1
I will first sum up as briefly as possible, for who so may still
be ignorant of them, the facts which it is necessary to know if
one would fully understand the marvelous story of the Elberfeld
horses. For a detailed account, I can refer him to Herr Karl
Krall's remarkable work, Denkende Tiere (Leipsig, 1912), which is
the first and principal source of information amid a bibliography
that is already assuming considerable dimensions.
Some twenty years ago there lived in Berlin an old misanthrope
named Wilhelm von Osten. He was a man with a small private
income, a little eccentric in his ways and obsessed by one idea,
the intelligence of animals. He began by undertaking the
education of a horse that gave him no very definite results. But,
in 1900, he became the owner of a Russian stallion who, under the
name of Hans, to which was soon added the Homeric and well-earned
prefix of Kluge, or Clever, was destined to upset all our notions
of animal psychology and to raise questions that rank among the
most unexpected and the most absorbing problems which man has yet
encountered.
Thanks to Von Osten, whose patience, contrary to what one might
think, was in no wise angelic but resembled rather a frenzied
obstinacy, the horse made rapid and extraordinary progress. This
progress is very aptly described by Professor E. Clarapede, of
the university of Geneva, who says, in his excellent monograph on
the Elberfeld horses:
"After making him familiar with various common ideas, such as
right, left, top, bottom and so on, his master began to teach him
arithmetic by the intuitive method. Hans was brought to a table
on which were placed first one, then two, then several small
skittles. Von Osten, kneeling beside Hans, uttered the
corresponding numbers, at the same time making him strike as many
blows with his hoof as there were skittles on the table. Before
long, the skittles were replaced by figures written on a
blackboard. The results were astonishing. The horse was capable
not only of counting (that is to say, of striking as many blows
as he was asked), but also of himself making real calculations,
of solving little problems. . . .
"But Hans could do more than mere sums: he knew how to read; he
was a musician, distinguishing between harmonious and dissonant
chords. He also had an extraordinary memory: he could tell the
date of each day of the current week. In short, he got through
all the tasks which an intelligent schoolboy of fourteen is able
to perform."
2
The rumour of these curious experiments soon spread; and visitors
flocked to the little stable-yard in which Von Osten kept his
singular pupil at work. The newspapers took the matter up; and a
fierce controversy broke forth between those who believed in the
genuineness of the phenomenon and those who saw no more in it
than a barefaced fraud. A scientific committee was appointed in
1904, consisting of professors of psychology and physiology, of
the director of a zoological garden, of a circus manager and of
veterinary surgeons and cavalry-officers. The committee
discovered nothing suspicious, but ventured upon no explanation.
A second committee was then appointed, numbering among its
members Herr Oskar Pfungst, of the Berlin psychological
laboratory. Herr Pfungst, after a long series of experiments,
drew up a voluminous and crushing report, in which he maintained
that the horse was gifted with no intelligence, that it did not
recognize either letters or figures, that it really knew neither
how to calculate nor how to count, but merely obeyed the
imperceptible, infinitesimal and unconscious signs which escaped
from its master.
Public opinion veered round suddenly and completely. People felt
a sort of half-cowardly relief at beholding the prompt collapse
of a miracle which was threatening to throw confusion into the
self satisfied little fold of established truths. Poor Von Osten
protested in vain: no one listened to him; the verdict was given.
He never recovered from this official blow; he became the
laughing-stock of all those whom he had at first astounded; and
he died, lonely and embittered, on the 29th of June, 1909, at the
age of seventy-one.
3
But he left a disciple whose faith had not been shaken by the
general defection. A well-to-do Elberfeld manufacturer, Herr
Krall, had taken a great interest in Von Osten's labours and,
during the latter years of the old man's life, had eagerly
followed and even on occasion directed the education of the
wonderful stallion. Von Osten left Kluge Hans to him by will; on
his own side, Krall had bought two Arab stallions, Mohammed and
Zarif whose prowess soon surpassed that of the pioneer. The whole
question was reopened, events took a vigorous and decisive turn
and, instead of a weary, eccentric old man, discouraged almost to
sullenness and with no weapons for the struggle, the critics of
the miracle found themselves faced by a new adversary, young and
high-spirited, endowed with remarkable scientific instinct,
quick-witted, scholarly and well able to defend himself.
His educational methods also differ materially from Von Osten's.
It was a strange thing, but deep down in the rather queer,
cross-grained soul of the old enthusiast there had grown up
gradually a sort of hatred for his four-legged pupil. He felt the
stallion's proud and nervous will resisting his with an obstinacy
which he qualified as diabolical. They stood up to each other
like two enemies: and the lessons almost assumed the form of a
tragic and secret struggle in which the animal's soul rebelled
against man's domination.
Krall, on the other hand, adores his pupils; and this atmosphere
of affection has in a manner of speaking humanized them. There
are no longer those sudden movements of wild panic which reveal
the ancestral dread of man in the quietest and best-trained
horse. He talks to them long and tenderly, as a father might talk
to his children; and we have the strange feeling that they listen
to all that he says and understand it. If they appear not to
grasp an explanation or a demonstration, he will begin it all
over again, analyze it, paraphrase it ten times in succession,
with the patience of a mother. And so their progress has been
incomparably swifter and more astounding than that of old Hans.
Within a fortnight of the first lesson Mohammed did simple little
addition and subtraction sums quite correctly. He had learnt to
distinguish the tens from the units, striking the latter with his
right foot and the former with his left. He knew the meaning of
the symbols plus and minus. Four days later, he was beginning
multiplication and division. In four months' time, he knew how to
extract square and cubic roots; and, soon after, he learnt to
spell and read by means of the conventional alphabet devised by
Krall.
