*
My tale has its origins in Mr. P–’s sensational account of the events surrounding the death of M. Valdemar. Had he remained silent on the subject, then perhaps I would not have been compelled to write my own, contrary interpretation of the case. That my version of events never entered the public domain was not due to accident or neglect, but was rather, a decision entirely of my own making, the reasons for which you may presently understand.
In an attempt to correct what he rightly saw as the ‘garbled or exaggerated account’ that had infiltrated society, Mr. P– took it upon himself to present, in the guise of an entertainment, the facts in the aforementioned case. I do not dispute the antecedents as related, as Mr. P–’s somewhat morbid interest in mesmerism—along with all other manner of arcane and occult concerns—was well documented, not least in the lurid tales of phantasy which had already appeared in the pages of Harper’s, The Gentleman’s Magazine and various other journals of dubious literary merit. All I will say is that the version of events put forward by Mr. P– bore little relation to the truth. I say this with some measure of certainty, for not only was I present at M. Valdemar’s house for most of the events narrated but it was on my own memoranda that P– based his fictionalised, not to say mendacious, account.
My involvement in the case began with the message I received from Mr. P– that Sunday morning, a summons to attend him at the home of M. Valdemar. Upon arrival, my friend greeted me effusively and showed me the now infamous note which had brought him hence the previous day. Having apprised me of the situation and asked if I would transcribe a record of whatever might occur, Mr. P– briefly outlined the diagnosis he had received as to Valdemar’s phthisic state. On performing my own examination of the latter, I was puzzled at the claim that his lungs were in a state of advanced ossification, and that an aneurysm of the aorta was suspected; in truth it seemed to me an exaggeration of the true state of affairs. After consulting with the attendant nurses, I diagnosed spasms of the bronchi in the lungs, which is to say a prolonged and severe asthmatic attack.
Though I was but eighteen months into my medical studies, I must point out in support of my contrary diagnosis, that my tutor was Professor Krempe the Younger, latterly of Ingolstadt, who was, as you are no doubt aware, an authority regarding ailments of the respiratory system. Indeed, having scrutinised an edited version of my memoranda in the weeks following M. Valdemar’s final dissolution, Professor Krempe confirmed the accuracy of my diagnosis of the unfortunate man’s original condition.
Upon communicating my opinion to Mr. P–, I was reminded as to the reason for my presence. In short, my role was that of witness, no more. Despite my protestations, P– was adamant and before I could further object, he had roused Valdemar and had compelled him to confirm that, with his dissolution being imminent—in the considered opinions of two noteworthy physicians—he wished to proceed with the experiment.
Although it had been agreed that we would await the arrival of these physicians before commencing with the experiment, at five minutes before eight that evening, Mr. P– became extremely agitated and announced that he would begin the mesmerisation without further delay. In truth, even M. Valdemar insisted upon it, expressing his fear that we had delayed too long. Thereupon, Mr. P– proceeded to move his hands from side to side over Valdemar’s head, at the same time whispering invocations which were insensible to me and which seemed to have no discernible effect on the patient. I wrote hastily in my notebook, trying to describe the ritual and at the same time make a note of P–’s appearance—his face shining with perspiration in the dim candlelight, his eyes, red-rimmed and strangely vacant. He persisted in his attempt to mesmerise Valdemar for well over an hour, his prolonged efforts not only wearying Valdemar, but myself also, such that I finally entreated him to cease his endeavours.
We retired to the sitting room, where P– drew a silver flask from his black valise. “Here,” he said, thrusting it into my hands. “Brandy—it will fortify us for another attempt.”
I drank hesitantly, having little experience of strong liquor, yet desirous of something to soothe my agitated nerves. Within moments I felt a sense of well-being flowing through my veins, allowing my thoughts to become more focused. I settled back into a comfortable armchair and asked P– what he planned to do next.
He glanced at the clock on the mantle and said, “The doctors will arrive soon. I think it best we wait for them before trying again.” As he spoke, his gaze strayed to the door of Valdemar’s chamber and I guessed him to be preoccupied still with the failure of his experiment thus far. He turned back to me and bade me rest until the doctors arrived. He would sit with Valdemar in the interim, he said, before taking up his valise and disappearing into the sick man’s room.
