraordinary developments of hisbusiness. Here are some specimens culled at random from No. 13 of theClearing House catalogue when O'Donovan still limited himself tofacilitating the sale of superfluous memories:--
1. 25, Portsdown Avenue, Maida. Vale.
3. 13502, 17208 (banknote numbers).
12. History of England (a few Saxon kings missing), as successful in a recent examination by the College of Preceptors. Adapted to the requirements of candidates for the Oxford and Cambridge Local and the London Matriculation.
17. Paley's Evidences, together with a job lot of dogmatic theology (second-hand), a valuable collection by a clergyman recently ordained, who has no further use for them.
26. A dozen whist wrinkles, as used by a retiring speculator. Excessively cheap.
29. Mathematical formulae (complete sets; all the latest novelties and improvements, including those for the higher plane curves, and a selection of the most useful logarithms), the property of a dying Senior Wrangler. Applications must be immediate, and no payment need be made to the heirs till the will has been proved.
35. Arguments in favour of Home Rule (warranted sound); proprietor, distinguished Gladstonian M.P., has made up his mind to part with them at a sacrifice. Eminently suitable for bye-elections. Principals only.
58. Witty wedding speech, as delivered amid great applause by a bridegroom. Also an assortment of toasts, jocose and serious, in good condition. Reduction on taking a quantity.
"A CLERGYMAN RECENTLY ORDAINED."]
Politicians, clergymen, and ex-examinees soon became the chiefcustomers. Graduates in arts and science hastened to discumber theirmemories of the useless load of learning which had outstayed itsfunction of getting them on in the world. Thus not only did they makesome extra money, but memories which would otherwise have rapidlyfaded were turned over to new minds to play a similarly beneficentpart in aiding the careers of the owners. The fine image of Lucretiuswas realised, and the torch of learning was handed on from generationto generation. Had O'Donovan's business been as widely known as itdeserved, the curse of cram would have gone to roost for ever, and afiner physical race of Englishmen would have been produced. In thehands of honest students the invention might have producedintellectual giants, for each scholar could have started where hispredecessor left off, and added more to his wealth of lore, themoderns standing upon the shoulders of the ancients in a more literalsense than Bacon dreamed. The memory of Macaulay, which all Englishmenrightly reverence, might have been possessed by his schoolboy. As itwas, omniscient idiots abounded, left colossally wise by theirfathers, whose painfully acquired memories they inherited without theintelligence to utilise them.
THE OMNISCIENT IDIOT.]
O'Donovan's Parliamentary connection was a large one, doubtless merelybecause of his former position and his consequent contact withpolitical circles. Promises to constituents were always at a discount,the supply being immensely in excess of the demand; indeed, promisesgenerally were a drug in the market.
Instead of issuing the projected supplemental catalogue of "MemoriesWanted," O'Donovan by this time saw his way to buying them up on spec.He was not satisfied with his commission. He had learnt by experiencethe kinds that went best, such as exam. answers, but he resolved tohave all sorts and be remembered as the Whiteley of Memory. Thus theClearing House very soon developed into a storehouse. O'Donovan'sadvertisement ran thus:--
WANTED! Wanted! Wanted! Memories! Memories! Best Prices in the Trade. Happy, Sad, Bitter, Sweet (as Used by Minor Poets). High Prices for Absolutely Pure Memories. Memories, Historical, Scientific, Pious, &c. Good Memories! Special Terms to Liars. Precious Memories (Exeter Hall-marked). New Memories for Old! Lost Memories Recovered while you wait. Old Memories Turned equal to New.
O'Donovan soon sported his brougham. Any day you went into the store(which now occupied the whole of the premises in the Strand) you couldsee endless traffic going on. I often loved to watch it. People whowere tired of themselves came here to get a complete new outfit ofmemories, and thus change their identities. Plaintiffs, defendants,and witnesses came to be fitted with memories that would stand thetest of the oath, and they often brought solicitors with them toadvise them in selecting from the stock. Counsel's opinion on thesepoints was regarded as especially valuable. Statements that would washand stand rough pulling about were much sought after. Gentlemen andladies writing reminiscences and autobiographies were to be met withat all hours, and nothing was more pathetic than to see the humbleartisan investing his hard-earned "tanner" in recollections of aseaside holiday.
"THEY OFTEN BROUGH
T SOLICITORS WITH THEM."]
