"They put on a finger's depth of lime, and still the writing was as

plain as ever. And when they took it all off again and came to the bare

bricks the writing was burning upon them as brightly as before.

Gottschalk uttered loud complaints, and begged Wolfframb to sing

something which should constrain Nasias to remove the horrible writing

himself. Wolfframb said, laughing, that this might not be in his power,

but that Gottschalk should wait patiently, and see if the writing might

perhaps disappear when he had gone away.

"'It was high noon when Wolfframb of Eschinbach left Eisenach in the

happiest possible frame of mind, and the highest spirits, like one who

sees the brightest and most hopeful of prospects dawning before him.

Not far from the town there came, meeting him, Count Meinhard of

Muehlberg, and Walther of Bargel, the cupbearer, dressed in the richest

attire, on gaily caparisoned horses, attended by a numerous retinue.

Wolfframb saluted them, and learned that Landgrave Hermann had

despatched them to Eisenach to escort the renowned Master Klingsohr to

the Wartburg. On the previous night Klingsohr had repaired to a high

window of Helgrefe's house, and consulted the stars with great care.

When he drew his astrological figures, one or two students of

astrology, who had joined him, saw from his looks and manner that some

important secret which he had read in the stars was filling his mind.

They did not hesitate to inquire of him concerning it. Then Klingsohr

rose from his seat, and said, in a solemn tone:

"'"Know that, this night, a daughter will be born to Andreas the

Second, King of Hungary. Her name will be Elizabeth; and, for her

goodness and virtues, she will be canonized, in after time, by Pope

Gregory the Ninth. And this Saint Elizabeth will be the wife of Ludwig,

the son of your Landgrave Hermann."

"'This prophecy was at once communicated to the Landgrave, who was

beyond measure delighted thereat. And he altered his opinion concerning

the renowned master, whose mysterious knowledge had announced the

rising of so fair a star of hope. Wherefore he had determined that

Klingsohr should be conducted to the Wartburg with the pomp and

ceremony due to a prince.

"'Wolfframb thought that now, in all probability, the decision of the

singers' life-and-death trial would be postponed on this account,

especially as Heinrich of Ofterdingen had not made his appearance as

yet. But the knights said that the Landgrave had received news of

Heinrich's arrival, that the inner court of the castle was chosen as

the scene of the contest, and Stempel, the executioner from Eisenach,

ordered to be in attendance.

"'MASTER KLINGSOHR QUITS THE WARTBURG, AND THE

SINGERS-CONTEST IS DECIDED.

"'In a fair and lofty chamber of the Wartburg sate Landgrave Hermann

and Klingsohr in confidential converse together. Klingsohr again

assured the Landgrave that he had distinctly seen and carefully read

the meaning of the constellations on the previous night, and ended by

advising him to despatch an Embassy at once to the King of Hungary to

beg that the infant princess might be betrothed to his son, then eleven

years of age. This counsel pleased the Landgrave well, and, as he now

extolled the master's wisdom, Klingsohr began to discourse so

beautifully of the secrets of nature, and of the macrocosm and the

microcosm, that the Landgrave (himself not unversed in such matters)

was filled with the profoundest admiration.

"'"Master Klingsohr," said the Landgrave, "I would fain continue in the

enjoyment of your skilled and wise society. Leave the inhospitable

Siebenbuergen, and take up your abode at this Court of mine, where, as

you must admit, Art and Science are more highly prized and more truly

cherished than elsewhere. The masters of song will look upon you as

their lord, for I make no doubt that you are as highly gifted in their

art as in astrology and other profound sciences. Remain here,

therefore, and think not of returning to Siebenbuergen."

"'"Nay," most gracious Prince," said Master Klingsohr, "on the

contrary, I must crave your permission to return to Siebenbuergen this

very hour. The country is not so inhospitable as you may suppose. And

then, it is thoroughly meet for my studies. Consider, moreover, that I

may not offend my own king, Andreas the Second, from whom I draw a

yearly allowance of three thousand silver marks, on account of my

knowledge of mining matters, whereby I have discovered for him many

most valuable lodes of metal; so that I live in that peace and freedom

which are essential to the due cultivation of science and art. Whereas

here--even could I forego my yearly allowance--I should be involved in

continual questions and disputes with your masters. My art is based

upon other foundations than theirs, and its inward and outward forms

are totally different. It may be that their pious minds, and what they

term their rich imaginations, suffice to them for the composition of

their works, and that, like timid children, they are afraid to enter

upon another province of their art. I do not say that I think

slightingly of them on that account, but to take my place amongst them

is for ever impossible."

"'"At all events," said the Landgrave, "you will consent to be present,

as arbiter and judge, at the great contest between your pupil Heinrich

of Ofterdingen and the other masters."

"'"Your Highness must pardon me," said Master Klingsohr. "How were it

possible for me to do this thing? And even were it possible, I should

never desire to do it. Yourself, noble Prince, should decide this

contest, merely confirming the popular voice, which will assuredly make

itself heard. But call not Heinrich of Ofterdingen my pupil. He seemed,

at one time, to possess power and courage enough; but he merely gnawed

at the bitter shell, and never got so far as to savour the sweetness of

the kernel. Fix the day for the contest, therefore; I will take care

that Heinrich of Ofterdingen appears with all due punctuality." The

most urgent entreaties of the Landgrave were powerless to soften the

master's obduracy. He stuck to his resolve, and left the Wartburg laden

with rich reward.

"'The fateful day had arrived on which the singers'-contest was to

begin and end. In the castle court lists had been set, almost as if for

a tourney. In the centre of the arena there were two seats, draped with

black, for the contending singers, and behind them a lofty scaffold.

The Landgrave had chosen two noble gentlemen, versed in the singer's

craft (they were the same who had escorted Master Klingsohr to the

Wartburg), and appointed them arbiters. For them and the Landgrave

lofty seats were erected over against those of the contending masters,

and beside them were the places for the ladies and other spectators.

The masters were to take their places on a bench draped with black,

near the contending singers and the scaffold.

"'Thousands of spectators filled the space, and from all the windows

and roofs of the Wartburg an eager throng looked down. The Landgrave,

with the arbiters, entered by the castle gate, to the sound of trumpets

and muffled drums, and took their seats. The masters, in habits of

ceremony, headed by Walther of the Vogelweid, approached, and occupied

the seats allotted to them. Upon the scaffold stood Stempel the

executioner from Eisenach, with his attendants. He was a gigantic man,

of wild, arrogant aspect, wrapped in a wide, blood-red mantle, from the

folds of which peeped out the glittering hilt of his enormous sword.

Father Leonard, the Landgrave's confessor, took his place in front of

the scaffold, to stand by the vanquished in the hour of death.

"A silence of anticipation lay upon the vast assemblage, till the

Landgrave's Marshal, wearing the insignia of his office, stepped

forward to the centre of the arena, and read aloud the conditions of

the contest, and the Landgrave's irreversible decree that he who was

vanquished should have his head struck off by the sword. Father Leonard

raised the crucifix, and all the masters rose from their seats, and on

bended knees vowed, bareheaded, to submit, gladly and readily, to the

Landgrave's decree. Stempel then swung his broad, flashing sword three

times through the air, and cried, in a voice which echoed through the

arena:

"'"Him who is delivered into my hands I will despatch according to the

best of my power and conscience."

"'The trumpets now sounded; the Marshal advanced to the centre of the

arena, and cried aloud, three times running:

"'"Heinrich of Ofterdingen! Heinrich of Ofterdingen! Heinrich of

Ofterdingen!"

"And as though Heinrich had been standing unobserved close to the

barriers, waiting till the sound of the Marshal's words should die

away, he suddenly stood at his side, in the centre of the arena. He

made a lowly reverence to the Landgrave, and said, in a firm voice, he

was ready to contend, according to the decree, with the master

appointed as his adversary, and to submit to the arbiters' award.

"The Marshal then passed along in front of the masters, holding a

silver vase, out of which each of them had to draw a lot. When

Wolfframb of Eschinbach unfolded that which he had drawn, he found it

marked with the sign indicating that he was the master chosen for the

contest. A deadly terror well-nigh unmanned him at the thought of

having thus to enter upon a life-and-death contest with his friend. But

soon he felt that it was of Heaven's mercy that the lot had fallen on

him. If vanquished he would gladly die; but if victor, far sooner would

he go to the death than suffer Heinrich of Ofterdingen to perish by the

sword of the headsman. With a gladsome heart and a serene and pleasant

countenance, he took his appointed place. When he had seated himself

opposite to his friend, a strange feeling, akin to fear, took

possession of him. For he was certainly looking upon the face of his

friend; but out of the deadly pale countenance uncanny eyes were

gleaming at him, and he could not help remembering Nasias.

"'Heinrich of Ofterdingen began his songs, and Wolfframb was greatly

startled when he recognised them to be the same which Nasias had sung

on the night when he came to him. But he collected himself with all his

might, and replied to his antagonist with a magnificent song, in such

sort that the acclamations of the thousand voices of the audience rang

through the air, and the people at once accorded him the victory. But

the Landgrave ordered that Heinrich of Ofterdingen should sing again,

and Heinrich went on with songs which, in the marvellousness of their

"manners," were so pregnant with the joy of the animalism of life, that

the listeners sank into a species of gentle intoxication, as if under

the influence of "the drowsy syrups of the East." Even Wolfframb felt

himself drawn as into a foreign province of existence. He could think

no more of his own songs, nor even of himself.

"At this moment a sound arose at the gate leading to the arena, and the

crowd parted and made way. An electric stroke seemed to penetrate

Wolfframb; he awoke from his reverie and looked in the direction of

this interruption. Oh, Heaven! Lady Mathilda appeared, advancing in all

the simple grace and beauty which had adorned her when first he saw her

in the Wartburg garden. She looked at him with a glance of the deepest

affection; and the blissfulness of heaven and the most glowing rapture

soared jubilantly forth in ins song, as had been the case on the night

when he vanquished the Evil Thing. With the stormiest enthusiasm the

listeners proclaimed him the victor. The Landgrave and the arbiters

rose, the trumpets sounded. The Marshal took the garland from the

Landgrave's hand to crown the victorious master.

"Then the executioner prepared to do his duty. But when the apparitors

went up to seize the vanquished singer, they found themselves grasping

at a cloud of black smoke, which rose up, rushing and crackling and

suddenly vanished in the air. Heinrich of Ofterdingen had disappeared,

none knew how.

"'The crowd ran wildly hither and thither in confusion, with

consternation and terror on their pale faces. People spoke of

diabolical forms--of unholy enchantment; but the Landgrave assembled

the masters around him, and said:

"'"I now understand what Master Klingsohr meant when he spoke so

strangely and mysteriously on the subject of the singers' contest, and

would on no account undertake the deciding of it himself; and I have

cause to be grateful to him that all has turned out as it has. Whether

it was Heinrich of Ofterdingen who took the place appointed for him in

the arena, or one whom Klingsohr sent in his pupil's stead, matters

not. The contest is decided in your favour, my trusty masters, and we

can now honour the glorious craft of song, and cultivate it to the best

of our ability in peace."

"'Certain of the Landgrave's retainers who had been on warders' duty at

the castle said that, at the very time when Wolfframb of Eschinbach won

the prize and conquered the ostensible Heinrich of Ofterdingen, a

figure much resembling Master Klingsohr had been seen to dash out of

the gateway on a foaming steed.

"'CONCLUSION.

"'Meanwhile Countess Mathilda had gone into the garden of the Wartburg,

and Wolfframb of Eschinbach had followed her.

"'And when he found her there, seated on a flowery bank of moss, with

hands folded in her lap and her lovely head drooping sadly towards the

ground, he threw himself at her beloved feet, unable to utter a word.

Mathilda put her arms about him, and both of them shed hot tears of

sweet sorrow and lovers' pain.

"'"Ah! Wolfframb," she cried, "what an evil dream has befooled me! How

have I, a foolish, unreasoning, blinded child, abandoned myself to the

snares of the Evil One who was lying in wait to compass my destruction!

Ah! how I have failed in my duty to you! Is it possible that you can

pardon me?"

"'Wolfframb clasped her to his heart, and, for the first time, pressed

burning kisses on her rosy lips. He assured her that she had always

dwelt in his heart, that he had ever been faithful to her in spite of

the powers of evil; that it was she, the lady of his thoughts, alone,

who had been his inspiration in the song with which he vanquished them.

