The Man Who Was Born Again

by Paul Busson

  Our conversation naturally turned on the stirring events in the town. Compared to the great French conflagration, of course, they were no more than a small bonfire, but to us they were full of importance. I remarked that I would enjoy going to Paris, to study on the spot the gigantic changes that were proceeding yonder. The whole movement, I told him, appeared to me highly important and full of promise to the whole of mankind.

  Dr. Schlurich listened to me very attentively. He answered that he was rather surprised to think that such events could arouse anything but natural abhorrence in a nobleman of ancient and famous family. The thoroughgoing and brutal changes that were only just beginning could hardly be welcomed by one whose privileged existence was founded on the artificially fostered prestige of tradition. He hoped I would not misconstrue him in what he was saying. For his surprise was altogether a pleasant one.

  I explained that in my young years a temporary degradation (brought about through my own fault) had given me the opportunity of mixing with people of the lowest classes. I had, in other words, attended a school which may have been good or bad, according to one’s way of looking at it, but its effect had been to cure me of all conceit and all class prejudice. It also gave me the valuable knowledge that the so-called differences of social standing depended for their existence and preservation on artificial and easily removable barriers - barriers which were deliberately put up to prevent the children of the poor from receiving a good education, and from developing their better instincts.

  The unquestionable advantages of Society (by which word I meant the nobility and the cultured bourgeoisie) were only the outcome of a carefully-conducted training. If every member of the human race, and not merely those of the privileged classes, were given the same good facilities, mankind would reveal in itself an incalculable wealth of talent and ability that had never had their opportunity. At the present time, if despite all oppression this talent and ability did happen to spring up modestly and shyly among the unprivileged, they were ruthlessly and unjustly trampled down as dangerous to the established order.

  “You are a nobleman in the true sense of the word,” said the doctor impulsively, and he bowed to me. But I felt the colour of shame rise to my face, for I thought of my many ugly actions that for ever seemed to cling to me as splashes of dirt.

  “All the same, cher Baron,” the doctor continued, “if you were to ask my advice. I do not know that I would advise you to go to Paris to study these great changes on the spot. Just think: a man is cleaning a neglected part of his garden with a view to making it fit for the production of useful and pleasant plants. In the process of removing stones and rubbish he will find that ugly worms, woodlice, centipedes and all manner of nasty vermin come creeping out of their dark hiding-places. infesting the place and attacking each other with unexpected voracity as they realise their peril. It is the same with the social upheaval that we call a revolution. There is much repulsive work to be done before the noble kernel - the light of Freedom - makes its appearance. The meaning of this upheaval may become clear to future generations, but it must fill a contemporary onlooker with disgust, a disgust that will leave no place for any other feeling, and no place for hope. The inevitable accompaniments of a revolution are filth, blood, clamour, crime. vulgar cupidity, and the savage revelation of animal instincts. It takes time for the rising flame to free itself from dirty dross, and for authority to pass from the hands of the senseless mob into those of reasonable men.”

  Our conversation, was suddenly interrupted by wild cries in the street. The diners about us jumped up from their tables and rushed to the windows. People were hurrying down the street. At first they passed one by one, then in a crowd. Then we saw that they were pursued by dragoons in close formation, who struck at them with the flat blades of their swords. Everything happened so rapidly that the cries and the clatter of hoofs were quickly lost in the distance and in a few minutes the street was quiet again - empty except for the litter of hats and sticks that had been dropped in the confusion.

  “Our good Germans take time to grow ripe,” commented Dr. Schlurich, returning to his seat. “Much will happen to our nation before it fights its way through to Freedom. But the French too will be leagues away from it. We might leave them at least the distinction of having started the movement, if it were not more just to assign that to the English. And yet, Baron, after much suffering and trouble the Germans will some day become the chosen nation, and the salvation and redemption of the world will come from them. Such is my faith.”

  We were silent for a while, and presently our conversation passed to other topics. I found out that Dr. Schlurich was a native of Cologne, and had settled down here less to make money (he was sufficiently well off to dispense with the necessity) than to find a quiet place where he could write a large book on psychical phenomena, for this was his principal interest. He had made an extraordinary discovery in connection with it since he came to the town. A certain Mile. Köckering lived there, who had often been sent into a magnetic slumber in the presence of divers doctors, and in this state she was able to answer questions about the past, present and future, answers that were always exact. If, said the doctor, I happened to be at all interested in these natural mysteries (for only the vulgar connected them with spirits and devils) he could easily introduce me to her. As she had to be kept in complete secrecy, and her hypnotic aptitudes were her only means of living, it was customary on one’s first introduction to hand to her a sum of money.

  I replied that I would be willing to go with him to her house, and thanked him for his confidence in my discretion.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  We set out at dusk. A damp, cool wind blew from the Rhine. The moist air penetrated our clothes. Several times we were held up by mounted patrols, but on being recognised as persons of quality we were allowed to pass. After much wandering about we found the house of the Silver Snail, where the young lady lived.