In the buying-up department trade was equally brisk, and people whowere hard-up were often forced to part with their tenderestrecollections. Memories of dead loves went at five shillings a dozen,and all those moments which people had vowed never to forget were soldat starvation prices. The memories "indelibly engraven" on hearts wereinvariably faded and only sold as damaged. The salvage from the mostardent fires of affection rarely paid the porterage. As a rule, thedearest memories were the cheapest. Of the memory of favours there wasalways a glut, and often heaps of diseased memories had to be sweptaway at the instigation of the sanitary inspector. Memories of wrongsdone, being rarely parted with except when their owners were at theirlast gasp, fetched fancy prices. Mourners' memories ruled especiallylively. In the Memory Exchange, too, there was always a crowd, thetemptation to barter worn-out memories for new proving irresistible.
"WHEN THEIR OWNERS WERE AT THEIR LAST GASP."]
One day O'Donovan came to me, crying "_Eureka!_" once more.
"Shut up!" I said, annoyed by the idiotic Hellenicism.
"Shut up! Why, I shall open ten more shops. I have discovered the artof duplicating, triplicating, polyplicating memories. I used only tobe able to get one impression out of the sensitised plate, now I canget any number."
"Be careful!" I said. "This may ruin you."
"How so?" he asked scornfully.
"Why, just see--suppose you supply two candidates for a science degreewith the same chemical reminiscences, you lay them under a suspicionof copying; two after-dinner speakers may find themselves recollectingthe same joke; several autobiographers may remember their making thesame remark to Gladstone. Unless your customers can be certain theyhave the exclusive right in other people's memories, they will fallaway."
TWO AFTER-DINNER SPEAKERS RECOLLECTING THE SAME JOKE.]
"Perhaps you are right," he said. "I must '_Eureka_' something else."His Greek was as defective as if he had had a classical education.
What he found was "The Hire System." Some people who might otherwisehave been good customers objected to losing their memories entirely.They were willing to part with them for a period. For instance, when aman came up to town or took a run to Paris, he did not minddispensing with some of his domestic recollections, just for a change.People who knew better than to forget themselves entirely profited bythe opportunity of acquiring the funds for a holiday, merely byleaving some of their memories behind them. There were always othersready to hire for a season the discarded bits of personality, and thusremorse was done away with, and double lives became a luxury withinthe reach of the multitude. To the very poor, O'Donovan's newdevelopment proved an invaluable auxiliary to the pawn-shop. On Mondaymornings, the pavement outside was congested with wretched-lookingwomen anxious to pawn again the precious memories they had taken outwith Saturday's wages. Under this hire system it became possible topledge the memories of the absent _for_ wine instead of in it. But themost gratifying result was its enabling pious relatives to redeem thememories of the dead, on payment of the legal interest. It was greatfun to watch O'Donovan strutting about the rooms of his newest branch,swelling with pride like a combination cock and John Bull.
WRETCHED-LOOKING WOMEN PAWNING THEIR MEMORIES.]
The experiences he gained here afforded him the material for a finaldevelopment, but, to be strictly chronological, I ought first tomention the newspaper into which the catalogue evolved. It was called_In Memoriam_, and was published at a penny, and gave a prize of athousand pounds to any reader who lost his memory on the railway, andwho applied for the reward in person. _In Memoriam_ dealt witheverything relating to memory, though, dishonestly enough, thearticles were all original. So were the advertisements, which wererequired to have reference to the objects of the ClearingHouse--_e.g._,
A PHILANTHROPIC GENTLEMAN of good _address_, who has travelled a great deal, wishes to offer his _addresses_ to impecunious _young ladies_ (orphans preferred). Only those genuinely desirous of changing their residences, and with weak memories, need apply.
And now for the final and fatal "_Eureka_." The anxiety of somepersons to hire out their memories for a period led O'Donovan to seethat it was absurd for him to pay for the use of them. The owners wereonly too glad to dodge remorse. He hit on the sublime idea that theyought to pay _him_. The result was the following advertisement in _InMemoriam_ and its contemporaries:--
AMNESIA AGENCY! O'Donovan's Anodyne. Cheap Forgetfulness--Complete or Partial. Easy Amnesia--Temporary or Permanent. Haunting Memories Laid! Consciences Cleared. Cares carefully Removed without Gas or Pain. The London address of Lethe is 1001, Strand. Don't forget it.