"'"Oh, my beloved!" she said, "let me tell you in what a wonderful

manner you rescued me from the snares of the Wicked One which were set

for me. There came a night, not very long ago, when strange and

terrible ideas took hold upon me. Whether it was bliss or pain that so

powerfully oppressed me that I scarce could breathe, I cannot tell.

But, driven by an impulse which I could not resist, I began to write a

song which was altogether in the 'manner' of my weird master. As I

wrote, I heard a strange music, partly beautiful, partly repulsive and

horrible, which benumbed my senses, and it was as if, instead of the

song, what I had written was some terrible formula, some spell which

the powers of darkness must obey. A wild, terrible form started up; it

clasped me with burning arms, and was carrying me away to the black

abyss. Then a song came shining through the darkness, whose tones had

the mild, soft radiance of the light of stars. At this the dark form

was compelled to loose its clasp of me, yet it stretched its arms

towards me in fury. It could not touch me, but only the song I had been

writing. It clutched that, and plunged screaming with it into the

abyss. It was your song which saved me, the same which you sung to-day

when you won the contest. Now I am wholly yours. My songs are all

faithful love for you, whose inexpressible blissfulness no words have

power to tell."

"'The lovers again fell into each other's arms, and could not cease

talking of the tortures they had undergone, and the bliss of their

reunion.

"'But in the night when Wolfframb overcame Nasias, Mathilda had

distinctly heard, and comprehended--in a dream--the song which

Wolfframb, in the height of his inspired affection, was singing; the

one which he repeated afterwards at the Wartburg contest.

"'Wolfframb was sitting in his chamber at late eventide thinking of new

songs, when his landlord Gottschalk came in full of joy, crying:

"'"Ah! noble sir, how you have vanquished the Evil One by the power of

your art and skill! The horrible writing in your chamber has gone out

of its own accord, God be praised and thanked for the same! I have

brought something which was left at my house to be conveyed to you."

With which he produced a folded letter, well sealed with wax. It was

from Heinrich of Ofterdingen, and to the following effect.

"'"I greet you, my trusty Wolfframb, as one who has recovered from some

terrible sickness which threatened his death. Many marvellous things

have happened to me. But I would fain keep silence as to the evils of a

time, which lies behind me now like a dark, impenetrable mystery.

Doubtless you remember the words you spoke, when I was boasting of the

inward power which elevated me above you and the other masters. You

said then, that perhaps I should find myself on the brink of some

terrible abyss, a prey to giddiness, ready to fall down into it; and

that then you would hold me back with your strong arms. Wolfframb, that

which your prophetic soul foresaw, was that which came to pass! I stood

on the brink of an abyss, and you held me fast when the fatal giddiness

had wellnigh benumbed my senses. It was your splendid victory which

annihilated my adversary, and restored me to life and happiness. Yes,

Wolfframb! before your love the mighty veils which enwrapped me fell

away, and I looked up again to the bright heavens. Can my affection for

you be otherwise than redoubled? You recognized Klingsohr as a great

master--and that he is. But woe to him who--not endowed with that

peculiar strength which he possesses--ventures, like him, to strive

towards the dark realm, which he has laid open to himself. I have

renounced him, and totter on the brink of the Hell-river, helpless and

wretched, no longer. I am restored to the joys of home.

"'"Mathilda, ah no! Doubtless it was never that glorious lady. It was

some foul enchantment, which filled me with deceptive visions of a

paradise on earth--of vain, mundane pleasure. May all that I did in my

days of madness be forgotten. Greet the masters, and tell them how it

is with me now. Fare thee well, most sincerely beloved Wolfframb.

Peradventure you may hear tidings of me ere long."

"'After some time news came to the Wartburg that Heinrich was at the

Court of Leopold the Seventh, Duke of Austria, singing many beautiful

songs. Soon afterwards Landgrave Hermann received copies of the same,

together with the "manners" to which they were to be sung. All the

masters were heartily delighted, and convinced that Heinrich of

Ofterdingen had renounced all that was false, and preserved his pure

singer's heart inviolate, through all the Evil One's attempts upon him.

"'Thus it was Wolfframb of Eschinbach's high art of song, as it

streamed from the depths of his purest of souls, which, in glorious

victory over his enemy, rescued his beloved and his friend from utter

perdition.'"

The friends gave diverse verdicts as to Cyprian's tale, Theodore

disapproved of it altogether, and said Cyprian had utterly marred for

him the beautiful picture, which Novalis had drawn of the grandly

inspired Heinrich of Ofterdingen. But his chief objection was that the

singers never actually got the length of any singing, for sheer

continual preparation to sing. Ottmar supported him; but, at the same

time, considered that the introductory vision might be admitted to be

Serapiontic; although, at the same time, Cyprian ought to be careful

for the future not to dip into Ancient Chronicles, because reading of

that sort was apt--as the present instance proved--to lead him into an

unfamiliar province, in which--not being native to the soil, nor

endowed with a strong bump of locality--he wandered astray and lost

himself, without being able to find the real path.

Cyprian, putting on a face of vexation, jumped hastily up, went to the

fire, and was going to throw his manuscript into it. But Lothair went

up to him, seized him by the shoulders, turned him about, and said with

solemnity:

"Cyprian, Cyprian! withstand strenuously the foul fiend of author's

pride, which, is vexing you, and whispering all manner of ugly things

in your ear. I will address you in the formula of conjuration employed

by the doughty Tobias von Ruelp, 'Come, come--tuck, tuck--it is

contrary to all respectability, man, to play at pitch and toss with the

Devil. Away with the ugly sweep!' Ha! your face lightens up! You are

smiling! See what power over the demons I possess; and now I have some

healing balm to drop upon the wounds, which your friends' adverse

verdicts have inflicted. If Ottmar thinks your introduction is

Serapiontic, I may say as much for Klingsohr, and the fiery demon

Nasias. Also the little automatic secretary strikes me as by no means

lightly to be esteemed. If Theodore objects to the way in which you

have portrayed Heinrich of Ofterdingen, at all events the suggestion of

your portrait of him is to be found in Wagenseil. If he thinks it a

fault that the singers never arrive at any actual singing from

continual preparation for the same, I must confess that I do not quite

know what he means. Perhaps he does not quite know, himself, what he

means. I should scarcely think he would have wished you to introduce

little verses of poetry, as being the masters' songs. The very fact of

your not having done so, but left their words to our imaginations,

redounds greatly to your credit in my opinion. I can never tolerate the

introducing of verses into a story. They always seem to go along in it

so lamely and limpingly, and interrupt its progress in an unnatural

sort of manner. The writer--keenly impressed with the feebleness of his

matter at some particular point--grasps at the crutch of verse. But if

he manages, in this fashion, to prop himself along for a time, this

sort of uniform, monotonous, tottery, pit-a-pat movement is very

different from the firm tread of vigorous health; and, probably, it is

a frequent error of our modern writers, that they seek their salvation

exclusively in the outward, metrical form, forgetting that it is the

poetic matter only which gives the metric pinions their due swing.

Well-sounding verses have the power of inducing a species of

somnambulistic intoxication; but this is very much like the effect of

the sound of a mill, or of other similar, regular and monotonous

noises. They procure one a sound sleep. All this I merely say en

passant, for the behoof of our musical Theodore, who is very often

deluded ('bribed' was the word I was going to employ) by the sweet

sound of meaningless verses; and, indeed, he is often attacked by a

sort of 'sonnetical' mania, under the influence of which he brings into

the world the strangest automaton-like little monsters. But now for you

again, Cyprian. I do not think you ought to plume yourself much on your

'Singers' Contest.' I cannot say that I am altogether satisfied with

it, though it certainly does not deserve death by fire. The laws of the

land declare that abortions are not to be put to death if they have

human heads; and in my opinion, this child of yours is not only not an

abortion at all, but it is fairly well-shapen, though it may be a

little weak about the limbs."

Cyprian pocketed his manuscript, and said, with a smile:

"My dear friends, you know my little peculiarity. When I get a little

annoyed, because some fault is found with any of my feeble efforts,

this is merely because I am so well aware how thoroughly the censure is

deserved, and how much my productions merit it. Do not let us say

another word on the subject of this story of mine."

After this the friends went back to the subject of Vincent, and his

bent towards the marvellous. Cyprian's view was, that such a bent must

of necessity be inherent in all poetic temperaments, and that this was

why Jean Paul has said so many magnificent things on the subject of

mesmerism, that a whole universe of hostile doubt would sink into

insignificance in comparison with them; that poetical persons are the

pet children of Nature, and that it is silly to suppose she can be

displeased when those darlings of hers try to discover secrets which

she has shrouded with her veil--as a fond mother hides from her

children some valuable gift, only that she may afford them the greater

pleasure by disclosing it to them.

"But, to speak practically," said Cyprian, "and this principally to

please you, Ottmar: who that has looked carefully into the history of

the human race--can have failed to be struck by the circumstance that,

as soon as some disease makes its appearance like a ravening monster,

Nature herself comes to the front with the weapons necessary to

vanquish it; and, as soon as it has been overcome, another monster

makes its appearance, with fresh powers of destruction; and new

weapons are discovered again? And so goes on the everlasting contest

which is a condition of the process of life--of the organic structure

of the entire world. How if, in these times, when everything is

spiritualized--when the interior relationship, the mysterious

interdependence and interplay of the physical and psychical principles,

are coming more and more clearly and importantly into evidence; when

every bodily malady is found to have its corresponding expression in

the psychic organism--how, I say, if mesmerism were the weapon--forged

in the spirit--which Nature herself presents to us, as the means of

combatting the evil which is located in the spirit?"

"Stay, stay!" cried Lothair, "where are we getting to? We have talked

far too much already on a subject which must always remain a foreign

province for us; in which we can, at most, pluck for poetic purposes a

few fruits, tempting by their colour and aroma; or transplant a pretty

little tree or so into our poetic garden. I was delighted when

Cyprian's story interrupted our wearisome discussion on this subject,

and now we seem to be in danger of getting deeper into it than ever.

Let us turn to something else. But wait a moment. First, I should like

to give you a little '_pezzo_' of our friend's mystical experiments,

which I am sure you will enjoy. It is briefly this:--A considerable

time ago I was invited to a little evening gathering, where our friend

was, along with some others. I was detained by business, and did not

arrive till very late. All the more surprised was I not to hear the

very slightest sound as I came up to the door of the room. Could it be

that nobody had been able to go? Thus cogitating, I gently opened the

door. There sat Vincent, over against me, with the others, round a

little table; and they were all staring, stiff and motionless like so

many statues, in the profoundest silence, up at the ceiling. The lights

were on a table at some distance, and nobody took any notice of me, I

went nearer, full of amazement, and saw a glittering gold ring swinging

backwards and forwards in the air, and presently beginning to move in

circles. One and another then said, 'Wonderful!' 'Very wonderful!'

'Most inexplicable!' 'Curious thing!' etc. I could no longer contain

myself, and cried out, 'For Heaven's sake, tell me what you are about?'

"At this they all jumped up. But Vincent cried, in that shrill voice of

his:

"'Recreant! obscure Nicodemus, coming slinking in like a sleep-walker,

interrupting the most important and interesting experiments. Let me

tell you that a phenomenon which the incredulous have, without a

moment's hesitation, classed in the category of the fabulous has just

been verified by the present company. We wished to try whether the

pendulum-oscillations of a suspended ring could be controlled by the

concentrated human will. I undertook to fix my will upon it; and

thought steadfastly of circular-shaped oscillations. The ring--fixed to

the ceiling by a silk thread--remained motionless for a very long time.

But at last it began to swing, in an acute angle with reference to my

position, and it was just beginning to swing in circles when you came

in and interrupted us.'"

"'But what if it were not your will,' I said, so 'much as the draught

of air when I opened the door, which set the contumacious ring in

motion?'

"'Prosaic wretch!' cried Vincent: but everybody laughed."

"The pendulum-oscillations of rings drove me nearly crazy at one time,"

said Theodore. "Thus much is matter of absolute certainty, and any one

can convince himself of it, that the oscillations of a plain gold ring,

suspended by a fine thread over the palm of the hand held level,

unquestionably take the direction which the unuttered will directs them

to take. I cannot tell you how profoundly, and how eerily, this

phenomenon affected me. I used to sit for hours at a time making the

ring go swinging in the most various directions, as I willed it to do;

and at last I went the length of making a regular oracle of it. I would

say, in my mind, if such and such a thing is going to happen, the ring

will swing in the direction between the little finger and the thumb; if

it is not going to happen, it will swing at right angles to that

direction, and so on."'

