CHAPTER II.
A FRIENDLY CONFERENCE.
It is rare, in our present civilization, to find a man who lives alone. This
remark does not apply to hermits or persons of abnormal or perverted mental
tendencies, but to the majority of mankind living and moving actively among
their fellows, and engaged in the ordinary occupations of humanity. Every man
must have at least one confidant, either of his own household, or within the
circle of his intimate friends. There may possibly be rare exceptions among
persons of genius in statecraft, war, or commerce, but it is doubtful even in
such instances if any keep all their thoughts to themselves, hermetically sealed
from their fellows. As a prevailing rule, either a loving wife or very near
friend shares the inner thought of the most secretive individual, even when
secrecy seems an indispensable element to success. The tendency to a free
interchange of ideas and experiences is almost universal, instinct prompting the
natural man to unburden his most sacred thought, when the proper confidant and
the proper time come for the disclosure.
For months I kept to myself the events narrated in the preceding chapter. And
this for several reasons: first, the dread of ridicule that would follow the
relation of the fantastic occurrences, and the possible suspicion of my sanity,
that might result from the recital; second, very grave doubts as to the reality
of my experiences. But by degrees self-confidence was restored, as I reasoned
the matter over and reassured myself by occasional contemplation of the silvery
hair I had coiled in my pocketbook, and which at first I had expected would
vanish as did the stranger's knife. There came upon me a feeling that I should
see my weird visitor again, and at an early day. I resisted this impression, for
it was a feeling of the idea, rather than a thought, but the vague expectation
grew upon me in spite of myself, until at length it became a conviction which no
argument or logic could shake. Curiously enough, as the original incident
receded into the past, this new idea thrust itself into the foreground, and I
began in my own mind to court another interview. At times, sitting alone after
night, I felt that I was watched by unseen eyes; these eyes haunted me in my
solitude, and I was morally sure of the presence of another than myself in the
room. The sensation was at first unpleasant, and I tried to throw it off, with
partial success. But only for a little while could I banish the intrusive idea,
and as the thought took form, and the invisible presence became more actual to
consciousness, I hoped that the stranger would make good his parting promise,
" I will see you again."
On one thing I was resolved; I would at least be better informed on the subject
of hallucinations and apparitions, and not be taken unawares as I had been. To
this end I decided to confer with my friend, Professor Chickering, a quiet,
thoughtful man, of varied accomplishments, and thoroughly read upon a great
number of topics, especially in the literature of the marvelous.
So to the Professor I went, after due appointment, and confided to him full
particulars of my adventure. He listened patiently throughout, and when I had
finished, assured me in a matter-of-fact way that such hallucinations were by no
means rare. His remark was provoking, for I did not expect from the patient
interest he had shown while I was telling my story, that the whole matter would
be dismissed thus summarily. I said with some warmth:
" But this was not a hallucination. I tried at first to persuade myself
that it was illusory, but the more I have thought the experience over, the more
real it becomes to me."
" Perhaps you were dreaming," suggested the Professor.
" No," I answered; " I have tried that hypothesis, and it will
not do. Many things make that view untenable."
" Do not be too sure of that," he said; " you were, by your
own account, in a highly nervous condition, and physically tired. It is
possible, perhaps probable, that in this state, as you sat in your chair, you
dozed off for a short interval, during which the illusion flashed through your
mind."
" How do you explain the fact that incidents occupying a large portion of
the night, occurred in an interval which you describe as a flash?"
" Easily enough; in dreams time may not exist: periods embracing weeks or
months may be reduced to an instant. Long journeys, hours of conversation, or a
multitude of transactions, may be compressed into a term measured by the opening
or closing of a door, or the striking of a clock. In dreams, ordinary standards
of reason find no place, while ideas or events chase through the mind more
rapidly than thought."
" Conceding all this, why did I, considering the unusual character of the
incidents, accept them as real, as substantial, as natural as the most
commonplace events?"
" There is nothing extraordinary in that," he replied. " In
dreams all sorts of absurdities, impossibilities, discordancies, and violation
of natural law appear realities, without exciting the least surprise or
suspicion. Imagination runs riot and is supreme, and reason for the time is
dormant. We see ghosts, spirits, the forms of persons dead or living,- we suffer
pain, pleasure, hunger,- and all sensations and emotions, without a moment's
question of their reality."
" Do any of the subjects of our dreams or visions leave tangible evidences
of their presence?"
" Assuredly not," he answered, with an incredulous, half impatient
gesture; " the idea is absurd."
" Then I was not dreaming," I mused.
Without looking at me, the Professor went on: " These false presentiments
may have their origin in other ways, as from mental disorders caused by
indigestion. Nicolai, a noted bookseller of Berlin, was thus afflicted. His
experiences are interesting and possibly suggestive. Let me read some of them to
you."