This alphabet, at the first glance, seems rather complicated. For
that matter, it is only a makeshift; but how could one find
anything better? The unfortunate horse, who is almost voiceless,
has only one way in which to express himself: a clumsy hoof,
which was not created to put thought into words. It became
necessary, therefore, to contrive, as in table-turning, a special
alphabet, in which each letter is designated by a certain number
of blows struck by the right foot and the left. Here is the copy
handed to visitors at Elberfeld to enable them to follow the
horse's operations:
-- 1 2 3 4 5 6
10 E N R S M C
20 A H L T A: CH
30 I D G W J SCH
40 O B F K O: --
50 U V Z P U: --
60 EI AU EU X Q --
To mark the letter E, for instance, the stallion will strike one
blow with his left foot and one with his right; for the letter L,
two blows with his left foot and three with his right; and so on.
The horses have this alphabet so deeply imprinted in their memory
that, practically speaking, they never make a mistake; and they
strike their hoofs so quickly, one after the other, that at first
one has some difficulty in following them.
Mohammed and Zarif--for Zarif's progress was almost equal to that
of his fellow-pupil, though he seems a little less gifted from
the standpoint of higher mathematics-Mohammed and Zarif in this
way reproduce the words spoken in their presence, spell the names
of their visitors, reply to questions put to them and sometimes
make little observations, little personal and spontaneous
reflections to which we shall return presently. They have created
for their own use an inconceivably fantastic and phonetic system
of spelling which they stubbornly refuse to relinquish and which
often makes their writing rather difficult to read. Deeming most
of the vowels useless, they keep almost exclusively to the
consonants; thus Zucker, for instance, becomes Z K R; Pferd, P F
R T, or F R T, and so on.
I will not set forth in detail the many different proofs of
intelligence lavished by the singular inhabitants of this strange
stable. They are not only first-class calculators, for whom the
most repellent fractions and roots possess hardly any secrets:
they distinguish sounds, colours, and scents, read the time on
the face of a watch, recognize certain geometrical figures,
likenesses and photographs.
Following on these more and more conclusive experiments and
especially after the publication of Krall's great work, Denkende
Tiere, a model of precision and arrangement, men's minds were
faced with clear and definite problem which, this time, could not
be challenged. Scientific committees followed one another at
Elberfeld; and their reports became legion. Learned men of every
country--including Dr. Edinger, the eminent Frankfort
neurologist; Professors Dr. H. Kraemer and H. E. Ziegler, of
Stuttgart; Dr. Paul Saresin, of Bale; Professor Ostwald, of
Berlin; Professor A. Beredka, of the Pasteur Institute; Dr. E.
Clarapede, of the university of Geneva; Professor Schoeller and
Professor Gehrke, the natural philosopher, of Berlin; Professor
Goldstein, of Darmstadt; Professor von Buttel-Reepen, of
Oldenburg; Professor William Mackenzie, of Genoa; Professor R.
Assagioli, of Florence; Dr. Hartkopf, of Cologne; Dr.
Freudenberg, of Brussels; Dr. Ferrari, of Bologna, etc., etc.,
for the list is lengthening daily--came to study on the spot the
inexplicable phenomenon which Dr. Clarapede proclaims to be "the
most sensational event that has ever happened in the
psychological world."
With the exception of two or three sceptics or convinced
misoneists and of those who made too short a stay at Elberfeld,
all were unanimous in recognizing that the facts were as stated
and that the experiments were conducted with absolute fairness.
Disagreement begins only when it becomes a matter of commenting
on them, interpreting them and explaining them.
4
To complete this short preamble, it is right to add that, for
some time past, the case of the Elberfeld horses no longer stands
quite alone. There exists at Mannheim a dog of a rather doubtful
breed who performs almost the same feats as his equine rivals. He
is less advanced than they in arithmetic, but does little
additions, subtractions and multiplications of one or two figures
correctly. He reads and writes by tapping with his paw, in
accordance with an alphabet which, it appears, he has thought out
for himself; and his spelling also is simplified and phoneticized
to the utmost. He distinguishes the colour in a bunch of flowers,
counts the money in a purse and separates the marks from the
pfennigs. He knows how to seek and find words to define the
object or the picture placed before him. You show him, for
instance, a bouquet in a vase and ask him what it is.
"A glass with little flowers," he replies.
And his answers are often curiously spontaneous and original. In
the course of a reading-exercise in which the word Herbst,
autumn, chanced to attract attention, Professor William Mackenzie
asked him if he could explain what autumn was.
"It is the time when there are apples," Rolf replied.
On the same occasion, the same professor, without knowing what it
represented, held out to him a card marked with red and blue
squares:
"What's this?"
"Blue, red, lots of cubes," replied the dog.
Sometimes his repartees are not lacking in humour.
"Is there anything you would like me to do for you?" a lady of
his acquaintance asked, one day.
And Master Rolf gravely answered:
"Wedelen," which means, "Wag your tail!"
Rolf, whose fame is comparatively young, has not yet, like his
illustrious rivals of the Rhine Province, been the object of
minute enquiries and copious and innumerable reports. But the
incidents which I have just mentioned and which are vouched for
by such men as Professor Mackenzie and M. Duchatel, the learned
and clear-sighted vice-president of the Societe Universelle
d'Etudes Psychiques,[1] who went to Mannheim for the express
purpose of studying them, appear to be no more controvertible
than the Elbenfeld occurrences, of which they are a sort of
replica or echo. It is not unusual to find these coincidences
amongst abnormal phenomena. They spring up simultaneously in
different quarters of the globe, correspond with one another and
multiply as though in obedience to a word of command. It is
probable therefore that we shall see still more manifestations of
the same class. One might almost say that a new spirit is passing
over the world and, after awakening in man forces whereof he was
not aware, is now reaching other creatures who with us inhabit
this mysterious earth, on which they live, suffer and die, as we
do, without knowing why.
[1] See the interesting lecture by M. Edmond Duchatel, published
in the Annales des Sciences Psychiques, October 1913.
5
I have not been to Mannheim, but I made my pilgrimage to
Elberfeld and stayed long enough in the town to carry away with
me the conviction shared by all those who have undertaken the
journey.