"Delightful!" said Lothair, "you set up, within your own self, a higher

spiritual principle, which, conjured up in mystic fashion by yourself,

should make utterances to you. Here we have the true "spiritus

familiaris," the socratic daemon! from hence there is only a very short

step to the region of ghost, and haunting stories, which might easily

have their _raison d'etre_ in the influence of some exterior spiritual

principle."

"And I mean to actually take this step," said Cyprian, "by telling you,

on the spot, the most awful and terrible supernatural story I have ever

heard of. The peculiarity of this story is, that it is amply vouched

for by persons of credibility, and that the manner in which it has been

brought to my knowledge, or recollection, has to do with the excited,

or (if you prefer to say so) disordered condition which Lothair

observed me to be in a short time ago."

Cyprian stood up; and, as was his habit when his mind was full of

something, so that he had to take a little time to arrange his words in

order to express it, he walked several times up and down the room.

Presently he sat down, and began:--

"You may remember that some little time ago, just before the last

campaign, I was paying a visit to Colonel Von P---- at his country

house. The colonel was a good-tempered, jovial man, and his wife

quietness and simpleness personified. At the time I speak of the son

was away with the army, so that the family circle consisted, besides

the colonel and his lady, of two daughters, and an elderly French lady,

who was trying to persuade herself that she was fulfilling the duties

of a species of governess though the young ladies appeared to be beyond

the period of being "governessed." The elder of the two was a most

lively and cheerful creature, vivacious even to ungovernability; not

without plenty of brains, but so constituted that she could not go five

yards without cutting at least three "entrechats." She sprung, in the

same fashion, in her conversation, and in all that she did, restlessly

from one thing to another. I myself have seen her, within the space of

five minutes, work at needlework, read, draw, sing, and dance, or cry

about her poor cousin who was killed in battle, one moment, and while

the bitter tears were still in her eyes, burst into a splendid,

infectious burst of laughter when the French-woman spilt the contents

of her snuff-box over the pug, who at once began to sneeze frightfully,

and the old lady cried, "Ah, che fatalita! Ah carino! Poverino!"

"'For she always spoke to the dog in Italian because he was born in

Padua. Moreover, this young lady was the loveliest blonde ever seen,

and, in all her odd caprices, full of the utmost charm, goodness,

kindliness and attractiveness, so that, whether she would or no, she

exerted the most irresistible charm over every one.

"The younger sister was the greatest possible contrast to her (her name

was Adelgunda). I strive in vain to find words in which to express to

you the extraordinary impression which this girl produced upon me when

first I saw her. Picture to yourselves the most exquisite figure, and

the most marvellously beautiful face; but the cheeks and lips wear a

deathly pallor, and the figure moves gently, softly, slowly, with

measured steps; and then, when a low-toned word is heard from the

scarce opened lips and dies away in the spacious chamber, one feels a

sort of shudder of spectral awe; of course I soon got over this eery

feeling, and, when I managed to get her to emerge from her deep

self-absorbed condition and converse, I was obliged to admit that the

strangeness, the eeriness, was only external, and by no means came from

within. In the little she said there displayed themselves a delicate

womanliness, a clear head, and a kindly disposition. There was not a

trace of over-excitability, though her melancholy smile, and her

glance, heavy as with tears, seemed to speak of some morbid bodily

condition producing a hostile influence on her mental state. It struck

me as very strange that the whole family, not excepting the French

lady, seemed to get into a state of much anxiety as soon as any one

began to talk to this girl, and tried to interrupt the conversation,

often breaking into it in a very forced manner. But the most

extraordinary thing of all was that, as soon as it was eight o'clock in

the evening, the young lady was reminded, first by the French lady and

then by her mother, sister, and father, that it was time to go to her

room, just as little children are sent to bed that they may not

overtire themselves. The French lady went with her, so that they

neither of them ever appeared at supper, which was at nine o'clock. The

lady of the house, probably remarking my surprise at those proceedings,

threw out (by way of preventing indiscreet inquiries) a sort of sketchy

statement to the effect that Adelgunda was in very poor health, that,

particularly about nine in the evening, she was liable to feverish

attacks, and that the doctors had ordered her to have complete rest at

that time. I saw there must be more in the affair than this, though I

could not imagine what it might be; and it was only this very day that

I ascertained the terrible truth, and discovered what the events were

which have wrecked the peace of that happy circle in the most frightful

manner.

"'Adelgunda was at one time the most blooming, vigorous, cheerful

creature to be seen. Her fourteenth birthday came, and a number of her

friends and companions had been invited to spend it with her. They were

all sitting in a circle in the shrubbery, laughing and amusing

themselves, taking little heed that the evening was getting darker and

darker, for the soft July breeze was blowing refreshingly, and they

were just beginning thoroughly to enjoy themselves. In the magic

twilight they set about all sorts of dances, pretending to be elves and

woodland sprites. Adelgunda cried, "Listen, children! I shall go and

appear to you as the White Lady whom our gardener used to tell us about

so often while he was alive. But you must come to the bottom of the

garden, where the old ruins are." She wrapped her white shawl round

her, and went lightly dancing down the leafy alley, the girls following

her, in full tide of laughter and fun. But Adelgunda had scarcely

reached the old crumbling arches, when she suddenly stopped, and stood

as if paralyzed in every limb. The castle clock struck nine.

"'"Look, look!" cried she, in a hollow voice of the deepest terror.

"Don't you see it? the figure--close before me--stretching her hand out

at me. Don't you see her?"

"The children saw nothing whatever; but terror came upon them, and they

all ran away, except one, more courageous than the rest, who hastened

up to Adelgunda, and was going to take her in her arms. But Adelgunda,

turning pale as death, fell to the ground. At the screams of the other

girl every body came hastening from the castle, and Adelgunda was

carried in. At last she recovered from her faint, and, trembling all

over, told them that as soon as she reached the ruins she saw an airy

form, as if shrouded in mist, stretching its hand out towards her. Of

course every one ascribed this vision to some deceptiveness of the

twilight; and Adelgunda recovered from her alarm so completely that

night that no further evil consequences were anticipated, and the whole

affair was supposed to be at an end. However, it turned out altogether

otherwise. The next evening, when the clock struck nine, Adelgunda

sprung up, in the midst of the people about her, and cried--

"'"There she is! there she is. Don't you see her--just before me?"

"'Since that unlucky evening, Adelgunda declared that, as soon as the

clock struck nine, the figure stood before her, remaining visible for

several seconds, although no one but herself could see anything of it,

or trace by any psychic sensation the proximity of an unknown spiritual

principle. So that poor Adelgunda was thought to be out of her mind;

and, in strange perversion of feeling, the family were ashamed of this

condition of hers. I have told you already how she was dealt with in

consequence. There was, of course, no lack of doctors, or of plans of

treatment for ridding the poor soul of the "fixed idea," as people were

pleased to term the apparition which she said she saw. But nothing had

any effect; and she implored, with tears, that she might be left in

peace, inasmuch as the form which, in its vague, uncertain traits, had

nothing terrible or alarming about it, no longer caused her any fear;

although, for a time after seeing it she felt as if her inner being and

all her thoughts and ideas were turned out from her, and were hovering,

bodiless, about, outside of her. At last the colonel made the

acquaintance of a celebrated doctor, who had the reputation of being

specially clever in the treatment of the mentally afflicted. When this

doctor heard Adelgunda's story he laughed aloud, and said nothing could

be easier than to cure a condition of the kind, which resulted solely

from an over-excited imagination. The idea of the appearing of the

spectre was so intimately associated with the striking of nine o'clock,

that the mind could not dissociate them. So that all that was necessary

was to effect this separation by external means; as to which there was

no difficulty, as it was only necessary to deceive the patient as to

the time, and let nine o'clock pass without her being aware of it. If

the apparition did not then appear, she would be convinced, herself,

that it was an illusion; and measures to give tone to the general

system would be all that would then be necessary to complete the

cure. This unfortunate advice was taken. One night all the clocks at

the castle were put back an hour--the hollow, booming tower clock

included--so that, when Adelgunda awoke in the morning, she found

herself an hour wrong in her time. When evening came, the family were

assembled, as usual, in a cheerful corner room; no stranger was

present, and the mother constrained herself to talk about all sorts of

cheerful subjects. The colonel began (as was his habit, when in

specially good humour) to carry on an encounter of wit with the old

French lady, in which Augusta, the elder of the daughters, aided and

abetted him. Everybody was laughing, and more full of enjoyment than

ever. The clock on the wall struck eight (so that it was really nine

o'clock) and Adelgunda fell back in her chair, pale as death; her work

dropped from her hands; she rose, with a face of horror, stared before

her into the empty part of the room, and murmured, in a hollow voice--

"'"What! an hour earlier! Don't you see it? Don't you see it? Right

before me!"

"'Every one rose up in alarm. But as none of them saw the smallest

vestige of anything, the colonel cried--

"'"Calm yourself, Adelgunda, there is nothing there! It is a vision of

your brain, a deception of your fancy. We see nothing, nothing

whatever; and if there really were a figure close to you we should see

it as well as you! Calm yourself."

"'"Oh God!" cried Adelgunda, "they think I am out of my mind. See! it

is stretching out its long arm, it is making signs to me!"

"'And, as though she were acting under the influence of another,

without exercise of her own will, with eyes fixed and staring, she put

her hand back behind her, took up a plate which chanced to be on the

table, held it out before her into vacancy, and let it go, and it went

hovering about amongst the lookers on, and then deposited itself gently

on the table. The mother and Augusta fainted; and these fainting fits

were succeeded by violent nervous fever. The colonel forced himself to

retain his self-control, but the profound impression which this

extraordinary occurrence made on him was evident in his agitated and

disturbed condition.

"'The French lady had fallen on her knees and prayed in silence with

her face turned to the floor, and both she and Adelgunda remained free

from evil consequences. The mother very soon died. Augusta survived the

fever; but it would have been better had she died. She who, when I

first saw her, was an embodiment of vigorous, magnificent youthful

happiness, is now hopelessly insane, and that in a form which seems to

me the most terrible and gruesome of all the forms of fixed idea ever

heard of. For she thinks she is the invisible phantom which haunts

Adelgunda; and therefore she avoids every one, or, at all events,

refrains from speaking, or moving if anybody is present. She scarce

dares to breathe, because she firmly believes that if she betrays her

presence in any way every one will die. Doors are opened for her, and

her food is set down, she slinks in and out, eats in secret, and so

forth. Can a more painful condition be imagined?

"'The colonel, in his pain and despair, followed the colours to the

next campaign, and fell in the victorious engagement at W----. It is

remarkable, most remarkable that, since then, Adelgunda has never seen

the phantom. She nurses her sister with the utmost care, and the French

lady helps her. Only this very day Sylvester told me that the uncle of

these poor girls is here, taking the advice of our celebrated R----, as

to the means of cure to be tried in Augusta's case. God grant that the

cure may succeed, improbable as it seems.'"

When Cyprian finished, the friends all kept silence, looking

meditatively before them. At last Lothair said,

"It is certainly a very terrible ghost story. I must admit it makes me

shudder, although the incident of the hovering plate is rather trifling

and childish."

"Not so fast, dear Lothair," Ottmar interrupted. "You know my views

about ghost stories, and the manner in which I swagger towards

visionaries; maintaining, as I do, that often as I have thrown down my

glove to the spirit world, overweeningly enough, to enter the lists

with me, it has never taken the trouble to punish me for my presumption

and irreverence. But Cyprian's story suggests another consideration.

Ghost stories may often be mere chimeras; but, whatever may have been

at the bottom of Adelgunda's phantom, and the hovering plate, thus

much is certain, that, on that evening, in the family of Colonel Von

P---- there happened something which produced, in three of the persons

present, such a shock to the system that the result was the death of

one and the insanity of another; if we do not ascribe, at least

indirectly, the colonel's death to it too. For I happen to remember

that I heard from officers who were on the spot, that he suddenly

dashed into the thick of the enemy's fire as if impelled by the furies.

Then the incident of the plate differs so completely from anything in

the ordinary _mise en scene_ of supernatural stories. The hour when it

happened is so remote from ordinary supernatural use and wont, and the

thing so simple, that it is exactly in the very probability which the

improbability of it thereby acquires that the gruesomeness of it lies

for me. But if one were to assume that Adelgunda's imagination carried

away, by its influence, those of her father, mother and sister--that it

was only within her brain that the plate moved about--would not this

vision of the imagination striking three people dead in a moment, like

a shock of electricity, be the most terrible supernatural event

imaginable?"