The Professor hereupon glanced over his bookshelf, selected a volume, and
proceeded to read:
" I generally saw human forms of both sexes; but they usually seemed not to
take the smallest notice of each other, moving as in a market place, where all
are eager to press through the crowd; at times, however, they seemed to be
transacting business with each other. I also saw several times, people on
horseback, dogs, and birds.
" All these phantasms appeared to me in their natural size, and as distinct
as if alive, exhibiting different shades of carnation in the uncovered parts, as
well as different colors and fashions in their dresses, though the colors seemed
somewhat paler than in real nature. None of the figures appeared particularly
terrible, comical, or disgusting, most of them being of indifferent shape, and
some presenting a pleasant aspect. The longer these phantasms continued to visit
me, the more frequently did they return, while at the same time they increased
in number about four weeks after they had first appeared. I also began to hear
them talk: these phantoms conversed among themselves, but more frequently
addressed their discourse to me; their speeches were uncommonly short, and never
of an unpleasant turn. At different times there appeared to me both dear and
sensible friends of both sexes, whose addresses tended to appease my grief,
which had not yet wholly subsided: their consolatory speeches were in general
addressed to me when I was alone. Sometimes, however, I was accosted by these
consoling friends while I was engaged in company, and not unfrequently while
real persons were speaking to me. These consolatory addresses consisted
sometimes of abrupt phrases, and at other times they were regularly
executed."
Here I interrupted: " I note, Professor, that Mr. Nicolai knew these forms
to be illusions."
Without answering my remark, he continued to read:
" There is in imagination a potency far exceeding the fabled power of
Aladdin's lamp. How often does one sit in wintry evening musings, and trace in
the glowing embers the features of an absent friend? Imagination, with its magic
wand, will there build a city with its countless spires, or marshal contending
armies, or drive the tempest-shattered ship upon the ocean. The following story,
related by Scott, affords a good illustration of this principle:
" `Not long after the death of an illustrious poet, who had filled, while
living, a great station in the eyes of the public, a literary friend, to whom
the deceased had been well known, was engaged during the darkening twilight of
an autumn evening, in perusing one of the publications which professed to detail
the habits and opinions of the distinguished individual who was now no more. As
the reader had enjoyed the intimacy of the deceased to a considerable degree, he
was deeply interested in the publication, which contained some particulars
relating to himself and other friends. A visitor was sitting in the apartment,
who was also engaged in reading. Their sitting-room opened into an entrance
hall, rather fantastically fitted up with articles of armor, skins of wild
animals, and the like. It was when laying down his book, and passing into this
hall, through which the moon was beginning to shine, that the individual of whom
I speak saw right before him, in a standing posture, the exact representation of
his departed friend, whose recollection had been so strongly brought to his
imagination. He stopped for a single moment, so as to notice the wonderful
accuracy with which fancy had impressed upon the bodily eye the peculiarities of
dress and position of the illustrious poet. Sensible, however, of the delusion,
he felt no sentiment save that of wonder at the extraordinary accuracy of the
resemblance, and stepped onward to the figure, which resolved itself as he
approached into the various materials of which it was composed. These were
merely a screen occupied by great coats, shawls, plaids, and such other articles
as are usually found in a country entrance hall. The spectator returned to the
spot from which he had seen the illusion, and endeavored with all his power to
recall the image which had been so singularly vivid. But this he was unable to
do. And the person who had witnessed the apparition, or, more properly, whose
excited state had been the means of raising it, had only to return to the
apartment, and tell his young friend under what a striking hallucination he had
for a moment labored."
Here I was constrained to call the Professor to a halt. " Your stories are
very interesting," I said, " but I fail to perceive any analogy in
either the conditions or the incidents, to my experience. I was fully awake and
conscious at the time, and the man I saw appeared and moved about in the full
glare of the gaslight,"
" Perhaps not," he answered; " I am simply giving you some
general illustrations of the subject. But here is a case more to the
point."
Again he read:
" A lady was once passing through a wood, in the darkening twilight of a
stormy evening, to visit a friend who was watching over a dying child. The
clouds were thick- the rain beginning to fall; darkness was increasing; the wind
was moaning mournfully through the trees. The lady's heart almost failed her as
she saw that she had a mile to walk through the woods in the gathering gloom.
But the reflection of the situation of her friend forbade her turning back.
Fxcited and trembling, she called to her aid a nervous resolution, and pressed
onward. She had not proceeded far when she beheld in the path before her the
movement of some very indistinct object. It appeared to keep a little distance
ahead of her, and as she made efforts to get nearer to see what it was, it
seemed proportionally to recede. The lady began to feel rather unpleasantly.
There was some pale white object certainly discernible before her, and it
appeared mysteriously to float along, at a regular distance, without any effort
at motion. Notwithstanding the lady's good sense and unusual resolution, a cold
chill began to come over her. She made every effort to resist her fears, and
soon succeeded in drawing nearer the mysterious object, when, she was appalled
at beholding the features of her friend's child, cold in death, wrapt in its
shroud. She gazed earnestly, and there it remained distinct and clear before her
eyes. She considered it a premonition that her friend's child was dead, and that
she must hasten to her aid. But there was the apparition directly in her path.
She must pass it. Taking up a little stick, she forced herself along to the
object, and behold, some little animal scampered away. It was this that her
excited imagination had transformed into the corpse of an infant in its winding
sheet."
I was a little irritated, and once more interrupted the reader warmly: "
This is exasperating. Now what resemblance is there between the vagaries of a
hysterical, weak-minded woman, and my case?"
He smiled, and again read:
" The numerous stories told of ghosts, or the spirits of persons who are
dead, will in most instances be found to have originated in diseased
imagination, aggravated by some abnormal defect of mind. We may mention a
remarkable case in point, and one which is not mentioned in English works on
this subject; it is told by a compiler of Les Causes Celebres. Two young
noblemen, the Marquises De Rambouillet and De Precy, belonging to two of the
first families of France, made an agreement, in the warmth of their friendship,
that the one who died first should return to the other with tidings of the world
to come. Soon afterwards De Rambouillet went to the wars in Flanders, while De
Precy remained at Paris, stricken by a fever. Lying alone in bed, and severely
ill, De Precy one day heard a rustling of his bed curtains, and turning round,
saw his friend De Rambouillet, in full military attire. The sick man sprung over
the bed to welcome his friend, but the other receded, and said that he had come
to fulfill his promise, having been killed on that very day. He further said
that it behooved De Precy to think more of the after world, as all that was said
of it was true, and as he himself would die in his first battle. De Precy was
then left by the phantom; and it was afterward found that De Rambouillet had
fallen on that day."
" Ah," I said, " and so the phantom predicted an event that
followed as indicated."
" Spiritual illusions," explained the Professor, " are not
unusual, and well authenticated cases are not wanting in which they have been
induced in persons of intelligence by functional or organic disorders. In the
last case cited, the prediction was followed by a fulfillment, but this was
chance or mere coincidence. It would be strange indeed if in the multitude of
dreams that come to humanity, some few should not be followed by events so
similar as to warrant the belief that they were prefigured. But here is an
illustration that fits your case: let me read it:
" In some instances it may be difficult to decide whether spectral
appearances and spectral noises proceed from physical derangement or from an
overwrought state of mind. Want of exercise and amusement may also be a
prevailing cause. A friend mentions to us the following case: An acquaintance of
his, a merchant, in London, who had for years paid very close attention to
business, was one day, while alone in his counting house, very much surprised to
hear, as he imagined, persons outside the door talking freely about him.
Thinking it was some acquaintances who were playing off a trick, he opened the
door to request them to come in, when to his amazement, he found that nobody was
there. He again sat down to his desk, and in a few minutes the same dialogue
recommenced. The language was very alarming. One voice seemed to say: ` We have
the scoundrel in his own counting house; let us go in and seize him.
'Certainly,' replied the other voice, 'it is right to take him; he has been
guilty of a great crime, and ought to be brought to condign punishment.' Alarmed
at these threats, the bewildered merchant rushed to the door; and there again no
person was to be seen. He now locked his door and went home; but the voices, as
he thought, followed him through the crowd, and he arrived at his house in a
most unenviable state of mind. Inclined to ascribe the voices to derangement in
mind, he sent for a medical attendant, and told his case, and a certain kind of
treatment was prescribed. This, however, failed; the voices menacing him with
punishment for purely imaginary crimes continued, and he was reduced to the
brink of despair. At length a friend prescribed entire relaxation from business,
and a daily game of cricket, which, to his great relief, proved an effectual
remedy. The exercise banished the phantom voices, and they were no more
heard."
" So you think that I am in need of out-door exercise?"
" Exactly."
" And that my experience was illusory, the result of vertigo, or some
temporary calenture of the brain?"
" To be plain with you, yes."
" But I asked you a while ago if specters or phantoms ever leave tangible
evidence of their presence." The Professor's eyes dilated in interrogation.
I continued: " Well, this one did. After I had followed him out, I found on
the table a long, white hair, which I still have," and producing the little
coil from my pocket-book, I handed it to him. He examined it curiously, eyed me
furtively, and handed it back with the cautious remark:
" I think you had better commence your exercise at once."