Quite a new class of customers rushed to avail themselves of the newpathological institution. What attracted them was having to pay.Hitherto they wouldn't have gone if you paid _them_, as O'Donovan usedto do. Widows and widowers presented themselves in shoals fortreatment, with the result that marriages took place even within theyear of mourning--a thing which obviously could not be done under anyother system. I wonder whether Geraldine--but let me finish now!
How well I remember that bright summer's morning when, wooed withoutby the liberal sunshine, and disgusted with the progress I was makingwith my new study in realistic fiction, I threw down my pen, strolleddown the Strand, and turned into the Clearing House. I passed throughthe selling department, catching a babel of cries from thecounter-jumpers--"Two gross anecdotes? Yes, sir; this way, sir.Half-dozen proposals; it'll be cheaper if you take a dozen, miss. CanI do anything more for you, mum? Just let me show you a sample of ourinnocent recollections. The Duchess of Bayswater has just taken some.Anything in the musical line this morning, signor? We have some lovelynew recollections just in from impecunious composers. Won't you take ascore? Good morning, Mr. Clement Archer. We have the very thing foryou--a memory of Macready playing Wolsey, quite clear and in excellentpreservation; the only one in the market. Oh, no, mum; we have alreadyallowed for these memories being slightly soiled. Jones, this ladycomplains the memories we sent her were short."
"'TWO GROSS ANECDOTES?'"]
O'Donovan was not to be seen. I passed through the Buying Department,where the employees were beating down the prices of "kindremembrances," and through the Hire Department, where the clerks wereturning up their noses at the old memories that had been pledged sooften, into the Amnesia Agency. There I found the great organiserpeering curiously at a sensitised plate.
"Oh," he said, "is that you? Here's a curiosity."
"What is it?" I asked.
"The memory of a murder. The patient paid well to have it off hismind, but I am afraid I shall miss the usual second profit, for whowill buy it again?"
"I will!" I cried, with a sudden inspiration. "Oh! what a fool I havebeen. I should have been your best customer. I ought to have bought upall sorts of memories, and written the most veracious novel the worldhas seen. I haven't got a murder in my new book, but I'll work one inat once. '_Eureka!_'"
"Stash that!" he said revengefully. "You can have the memory withpleasure. I couldn't think of charging an old friend like you, whosemoving from an address, which I've sold, to 22, Albert Flats, VictoriaSquare, Westminster, made my fortune."
That was how I came to write the only true murder ever written. Itappears that the seller, a poor labourer, had murdered a friend inEpping Forest, just to rob him of half-a-crown, and calmly hid himunder some tangled brushwood. A few months afterwards, havingunexpectedly come into a fortune, he thought it well to break entirelywith his past, and so had the memory extracted at the Agency. This, ofcourse, I did not mention, but I described the murder and thesubsequent feelings of the assassin, and launched the book on theworld with a feeling of exultant expectation.
Alas! it was damned universally for its tameness and the improbabilityof its murder scenes. The critics, to a man, claimed to be authoritieson the sensations of murderers, and the reading public, aghast, said Iwas flying in the face of Dickens. They said th
e man would have takendaily excursions to the corpse, and have been forced to invest in aseason ticket to Epping Forest; they said he would have started if hisown shadow crossed his path, not calmly have gone on drinking beerlike an innocent babe at its mother's breast. I determined to have thelaugh of them. Stung to madness, I wrote to the papers asserting thetruth of my murder, and giving the exact date and the place of burial.The next day a detective found the body, and I was arrested. I askedthe police to send for O'Donovan, and gave them the address of theAmnesia Agency, but O'Donovan denied the existence of such aninstitution, and said he got his living as secretary of the ShamrockSociety.
I raved and cursed him then--now it occurs to me that he had perhapssubmitted himself (and everybody else) to amnesiastic treatment. Thejury recommended me to mercy on the ground that to commit a murder forthe artistic purpose of describing the sensations bordered oninsanity; but even this false plea has not saved my life.
It may. A petition has been circulated by Mudie's, and even at theeighth hour my reprieve may come. Yet, if the third volume of my lifebe closed to-morrow, I pray that these, my last words, may bepublished in an _edition de luxe_, and such of the profits as thepublisher can spare be given to Geraldine.
If I am reprieved, I will never buy another murderer's memory, not forall the artistic ideals in the world, I'll be hanged if I do.