"Certainly," said Theodore, "and I share with you, Ottmar, your opinion

that the very horror of the incident lies in its utter simpleness. I

can imagine myself enduring, fairly well, the sudden alarm produced by

some fearful apparition; but the weird actions of some invisible thing

would infallibly drive me mad. The sense of the most utter, most

helpless powerlessness must grind the spirit to dust. I remember that I

could scarce resist the profound terror which made me afraid to sleep

in my room alone, like a silly child, when I once read of an old

musician who was haunted in a terrible manner for a long time (almost

driving him out of his mind) by an invisible being which used to play

on his piano in the night, compositions of the most extraordinary kind,

with the power and the technique of the most accomplished master. He

heard every note, saw the keys going up and down, but never any form of

a player."

"Really," Cyprian said, "the way in which this class of subject is

flourishing amongst us is becoming unendurable, I have admitted that

the incident of that accursed plate produced the profoundest impression

on me. Ottmar is right; if events are to be judged by their results,

this is the most terrible supernatural story conceivable. Wherefore I

pardon Cyprian's disturbed condition which he displayed earlier in the

evening, and which has passed away considerably now. But not another

word on the subject of supernatural horrors. I have seen a manuscript

peeping for some time out of Ottmar's breast-pocket, as if craving for

release; let him release it therefore."

"No, no," said Theodore, "the flood which has been rolling along in

such stormy billows must be gently led away. I have a manuscript well

adapted for that end, which some peculiar circumstances led to my

writing at one time. Although it deals pretty largely with the

mystical, and contains plenty of psychical marvels and strange

hypotheses, it links itself on pretty closely to affairs of every-day

life." He read:

"'AUTOMATONS.

"'"The talking Turk" was attracting universal attention, and setting

the town in commotion. The hall where this automaton was exhibited was

thronged by a continual stream of visitors, of all sorts and

conditions, from morning till night, all eager to listen to the

oracular utterances which were whispered to them by the motionless lips

of that wonderful quasi-human figure. The manner of the construction

and arrangement of this automaton distinguished it in a marked degree

from all puppets of the sort usually exhibited. It was, in fact, a very

remarkable automaton. About the centre of a room of moderate size,

containing only a few indispensable articles of furniture, at this

figure, about the size of a human being, handsomely formed, dressed in

a rich and tasteful Turkish costume, on a low seat shaped as a tripod,

which the exhibitor would move if desired, to show that there was no

means of communication between it and the ground. Its left hand was

placed in an easy position on its knee, and its right rested on a

small movable table. Its appearance, as has been said, was that of a

well-proportioned, handsome man, but the most remarkable part of it was

its head. A face expressing a genuine Oriental astuteness gave it an

appearance of life rarely seen in wax figures, even when they represent

the characteristic countenances of talented men. A light railing

surrounded the figure, to prevent the spectators from crowding too

closely about it; and only those who wished to inspect the construction

of it (so far as the Exhibitor could allow this to be seen without

divulging his secret), and the person whose turn it was to put a

question to it, were allowed to go inside this railing, and close up to

it. The usual mode of procedure was to whisper the question you wished

to ask into the Turk's right ear; on which he would turn, first his

eyes, and then his whole head, towards you; and as you were sensible of

a gentle stream of air, like breath coming from his lips, you could not

but suppose that the low reply which was given to you did really

proceed from the interior of the figure. From time to time, after a few

answers had been given, the Exhibitor would apply a key to the Turk's

left side, and wind up some clockwork with a good deal of noise. Here,

also, he would, if desired, open a species of lid, so that you could

see inside the figure a complicated piece of mechanism consisting of a

number of wheels; and although you might not think it probable that

this had anything to do with the speaking of the automaton, still it

was evident that it occupied so much space that no human being could

possibly be concealed inside, were he no bigger than Augustus's dwarf

who was served up in a pasty. Besides the movement of the head, which

always took place before an answer was given, the Turk would sometimes

also raise his right hand, and either make a warning gesture with the

finger, or, as it were, motion the question away with the whole hand.

When this happened, nothing but repeated urging by the questioner could

extract an answer, which was then generally ambiguous or angry. It

might have been that the wheel work was connected with, or answerable

for, those motions of the head and hands, although even in this the

agency of a sentient being seemed essential. People wearied themselves

with conjectures concerning the source and agent of this marvellous

Intelligence. The walls, the adjoining room, the furniture, everything

connected with the exhibition, were carefully examined and scrutinised,

all completely in vain. The figure and its Exhibitor were watched and

scanned most closely by the eyes of the most expert in mechanical

science; but the more close and minute the scrutiny, the more easy and

unconstrained were the actions and proceedings of both. The Exhibitor

laughed and joked in the furthest corner of the room with the

spectators, leaving the figure to make its gestures and give its

replies as a wholly independent thing, having no need of any connection

with him. Indeed he could not wholly restrain a slightly ironical smile

when the table and the figure and tripod were being overhauled and

peered at in every direction, taken as close to the light as possible,

and inspected by powerful magnifying glasses. The upshot of it all was,

that the mechanical geniuses said the devil himself could make neither

head nor tail of the confounded mechanism. And a hypothesis that the

Exhibitor was a clever ventriloquist, and gave the answers himself (the

breath being conveyed to the figure's mouth through hidden valves) fell

to the ground, for the Exhibitor was to be heard talking loudly and

distinctly to people among the audience at the very time when the Turk

was making his replies.

"'Notwithstanding the enigmatical, and apparently mysterious, character

of this exhibition, perhaps the interest of the public might soon have

grown fainter, had it not been kept alive by the nature of the answers

which the Turk gave. These were sometimes cold and severe, while

occasionally they were sparkling and jocular--even broadly so at times;

at others they evinced strong sense and deep astuteness, and in some

instances they were in a high degree painful and tragical. But they

were always strikingly apposite to the character and affairs of the

questioner, who would frequently be startled by a mystical reference to

futurity in the answer given, only possible, as it would seem, in one

cognizant of the hidden thoughts and feelings which dictated the

question. And it happened not seldom that the Turk, questioned in

German, would reply in some other language known to the questioner, in

which case it would be found that the answer could not have been

expressed with equal point, force, and conciseness in any other

language than that selected. In short, no day passed without some fresh

instance of a striking and ingenious answer of the wise Turk becoming

the subject of general remark.

"'It chanced, one evening, that Lewis and Ferdinand, two college

friends, were in a company where the talking Turk was the subject of

conversation. People were discussing whether the strangest feature of

the matter was the mysterious and unexplained human influence which

seemed to endow the figure with life, or the wonderful insight into the

individuality of the questioner, or the remarkable talent of the

answers. They were both rather ashamed to confess that they had not

seen the Turk as yet, for it was _de rigueur_ to see him, and every one

had some tale to tell of a wonderful answer to some skilfully devised

question.

"'"All figures of that description," said Lewis, "which can scarcely be

said to counterfeit humanity so much as to travesty it--mere images of

living death or inanimate life are in the highest degree hateful to me.

When I was a little boy, I ran away crying from a waxwork exhibition I

was taken to, and even to this day I never can enter a place of the

sort without a horrible, eerie, shuddery feeling. When I see the

staring, lifeless, glassy eyes of all the potentates, celebrated

heroes, thieves, murderers, and so on, fixed upon me, I feel disposed

to cry with Macbeth

"'"'Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

Which thou dost glare with.'

And I feel certain that most people experience the same feeling, though

perhaps not to the same extent. For you may notice that scarcely any

one talks, except in a whisper, in those waxwork places. You hardly

ever hear a loud word. But it is not reverence for the Crowned Heads

and other great people that produces this universal pianissimo; it is

the oppressive sense of being in the presence of something unnatural

and gruesome; and what I most of all detest is anything in the shape of

imitation of the motions of Human Beings by machinery. I feel sure this

wonderful, ingenious Turk will haunt me with his rolling eyes, his

turning head, and his waving arm, like some necromantic goblin, when I

lie awake of nights; so that the truth is I should very much prefer not

going to see him. I should be quite satisfied with other people's

accounts of his wit and wisdom."

"'"You know," said Ferdinand, "that I fully agree with you as to the

disagreeable feeling produced by the sight of those imitations of Human

Beings. But they are not all alike as regards that. Much depends on the

workmanship of them, and on what they do. Now there was Ensler's rope

dancer, one of the most perfect automatons I have ever seen. There was

a vigour about his movements which was most effective, and when he

suddenly sat down on his rope, and bowed in an affable manner, he was

utterly delightful. I do not suppose any one ever experienced the

gruesome feeling you speak of in looking at him. As for the Turk, I

consider his case different altogether. The figure (which every one

says is a handsome-looking one, with nothing ludicrous or repulsive

about it) the figure really plays a very subordinate part in the

business, and I think there can be little doubt that the turning of the

head and eyes, and so forth, go on merely that our notice may be

directed to them, for the very reason that it is elsewhere that the key

to the mystery is to be found. That the breath comes out of the

figure's mouth is very likely, perhaps certain; those who have been

there say it does. It by no means follows that this breath is set in

motion by the words which are spoken. There cannot be the smallest

doubt that some human being is so placed as to be able, by means of

acoustical and optical contrivances which we do not trace, to see and

hear the persons who ask questions, and whisper answers back to them;

that not a soul, even amongst our most ingenious mechanicians, has the

slightest inkling, as yet, of the process by which this is done, shows

that it is a remarkably ingenious one; and that, of course, is one

thing which renders the exhibition very interesting. But much the most

wonderful part of it, in my opinion, is the spiritual power of this

unknown human being, who seems to read the very depths of the

questioner's soul; the answers often display an acuteness and sagacity,

and, at the same time, a species of dread half-light, half-darkness,

which do really entitle them to be styled 'oracular' in the highest

sense of the term. Several of my friends have told me instances of the

sort which have fairly astounded me, and I can no longer refrain from

putting the wonderful seer-gift of this unknown person to the test, so

that I intend to go there to-morrow forenoon; and you must lay aside

your repugnance to 'living puppets,' and come with me."

"'Although Lewis did his best to get off, he was obliged to yield, on

pain of being considered eccentric, so many were the entreaties to him

not to spoil a pleasant party by his absence, for a party had been made

up to go the next forenoon, and, so to speak, take the miraculous Turk

by the very beard. They went accordingly, and although there was no

denying that the Turk had an unmistakable air of Oriental _grandezza_,

and that his head was handsome and effective, yet, as soon as Lewis

entered the room, he was struck with a sense of the ludicrous about the

whole affair, and when the Exhibitor put the key to the figure's side,

and the wheels began their whirring, he made some rather silly joke to

his friends about "the Turkish gentleman's having a roasting-jack

inside him." Every one laughed; and the Exhibitor--who did not seem to

appreciate the joke very much--stopped winding up the machinery.

Whether it was that the hilarious mood of the company displeased the

wise Turk, or that he chanced not to be "in the vein" on that

particular day, his replies--though some were to very witty and

ingenious questions--seemed empty and poor; and Lewis, in particular,

had the misfortune to find that he was scarcely ever properly

understood by the oracle, so that he received for the most part crooked

answers. The Exhibitor was clearly out of temper, and the audience were

on the point of going away, ill-pleased and disappointed, when

Ferdinand said--

"'"Gentlemen, we none of us seem to be much satisfied with the wise

Turk, but perhaps we may be partly to blame ourselves, probably our

questions may not have been altogether to his taste; the fact that he

is turning his head round at this moment, and raising his arm" (the

figure was really doing so), "seems to indicate that I am not mistaken.

A question has occurred to me to put to him; and if he gives one of his

apposite answers to it, I think he will have quite redeemed his

character."

"'Ferdinand went up to the Turk, and whispered a word or two in his

ear. The Turk raised his arm as unwilling to answer. Ferdinand

persisted, and then the Turk turned his head towards him.

"'Lewis saw that Ferdinand instantly turned pale; but after a few

seconds he asked another question, to which he got an answer at once.

It was with a most constrained smile that Ferdinand, turning to the

audience, said--

"'"I can assure you, gentlemen, that as far as I am concerned at any

rate, the Turk has redeemed his character. I must beg you to pardon me

if I conceal the question and the answer from you; of course the

secrets of the Oracle may not be divulged."

"'Though Ferdinand strove hard to hide what he felt, it was but too

evident from his efforts to be at ease that he was very deeply moved,

and the cleverest answer could not have produced in the spectators the

strange sensation, amounting to a species of awe, which his

unmistakable emotion gave rise to in them. The fun and the jests were

at an end; hardly another word was spoken, and the audience dispersed

in uneasy silence.