A few months ago, Herr Krall, whom I had promised the year before
that I would come and see his wonderful horses, was kind enough
to repeat his invitation in a more pressing fashion, adding that
his stable would perhaps be broken up after the 15th of September
and that, in any case, be would be obliged, by his doctor's
orders, to interrupt for an indefinite period a course of
training which he found exceedingly fatiguing.
I at once left for Elberfeld, which, as everybody knows, is an
important manufacturing-town in Rhenish Prussia and is, in fact,
more quaint, pleasing and picturesque than one might expect. I
had long since read everything that had been published on the
question; and I was wholly persuaded of the genuineness of the
incidents. Indeed it would be difficult to have any doubts after
the repeated and unremitting supervision and verification to
which the experiments are subjected, a supervision which is of
the most rigorous type, often hostile and almost ill-mannered. As
for their interpretation, I was convinced that telepathy, that is
to say, the transmission of thought from one subconsciousness to
another, remained, however strange it might be in this new
region, the only acceptable theory; and this in spite of certain
circumstances that seemed plainly to exclude it. In default of
telepathy proper, I inclined toward the mediumistic or subliminal
theory, which was very ably outlined by M. de Vesmes in a
remarkable lecture delivered, on the 22nd of December, 1912,
before the Societe Universelle d'Etudes Psychiques. It is true
that telepathy, especially when carried to its extreme limits,
appeals above all to the subliminal forces, so that the two
theories overlap at more than one point and it is often difficult
to make out where the first ends and the second begins. But this
discussion will be more appropriate a little later.
6
I found Herr Krall in his goldsmith's shop, a sort of palace of
Golconda, streaming and glittering with the most precious pearls
and stones on earth. Herr Krall, it is well to remember, in order
to dispel any suspicion of pecuniary interest, is a rich
manufacturer whose family for three generations, from father to
son, have conducted one of the most important jewelry businesses
in Germany. His researches, so far from bringing him the least
profit, cost him a great deal of money, take up all his leisure
and some part of the time which he would otherwise devote to his
business and, as usually happens, procure him from his fellow
citizens and from not a few scientific men more annoyance, unfair
criticism and sarcasm than consideration or gratitude. His work
is preeminently the disinterested and thankless task of the
apostle and pioneer.
For the rest, Herr Kraft, though his faith is active, zealous and
infectious, has nothing in common with the visionaries or
illuminati. He is a man of about fifty, vigorous, alert and
enthusiastic, but at the same time well-balanced; accesible to
every idea and even to every dream, yet practical and methodical,
with a ballast of the most invincible common-sense. He inspires
from the outset that fine confidence, frank and unrestrained,
which instantly disperses the instinctive doubt, the strange
uneasiness and the veiled suspicion that generally separate two
people who meet for the first time; and one welcomes in him, from
the very depths of one's being, the honest man, the staunch
friend whom one can trust and whom one is sorry not to have known
earlier in life.
We go together through the streets and along the bustling quays
of Elberfeld to the stable, situated at a few hundred steps from
the shop. The horses are taking the air outside the doors of
their boxes, in the yard shaded by a lime-tree. There are four of
them: Mohammed, the most intelligent, the most gifted of them
all, the great mathematician of the party; his double, Zarif, a
little less advanced, less tractable, craftier, but at the same
time more fanciful, more spontaneous and capable of occasional
disconcerting sallies; next, Hanschen, a little Shetland pony,
hardly bigger than a Newfoundland dog, the street-urchin of the
band, always quivering with excitement, roguish, flighty,
uncertain and passionate, but ready in a moment to work you out
the most difficult addition and multiplication sums with a
furious scrape of the hoof; and lastly the latest arrival, the
plump and placid Berto, an imposing black stallion, quite blind
and lacking the sense of smell. He has been only a few months at
school and is still, so to speak, in the preparatory class, but
already does--a little more clumsily, but more good humouredly
and conscientiously--small addition and subtraction sums quite as
well as many a child of the same age.
In a corner, Kama, a young elephant two or three years old, about
the size of an outrageously "blown" donkey, rolls his mischievous
and almost knavish eye, under the shelter of his wide ears, each
resembling a great rhubarb-leaf, and with his stealthy,
insinuating trunk carefully picks up whatever he considers fit to
eat, that is to say, pretty well everything that lies about on
the stones. Great things were hoped of him, but hitherto he has
disappointed all expectations: he is the dunce of the
establishment. Perhaps he is too young still: his little
elephant-soul no doubt resembles that of a sucking-babe which, in
the place of its feet and hands, plays with the stupendous nose
that must first explore and question the universe. It is
impossible to grip his attention; and, when they set out before
him his alphabet of movable letters, instead of naming those
which are pointed out to him he applies himself to pulling them
off their stems, in order to swallow them surreptitiously. He has
disheartened his kind master, who, pending the coming of the
reason and wisdom promised by the proboscidian legends, leaves
him in a contented state of ignorance made more blissful by an
almost insatiable appetite.
7
But I ask to see the great pioneer, Kluge Hans, Clever Hans. He
is still alive. He is old: he must be sixteen or seventeen; but
his old age, alas, is not exempt from the baneful troubles from
which men themselves suffer in their decline! Hans has turned out
badly, it appears, and is never mentioned save in ambiguous
terms. An imprudent or vindictive groom, I forget which, having
introduced a mare into the yard, Hans the Pure, who till then had
led an austere and monkish existence, vowed to celibacy, science
and the chaste delights of figures, Hans the Irreproachable
incontinently lost his head and cut himself open on the
hanging-rail of his stall. They had to force back his intestines
and sew up his belly. He is now rusticating miserably in a meadow
outside the town. So true it is that a life cannot be judged
except at its close and that we are sure of nothing until we are
dead.