  We required to knock many times before the door was opened by a man who excused his tardiness as due to his fear of the apprentices and bargemen, who had been in the street a little while ago, yelling the “Ca ira,” and hammering at doors demanding that some whores who lived in the neighbouring house should come out and join their company. The soldiers easily dispersed the rioters, but then forced their way into the house with the red lantern!

  We climbed the dark and narrow staircase, and after knocking in a peculiar way we were admitted to a well-lighted, octagonal room. The windows were carefully closed with curtains.

  The furniture consisted of a worn, brocade-covered armchair, two small tables with chandeliers on them and a row of ordinary wooden chairs. These were occupied by some men who turned their heads as we came in. By their dress, as well as by the expression of their faces, I quickly classified them as members of the learned profession.

  Dr. Schlurich and I approached them and named ourselves, an act of politeness they imitated in return.

  As soon as we were settled a person who was addressed as “Spektabilität,” a title used in addressing a Dean of Faculties, proceeded with a speech which had been interrupted by our arrival.

  “The prophesyings of the young lady must in especial be submitted to strict proof," he declared. “All the more as the man who magnetises her into sleep charges a louis d’or for each person present. My valued colleague, Professor Fulvius, who was present at the demonstration, is not satisfied on all points. The bluish efflorescence that was seen to proceed from the fingers of Emerentia Glock, the so-called ‘Possessed’ of Ebersweiler. is absent in this case, and the performance just consists of amazing statements about the life and future destinies of people present.”

  "To this I must respectfully add,” said a small, lean, red-wigged man, in the shrillest falsetto, “that inasmuch as the woman’s predictions deal with the future they have absolutely no scientific value, being unverifiable.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” snarled a stout, gloomy-looking man with a rude face and high stock. “But it wo
uld be a mistake to take for granted the idea - by no means proven - of the whole thing being a cheat. Surely we are men enough to test the matter, and as for radiations or silly knockings I have no use for them.”

  At this point a little carpet-door opened, and a somewhat deformed, middle-aged spinster came in. She wore a wide gown of grey silk; she had plain features and a sallow complexion. She curtseyed to the company and sat down in the armchair, spreading out and smoothing her dress.

  A disagreeable-looking man dressed in dark clothes had come in after her. He had penetrating eyes and his age seemed to be between thirty and forty, much the same as the lady’s. His face was constantly changing its expression in a way that made one think he was being alternately moved to laughter or tears. He made a short bow, and went round with a silver tray collecting the fee from each of us. Having done this he set the tray down near one of the chandeliers, bowed once more rather awkwardly, and addressed us in a harsh accent, typical of German-speaking Russians.

  “You see before you,” he said, “Mile. Maria Theresa Köckering, a native of Reval, aged thirty-eight. She is able, after she has been put into a magnetic sleep, to answer in the best and most exact way any question that may be put to her, bearing on the past, present or future of anyone of the worthy gentlemen present.”

  He stepped up to the table and blew out some of the wax candles. Then he turned towards the lady, who was sitting motionless; stretching out his fingers towards her face he gently stroked her forehead, eyes and temples.

  “She is asleep,” he said, turning again to the audience.

  We looked at her. She gave the impression of a person sleeping in a sitting posture.

  “If you please, most worshipful gentlemen,” continued the man in a subdued voice, “the experiment demands a certain degree of tranquillity. If your questions are answered right, will you please whisper a confirmation? If otherwise, I beg you to say so without getting excited, and the question will be repeated. For it sometimes happens that Mademoiselle’s sensitive spirit is thrown into confusion by terrible visions of unknown origin. Every reasonable test and investigation will be permitted; but to make any noise, to cry out, or to touch her of a sudden, or to alarm her in any way would be extremely dangerous to her life, for in her present state her soul is but loosely attached to her body.”

  A whisper of disbelief rustled among the audience. But the man went on unheeding.

  “I shall first put a few questions to her to show the learned company present how simple the process is, and how impossible would be any fraud on my part.״ Then he addressed the sleeper in a loud voice: “Mademoiselle Maria Theresa!”

  Her face began to twitch convulsively. Her hands moved restlessly this way and that way, catching first at the air, then again handling the arms of the chair.

  “Do you hear me. Mademoiselle?”

  “I hear,” she replied. She spoke in a strangely changed voice that sounded deep and hollow.

  “The names of the most worshipful and learned gentlemen present in the order they are sitting from right to left?” Then turning to us and holding his hand to his mouth he whispered: “She sees everything as in a looking-glass and counts accordingly ”

  The convulsions and grimaces on her face grew worse. Then a relieved smile appeared, and she began to speak, rapidly and without making a single pause:

  “Dr. Achaz Moll. Professor Gisbertus van der Meulen, Dr. Johannes Baptista Schlurich. Baron Melchior von Dronte, Magister Benedict Fleck, His Respectability Dr. Immanuel Balaenarius, Dr. Veit Pfefferich...”

  A murmur of interest followed among us and we inclined our heads approvingly. But Magister Fleck remarked sceptically that it was not impossible to learn the names of such eminent people.

  The mesmeriser shook his head with irritation and promptly asked another question:

  “Tell me. Mademoiselle,” he said, “what is the important work that the gentleman is engaged on who has lifted his hand?”

  He made a sign to us, and at our silent request the person known as His Respectability raised a hand.

  Mlle. Köckering became agitated again, moved her lips and said: “On the salutary effect of pure water in cases of obstipation and on the harm of too frequent purging.”

  “Bene,” exclaimed the Dean “Admirabile!”

  “That again might be known,” whispered the unbelieving red-haired Magister.

  “Now I will beg the honourable gentlemen to ask her whatever question they please ” The mesmeriser looked with meaning at the Magister and motioned him to speak.

  “How - how much money have I got in my pocket?” he stammered, evidently taken unawares. The woman answered without a moment’s reflection: “One thaler, but it is false, and five silver groschen.”

  The questioner promptly pulled out his purse and counted the money. It was exactly as she had said.

  “Very good,” growled Dr. Moll, and his double chin rested threateningly on his high cravat. “If he may ask questions about his pocket-money, I may be permitted to inquire who was it stole my red rooster six days ago?”

  “Leberecht Piepmal,” came the immediate answer.

  “Thunder and damnation!” exclaimed the rude voice of the doctor. “This must be true! Did I not from the first say to my wife that Piepmal it is, and no one but him - !”

  “Gently, sir!” said the mesmeriser. “Not so loud, I beseech you! Another gentleman, if you please!”

  “What was the day of the week and the date of the death of the woman I loved best of all?” asked one of the gentlemen in a quiet tone

  The sleeper’s face was painfully convulsed, her mouth shut fast, and after a moment’s silence we heard, “Wednesday, 12th February, 1754.”

  “My mother!” A heavy sigh revealed that the question had been answered aright.

  Then I summoned up my courage and raised my voice: “Who visited me at the place whence I came hither?”

  The sleeper stroked the arms of the chair, shook her head, and from her like a gentle laugh came the answer.

  “Thyself.”

  A murmur arose. “Attention, Mademoiselle!” sounded the commanding voice. “It cannot have been the gentleman. Once again!”

  “Iza Bekchi - thyself - thy brother in thyself,” she whispered almost inaudibly. “Evli...”

  “Have you understood the answer, sir?”

  I nodded silently.

  “But we have not,” retorted Magister Fleck. “What does it mean?”

  “What does it mean. Mademoiselle?” the man repeated, readily.

  “Return,” she breathed.

  “Now she is wandering,” grumbled Dr. Pfefferich. “But some of her answers were wonderful. May I ask one more question?”

  “If you please.”

  “What is this that lies on my writing-table at home, was once alive and very dexterous, but is now dead and useless?”

  The hypnotised woman breathed heavily, made a great effort to think and put her hand to her throat. She seemed to breathe with difficulty, as if she were being strangled. Then she said slowly:

  “The hand - of - Janitschek, hanged at Prague.”

  The doctor wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a blue handkerchief.

  “Correct,” he panted. “The hand of that Bohemian thief does indeed lie on my table.”

  “It is all quite wonderful,” muttered Dean Balaenarius, “the phenomenon is not easy to grasp.”

  The man in the dark coat stepped forward.

  “Most valued sirs,” he said, “Mademoiselle is greatly exhausted and needs rest. May I beg you to ask her just a few questions about the future before she retires?”

  But no one responded. None of us appeared anxious to look beyond the veil. At length, however, Dr. Schlurich rose from his seat, opened his mouth as if to speak, but changed his mind and sat down again.

  “At this moment he is by her side,” said Mlle. Köckering without expression...

  The startled man made a movement as if he would rather not
hear the words. He leaned back in his chair, pale as death, and his lips trembled.

  “So this is what her vows are worth,” I heard him mutter... “May I ask one more question?” I said, standing up. Thus far I had been so engrossed in what the clairvoyante said, that everything appeared to me as in a dream, and only skimmed the surface of my consciousness.

  A silent and somewhat impatient motion of the hand invited me to proceed.

  “When shall I see Iza Bekchi again?” I asked.

  The woman raised her head, shuddered and groaned.

  “A blade hangs - falls - oh!” From her lips came the words in a scream. She writhed in her chair, half-opened her eyes (so that one could see the whites of them), jerked up and fell back heavily. Everybody jumped to their feet.

  “Hysteria.” someone said aloud.

  “The demonstration is over for to-day,” said the man who was standing by her side. “I hope that the gentlemen are not altogether unsatisfied, and especially the gentleman whose old rooster was stolen.”

  Someone laughed constrainedly as we hurried to the door, followed by the pale man’s scornful looks.

  The woman woke up as we departed and stared round with a confused and bewildered air. A shudder went down my back, as if Death were standing behind me. We went down the staircase quickly.

  “A pity I did not ask about the date of my death,” croaked Magister Fleck. ”I would have been able to draw up my codicil in time.”

  “You did well to leave the question unasked,” observed Dr. Schlurich.

  No one said anything further. In the river mist we took leave of each other.

  Silently I walked beside Dr. Schlurich.

  “I thought that she had deceived me, but the certainty is painful,” said my friend in a low voice. Then he pressed my hand and disappeared round the next street comer.

  Far and near sounded the signal calls of the patrols and rounds.

  “A blade hanging - falling - ” the Pythia had cried.