"'"Dear Lewis," said Ferdinand, as soon as they were alone together, "I

must tell you all about this. The Turk has broken my heart; for I

believe I shall never get over the blow he has given me until I do

really die of the fulfilment of his terrible prophecy."

"'Lewis gazed at him in the profoundest amazement; and Ferdinand

continued--

"'"I see, now, that the mysterious being who communicates with us by

the medium of the Turk, has powers at his command which compel our most

secret thoughts with magic might; it may be that this strange

intelligence clearly and distinctly beholds that germ of the future

which fructifies within us in mysterious connection with the outer

world, and is thus cognizant of all that is to come upon us in distant

days, like those persons who are endowed with that unhappy seer-gift

which enables them to predict the hour of death."

"'"You must have put an extraordinary question," Lewis answered; "but I

should think you are tacking on some unduly important meaning to the

Oracle's ambiguous reply. Mere chance, I should imagine, has educed

something which is, by accident, appropriate to your question; and you

are attributing this to the mystic power of the person (most probably

quite an every-day sort of creature) who speaks to us through the

Turk."

"'"What you say," answered Ferdinand, "is quite at variance with all

the conclusions you and I have come to on the subject of what is

ordinarily termed 'chance.' However, you cannot be expected to

comprehend the precise condition in which I am, without my telling you

all about an affair which happened to me some time ago, as to which I

have never breathed a syllable to any one living till now. Several

years ago I was on my way back to B----, from a place a long way off in

East Prussia, belonging to my father. In K----, I met with some young

Courland fellows who were going back to B---- too. We travelled

together in three post carriages; and, as we had plenty of money, and

were all about the time of life when people's spirits are pretty high,

you may imagine the manner of our journey. We were continually playing

the maddest pranks of every kind. I remember that we got to M---- about

noon, and set to work to plunder the landlady's wardrobe. A crowd

collected in front of the inn, and we marched up and down, dressed in

some of her clothes, smoking, till the postilion's horn sounded, and

off we set again. We reached D---- in the highest possible spirits, and

were so delighted with the place and scenery, that we determined to

stay there several days. We made a number of excursions in the

neighbourhood, and so once, when we had been out all day at the

Karlsberg, finding a grand bowl of punch waiting for us on our return,

we dipped into it pretty freely. Although I had not taken more of it

than was good for me, still, I had been in the grand sea-breeze all

day, and I felt all my pulses throbbing, and my blood seemed to rush

through my veins in a stream of fire. When we went to our rooms at

last, I threw myself down on my bed; but, tired as I was, my sleep was

scarcely more than a kind of dreamy, half-conscious condition, in which

I was cognizant of all that was going on about me. I fancied I could

hear soft conversation in the next room, and at last I plainly made out

a male voice saying--

"'"'Well, good night, now; mind and be ready in good time.'

"'"A door opened and closed again, and then came a deep silence; but

this was soon broken by one or two chords of a pianoforte.

"'"You know the magical effect of music sounding in that way in the

stillness of night. I felt as though some beautiful spirit voice was

speaking to me in these chords. I lay listening, expecting something in

the shape of a fantasia--or some such piece of music--to follow; but

fancy what it was when a most gloriously, exquisitely beautiful lady's

voice sang, to a melody that went to one's very heart, the words I am

going to repeat to you--

"'"Mio ben ricordati

S' avvien ch' io mora

Quanto quest' anima

Fedel t' amo;

Lo se pur amano

Le fredde ceneri,

Nel urna ancora

T' adorero'."[3]

"'"How can I ever hope to give you the faintest idea of the effect of

those long-drawn swelling and dying notes upon me. I had never imagined

anything approaching it. The melody was marvellous--quite unlike any

other.

It was, itself, the deep, tender sorrow of the most fervent love. As it

rose in simple phrases, the clear upper notes like crystal bells, and

sank till the rich low tunes died away like the sighs of a despairing

plaint, a rapture which words cannot describe took possession of

me--the pain of a boundless longing seized my heart like a spasm; I

could scarcely breathe, my whole being was merged in an inexpressible,

super-earthly delight. I did not dare to move; could only listen; soul

and body were merged in ear. It was not until the tones had been for

some time silent that tears, coming to my eyes, broke the spell, and

restored me to myself. I suppose that sleep then came upon me, for when

I was roused by the shrill notes of a posthorn, the bright morning sun

was shining into my room, and I found that it had been only in my

dreams that I had been enjoying a bliss more deep, a happiness more

ineffable, than the world could otherwise have afforded me. For a

beautiful lady came to me--it was the lady who had sung the song--and

said to me, very fondly and tenderly--

"'"'Then you _did_ recognize me, my own dear Ferdinand! I knew that I

had only to sing, and I should live again in you wholly, for every note

was sleeping in your heart.'

"'"Then I recognized, with rapture unspeakable, that she was the

beloved of my soul, whose image had been enshrined in my heart since

childhood. Though an adverse fate had torn her from me for a time, I

had found her again now; but my deep and fervent love for her melted

into that wonderful melody of sorrow, and our words and our looks grew

into exquisite swelling tones of music, flowing together into a river

of fire. Now, however, that I had awakened from this beautiful dream, I

was obliged to confess to myself that I could trace no association of

former days connected with it. I never had seen the beautiful lady

before.

"'"I heard some one talking loudly and angrily in front of the house, and

rising mechanically, I went to the window. An elderly gentleman, well

dressed, was rating the postilion, who had damaged something about an

elegant travelling carriage; at last this was put to rights, and the

gentleman called upstairs to some one, 'We're all ready now; come

along, it's time to be off.' I found that there had been a young lady

looking out of the window next to mine; but as she drew quickly back,

and had on a broad travelling hat, I did not see her face; when she

went out, she turned round and looked up at me. Heavens! she was the

singer! she was the lady of my dream! For a moment her beautiful eyes

rested upon me, and the beam of a crystal tone seemed to pierce my

heart like the point of a burning dagger, so that I felt an actual

physical smart: all my members trembled, and I was transfixed with an

indescribable bliss. She got quickly into the carriage, the postilion

blew a cheerful tune as if in jubilant defiance, and in a moment they

had disappeared round the corner of the street. I remained at the

window like a man in a dream. My Courland friends came in to fetch me

for an excursion which had been arranged: I never spoke; they thought I

was ill. How could I have uttered a single word connected with what had

occurred? I abstained from making any inquiries in the hotel about the

occupants of the room next to mine; I felt that every word relating to

her uttered by any lips but mine would be a desecration of my tender

secret. I resolved to keep it always faithfully from thenceforth, to

bear it about with me always, and to be for ever true to her--my only

love for evermore--although I might never see her again. You can quite

understand my feelings. I know you will not blame me for having

immediately given up everybody and everything but the most eager search

for the very slightest trace of my unknown love. My jovial Courland

friends were now perfectly unendurable to me; I slipped away from them

quietly in the night, and was off as fast as I could travel to B----,

to go on with my work there. You know I was always pretty good at

drawing. Well, in B---- I took lessons in miniature painting from good

masters, and got on so well that in a short time I was able to carry

out the idea which had set me on this tack--to paint a portrait of her,

as like as it could be made. I worked at it secretly, with locked

doors. No human eye has ever seen it; for I had another picture the

exact size of it framed, and put her portrait into the frame instead of

it, myself. Ever since, I have worn it next my heart.

"'"I have never mentioned this affair--much the most important event in

my life--until to-day; and you are the only creature in the world,

Lewis, to whom I have breathed a word of my secret. Yet this very day a

hostile influence--I know not whence or what--comes piercing into my

heart and life! When I went up to the Turk, I asked--thinking of my

beloved--

"'"'Will there ever be a time again for me like that which was the

happiest in my life?'

"'"The Turk was most unwilling to answer me, as I daresay you observed;

but at last, as I persisted, he said--

"'"'I am looking into your breast; but the glitter of the gold, which

is towards me, distracts me. Turn the picture round.'

"'"Have I words for the feeling which went shuddering through me? I am

sure you must have seen how I was startled. The picture was really

placed on my breast in the way the Turk had said; I turned it round,

unobserved, and repeated my question. Then the figure said, in a

sorrowful tone--

"'"'Unhappy man! At the very moment when next you see her, she will be

lost to you for ever!'"

"'Lewis was about to try to cheer his friend, who had fallen into a

deep reverie, but some mutual acquaintances came in, and they were

interrupted.

"'The story of this fresh instance of a mysterious answer by the Turk

spread in the town, and people busied themselves in conjectures as to

the unfavourable prophecy which had so upset the unprejudiced

Ferdinand. His friends were besieged with questions, and Lewis had to

invent a marvellous tale, which had all the more universal a success

that it was remote from the truth. The coterie of people with whom

Ferdinand had been induced to go and see the Turk was in the habit of

meeting once a week, and at their next meeting the Turk was necessarily

the topic of conversation, as efforts were continually being made to

obtain, from Ferdinand himself, full particulars of an adventure which

had thrown him into such an evident despondency. Lewis felt most deeply

how bitter a blow it was to Ferdinand to find the secret of his

romantic love, preserved so long and faithfully, penetrated by a

fearful, unknown power; and he, like Ferdinand, was almost convinced

that the mysterious link which attaches the present to the future must

be clear to the vision of that power to which the most hidden secrets

were thus manifest. Lewis could not help believing the Oracle; but the

malevolence, the relentlessness with which the misfortune impending

over his friend had been announced, made him indignant with the

undiscovered Being which spoke by the mouth of the Turk, so that he

placed himself in persistent opposition to the Automaton's many

admirers; and whilst they considered that there was much impressiveness

about its most natural movements, enhancing the effect of its oracular

sayings, he maintained that it was those very turnings of the head and

rollings of the eyes which he considered so absurd, and that this was

the reason why he could not help making a joke on the subject; a joke

which had put the Exhibitor out of temper, and probably the invisible

agent as well. Indeed the latter had shown that this was so by giving a

number of stupid and unmeaning answers.

"'"I must tell you," said Lewis, "that the moment I went into the room

the figure reminded me of a most delightful Nutcracker which a cousin

of mine once gave me at Christmas time when I was a little boy. The

little fellow had the gravest and most comical face ever seen, and when

he had a hard nut to crack there was some arrangement inside him which

made him roll his great eyes, which projected far out of his head, and

this gave him such an absurdly life-like effect that I could play with

him for hours; in fact, in my secret soul, I almost thought he was

real. All the marionettes I have seen since then, however perfect, I

have thought stiff and lifeless compared to my glorious Nutcracker. I

had heard much of some wonderful automatons in the Arsenal at Dantzig,

and I took care to go and see them when I was there some years ago.

Soon after I got into the place where they were, an old-fashioned

German soldier came marching up to me, and fired off his musket with

such a bang that the great vaulted hall rang again. There were other

similar tricks which I forget about now; but at length I was taken into

a room where I found the God of War--the terrible Mars himself--with

all his suite. He was seated, in a rather grotesque dress, on a throne

ornamented with arms of all sorts; heralds and warriors were standing

round him. As soon as we came before the throne, a set of drummers

began to roll their drums, and lifers blew on their fifes in the most

horrible way--all out of tune--so that one had to put one's fingers in

one's ears. My remark was that the God of War was very badly off for a

band, and every one agreed with me. The drums and fifes stopped; the

heralds began to turn their heads about, and stamp with their halberds,

and finally the God of War, after rolling his eyes for a time, started

up from his seat, and seemed to be coming straight at us. However, he

soon sank back on his throne again, and after a little more drumming

and fifing, everything reverted to its state of wooden repose. As I

came away from seeing these automatons, I said to myself, 'Nothing like

my Nutcracker!' And now that I have seen the sage Turk, I say again,

'Give me my Nutcracker.'

"'"People laughed at this, of course; though it was believed to be

'more jest than earnest,' for, to say nothing of the remarkable

cleverness of many of the Turk's answers, the indiscoverable connection

between him and the hidden Being who, besides speaking through him,

must produce the movements which accompanied his answers, was

unquestionably very wonderful, at all events a masterpiece of

mechanical and acoustical skill."

"'Lewis was himself obliged to admit this; and every one was extolling

the inventor of the automaton, when an elderly gentleman who, as a

general rule, spoke very little, and had been taking no part in the

conversation on the present occasion, rose from his chair (as he was in

the habit of doing when he did finally say a few words, always greatly

to the point) and began, in his usual polite manner, as follows--

"'"Will you be good enough to allow me, gentlemen--I beg you to pardon

me. You have reason to admire the curious work of art which has been

interesting us all for so long; but you are wrong in supposing the

commonplace person who exhibits it to be the inventor of it. The truth

is that he really has no hand at all in what are the truly remarkable

features of it. The originator of them is a gentleman highly skilled in

matters of the kind--one who lives amongst us, and has done so for many

years--whom we all know very well, and greatly respect and esteem."