These eminent physicians arrived shortly after ten o’clock. “My good friend, Doctor Theodore L–l,” Mr. P– introduced me, informing them that I had agreed to transcribe a record of the proceedings. Although Doctors D– and F– greeted me courteously and listened attentively to P–’s account of events thus far, they failed to examine M. Valdemar, merely glancing at him through the open door to his room. By the time we returned to Valdemar’s bedside, he was in a state of semi-consciousness. When Mr. P– commenced with his passes, they were of a vertical, rather than lateral nature, and while the patient’s breathing became somewhat laborious, there seemed to be no other change in his condition. Then, after some minutes had passed, and with a suddenness which caught us off guard, a deep, audible sigh escaped his lips, which in turn, caused an utter stillness in his frame.
“Good God!” I cried. “He’s dead!”
Mr. P– silenced me with a glare and directed Dr. D– to listen to Valdemar’s heart. “No,” the doctor informed us. “But death cannot be long in coming.” At his signal, I took hold of the patient’s wrist and was struck at the barely perceptible pulse. It suggested that if he had not yet passed into Elysium, it was because he was still negotiating with Charon a price for the passage. Disturbed at what I assumed to be his imminent demise, I retreated from the bedside and was followed by the doctors. While we fortified ourselves with cups of strong tea, Mr. P– continued with series of what appeared to me increasingly desperate passes over Valdemar’s head. We watched from across the room, each of us silent, fearing perhaps that our own dark thoughts would be mirrored in the others’ minds.
On the stroke of midnight, P– bade us attend the patient. Fully expecting that M. Valdemar would by this time have succumbed to his illness, and still troubled by grave doubts as to its exact nature, I was surprised to find his condition not worse, but altered in some manner beyond my understanding. Though he appeared unconscious, his limbs were possessed of an unnatural rigidity. Examining him, Doctors D– and F– were greatly excited and proclaimed him to be in a “perfect state of mesmeric trance.” I touched one arm and withdrew it immediately, offended, despite my rational mind, by the preternatural chill.
Soon afterwards, Dr. F– departed, leaving us to keep vigil over M. Valdemar. Mr. P– agreed to sit first with him, while Dr. D– and I withdrew to the sitting room. I sat in an armchair before the fire and prepared to welcome sleep. But my slumbers were far from easy. I woke at some point in the dead hours and glanced round the bedroom door where I observed P– once more standing over Valdemar’s bed. Still half-asleep but nonetheless thinking there might have been some other change in the patient’s condition, I moved quietly to within a few feet of P–. He seemed unaware of my presence, his attention concentrated as it was on Valdemar. To my astonishment, I saw that as he moved his right hand over Valdemar’s person, the latter’s corresponding limb elevated itself and weakly began to mirror the movements of the former.
I was about to speak when I was pre-empted by a whispered question from Mr. P–, directed not as I first assumed, at myself, but at the prostrate figure on the bed. “Are you asleep, M. Valdemar?” In place of an answer I noticed a tremor in Valdemar’s eyelids. As if in sympathy, an involuntary shud
der passed through my body.
“Mr. P–,” I implored, “what does this mean?”
He scowled and raised a finger to his lips. Then, he concentrated once more on M. Valdemar and repeated his enquiry, this time with a little more urgency.
The pointlessness, even the cruelty of his endeavours alarmed me and I was about to entreat him further when M. Valdemar’s body was seized by a violent convulsion. His eyelids parted to reveal a slit of white and I heard an anguished voice issue from his lips: “Yes;—sleeping. Do not wake me!—let me die!”
My first impulse was to help the man but P– stilled me with a gesture and asked Valdemar if he was in any pain. Valdemar replied in the negative, but confirmed what seemed apparent—that he was indeed close to death.
Thankfully, Mr. P– withdrew from the bedside, ushering me before him. “I know what you are thinking, Theodore,” he said. “How can it be possible for Valdemar to communicate with us in his condition—a condition I would remind you, that you yourself saw fit to question.”