8
Before the sitting begins, while the master is making his morning
inspection, I go up to Muhamed, speak to him and pat him, looking
straight into his eyes meanwhile in order to catch a sign of his
genius. The handsome creature, well-bred and in hard condition,
is as calm and trusting as a dog; he shows himself excessively
gracious and friendly and tries to give me some huge licks and
mighty kisses which I do my best to avoid because they are a
little unexpected and overdemonstrative. The expression of his
limpid antelope-eyes is deep, serious and remote, but it differs
in no wise from that of his brothers who, for thousands of years,
have seen nothing but brutality and ingratitude in man. If we
were able to read anything there, it would not be that
insufficient and vain little effort which we call thought, but
rather an indefinable, vast anxiety, a tear-dimmed regret for the
boundless, stream-crossed plains where his sires sported at will
before they knew man's yoke. In any case, to see him thus
fastened by a halter to the stable-door, beating off the flies
and absently pawing the cobbles, Muhamed is nothing more than a
well-trained horse who seems to be waiting for his saddle or
harness and who hide, his new secret as profoundly as all the
others which nature has buried in him.
9
But they are summoning me to take my place in the stable where
the lessons are given. It is a small room, empty and bare, with
peat-moss litter bedding and white-washed walls. The horse is
separated from the people present by breast-high wooden
partitions. Opposite the four-legged scholar is a black-board,
nailed to the wall; and on one side a corn-bin which forms a seat
for the spectators. Muhamed is led in. Krall, who is a little
nervous, makes no secret of his uneasiness. His horses are fickle
animals, uncertain, capricious and extremely sensitive. A trifle
disturbs them, confuses them, puts them off. At such times,
threats, prayers and even the irresistible charm of carrots and
good rye-bread are useless. They obstinately refuse to do any
work and they answer at random. Everything depends on a whim, the
state of the weather, the morning meal or the impression which
the visitor makes upon them. Still, Krall seems to know, by
certain imperceptible signs, that this is not going to be a bad
day. Muhamed quivered with excitement, snorts loudly through his
nostrils, utters a series of indistinct little whinnyings:
excellent symptoms, it appears. I take my seat on the corn-bin.
The master, standing beside the black-board, chalk in hand,
introduces me to Muhamed in due form, as to a human being:
"Muhamed, attention! This is your uncle"--pointing to me--"who
has come all the way to honour you with a visit. Mind you don't
disappoint him. His name is Maeterlinck." Krall pronounced the
first syllable German-fashion: Mah. "You understand: Maeterlinck.
Now show him that you know your letters and that you can spell a
name correctly, like a clever boy. Go ahead, we're listening."
Muhamed gives a short neigh and, on the small, movable board at
his feet, strikes first with his right hoof and then with his
left the number of blows which correspond with the letter M in
the conventional alphabet used by the horses. Then, one after the
other, without stopping or hesitating, he marks the letters A D R
L I N S H, representing the unexpected aspect which my humble
name assumes in the equine mind and phonetics. His attention is
called to the fact that there is a mistake. He readily agrees and
replaces the S H by a G and then the G by a K. They insist that
he must put a T instead of the D; but Muhamed, content with his
work, shakes his head to say no and refuses to make any further
corrections.
10
I assure you that the first shock is rather disturbing, however
much one expected it. I am quite aware that, when one describes
these things, one is taken for a dupe too readily dazzled by the
doubtless childish illusion of an ingeniously contrived scene.
But what contrivances, what illusions have we here? Do they lie
in the spoken word? Why, to admit that the horse understands and
translates his master's words is just to accept the most
extraordinary part of the phenomenon! Is it a case of
surreptitious touches or conventional signs? However
simple-minded one may be, one would nevertheless notice them more
easily than a horse, even a horse of genius. Krall never lays a
hand on the animal; he moves all round the little table, which
contains no appliances of any sort; for the most part, he stands
behind the horse which is unable to see him, or comes and sits
beside his guest on the innocuous corn-bin, busying himself,
while lecturing his pupil, in writing up the minutes of the
lesson. He also welcomes with the most serene readiness any
restrictions or tests which you propose. I assure you that the
thing itself is much simple, and clearer than the suspicions of
the arm-chair critics and that the most distrustful mind world
not entertain the faintest idea of fraud in the frank, wholesome
atmosphere of the old stable.
"But," some one might have said, "Krall, who knew that you were
coming to Elberfeld, had of course thoroughly rehearsed his
little exercise in spelling, which apparently is only an exercise
in memory."
For conscience' sake, though I did not look upon the objection as
serious, I submitted it to Krall, who at once said: "Try it for
yourself. Dictate to the horse any German word of two or three
syllables, emphasizing it strongly. I'll go out of the stable and
leave you alone with him."
Behold Muhamed and me by ourselves. I confess that I am a little
frightened. I have many a time felt less uncomfortable in the
presence of the great ones or the kings of the earth. Whom am I
dealing with exactly? However, I summon my courage and speak
aloud the first word that occurs to me, the name of the hotel at
which I am staying: Weidenhof. At first, Muhamed, who seems a
little puzzled by his master's absence, appears not to hear me
and does not even deign to notice that I am there. But I repeat
eagerly, in varying tones of voice, by turns insinuating,
threatening, beseeching and commanding:
"Weidenhof! Weidenhof! Weidenhof!"
At last, my mysterious companion suddenly makes up his mind to
lend me his ears and straightway blithely raps out the following
letters, which I write down on the black-board as they come:
WEIDNHOZ.
It is a magnificent specimen of equine spelling! Triumphant and
bewildered, I call in friend Krall, who, accustomed as he is to
the prodigy, thinks it quite natural, but knits his brows:
"What's this, Muhamed? You've made a mistake again. It's an F you
want at the end of the word, not a Z. Just correct it at once,
please."
And the docile Muhamed, recognizing his blunder, gives the three
blows with his right hoof, followed by the four blows with his
left, which represent the most unexceptionable F that one could
ask for.
Observe, by the way, the logic of his phonetic writing: contrary
to his habit, he strikes the mute E after the W, because it is
indispensable; but, finding it included in the D, he considers it
superfluous and suppresses it with a high hand.
You rub your eyes, question yourself, ask yourself in the
presence of what humanized phenomenon, of what unknown force, of
what new creature you stand. Was all this what they hid in their
eyes, those silent brothers of ours? You blush at arm's long
injustice. You look around you for some sort of trace, obvious or
subtle, of the mystery. You feel yourself attacked in your
innermost citadel, where you held yourself most certain and most
impregnable. You have felt a breath from the abyss upon your
face. You would not be more astonished if you suddenly heard the
voice of the dead. But the most astonishing thing is that you are
not astonished for long. We all, unknown to ourselves, live in
the expectation of the extraordinary; and, when it comes, it
moves us much less than did the expectation. It is as though a
sort of higher instinct, which knows everything and is not
ignorant of the miracles that hang over our heads, were
reassuring us in advance and helping us to make an easy entrance
into the regions of the supernatural. There is nothing to which
we grow accustomed more readily than to the marvellous; and it is
only afterwards, upon reflection, that our intelligence, which
knows hardly anything, appreciates the magnitude of certain
phenomena.
11
But Muhamed gives unmistakable signs of impatience to show that
he has had enough of spelling. Thereupon, as a diversion and a
reward, his kind master suggests the extraction of a few square
and cubic roots. Muhamed appears delighted: these are his
favourite problems: for he takes less interest than formerly in
the most difficult multiplications and divisions. He doubtless
thinks them beneath him.
Krall therefore writes on the blackboard various numbers of which
I did not take note. Moreover, as nobody now contests the fact
that the horse works them with ease, it would hardly be
interesting to reproduce here several rather grim problems of
which numerous variants will be found in the accounts and reports
of experiments signed by Drs. Mackenzie and Hartkopff, by
Overbeck, Clarapede and many others. What strikes one
particularly is the facility, the quickness, I was almost saying
the joyous carelessness with which the strange mathematician
gives the answers. The last figure is hardly chalked upon the
board before the right hoof is striking off the units, followed
immediately by the left hoof marking the tens. There is not a
sign of attention or reflection; one is not even aware of the
exact moment at which the horse looks at the problem: and the
answer seems to spring automatically from an invisible
intelligence. Mistakes are rare or frequent according as it
happens to be a good or bad day with the horse; but, when he is
told of them, he nearly always corrects them. Not unseldom, the
number is reversed: 47, for instance, becomes 74; but he puts it
right without demur when asked.
I am manifestly dumbfounded; but perhaps these problems are
prepared beforehand? If they were, it would be very
extraordinary, but yet less surprising than their actual
solution. Krall does not read this suspicion in my eyes, because
they do not show it; nevertheless, to remove the least shade of
it, he asks me to write a number of my own on the black-board for
the horse to find the root.
I must here confess the humiliating ignorance that is the
disgrace of my life. I have not the faintest idea of the
mysteries concealed within these recondite and complicated
operations. I did my humanities like everybody else; but, after
crossing the useful and familiar frontiers of multiplication and
division I found it impossible to advance any farther into the
desolate regions, bristling with figures, where the square and
cubic roots hold sway, together with all sorts of other monstrous
powers, without shapes or faces, which inspired me with
invincible terror. All the persecutions of my excellent
instructors wore themselves out against a dead wall of stolidity.
Successively disheartened, they left me to my dismal ignorance,
prophesying a most dreary future for me, haunted with bitter
regrets. I must say that, until now, I had scarcely experienced
the effects of these gloomy predictions; but the hour has come
for me to expiate the sins of my youth. Nevertheless, I put a
good face upon it: and, taking at random the first figures that
suggest themselves to my mind, I boldly write on the black-board
an enormous and most daring number. Muhamed remains motionless.
Krall speaks to him sharply, telling him to hurry up. Muhamed
lifts his right hoof, but does not let it fall. Krall loses
patience, lavishes prayers, promises and threats; the hoof
remains poised, as though to bear witness to good intentions that
cannot be carried out. Then my host turns round, looks at the
problem and asks me:
"Does it give an exact root?"
Exact? What does he mean? Are there roots which. . .? But I dare
not go on: my shameful ignorance suddenly flashes before my eyes.
Krall smiles indulgently and, without making any attempt to
supplement an education which is too much in arrears to allow of
the slightest hope, laboriously works out the problem and
declares that the horse was right in refusing to give an
impossible solution.
12
Muhamed receives our thanks in the form of a lordly portion of
carrots; and a pupil is introduced whose attainments do not tower
so high above mine: Hanschen, the little pony, quick and lively
as a big rat. Like me, he has never gone beyond elementary
arithmetic: and so we shall understand each other better and meet
on equal terms.
Krall asks me for two numbers to multiply. I give him 63 X 7. He
does the sum and writes the product on the board, followed by the
sign of division: 441 / 7. Instantly Hanschen, with a celerity
difficult to follow, gives three blows, or rather three violent
scrapes with his right hoof and six with his left, which makes
63, for we must not forget that in German they say not
sixty-three, but three-and-sixty. We congratulate him; and, to
evince his satisfaction, he nimbly reverses the number by marking
36 and then puts it right again by scraping 63. He is evidently
enjoying himself and juggling with the figures. And additions,
subtractions, multiplications and divisions follow one after the
other, with figures supplied by myself, so as to remove any idea
of collusion. Hanschen seldom blunders; and, when he does, we
receive a very clear impression that his mistake is voluntary: he
is like a mischievous schoolboy playing a practical joke upon his
master. The solutions fall thick as hail upon the little
spring-board; the correct answer is released by the question as
though you were pressing the button of an electric push. The
pony's flippancy is as surprising as his skill. But in this
unruly flippancy, in this hastiness which seems inattentive there
is nevertheless a fixed and permanent idea. Hanschen paws the
ground, kicks, prances, tosses his head, looks as if he cannot
keep still, but never leaves his spring-board. Is he interested
in the problems, does he enjoy them? It is impossible to say; but
he certainly has the appearance of one accomplishing a duty or a
piece of work which we do not discuss, which is important,
necessary and inevitable.