"'Universal surprise was created by this, and the elderly gentleman was

besieged with questions, on which he continued;

"'"The gentleman to whom I allude is none other than Professor X----.

The Turk had been here a couple of days, and nobody had taken any

particular notice of him, though Professor X--- took care to go and see

him at once, because everything in the shape of an Automaton interests

him in the highest degree. When he had heard one or two of the Turk's

answers, he took the Exhibitor apart and whispered a word or two in his

ear. The man turned pale, and shut up his exhibition as soon as the two

or three people who were then in the room had gone away. The bills

disappeared from the walls, and nothing more was heard of the Talking

Turk for a fortnight. Then new bills came out, and the Turk was found

with the fine new head, and all the other arrangements as they are at

present--an unsolvable riddle. It is since that time that his answers

have been so clever and so interesting. But that all this is the work

of Professor X---- admits of no question. The Exhibitor, in the

interval, when the figure was not being exhibited, spent all his time

with him. Also it is well known that the Professor passed several days

in succession in the room where the figure is. Besides, gentlemen, you

are no doubt aware that the Professor himself possesses a number of

most extraordinary automatons, chiefly musical, which he has long vied

with Hofrath B---- in producing, keeping up with him a correspondence

concerning all sorts of mechanical, and, people say, even _magical_

arts and pursuits, and that, did he but choose, he could astonish the

world with them. But he works in complete privacy, although he is

always ready to show his extraordinary inventions to all who take a

real interest in such matters."

"'It was, in fact, matter of notoriety that this Professor X----, whose

principal pursuits were natural philosophy and chemistry, delighted,

next to them, in occupying himself with mechanical research; but no one

in the assemblage had had the slightest idea that he had had any

connection with the "Talking Turk," and it was from the merest hearsay

that people knew anything concerning the curiosities which the old

gentleman had referred to. Ferdinand and Lewis felt strangely and

vividly impressed by the old gentleman's account of Professor X----,

and the influence which he had brought to bear on that strange

automaton.

"'"I cannot hide from you," said Ferdinand, "that a hope is dawning

upon me that, if I get nearer to this Professor X----, I may, perhaps,

come upon a clue to the mystery which is weighing so terribly upon me

at present. And it is possible that the true significance and import of

the relations which exist between the Turk (or rather the hidden entity

which employs him as the organ of its oracular utterances) and myself

might, could I get to comprehend it, perhaps comfort me, and weaken the

impression of those words, for me so terrible. I have made up my mind

to make the acquaintance of this mysterious man, on the pretext of

seeing his automatons; and as they are musical ones, it will not be

devoid of interest for you to come with me."

"'"As if it were not sufficient for me," said Lewis, "to be able to aid

you, in your necessity, with counsel and help! But I cannot deny that

even to-day, when the old gentleman was mentioning Professor X----'s

connection with the Turk, strange ideas came into my mind; although

perhaps I am going a long way about in search of what lies close at

hand, could one but see it. For instance, to look as close at hand as

possible for the solution of the mystery, may it not be the case that

the invisible being knew that you wore the picture next your heart, so

that a mere lucky guess might account for the rest? Perhaps it was

taking its revenge upon you for the rather uncourteous style in which

we were joking about the Turk's wisdom."

"'"Not one human soul," Ferdinand answered, "has ever set eyes on the

picture; this I told you before. And I have never told any creature but

yourself of the adventure which has had such an immensely important

influence on my whole life. It is an utter impossibility that the Turk

can have got to know of this in any ordinary manner. Much more

probably, what you say you are 'going a long roundabout way' in search

of may be much nearer the truth."

"'"Well then," said Lewis, "what I mean is this; that this automaton,

strongly as I appeared to-day to assert the contrary, is really one of

the most extraordinary phenomena ever beheld, and that everything goes

to prove that whoever controls and directs it has at his command higher

powers than is supposed by those who go there simply to gape at things,

and do no more than wonder at what is wonderful. The figure is nothing

more than the outward form of the communication; but that form has been

cleverly selected, as such, since the shape, appearance, and movements

of it are well adapted to occupy the attention in a manner favourable

for the preservation of the secret, and, particularly, to work upon the

questioners favourably as regards the intelligence, whatsoever it is,

which gives the answers. There cannot be any human being concealed

inside the figure; that is as good as proved, so that it is clearly the

result of some acoustic deception that we think the answers come from

the Turk's mouth. But how this is accomplished--how the Being who gives

the answers is placed in a position to hear the questions and see the

questioners, and at the same time to be audible by them--certainly

remains a complete mystery to me. Of course all this merely implies

great acoustic and mechanical skill on the part of the inventor, and

remarkable acuteness, or, I might say, systematic craftiness, in

leaving no stone unturned in the process of deceiving us. And I admit

that this part of the riddle interests me the less, inasmuch as it

falls completely into the shade in comparison with the circumstance

(which, is the only part of the affair which is so extraordinarily

remarkable) that the Turk often reads the very soul of the questioner.

How, if it were possible to this Being which gives the answers, to

acquire by some process unknown to us, a psychic influence over us, and

to place itself in a spiritual _rapport_ with us, so that it can

comprehend and read our minds and thoughts, and more than that, have

cognizance of our whole inner being; so that, if it does not clearly

speak out the secrets which are lying dormant within us, it does yet

evoke and call forth, in a species of _extasis_ induced by its

_rapport_ with the exterior spiritual principle, the suggestions, the

outlines, the shadowings of all which is reposing within our breasts,

clearly seen by the eye of the spirit, in brightest illumination! On

this assumption the psychical power would strike the strings within us,

so as to make them give forth a clear and vibrating chord, audible to

us, and intelligible by us, instead of merely murmuring, as they do at

other times; so that it is we who answer our own selves; the voice

which we hear is produced from within ourselves by the operation of

this unknown spiritual power, and vague presentiments and anticipations

of the future brighten into spoken prognostications--just as, in

dreams, we often find that a voice, unfamiliar to us, tells us of

things which we do not know, or as to which we are in doubt, being, in

reality, a voice proceeding from ourselves, although it seems to convey

to us knowledge which previously we did not possess. No doubt the Turk

(that is to say, the hidden power which is connected with him) seldom

finds it necessary to place himself _en rapport_ with people in this

way. Hundreds of them can be dealt with in the cursory, superficial

manner adapted to their queries and characters, and it is seldom that a

question is put which calls for the exercise of anything besides ready

wit. But by any strained or exalted condition of the questioner the

Turk would be affected in quite a different way, and he would then

employ those means which render possible the production of a psychic

_rapport_, giving him the power to answer from out of the inner depths

of the questioner. His hesitation in replying to deep questions of this

kind may be due to the delay which he grants himself to gain a few

moments for the bringing into play of the power in question. This is my

true and genuine opinion; and you see that I have not that contemptuous

notion of this work of art (or whatever may be the proper term to apply

to it) that I would have had you believe I had. But I do not wish to

conceal anything from you; though I see that if you adopt my idea, I

shall not have given you any real comfort at all."

"'"You are wrong there, dear friend," said Ferdinand. "The very fact

that your opinion does chime in with a vague notion which I felt,

dimly, in my own mind, comforts me very much. It is only myself that I

have to take into account; my precious secret is not discovered, for 1

know that you will guard it as a sacred treasure. And, by-the-bye, I

must tell you of a most extraordinary feature of the matter, which I

had forgotten till now. Just as the Turk was speaking his latter words,

I fancied that I heard one or two broken phrases of the sorrowful

melody, '_mio ben ricordati_,' and then it seemed to me that one

single, long-drawn note of the glorious voice which I heard on that

eventful night went floating by."

"'"Well," said Lewis, "and I remember, too, that, just as your answer

was being given to you, I happened to place my hand on the railing

which surrounds the figure. I felt it thrill and vibrate in my hand,

and I fancied also that I could hear a kind of musical sound, for I

cannot say it was a vocal note, passing across the room. I paid no

attention to it, because, as you know, my head is always full of music,

and I have several times been wonderfully deceived in a similar way;

but I was very much astonished, in my own mind, when I traced the

mysterious connection between that sound and your adventure in D----."

"'The fact that Lewis had heard the sound as well as himself, was to

Ferdinand a proof of the psychic _rapport_ which existed between them;

and as they further diseased the marvels of the affair, he began to

feel the heavy burden which had weighed upon him since he heard the

fatal answer lifted away, and was ready to go forward bravely to meet

whatsoever the future might have in store.

"'"It is impossible that I can lose her," he said. "She is my heart's

queen, and will always be there, as long as my own life endures."

"'They went and called on Professor X----, in high hope that he would

be able to throw light on many questions relating to occult sympathies

and the like, in which they were deeply interested. They found him to

be an old man, dressed in old-fashioned French style, exceedingly keen

and lively, with small grey eyes which had an unpleasant way of fixing

themselves on one, and a sarcastic simile, not very attractive,

playing about his mouth.

"'When they had expressed their wish to see some of his automatons, he

said, "Ah! and you really take an interest in mechanical matters, do

you? Perhaps you have done something in that direction yourselves?

Well, I can show you, in this house here, what you will look for in

vain in the rest of Europe: I may say, in the known world."

"'There was something most unpleasant about the Professor's voice; it

was a high-pitched, screaming sort of discordant tenor, exactly suited

to the mountebank tone in which he proclaimed his treasures. He fetched

his keys with a great clatter, and opened the door of a tastefully and

elegantly furnished hall, where the automatons were. There was a piano

in the middle of the loom, on a raised platform; beside it, on the

right, a life-sized figure of a man, with a flute in his hand; on the

left, a female figure, seated at an instrument somewhat resembling a

piano; behind her were two boys, with a drum and a triangle. In the

background our two friends noticed an orchestrion (which was an

instrument already known to them), and all round the walls were a

number of musical clocks. The Professor passed, in a cursory manner,

close by the orchestrion and the clocks, and just touched the

automatons, almost imperceptibly; then he sat down at the piano, and

began to play, _pianissimo_, an _andante_ in the style of a march. He

played it once through by himself; and as he commenced it for the

second time the flute-player put his instrument to his lips, and took

up the melody; then one of the boys drummed softly on his drum in the

most accurate time, and the other just touched his triangle, so that

you could hear it and no more. Presently the lady came in with full

chords, of a sound something like those of a harmonica, which she

produced by pressing down the keys of her instrument; and now the whole

room kept growing more and more alive; the musical clocks came in one

by one, with the utmost rhythmical precision; the boy drummed louder;

the triangle rang through the room, and lastly the orchestrion set to

work, and drummed and trumpeted _fortissimo_, so that the whole place

shook again; and this went on till the Professor wound up the whole

business with one final chord, all the machines finishing also, with

the utmost precision. Our friends bestowed the applause which the

Professor's complacent smile (with its undercurrent of sarcasm) seemed

to demand of them. He went up to the figures to set about exhibiting

some further similar musical feats; but Lewis and Ferdinand, as if by a

preconcerted arrangement, declared that they had pressing business

which prevented their making a longer stay, and took their leave of the

inventor and his machines.

"'"Most interesting and ingenious, wasn't it?" said Ferdinand; but

Lewis's anger, long restrained, broke out.

"'"Oh! confusion on that wretched Professor!" he cried. "What a

terrible, terrible disappointment! Where are all the revelations we

expected? What became of the learned, instructive discourse which we

thought he would deliver to us, as to disciples at Sais?"

"'"At the same time," said Ferdinand, "we have seen some very ingenious

mechanical inventions, curious and interesting from a musical point of

view. Clearly, the flute-player is the same as Vaucanson's well-known

machine; and a similar mechanism applied to the fingers of the female

figure is, I suppose, what enables her to bring out those really

beautiful tones from her instrument. The way in which all the machines

work together is really astonishing."