Humbled by this admonition, I was unable to articulate the confused thoughts that troubled me. “You are a man of science,” he went on. “And you are young—your training compels you to question the unfamiliar. But,” and here he lowered his voice as if to emphasise the point, “a science of the irrational circumvents such questions. To ascertain its secrets, one has to start from somewhere else. You understand?”
In truth I did not, but ashamed of my ignorance, I gave a feeble nod. “Good,” he said, clapping an arm around my shoulders. “Now, write down what you have observed.”
He left the room and I did as he suggested, transcribing as accurately as I was able, given my enervated state of mind, what had passed between Valdemar and himself. Presently, he returned with a glass of brandy which I drank with more enthusiasm than hitherto. Soon, Dr. D– awoke and joined us in partaking of the beverage and we fell to speculating on Valdemar’s fate. When Dr. F– returned at sunrise, we once more descended upon the unfortunate patient to ascertain his present condition.
Leaning close to Valdemar, P– again inquired as to whether he slept. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Dr. F– as Valdemar’s frigid reply issued forth—“Still asleep–dying.”
“It is true,” Dr. D– spoke up. “The temperature, the palsied limbs and the feeble respiration, all indicate an irrevocable condition.”
Dr. F– concurred, but P– said, “Perhaps so, but let us wait awhile.” Weary, but gripped by a fierce curiosity, I stood ready to record further developments. This time, in response to P–’s repeated questions, M. Valdemar’s eyes opened but to my horror I saw only the vitreous whites of the balls and in the next instant the spots of colour that had lingered in his cheeks were snuffed out like a candle’s flame in a sudden gust of air. I saw the blood drain from Dr. F–’s face, leaving him as white as the still-living corpse that lay between us. But even then I was ill-prepared for what came next. Valdemar’s mouth opened with a terrible clicking noise, as of some monstrous insect; his upper lip slid over his teeth in a ghastly parody of a smile; and a distended, fuliginous lump of flesh crawled out and lolled across his cheek. My heart pounded furiously, a frightened beast yearning for escape. I withdrew a step or two from the bed, as did the others. Surely now, I thought, he is dead.
But no—the blood turned gelid in my veins as I saw his blackened tongue point upwards and begin to twitch, animated by some force that did not extend to the remainder of his body. For a minute or more this terrible sight held us transfixed, until, at its cessation, a voice such as I had never heard before, nor would ever wish to hear again, came, not from within M. Valdemar so much as from some place beyond him. “I have been sleeping,” he—it—something, said. “And now—now—I am dead.”
At this point I fell into a swoon and have no memory of the intervening moments. When I came to I was informed that both nurses had departed in terror at Valdemar’s final utterance. I had every sympathy and would have followed their example had it not been for Mr. P–. He entreated me to remain and pressed another glass of liquor into my hand. I agreed to participate in one final experiment at communicating with Valdemar. In turn, Doctors D–, F– and myself allowed Mr. P– to attempt to foster some form of mesmeric bond between us and the dead man. It was to no avail. Though his tongue remained possessed of some life of its own, it proved impossible to elicit any further communication from the place to which his soul had been consigned.
Mr. P– now arranged for another acquaintance to take charge of the patient, and upon his arrival, we left the building. We returned that afternoon to check on Valdemar but found him unaltered. My suggestion that we attempt to waken him was greeted with horror. “It is evident,” P– said, “that the mesmeric process has allowed the suspension of his demise.”
“It would appear so,” Dr. F– agreed. “To bring him to consciousness now may be to condemn the poor man to oblivion.”
“Could that be any worse than what he now endures?” I protested.
“It would be murder,” Dr. D– suggested.
“So what will happen to him?”
“We must let nature take its course,” Mr. P– said, with a note of finality. Nature! I wanted to protest; what was natural about what had been done to Valdemar? Had I known then what I later knew, I would have stood firm against P–, forced him to bring Valdemar back while he was still capable. But I was weak, lightheaded and troubled by an irrational craving that gnawed at my brain.
I returned to my own apartment, crawled into bed and slept for only a short while before waking to find my body caught in the grip of a debilitating fever. My eyes burned and my skin itched constantly as if beneath the touch of a thousand unseen insects. I heard voices other than my own, though I was alone in the room, and even when I lay motionless on the bed, I was aware of distorted shadows sliding across the walls and ceiling. This lasted two, maybe three days, I cannot say for sure, until finally, overwhelmed by exhaustion, I fell into a sleep that, while not as deep or irrevocable as that which held M. Valdemar, was more profound and prolonged than any I had hitherto experienced.
*
When I next saw Mr. P– he expressed concern at my appearance. I told him I had succumbed to a fever, brought on, I believed, by what I had witnessed at Valdemar’s home. Despite a reluctance to be reminded of those events, I could not deny a morbid curiosity which prompted me to ask as to his current state of mortality. A haunted expression crossed P–’s face as he shook his head and exclaimed, “He lives still!”
“No—how is it possible?”
“I have seen him every day,” he said. “There has been no change.”
I sighed and shook my head, unwilling to accept the awfulness of Valdemar’s fate. “Theodore, my friend,” P– said. “We cannot deny what has happened. Surely you can see that our purpose is to observe, to take a reasoned approach to this phenomenon.”
I wanted to berate him for the cold-heartedness implicit in his suggestion, but I had not the strength for it. And in truth, I saw that he was right. Thus it was that for the seven months following Valdemar’s entrancement, I took to visiting his apartment at regular intervals. I was accompanied always by Mr. P– who, taking full responsibility for Valdemar’s condition, attended him on a daily basis. Occasionally, one or other of the doctors would join us, but throughout this time, there was no visible change in Valdemar’s state of suspended animation. One morning towards the end of this period, having been unable to visit him for nearly two weeks, I entered his residence and announced my arrival to Griswold, one of the replacement nurses enlisted by Mr. P–. On receiving no reply, I went straight to Valdemar’s chamber expecting to find Griswold there. But Valdemar was alone. Given the immutability of his condition over the previous six months, I was shocked at his altered appearance; his sunken cheeks were unkempt with three or four days growth of hair; the stiffness of his limbs had faded; his tongue had retreated and his eyes were closed, hiding that horrible absence of colour. His r
espiration though still weak, seemed stronger than before—and this, more than anything, led me to believe that he had emerged from his trance. If this were true, I believed, it would allow him a more peaceful death. I placed a hand on his brow, and felt a feeble warmth. “M. Valdemar,” I said, “can you hear me?”
His eyelids rolled back, revealing bloodshot orbs full of hunger and pain. His lips trembled and he murmured something I did not catch. I leaned close and bade him speak again. This time, I heard: “Please God—help me! Give it to me or else let me die!” I was accosted suddenly from behind and received a blow to the head which knocked me unconscious. When I awoke I found myself laying on a couch. My head ached violently and when I reached up I felt a dressing on the back of my skull. I became aware of someone else in the room, but, my senses being fogged, I could not say who it was. Shortly thereafter, I slipped back into unconsciousness.
I woke intermittently and found the room either too warm or too cold. On another occasion I woke and heard voices from Valdemar’s chamber. I tried to call out but had difficulty in shaping any words. Later, I was aware of some other voice speaking to me, at first reassuring and then seeming to threaten me. Night had fallen when I saw the slight, bearded figure pacing back and forth in a state of some excitement. Sweat glistened on his sallow face, and as I watched he grew even more agitated and began cursing violently, as if conducting a bitter argument with a third party whose presence I was unable to confirm.
When I next awoke I was alone in the room. In the dim light I staggered towards the door but it was further off than I had assumed. I reached the table and saw a case there, a leather valise which was open. Beside it was an empty glass with the dregs of some foul smelling liquid in it. Inside, I found a small square-based bottle containing a yellowish liquid. A label on the bottle identified it as DeQuincey’s Mixture, a solution with which I was unfamiliar. Pulling out the stopper I sniffed at the substance and felt a vaguely pleasurable sensation. I returned the bottle to the case and felt the room begin to spin about me. I reached the sofa seconds before I fell.
The Dream Operator Page 17