But the lesson suddenly ends with a joke carried rather too far
by the pupil, who catches his good master by the seat of his
trousers, into which he plants disrespectful teeth. He is
severely reprimanded, deprived of his carrots and sent back in
disgrace to his private apartments.
13
Next comes Bette, who is like a big, sleek Norman horse. He makes
the calm, dignified, peaceful entrance of a blind giant. His
large, dark, brilliant eyes are quite dead, deprived of any
reflex power. He feels about with his hoof for the board on which
he is to rap his answers. He has not yet gone beyond the
rudiments of mathematics; and the early part of his education was
particularly difficult. They managed to make him understand the
value and meaning of the numbers and of the addition- and
multiplication-signs by means of little taps on his sides. Krall
speaks to him as a father might speak to the youngest of his
sons. He explains to him fondly the easy sums which I suggest his
doing: two plus three, eight minus four, four times three; he
says:
"Mind! It's not plus three or minus three this time, but four
multiplied by three!"
Berto hardly ever makes a mistake. When he does not understand
the question, he waits for it to be written with the finger on
his side; and the careful way in which he works it out like some
backward and afflicted child is an infinitely pathetic sight. He
is much more zealous and conscientious than his fellow-pupils;
and we feel that, in the darkness wherein he dwells, this work
is, next to his meals, the only spark of light and interest in
his existence. He will certainly never rival Muhamed, for
instance, who is the arithmetical prodigy, the Inaudi, of horses;
but he is a valuable and living proof that the theory of
unconscious and imperceptible signs, the only one which the
German theorists have hitherto seriously considered, is now
clearly untenable.
I have not yet spoken of Zarif. He is not in the best of tempers;
and besides, in arithmetic, he is only a less learned and more
capricious Muhamed. He answers most of the questions at random,
stubbornly raising his foot and declining to lower it, so as
clearly to mark his disapproval; but he solves the last problem
correctly when he is promised a panful of carrots and no more
lessons for that morning. The groom enters to lead him away and
makes some movement or other at which the horse starts, rears and
shies.
"That's his bad conscience," says Krall, gravely.
And the expression assumes a singular meaning and importance in
this hybrid atmosphere, steeped in an indefinable something from
another world.
But it is half-past one, the sacred German dinner-hour. The
horses are taken back to their racks and the men separate,
wishing one another the inevitable Mahlzeit.
As he walks with me along the quays of the black and muddy
Wupper, Krall says:
"It is a pity that you did not see Zarif in one of his better
moods. He is sometimes more startling than Muhamed and has given
me two or three surprises that seem incredible. One morning, for
instance, I came to the stable and was preparing to give him his
lesson in arithmetic. He was no sooner in front of the
spring-board than he began to stamp with his foot. I left him
alone and was astounded to hear a whole sentence, an absolutely
human sentence, come letter by letter from his hoof: 'Albert has
beaten Hanschen,' was what he said to me that day. Another time,
I wrote down from his dictation, 'Hanschen has bitten Kama.' Like
a child seeing its father after an absence, he felt the need to
inform me of the little doings of the stable; he provided me with
the artless chronicle of a humble and uneventful life."
Krall, for that matter, living in the midst of his miracle, seems
to think this quite natural and almost inevitable. I, who have
been immersed in it for only a few hours, accept it almost as
calmly as he does. I believe without hesitation what he tells me;
and, in the presence of this phenomenon which, for the first time
in man's existence, gives us a sentence that has not sprung from
a human brain, I ask myself whither we are tending, where we
stand and what lies ahead of us.. . .
14
After dinner, the experiments begin again, for my host is
untiring. First of all, pointing to me, he asks Muhamed if he
remembers what his uncle's name is. The horse raps out an H.
Krall is astonished and utters fatherly reprimands:
"Come, take care! You know it's not an H."
The horse raps out an E. Krall becomes a little impatient: he
threatens, he implores, he promises in turn, carrots and the
direst punishments, such as sending for Albert, the groom, who,
on special occasions, recalls idle and inattentive pupils to a
sense of duty and decorum, for Krall himself never chastises his
horses, lest he should lose their friendship or their confidence.
So he continues his reproaches:
"Come now, are you going to be more careful and not rap out your
letters anyhow?"
Muhamed obstinately goes his own way and strikes an R. Then
Krall's open face lights up:
"He's right," he says. "You understand: H E R, standing for Herr.
He wanted to give you the title to which every man wearing a top
hat or a bowler has the right. He does it only very rarely and I
had forgotten all about it. He probably heard me call you Herr
Maeterlinck and wanted to get it perfectly. This special
politeness and this excess of zeal augur a particularly good
lesson. You've done very well, Mohammed, my child; you've done
very well and I beg your pardon. Now kiss me and go on."
But Mohammed, after giving his master a hearty kiss, still seems
to be hesitating. Then Krall, to put him on the right track
observes that the first letter of my name is the same as the
first letter of his own. Mohammed strikes a K, evidently thinking
of his master's name. At last, Krall draws a big M on the
black-board, whereupon the horse, like one suddenly remembering a
word which he could not think of, raps out, one after the other
and without stopping, the letters M A Z R L K, which, stripped of
useless vowels, represent the curious corruption which my name
has undergone, since the morning, in a brain that is not a human
brain. He is told that this is not correct. He seems to agree,
gropes about a little and writes, M A R Z L E G K. Krall repeats
my name and asks which is the first letter to be altered. The
stallion marks an R.
"Good, but what letter will you put instead?"
Mohammed strikes an N.
"No, do be careful!"
He strikes a T.
"Very good, but in what place will the T come?"
"In the third," replies the horse; and the corrections continue
until my patronomic comes out of its strange adventure almost
unscathed.
And the spelling, the questioning, the sums, the problems are
resumed and follow upon one another, as wonderful, as bewildering
as before, but already a little dimmed by familiarity, like any
other prolonged miracle. It is important, besides, to notice that
the instances which I have given are not to be classed among the
most remarkable feats of our magic horses. Today's is a good
ordinary lesson, a respectable lesson, not illumined by flashes
of genius. But in the presence of other witnesses the horses
performed more startling exploits which broke down even more
decisively the barrier, which is undoubtedly an imaginary one,
between animal and human nature. One day, for instance, Zarif;
the scamp of the party, suddenly stopped in the middle of his
lesson. They asked him the reason.
"Because I am tired."
Another time, he answered:
"Pain in my leg."
They recognize and identify pictures shown to them, distinguish
colours and scents. I have made a point of stating only what I
saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears; and I declare
that I have done so with the same scrupulous accuracy as though I
were reporting a criminal trial in which a man's life depended on
my evidence.
But I was practically convinced of the truth of the incidents
before going to Elberfeld; and it was not to check them that I
made the journey. I was anxious to make certain if the telepathic
theory, which was the only one that I considered admissible,
would withstand the tests which I intended to apply to it. I
opened my mind on the subject to Krall, who at first did not
quite grasp what I was asking. Like most men who have not made a
special study of the questions, he imagined that telepathy meant
above all a deliberate and conscious transmission of thought; and
he assured me that he never made any effort to transmit his and
that, for the most part, the horses gave a reply which was the
exact opposite of what he was expecting. I did not doubt this for
a moment; in fact, direct and deliberate transmission of thought
is, even among men, a very rare, difficult and uncertain,
phenomenon, whereas involuntary, unpremeditated and unsuspected
communications between one subconsciousness and another can no
longer be denied except by those who of set purpose ignore
studies and experiments that are within the reach of any one who
will take the trouble to engage in them. I was persuaded
therefore that the horses acted exactly like the "tipping-tables"
which simply translate the subliminal ideas of one or another of
those present by the aid of conventional little taps. When all is
said, it is much less surprising to see a horse than a table lift
its foot and much more natural that the living substance of an
animal rather than the inert matter of a thing should be
sensitive and susceptible to the mysterious influence of a
medium. I knew quite well that experiments had been made in order
to eliminate this theory. People, for instance, prepared a
certain number of questions and put them in sealed envelopes.
Then, on entering the presence of the horse, they would take one
of the envelopes at random, open it and write down the problem on
the black-board; and Mohammed or Zarif would answer with the same
facility and the same readiness as though the solution had been
known to all the onlookers. But was it really unknown to their
subconsciousness? Who could say for certain? Tests of this kind
require extraordinary precautions and a special dexterity; for
the action of the subconsciousness is so subtle, takes such
unexpected turns, delves in the museum of so many forgotten
treasures and operates at such distances that one is never sure
of escaping it. Were those precautions taken? I was not convinced
that they were; and, without pretending to decide the question, I
said to myself that my blissful ignorance of mathematics might
perhaps be of service in shedding light upon some part of it.
For this ignorance, however deplorable from other points of view,
gave me a rare advantage in this case. It was in fact extremely
unlikely that my subliminal consciousness, which had never known
what a cubic root was or the root of any other power, could help
the horse. I therefore took from a table a list containing
several problems, all different and all equally unpleasant
looking, covered up the solutions, asked Krall to leave the
stable and, when alone with Zarif, copied out one of them on the
black-board. In order not to overload these pages with details
which would only be a repetition of one another, I will at once
say that none of the antitelepathic tests succeeded that day. It
was the end of the lesson and late in the afternoon; the horses
were tired and irritable; and, whether Krall was there or not,
whether the problem was elementary or difficult, they gave only
absurd replies, wilfully "putting their foot in it," as one might
say with very good reason. But, next morning, on resuming their
task, when I proceeded as described above, Mohammed and Zarif,
doubtless in a better temper and already more accustomed to their
new examiner, gave in rapid succession correct answers to nearly
every problem set them. I am bound in fairness to say that there
was no appreciable difference between these results and those
which are obtained in the presence of Krall or other onlookers
who, consciously or unconsciously, are already aware of the
answer required.
I next thought of another and much simpler test, but one which,
by virtue of its very simplicity, could not be exposed to any
elaborate and farfetched suspicions. I saw on one of the shelves
in the stable a panel of cards, about the size of an octavo
volume, each bearing an arabic numeral on one of its sides. I
once more asked my good friend Krall, whose courtesy is
inexhaustible, to leave me alone with his pupil. I then shuffled
the cards and put three of them in a row on the spring-board in
front of the horse, without looking at them myself. There was
therefore, at that moment, not a human soul on earth who knew the
figures spread at the feet of my companion, this creature so full
of mystery that already I no longer dare call him an animal.
Without hesitation and unasked, he rapped out correctly the
number formed by the cards. The experiment succeeded, as often as
I cared to try it, with Hanschen, Mohammed and Zarif alike.
Mohammed did even more: as each figure was of a different colour,
I asked him to tell me the colour--of which I myself was
absolutely ignorant--of the first letter on the right. With the
aid of the conventional alphabet, he replied that it was blue,
which proved to be the case. Of course, I ought to have
multiplied these experiments and made them more exhaustive and
complicated by combining, with the aid of the cards and under the
same conditions, exercises in multiplication, division and the
extracting of roots. I had not the time; but, a few days after I
left, the subject was resumed and completed by Dr. H. Hamel. I
will sum up his report of the experiments: the doctor, alone in
the stable with the home (Krall was away, travelling), puts down
on the black-board the sign + and then places before and after
this sign, without looking at either of them, a card marked with
a figure which he does not know. He next asks Mohammed to add up
the two numbers. Mohammed at first gives a few heedless taps with
his hoof. He is called to order and requested to be serious and
to attend. He then gives fifteen distinct taps. The doctor next
replaces the sign + by X and, again without looking at them,
places two cards on the blackboard and asks the horse not to add
up the two figures this time, but to multiply them. Mohammed taps
out, "27," which is right, for the black-board says, "9 X 3." The
same success follows with other multiplication sums: 9 X 2, 8 X
6. Then the doctor takes from an envelope a problem of which he
does not know the solution: fourth root of 7890481. Mohammed
replies, "53." The doctor looks at the back of the paper: once
more, the answer is perfectly correct.
16
Does this mean that every risk of telepathy is done away with? It
would perhaps be rash to make a categorical assertion. The power
and extent of telepathy are as yet, we cannot too often repeat,
indefinite, indiscernible, untraceable and unlimited. We have but
quite lately discovered it, we know only that its existence can
no longer be denied; but, as for all the rest, we are at much the
same stage as that whereat Galvani was when he gave life to the
muscles of his dead frogs with two little plates of metal which
roused the jeers of the scientists of his time, but contained the
germ of all the wonders, of electricity.
Nevertheless, as regards telepathy in the sense in which we
understand and know it to-day, my mind is made up. I am persuaded
that it is not in this direction that we must seek for an
explanation of the phenomenon; or, if we are determined to find
it there, the explanation becomes complicated with so many
subsidiary mysteries that it is better to accept the prodigy as
it stands, in its original obscurity and simplicity. When, for
instance, I was copying out one of the grisly problems which I
have mentioned, it is quite certain that my conscious
intelligence could make neither head nor tail of it. I did not so
much as know what it meant or whether the exponent 3. 4. 5 called
for a multiplication, a division or some other mathematical
operation which I did not even try to imagine; and, rack MY
memory as I may, I cannot remember any moment in my life when I
knew more about it than I do now. We should therefore have to
admit that MY subliminal self is a born mathematician, quick,
infallible and endowed with boundless learning. It is possible
and I feel a certain pride at the thought. But the theory simply
shifts the miracle by making it pass from the horse's soul to
mine; and the miracle becomes no clearer by the transfer, which,
for that matter, does not sound probable. I need hardly add that,
a fortiori, Dr. Hamel's experiments and many others which I have
not here the space to describe finally dispose of the theory.
17
Let us see how those who have interested themselves in these
extraordinary manifestations have attempted to explain them.
As we go along, we will just shear through the feeble undergrowth
of childish theories. I shall not, therefore, linger over the
suggestions of cheating, of manifest signs addressed to the eye
or ear, of electrical installations that are supposed to control
the answers, nor other idle tales of an excessively clumsy
character. To realize their inexcusable inanity we have but to
spend a few minutes in the honest Elberfeld stable.
At the beginning of this essay, I mentioned the attack made by
Herr Pfungst. Herr Pfungst, the reader will remember, claims to
prove that all the horse's replies are determined by
imperceptible and probably unconscious movement on the part of
the person putting the questions. This interpretation, which
falls to the ground, like all the others, in the face of the
actual facts, would not deserve serious discussion, were it not
that the Berlin psychologist's report created an immense
sensation some years ago and has succeeded in intimidating the
greater part of the official German scientific world to this day.
It is true that the report in question is a monument of useless
pedantry, but we are none the less bound to admit that, such as
it was, it annihilated poor Von Oaten, who, being no
controversialist and not knowing how to proclaim the truth which
was struggling for utterance, died in gloom and solitude.
To make an end of this cumbrous and puerile theory, is it
necessary to emphasize again that experiments in which the animal
does not see the questioner are as regularly successful as the
others? Krall, if you ask him, will stand behind the horse, will
speak from the end of the room, will leave the stable altogether;
and the results are just the same. They are the same again when
the tests are made in the dark or when the animal's head is
covered with a close-fitting hood. They do not vary either in the
case of Berto, who is stone-blind, or when any other person
whatever sets the problem in Krall's absence. Will it be
maintained that this outsider or that stranger is acquainted
beforehand with the imperceptible signs that are to dictate the
solution which he himself often does not know?
But what is the use of prolonging this fight against a cloud of
smoke? None of it can bear examination; and it calls for a
genuine effort of the will to set one's self seriously to refute
such pitiful objections.
18
On the ground thus cleared and at the portal of this unlooked-for
riddle, which comes to disturb our peace in a region which we
thought to be finally explored and conquered, there are only two
ways, if not of explaining, at least of contemplating the
phenomenon: to admit purely and simply the almost human
intelligence of the horse, or to have recourse to an as yet very
vague and indefinite theory which, for lack of a better
designation, we will call the mediumistic or subliminal theory
and of which we will strive presently--and no doubt vainly--to
dispel the grosser darkness. But, whatever interpretation we
adopt, we are bound to recognize that it plunges us into a
mystery which is equally profound and equally astonishing on
either side, one directly related to the greatest mysteries that
overwhelm us; and it is open to us to accept it with resignation
or rejoicing, according as we prefer to live in a world wherein
everything is within the reach of our intelligence or a world
wherein everything is incomprehensible.
As for Krall, he does not doubt for an instant that his horses
solve for themselves, without any assistance, without any outside
influence, simply by their own mental powers, the most arduous
problems set them. He is persuaded that they understand what is
said to them and what they say, in short, that their brain and
their will perform exactly the same functions as a human brain
and will. It is certain that the facts seem to prove him right
and that his opinion carries way great weight, for, after all, he
knows his horses better than any one does; he has beheld the
birth or rather the awakening of that dormant intelligence, even
as a mother beholds the birth or the awakening of intelligence in
her child; he has perceived its first gropings, known its first
resistance and its first triumphs; he has watched it taking
shape, breaking away and gradually rising to the point at which
it stands to-day; in a word, he is the father and the principal
and sole perpetual witness of the miracle.
19
Yes, but the miracle comes as such a surprise that, the moment we
set foot in it, a sort of instinctive aberration seizes us,
refusing to accept the evidence and compelling us to search in
every direction to see if there is not another outlet. Even in
the presence of those astounding horses and while they are
working before our eyes, we do not yet sincerely believe that
which fills and subdues our gaze. We accept the facts, because
there is no means of escaping them; but we accept them only
provisionally and with all reserve, putting off till later the
comfortable explanation which will give us back our familiar,
shallow certainties. But the explanation does not come; there is
none in the homely and not very lofty regions wherein we hoped to
find one; there is neither fault nor flaw in the mighty evidence;
and nothing delivers us from the mystery.