"'"It is exactly that which drives me so wild," said Lewis. "All that

machine-music (in which I include the Professor's own playing) makes

every bone in my body ache. I am sure I do not know when I shall get

over it! The fact of any human being's doing anything in association

with those lifeless figures which counterfeit the appearance and

movements of humanity has always, to me, something fearful, unnatural,

T may say terrible, about it. I suppose it would be possible, by means

of certain mechanical arrangements inside them, to construct automatons

which should dance, and then to set them to dance with human beings,

and twist and turn about in all sorts of figures; so that we should

have a living man putting his arms about a lifeless partner of wood,

and whirling round and round with her, or rather it. Could you look at

such a sight, for an instant, without horror? At all events, all

machine-music is to me a thing altogether monstrous and abominable; and

a good stocking-loom is, in my opinion, worth all the most perfect and

ingenious musical clocks in the universe put together. For is it the

breath, merely, of the performer on a wind-instrument, or the skilful,

supple fingers of the performer on a stringed instrument, which evoke

those tones which lay upon us a spell of such power, and awaken that

inexpressible feeling, akin to nothing else on earth, the sense of a

distant spirit world, and of our own higher life therein? Is it not,

rather, the mind, the soul, the heart, which merely employ those bodily

organs to give forth into our external life that which is felt in our

inner depths? so that it can be communicated to others, and awaken

kindred chords in them, opening, in harmonious echoes, that marvellous

kingdom from whence those tones come darting, like beams of light? To

set to work to make music by means of valves, springs, levers,

cylinders, or whatever other apparatus you choose to employ, is a

senseless attempt to make the means to an end accomplish what can

result only when those means are animated and, in their minutest

movements, controlled by the mind, the soul, and the heart. The gravest

reproach you can make to a musician is that he plays without

expression; because, by so doing, he is marring the whole essence of

the matter. Yet the coldest and most unfeeling executant will always be

far in advance of the most perfect of machines. For it is impossible

that no impulse whatever, from the inner man shall ever, even for a

moment, animate his rendering; whereas, in the case of a machine, no

such impulse can ever do so. The attempts of mechanicians to imitate,

with more or less approximation to accuracy, the human organs in the

production of musical sounds, or to substitute mechanical appliances

for those organs, I consider tantamount to a declaration of war against

the spiritual element in music; but the greater the forces they array

against it, the more victorious it is. For this very reason, the more

perfect that this sort of machinery is, the more I disapprove of it;

and I infinitely prefer the commonest barrel-organ, in which the

mechanism attempts nothing but to be mechanical, to Vaucauson's

flute-player, or the harmonica girl.

"'"I entirely agree with you," said Ferdinand, "and indeed you have

merely put into words what I have always thought; and I was much struck

with it to-day at the Professor's. Although I do not so wholly live and

move and have my being in music as you do, and consequently am not so

sensitively alive to imperfections in it, I, too, have always felt a

repugnance to the stiffness and lifelessness of machine-music; and, I

can remember, when I was a child at home, how I detested a large,

ordinary musical clock, which played its little tune every hour. It is

a pity that those skilful mechanicians do not try to apply their

knowledge to the improvement of musical instruments, rather than to

puerilities of this sort."

"'"Exactly," said Lewis. "Now, in the case of instruments of the

keyboard class a great deal might be done. There is a wide field open

in that direction to clever mechanical people, much as has been

accomplished already; particularly in instruments of the pianoforte

genus. But it would be the task of a really advanced system of the

'mechanics of music' to closely observe, minutely study, and carefully

discover that class of sounds which belong, most purely and strictly,

to Nature herself, to obtain a knowledge of the tones which dwell in

substances of every description, and then to take this mysterious music

and enclose it in some description of instrument, where it should be

subject to man's will, and give itself forth at his touch. All the

attempts to bring music out of metal or glass cylinders, glass threads,

slips of glass, or pieces of marble; or to cause strings to vibrate or

sound, in ways unlike the ordinary ways, seem to me to be interesting

in the highest degree: and what stands in the way of our real progress

in the discovery of the marvellous acoustical secrets which lie hidden

all around us in nature is, that every imperfect attempt at an

experiment is at once held up to laudation as being a new and utterly

perfect invention, either for vanity's sake, or for money's. This is

why so many new instruments have started into existence--most of them

with grand or ridiculous names--and have disappeared and been forgotten

just as quickly."

"'"Your 'higher mechanics of music' seems to be a most interesting

subject," said Ferdinand, "although, for my part, I do not as yet quite

perceive the object at which it aims."

"'"The object at which it aims," said Lewis, "is the discovery of the

most absolutely perfect kind of musical sound; and according to my

theory, musical sound would be the nearer to perfection the more

closely it approximated to such of the mysterious tones of nature as

are not wholly dissociated from this earth."

"'"I presume," said Ferdinand, "that it is because I have not

penetrated so deeply into this subject as you have, but you must allow

me to say that I do not quite understand you."

"'"Then," said Lewis, "let me give you some sort of an idea how it is

that all this question exhibits itself to my mind.

"'"In the primeval condition of the human race, while (to make use of

almost the very words of a talented writer--Schubert--in his 'Glimpses

at the Night Side of Natural Science') mankind as yet was dwelling in

its pristine holy harmony with nature, richly endowed with a heavenly

instinct of prophecy and poetry; while, as yet, Mother Nature continued

to nourish from the fount of her own life, the wondrous being to whom

she had given birth, she encompassed him with a holy music, like the

afflatus of a continual inspiration; and wondrous tones spake of the

mysteries of her unceasing activity. There has come down to us an echo

from the mysterious depths of those primeval days--that beautiful

notion of the music of the spheres, which, when as a boy, I first read

of it in 'The Dream of Scipio,' filled me with the deepest and most

devout reverence. I often used to listen, on quiet moonlight nights, to

hear if those wondrous tones would come to me, borne on the wings

of the whispering airs. However, as I said to you already, those

nature-tones have not yet all departed from this world, fur we have an

instance of their survival, and occurrence in that 'Music of the Air'

or 'Voice of the Demon,' mentioned by a writer on Ceylon--a sound

which so powerfully affects the human system, that even the least

impressionable persons, when they hear those tones of nature imitating,

in such a terrible manner, the expression of human sorrow and

suffering, are struck with painful compassion and profound terror!

Indeed, I once met with an instance of a phenomenon of a similar kind

myself, at a place in East Prussia. I had been living there for some

time; it was about the end of autumn, when, on quiet nights, with a

moderate breeze blowing, I used distinctly to hear tones, sometimes

resembling the deep, stopped, pedal pipe of an organ, and sometimes

like the vibrations from a deep, soft-toned bell. I often

distinguished, quite clearly, the low F, and the fifth above it (the

C), and not seldom the minor third above, E flat, was perceptible as

well; and then this tremendous chord of the seventh, so woeful and so

solemn, produced on one the effect of the most intense sorrow, and even

of terror!

"'"There is, about the imperceptible commencement, the swelling and the

gradual dying of those nature-tones a something which has a most

powerful and indescribable effect upon us; and any instrument which

should be capable of producing this would, no doubt, affect us in a

similar way. So that I think the harmonica comes the nearest, as

regards its tone, to that perfection, which is to be measured by its

influence on our minds. And it is fortunate that this instrument (which

chances to be the very one which imitates those nature-tones with such

exactitude) happens to be just the very one which is incapable of

lending itself to frivolity or ostentation, but exhibits its

characteristic qualities in the purest of simplicity. The recently

invented 'harmonichord' will doubtless accomplish much in this

direction. This instrument, as you no doubt know, sets strings

a-vibrating and a-toning (not bells, as in the harmonica) by means of

mechanism, which is set in motion by the pressing down of keys, and the

rotation of a cylinder. The performer has, under his control, the

commencement, the swelling out, and the diminishing, of the tones

much more than is the case with the harmonica, though as yet the

harmonichord has not the tone of the harmonica, which sounds as if it

came straight from another world."

"'"I have heard that instrument," said Ferdinand, "and certainly the

tone of it went to the very depths of my being, although I thought the

performer was doing it scant justice. As regards the rest, I think I

quite understand you, although I do not, as yet, quite see into the

closeness of the connection between those 'nature-tones' and music."

"'Lewis answered--"Can the music which dwells within us be any other

than that which lies buried in nature as a profound mystery,

comprehensible only by the inner, higher sense, uttered by instruments,

as the organs of it, merely in obedience to a mighty spell, of which we

are the masters? But, in the purely psychical action and operation of

the spirit--that is to say, in dreams--this spell is broken; and then,

in the tones of familiar instruments, we are enabled to recognise those

nature-tones as wondrously engendered in the air, they come floating

down to us, and swell and die away."

"'"I think of the AEolian harp," said Ferdinand. "What is your opinion

about that ingenious invention?"

"'"Every attempt," said Lewis, "to tempt Nature to give forth her tones

is glorious, and highly worthy of attention. Only, it seems to me that,

as yet, we have only offered her trifling toys, which she has often

shattered to pieces in her indignation. Much grander idea than all

those playthings (like AEolian harps) was the 'storm harp' which I have

read of. It was made of thick chords of wire, which were stretched out

at considerable distances apart, in the open country, and gave forth

great, powerful chords when the wind smote upon them.

"'"Altogether, there is still a wide field open to thoughtful inventors

in this direction, and I quite believe that the impulse recently given

to natural science in general will be perceptible in this branch of it,

and bring into practical existence much which is, as yet, nothing but

speculation."

"Just at this moment there came suddenly floating through the air an

extraordinary sound, which, as it swelled and became more

distinguishable, seemed to resemble the tone of a harmonica. Lewis and

Ferdinand stood rooted to the spot in amazement, not unmixed with awe;

the tones took the form of a profoundly sorrowful melody sung by a

female voice. Ferdinand grasped Lewis by the hand, whilst the latter

whisperingly repeated the words,

"'"Mio ben, ricordati, s' avvien ch' io mora."

"'At the time when this occurred they were outside of the town, and

before the entrance to a garden which was surrounded by lofty trees and

tall hedges. There was a pretty little girl--whom they had not observed

before--sitting playing in the grass near them, and she sprang up

crying, "Oh, how beautifully my sister is singing again! I must take

her some flowers, for she always sings sweeter and longer when she sees

a beautiful carnation." And with that she gathered a bunch of flowers,

and went skipping into the garden with it, leaving the gate ajar, so

that our friends could see through it. What was their astonishment to

see Professor X---- standing in the middle of the garden, beneath a

lofty ash-tree! Instead of the repellant grin of irony with which he

had received them at his house, his face wore an expression of deep

melancholy earnestness, and his gaze was fixed upon the heavens, as if

he were contemplating that world beyond the skies, whereof those

marvellous tones, floating in the air like the breath of a zephyr, were

telling. He walked up and down the central alley, with slow and

measured steps; and, as he passed along, everything around him seemed

to waken into life and movement. In every direction crystal tones came

scintillating out of the dark bushes and trees, and, streaming through

the air like flame, united in a wondrous concert, penetrating the

inmost heart, and waking in the soul the most rapturous emotions of a

higher world. Twilight was falling fast; the Professor disappeared

among the hedges, and the tones died away in _pianissimo_. At length

our friends went back to the town in profound silence; but, as Lewis

was about to quit Ferdinand, the latter clasped him firmly, saying--

"'"Be true to me! Do not abandon me! I feel, too clearly, some hostile

foreign influence at work upon my whole existence, smiting upon all its

hidden strings, and making them resound at its pleasure. I am helpless

to resist it, though it should drive me to my destruction! Can that

diabolical, sneering irony, with which the Professor received us at his

house, have been anything other than the expression of this hostile

principle? Was it with any other intention than that of getting his

hands washed of me for ever, that he fobbed us off with those

automatons of his?"

"'"You are very probably right," said Lewis; "for I have a strong

suspicion myself that, in some manner which is as yet an utter riddle

to me, the Professor does exercise some sort of power or influence over

your fate, or, I should rather say, over that mysterious psychical

relationship, or affinity, which exists between you and this lady. It

may be that, being mixed up in some way with this affinity, in his

character of an element hostile to it, he strengthens it by the very

fact that he opposes it: and it may also be that that which renders you

so extremely unacceptable to him is the circumstance that your presence

awakens, and sets into lively movement all the strings and chords of

this mutually sympathetic condition, and this contrary to his desire,

and, very probably, in opposition to some conventional family

arrangement."

"'Our friends determined to leave no stone unturned in their efforts to

make a closer approach to the Professor, with the hope that they might

succeed, sooner or later, in clearing up this mystery which so affected

Ferdinand's destiny and fate, and they were to have paid him a visit on

the following morning as a preliminary step. However, a letter, which

Ferdinand unexpectedly received from his father, summoned him to B----;

it was impossible for him to permit himself the smallest delay, and in

a few hours he was off, as fast as post-horses could convey him,

assuring Lewis, as he started, that nothing should prevent his return

in a fortnight, at the very furthest.

"'It struck Lewis as a singular circumstance that, soon after

Ferdinand's departure, the same old gentleman who had at first spoken

of the Professor's connection with "the Talking Turk," took an

opportunity of enlarging to him on the fact that X----'s mechanical

inventions were simply the result of an extreme enthusiasm for

mechanical pursuits, and of deep and searching investigations in

natural science; he also more particularly lauded the Professor's

wonderful discoveries in music, which, he said, he had not as yet

communicated to any one, adding that his mysterious laboratory was a

pretty garden outside the town, and that passers by had often heard

wondrous tones and melodies there, just as if the whole place were

peopled by fays and spirits.

"'The fortnight elapsed, but Ferdinand did not come back. At length,

when two months had gone by, a letter came from him to the following

effect--

"'"Read and marvel; though you will learn only that which, perhaps, you

strongly suspected would be the case, when you got to know more of the

Professor--as I hope you did. As the horses were being changed in the

village of P----, I was standing, gazing into the distance, not

thinking specially of anything in particular. A carriage drove by, and

stopped at the church, which was open. A young lady, simply dressed,

stepped out of the carriage, followed by a young gentleman in a Russian

Jaeger uniform, wearing several decorations; two gentlemen got down

from a second carriage. The innkeeper said, 'Oh, this is the stranger

couple our clergyman is marrying to-day.' Mechanically I went into the

church, just as the clergyman was concluding the service with the

blessing. I looked at the couple--the bride was my sweet singer. She

looked at me, turned pale, and fainted. The gentleman who was behind

her caught her in his arms. It was Professor X----. What happened

further I do not know, nor have I any recollection as to how I got

here; probably Professor X---- can tell you all about it. But a peace

and a happiness, such as I have never known before, have now taken

possession of my soul. The mysterious prophecy of the Turk was a cursed

falsehood, a mere result of blind groping with unskilful antennae. Have

I lost her? Is she not mine for ever in the glowing inner life?

"'"It will be long ere you hear of me, for I am going on to K----, and

perhaps to the extreme north, as far as P----."

"'Lewis gathered the distracted condition of his friend's mind, only

too plainly, from his language, and the whole affair became the greater

a riddle to him when he ascertained that it was matter of certainty

that Professor X---- had not quitted the town.

"'"How," thought he, "if all this be but a result of the conflict of

mysterious psychical relations (existing, perhaps, between several

people) making their way out into everyday life, and involving in their

circle even outward events, independent of them, so that the deluded

inner sense looks upon them as phenomena proceeding unconditionally

from itself, and believes in them accordingly? It may be that the

hopeful anticipation which I feel within me will be realised--for my

friend's consolation. For the Turk's mysterious prophecy is fulfilled,

and perhaps, through that very fulfilment, the mortal blow which

menaced my friend is averted."'"

"Well," said Ottmar, as Theodore came to a sudden stop, "is that all?

Where is the explanation? What became of Ferdinand, the beautiful

singer, Professor X----, and the Russian officer?"

"You know," said Theodore, "that I told you at the beginning that I was

only going to read you a fragment, and I consider that the story of the

Talking Turk _is_ only of a fragmentary character, essentially. I mean,

that the imagination of the reader, or listener, should merely receive

one or two more or less powerful impulses, and then go on swinging,

pendulum-like, of its own accord, as it chooses. But if you, Ottmar,

are really anxious to have your mind set at rest over Ferdinand's

future condition, remember the dialogue on opera which I read to you

some time since. This is the same Ferdinand who appears therein, sound

of mind and body; in the 'Talking Turk' he is at an earlier stage of

his career. So that probably his somnambulistic love-affair ended

satisfactorily enough."

"To which," said Ottmar, "has to be added that our Theodore used, at

one time, to take a wonderful delight in exciting people's imaginations

by means of the most extraordinary--nay, wild and insane--stories, and

then suddenly break them off. Not only this, but everything he did, at

that time, assumed a fragmentary form. He read second volumes only, not

troubling himself about the firsts or thirds; saw only the second and

third acts of plays; and so on."

"And," said Theodore, "that inclination I still have; to this hour

nothing is so distasteful to me as when, in a story or a novel, the

stage on which the imaginary world has been in action comes to be swept

so clean by the historic besom that there is not the smallest grain or

particle of dust left on it; when one goes home so completely sated and

satisfied that one has not the faintest desire left to have another

peep behind the curtain. On the other hand, many a fragment of a clever

story sinks deep into my soul, and the continuance of the play of my

imagination, as it goes along on its own swing, gives me an enduring

pleasure. Who has not felt this over Goethe's 'Nut-brown Maid'! And,

above all, his fragment of that most delightful tale of the little lady

whom the traveller always carried about with him in a little box always

exercises an indescribable charm upon me."

"Enough," interrupted Lothair. "We are not to hear any more about the

Talking Turk, and the story was really all told, after all. So let

Ottmar begin without more ado."

Ottmar took out his manuscript, and read:

"'THE DOGE AND THE DOGARESSA.

"'This was the title given in the catalogue of the works exhibited at

the Berlin Academy, in September, 1816, to a picture by that admirable

painter C. Kolbe, which attracted every one with such an irresistible

charm, that the space before it was always crowded with admirers. A

doge, in rich robes of state, with his dogaressa, equally richly

attired, were represented pacing forward on a balustraded balcony; he

an old man with grey beard, strangely mingled traits in his brown-red

face, indicative of strength, weakness, pride, and arrogance, as well

as kindliness; she, a young creature, with longing sadness and dreamy

desirings in her looks, and in the entire expression of her figure.

Behind them, an elderly lady, and a man holding a sunshade. Sidewards

on the balcony, a young man blowing a shell-shaped horn; and in front

of them, the sea with a richly ornamented gondola flying the Venetian

ensign, with two gondoliers on board of it. In the background the

ocean, alive with hundreds and hundreds of sails, and a view of the

towers and palaces of gorgeous Venice rising above the waves; to the

left San Marco distinguishable, and more to the right--towards the

foreground--San Giorgio Maggiore. On the frame of the picture were the

words:

"'"Ah' senza amare

Andar sulla mare

Col' sposo del mare

Non puo consolare.

"'"To sail upon the sapphire sea

With him, the consort of the ocean,

Where love is not, and cannot be,

Wakes in the heart no soft emotion."

"'There arose, one day, before this picture, a somewhat idle discussion

as to whether, in painting it, the painter's intention had been merely

to portray a momentary situation (adequately represented by the

picture) of an old man, incapable, notwithstanding all his magnificence

and splendour, of satisfying the longings of a young and loving heart,

or to record an actual historical event. Weary of this discussion the

members of the group dispersed, till at length only two staunch lovers

of the noble painter's craft were left.

"'"I do not know," the one of them began, "why it is that people spoil

all their own enjoyment by these perpetual childish explainings and

explainings. Not only do I consider that I see perfectly well what the

painter meant by his doge and dogaressa--the idea which he intended

them to express--but I am struck, and impressed, in a quite unusual

degree, by the shimmer of richness and power which is spread over the

whole of this work. Look at that flag with the winged lion, how it

seems to control the world as it flutters in the breeze. Oh! glorious

Venice!"

"'And he began to repeat Truandot's riddle concerning the Lion of the

Adriatic.

"'"Dimmi qual sei quella terribil fera," &c., &c.

"'Scarcely had he finished doing this, when a sonorous male voice broke

in with Calaf's answer to the said riddle:

"'"Tu, quadrupede fera," &c.

"'Unnoticed by the friends, a man had taken up his position behind

them; a man of very distinguished appearance, having a grey cloak cast,

artist-like, over his shoulders, who was contemplating the picture with

sparkling eyes. A conversation commenced between them, and the stranger

said, in a tone which was almost solemn:

"'"It is a strange mystery that, often, a picture dawns in a painter's

mind, of which the characters--previously mere irrecognizable, bodiless

mist, driving about in the atmosphere--seem, for the first time, to

assume form in his brain, and to find their home there, and, of a

sudden, the picture binds itself up with the past, or perhaps with the

future, and represents something which has happened, or is to happen

hereafter. Kolbe may not be aware himself, as yet, that in that picture

of his he has painted none other than the Doge Marino Falieri and his

wife, Annunziata."

"'The stranger paused; but the two friends begged him to solve this

riddle for them as he had done that of the Lion of the Adriatic."

"'So he said, "If you have the necessary patience, gentlemen, I will at

once give you the solution of the riddle, in the shape of the story of

Falieri. The question is, _have_ you the necessary patience? For I mean

to be exceedingly circumstantial; because, were I not to be so, I

should much prefer not to speak of these matters at all--though they

are as vividly present to my eyes as if I had actually witnessed them.

There is nothing strange in this; for every historian (and _I_ am a

historian) is a species of ghost, telling of things bygone."

"'The friends accompanied the stranger to a room at some little

distance; where, without further prelude, he went on, as follows:--

"'"A long, long time ago--if I mistake not, it was in the month of

August of the year 1354--the great Genoese General Paganino Doria had

utterly routed the Venetians, and taken their town of Parenzo by storm.

In the gulf, close before Venice, his well-manned galleys were cruizing

up and down, like hungry beasts of prey running backwards and forwards,

watching how best to grasp their quarry. Deadly terror took possession

of the Signoria and populace. Everybody who could carry arms took to

their weapons or to their oars. They collected their forces and

treasure at the harbour of San Nicolo. Ships and trees were sunk, and

chains fastened together, to block the passage against the enemy.

Whilst the weapons and the armour clanged and clattered, and the heavy

masses went thundering down into the sea, agents of the Signoria were

to be seen on the Rialto wiping the perspiration from their pale

foreheads, and offering, in hoarse accents and with distracted faces,

cent, per cent. for ready cash; for even of that the troubled republic

was in urgent need. But it was decreed in the mysterious councils of

Eternal Providence that just at this season of the extremest trouble

and necessity the faithful shepherd of this distracted flock should be

taken away from them. The Doge, Andrea Dandulo, whom his people styled

'The dear little Count' (_Il caro Contino_)--because he was always kind

and good, and never crossed the square of San Marco without being

prepared with money or good advice for all who needed either--died,

worn out by fatigue and anxiety. And as those who are disheartened by

misfortune feel doubly every blow, which at another time they would

scarcely notice, the people were overwhelmed with sorrow when they

heard the bells of San Marco announcing in hollow tones of sadness the

death of their ruler. Their hope and stay was gone; they cried aloud

that they would have to bow their necks to the yoke of Genoa; although,

as concerned the warlike operations, the death of Dandulo did not seem

such a great disaster. For the little Count liked to live in peace and

comfort; he was fonder of watching the mysterious courses of the stars

than of studying the enigmatic turnings and windings of statecraft; he

knew better how to duly order an Easter procession than how to lead an

army to battle. The desideratum now was the choice of a Doge who should

possess both the generalship and the diplomatic skill necessary to

rescue Venice from the clutches of her enemy, more daring every day and

hour. The Senators met; but nothing was seen save troubled faces, eyes

fixed on the ground, and heads leaned on the hand. Where should a man

be found capable of grasping the helm with vigorous, strenuous hand,

and steering the vessel of the State safe through the storm?

"'At length the oldest of the senators, Marino Bodoeri, began to speak.

"'"Here," he said, "around us or about us, he is not to be found. But

turn your eyes to Avignon, to Marino Falieri, whom we sent to

congratulate Pope Innocent on his election. He might be better employed

now. If we make him Doge he will weather this storm. You will say he is

well on to his eightieth year, with his hair and his beard turned to

silver; that his vigorous aspect, his gleaming eyes, and the rosy tint

of his nose and cheeks are due (as evil tongues choose to say) more to

good Cyprus wine than to toughness of constitution. What matter!

Remember the brilliant courage he displayed when he was Proveditor of

the Black Sea Fleet. Think of the deserts which moved the procurators

of San Marco to reward him with the rich Countship of Valdemarino."

"'Thus did Bodoeri paint Falieri's merits in the most brilliant

colours, and refute, in advance, all objections to him, till every vote

was at length given in his favour. It is true many had a good deal to

say of his violent temper, his lust for power, and his self-will. But

on the other hand it was urged, "It is because all _that_ has, in his

old age, passed away from him that we choose the aged--not the

youthful--Falieri." Hostile voices such us these fell silent as soon as

the populace, on hearing of his election, broke forth into boundless

rejoicing. In time of danger, disquiet, and anxiety, any decision, so

long as it is a decision, is looked upon as a divine inspiration.

"'So the "dear little Count," with all his gentleness and kindliness,

was clean forgotten, and everybody cried:

"'"By Saint Mark, this Marino ought to have been our Doge long ago; and

then we should not have had this presumptuous Doria upon our

shoulders." And maimed soldiers held up their arms, and cried: