demonstrations of science cannot always be depended upon as absolutely
true, for while the Professor made his speech, the head of a little
mouse appeared at the opening of the tube, and seeing the coast clear,
the mouse jumped to the ground and ran away. How the mouse happened to
come into the spiritoscope has never been satisfactorily explained. The
committee looked perplexed, and Cracker grew red in the face.
“_Errare humanum est!_” exclaimed Stiffbone, and Mr Scalawag added: “We
are all liars. The best plan will be to say nothing about it.”
Although the committee did not believe thenceforth in spirits, it can
nevertheless not be denied that a spirit of gloom rested upon them
after this incident; a scowl rested upon the Professor’s face, and he
admitted that for once in his life he had been mistaken.
While they discussed this matter the wind had changed from E.N.E. to
N., and now a light puff of air brought a piece of paper flying into
the cave. Rev. Stiffbone saw it, and picked it up. There were written
upon it the following verses:--
O foolish mortal, by dull senses bound;
Within thyself the spirit must be found.
Know thou thyself, and by self-knowledge know
The lives above and in the world below.
In every sphere each being knows its own;
To spirits only spirits can be shown.
After reading these lines, Mr Stiffbone handed the paper to the
Professor, and asked him what he thought. The Professor carefully
examined the structure of the paper and said:
“This is nothing but an ordinary piece of notepaper, manufactured in
this country. There is nothing supernatural about it.”
“But the verses,” answered Stiffbone. “They seem to refer to the
subject of our conversation. How is this coincidence to be explained?”
“In a very simple manner,” replied Professor Cracker, growing more
and more excited as he spoke. “You, sir, have written these miserable
verses yourself, for the purpose of playing it on me; but let me assure
you that, even if I have been imposed on by a mouse, I am not going to
be fooled by such a ragamuffin as yourself; your trick was not clever
enough for that.”
During this speech the Rev. Stiffbone, with open mouth, stared aghast
at the Professor, and the word “ragamuffin” aroused his temper. He
said that such an ill-founded accusation was calculated to greatly
lessen his respect for one whose capacity to judge he had anyhow always
regarded as doubtful, and that he owed it to his own respectability as
a clergyman to regard Mr Cracker’s calumnies as being those of a man in
his dotage, if not a wilful perverter of truth.
Cracker retorted again, and it is doubtful how the matter would have
ended, but just at that moment a long-drawn sigh was heard, coming from
some invisible source, and at the next moment a gust of wind followed
that overthrew the spiritoscope, and sent Stiffbone’s hat flying out at
the other end of the Dragon’s Den. Directly afterwards the cave became
illumined by a flash of lightning, and this was succeeded by a clap of
thunder which caused the ground to tremble, and reverberated like the
firing of a battery of guns through the clefts in the neighbourhood.
The committee stood aghast and terrified, looking at each other in a
perplexed manner and not knowing what to do.
It appears that the sky had become suddenly overcast with clouds, and a
storm gathered at the top of the Untersberg, while our friends were too
much absorbed in their scientific researches to notice it, and now the
rain began to come down in torrents, and the archway offered but little
protection, for sheets of rain were blown in at the open side of the
cave, and streams of water began to flow in every direction over the
ground.
In a few moments the members of the committee and myself were drenched
to the skin, and did not know what to begin; but our guide, drawing
aside the branches of the rosebush that stood at the entrance, pointed
out to us an excavation in the rock, which had escaped the observation
of the committee, and he invited us to enter. Into this hole we crawled
one after another; and after proceeding a few feet it grew wider, and
formed a hollow of considerable size. Here we were comfortable enough,
only we were wet, and the place was perfectly dark.
Professor Cracker struck a light, and lit a candle which he happened
to have in his pocket, and by that aid we discovered a passage leading
still further into the interior of the hill. This we decided to
explore. Professor Cracker entered with his candle, then came Rev.
Stiffbone, after him Mr Scalawag, and finally myself, each man holding
on to the coat-tail of the one who preceded.
Thus we went on for a considerable distance, when suddenly a draught of
cold air blew out the Professor’s light. At the same time Mr Cracker’s
foot hit against some soft elastic substance of an unknowable kind,
and directly afterwards he received a fearful blow upon his abdomen
from something unseen. Turning round for escaping the invisible
enemy, he received another blow that sent him flying heels over head,
overturning the Rev. Stiffbone, who in his turn upset Mr Scalawag.
They were all lying in a heap, and I heard Cracker’s voice producing a
series of most unearthly yells; but the Rev. Stiffbone, while begging
for mercy and blindly grasping about, clutched the air and got hold
of Mr Scalawag’s hair, who defended himself with his fists; but my
observations were also cut short, for I had just time, as my eyes
became accustomed to the darkness, to see a still darker object rushing
at me over the prostrate forms of my friends, when I myself received a
severe blow upon my stomach, that caused me to lose my senses, and for
a moment I knew nothing more.
[Illustration: THE GROTTO OF THE NYMPHS]
III.
WITHIN THE UNTERSBERG.
It seems that during the consternation caused by this event, I must
have unconsciously wandered off, for when I gathered my senses again,
I found myself in a strange labyrinth of rocks. In vain I tried to
find my way back to the Dragon’s Den; there were perpendicular walls
and precipices encompassing me on all sides, and the only outlet which
I discovered led me still higher up towards the main body of the
Untersberg.
The storm-clouds had disappeared and the sky was clear; but my mind
(if there is such a thing) was somewhat confused; I did not know
which was which. Owing to Professor Cracker’s exposition about the
unreliability of direct vision, I could not tell whether the things
around me were actually there, or whether they were merely the products
of auto-suggestion, trumpery, etc. More than once I bumped my head
against a projecting rock, because my method of observation was not
scientifically trained enough to enable me to realise the actuality of
the rock without a knock-down argument. I had always fancied before
that if one receives an impression from an object, be it in the waking
state or in a dream, an object or image of some kind must be actually
present, from which that impression comes; but now I saw that,
according to science, impressions may come from nothing and may be
only the products of the accidental friction of brain molecules. I was
therefore no longer sure of the existence of anything that had not been
analysed and attested to by a scientific expert.
It seemed to me that the sun was about to set, and that I was still
wandering on, querying whether I actually was myself or whether some
gnome was playing a trick upon my imagination, making me believe
that I was I. There was nothing to prove to me scientifically that
the something or nothing which imagined itself to be myself was not
something else, entirely unknown to me, provided there was such a thing
as “myself” at all, which seemed rather doubtful, it having not yet
been analysed and its composition shown. I can, in truth, only say that
something which somehow seemed to be myself (but to whom it seemed so,
I do not know) imagined itself to be I; but, for all I know, there may
be no “I,” and it may have been nothing but space.
It seemed to me, or to something, that the setting sun was gilding the
ice-fields of the neighbouring mountain-peaks with floods of light, and
I (or something) received or seemed to receive the impression somehow,
that tints of various hues, beginning with a dainty rose-colour,
followed by orange, yellow, sea-green, and ending with blue, were
adorning the sky (if there was any), while clouds, apparently floating
within the depths of space (whose existence has not yet been proved
scientifically), seemed to appear like fleecy masses of pure silver,
lined with fluid gold. The vegetation (provided that there actually
was one) appeared to be more scanty than below, and to consist mainly
of clusters of Rhododendron, and occasionally a specimen of Mandrake,
Gentian, or Thyme was to be seen or imagined. Judging from certain
impressions, which something that seemed to be myself appeared to
receive, I seemed to arrive at the conclusion that there were rocks
covered with green moss, upon which grew various ferns and some Ericas.
Tranquillity somehow seemed to reign supreme in this altitude, although
this is a mere assertion, which I am not prepared to prove; and I
seemed to perceive nothing which could have led anyone to infer that
the stillness was in any way interrupted, except by the song of a finch
that was sitting or appeared to sit upon the branch of a tree--always
supposing that the tree was actually there--and the croaking of a flock
of ravens, which were flying or seemed to be flying around the tops
of the Untersberg. I say all this with a certain reserve, and confess
myself unable to prove it; because direct vision is unreliable, and I
had no spiritoscope at my command.
I say that all this seemed (to whom?) to be as described; but even this
is not scientifically exact or correct; for not knowing myself, how
could I have the cheek to assert that I actually perceived anything,
or nothing, or everything? How could I make any exact statement about
myself if I am not acquainted with myself, and do not know whether
or not I exist? I love to be scientifically exact in my statements,
and to avoid making wild assertions. I wish (or imagine to wish) to
express myself in a manner leaving no room for the learned critic to
misunderstand or misinterpret my words, and to speak so plainly that
everybody must necessarily understand what I mean; but I find that
this philosophical and round-about way of describing things is very
inconvenient, and that for the reader’s own sake I cannot persevere
in it. Everything in this world seems to be only relatively true, and
if we were bound to speak nothing but absolute truth, and express
it in a manner that could not possibly be misunderstood by anybody,
we would surely be doomed to eternal silence. I must therefore ask
the permission of the reader to depart from this exact and strictly
scientific method of speaking and circumscribing, and to do like people
of common sense, and tell what I experienced or believed to experience,
as if I were really something whose existence had been proved and
recognised by science, even if I have no other proof of my existence to
offer, except that I am. This being myself is a reality to me, but it
may be discredited by another; for there can be nothing real to anybody
except what he or she realises, and if they realise it, it is, or seems
to be, real to them. During my visit in the Untersberg I realised my
existence, or seemed to realise it just as much as at any other time in
my life (always provided that I exist and live), and the experiences
through which I passed were just as real to me as any other experiences
before or after that event. Let those who doubt my words, or deny
the possibility of what I describe as having occurred, doubt or deny
to their heart’s content; they cannot rob me of the satisfaction of
knowing what I know.
Somehow I felt myself more free than usual; my body moved without
experiencing any fatigue, and I seemed to have no weight. Owing,
perhaps, to the invigorating influence of the mountain air, I felt
myself filled with strength; my mind was tranquil, my heart full of
joy,[1] and, as it were, one with the spirit of all nature--if I may
be permitted to use such an expression--and it may be for this reason
that I understood the language of nature as plainly as if it had been
expressed in audible words, for the rushing of a distant waterfall
spoke to me of eternal motion; the presence of the earth of the
substantiality of the universe, nourishing all things; the wide expanse
of the air of universal freedom; and the fiery orb of the sinking sun
of an universal consciousness whose existence cannot be proved, but
which may be experienced by souls that are free. Even the flowers had a
language of their own, speaking to me of purity, beauty, modesty, and
similar principles unknown to modern science, and not yet analysed and
classified.
As I scrambled on the scenery grew more wild. Huge boulders of enormous
size often blocked the way, throwing fantastic shadows upon the ground.
Slowly the sun disappeared behind the slopes of the western range, and
solitary stars began to glitter here and there in the sky. The song of
the finch had ceased, and the ravens gone to roost among the tops of
the pines; but the more all animated things became silent and quiet,
the more seemed life to become active in those things which are called
inanimate--it was as if the inner life of nature awakened while the
outward life went to rest. There is a voice that speaks to the soul
in the stillness of night with words that are not to be found in the
dictionary. Of course, Professor Cracker would surely call this an
hallucination or lie; but, for all that, I know it to be true. The
boulders around me looked like gigantic sentinels guarding the entrance
to the kingdom of the gnomes, and asking me in their own language by
what right I dared to enter upon the forbidden precinct. Here and there
the trunk of a stunted tree, a larch or fir with crooked boughs, added
to the grotesqueness of the picture, complaining to me bitterly in
silent but nevertheless eloquent words that the soil in that place was
too poor and the climate too rough to permit a full development of its
qualities and a luxuriant evolution of form. At last I stood before
a wall of rocks, at the bottom of which a dark cavern held its jaws
permanently open, and a feeling of curiosity attracted me towards the
entrance. I felt a sort of premonition that the mysterious depths of
that cavern was holding for me a new revelation.[2]
The night had now fairly set in, but the moon arose in her glory. It
was, as already stated, the eve of St John’s Day, when fairies and
elves are said to come nearer to our world to hold intercourse with
mortals; the mysterious night, when the ruby spark in the heart of the
fern may be seen. A feeling of awe came over me as I looked into the
cave and saw the silvery rays of the rising moon shining through the
opening, revealing within the interior a lake of considerable extent.
I went nearer, and now I beheld, as far as I could see, perpendicular
rocks bordering the lake, with projecting nooks, holes, and crevices
of unknown extent, while, from the vaulted roofs, appearing like huge
stalactites of curious shapes, a curtain of icicles descended, and the
surface of the water glittered and sparkled in the moonlight, and the
grotto looked like the cave of the nymphs in a fairy tale. I strained
my eyes to behold the further end of the lake, but the background
was veiled in darkness, and my sight could not penetrate through the
mysterious gloom.
Something seemed to draw my soul towards the realm of that shadow which
the rays of the moon could not reach, and, as I stood listening, a
soft melody was wafted over the waters. Was it the breeze causing a
rippling upon the surface which produced that melodious sound while
playing among the icicles, or was it the rhythmic dripping of drops
of water from the vault overhead, causing faint echoes within these
secret recesses? I cannot tell, but it seemed to me like a tiny voice
of a woman, but of a woman of some ethereal kind. The melody seemed
to express a longing for something unknown. It was like the cry of a
new-born soul, desiring to live and exist.[3]
It seems to me an impossibility to fully express in words the
sentiments that were embodied in that song. It contained a desire for
death or transformation--terms which mean the same thing, namely, the
abandoning one state of existence for another one. It embodied a wish
for entering upon a higher plane of life and consciousness. The melody
which I heard formed itself into a language, whose meaning may perhaps
be approximately expressed in the following words:--
“O what is this secret longing,
Welling up within my heart?
Unknown powers, surging, thronging,
Rending solid rocks apart.
New-born joys and dying sadness,
Bursting clouds and opening sight!
Something whispers, full of gladness,
This is love, is life and light!”
These words formed themselves within myself without any conscious
volition or ratiocination of my own; and, what is still more
surprising, they had a certain magical effect upon me. I felt as if I
were myself entering _into_ a new state of consciousness, such as I
never experienced before or afterwards, and as if I had become a new
being, endowed with a new kind of perception and memory; it was as if I
had been asleep all my life and suddenly awakened for the first time.
I now somehow knew that I was I; but I could dissect or analyse _my_
Self. I knew that my Self was a unity and not a compound, and therefore
incapable of being taken to pieces. I had never known it before, and
knew of no authority on whose strength I would have accepted that
theory; nevertheless I was certain of it; because I found that my
self-consciousness was not composed of parts.
And lo! as I stood at the border of that lake, bending forwards, and
with all my senses on the alert listening to the song, I saw a radiance
within the depths of that darkness, issuing from a circular luminous
centre; and as I concentrated all my attention upon it, this light
grew brighter, and there appeared in it the shape of a human being--a
woman of supernatural beauty, in a mist-like, silvery garment dotted
with stars. Her long golden hair was flowing over her shoulders, and a
radiant light shone upon her forehead. It was that light, issuing, as I
found afterwards, from a precious gem, which illuminated her person and
all the objects within its sphere.
I dislike to tell what followed, because I have no means of
demonstrating its truth, and there will be undoubtedly many inclined to
doubt it or to dispute it away; but if I had to give evidence before
a notary-public, I could not describe what followed otherwise than
by saying that I was filled with an irresistible desire to approach
that ethereal being, and that I made a step forward, quite without
being aware that I was stepping upon a lake. To my surprise, the water
supported me, and I now think that it must have been solid ice, for
I passed safely over it, and a moment afterwards I stood in mute
admiration before the most charming apparition of a lady of noble mien.
The lady of the lake looked at me with wondering eyes and smiled. This
encouraged me, so I said:
“Who are you, angelic being? if you will permit an intruder this
question. Are you one of the angels of heaven or a spirit of nature?”
“My name is Adalga,” answered the lady, and her voice sounded like the
music of the spheres. “I am the daughter of Bimbam I., King of the
gnomes. But what are you? Are you a spirit, hobgoblin, or spook?”
“I am neither the one nor the other,” I answered. “I am----” but at
this moment I could not for the sake of my life remember who or what
I was; I had entirely forgotten my name and all that referred to my
past life. At last, while I was trying hard to remember who I was, it
suddenly dawned upon me that I was an Irishman, born near the Lakes
of Killarney, and living at Limerick. I am sure that if I ever was an
Irishman, it must have been before I was born; but at that moment I was
quite certain of it, and remembered my home and my family. I therefore
said:--
“I am Patrick Mulligan, Esq., if it pleases your worship.”
“There is a great deal of power in that name,” replied the princess;
“but what is your essential nature?”
“A tailor, if you please,” was my answer; but seeing that the lady did
not understand what I meant, I explained that I was in the habit of
making clothes. Upon this she asked:
“Are you, then, one of these semi-intelligent forces of nature, capable
of assuming a form, which according to our traditions are believed
to inhabit the solid vastness of the element called the air?--one of
these airy elementals whose bodies are subject to change--mischievous
beings, that often cause explosions in our mines?”
The princess stared at me and I stared at her. What she said about the
solid vastnesses of the air was incomprehensible to me, until I found
out later on that the element of the air is just as impenetrable to the
gnomes as the earth is to us; but what astonished me most was, that
after having doubted the existence of elemental spirits of nature, I
now found myself by one of them regarded as an elemental spirit of
the air. At last I said: “With your permission, I flatter myself to
be somewhat more than semi-intelligent, and if I am a force, I am
surely a substantial one. The fact is that I am a man, a member of the
human family, a gentleman from the ancient kingdom of Ireland and a
descendant of Caolbha, the 123rd king of Ulster.”
“A man! a gentleman!” exclaimed the princess, full of astonishment and
surprise--as if it was the most unheard-of thing that one should be a
man; and as if men and gentlemen were not much more plentiful in our
world than gnomes and ghosts. This rather amused me, and I said to the
princess:
“I hope that I did not give offence to your honour. It seems that you
are leading a very retired life, as you have never seen a man.”
But the princess paid little attention to what I said. Looking at
me with her eyes wide open, she repeated, as if trying to persuade
herself: “A man!”
“Of course a man,” said I. “What else could I be?”
“I have been told of the existence of such superior beings,” at last
said the princess. “Our sages teach that they belonged to a now extinct
race of divine or semi-divine beings, who were kings of creation, and
to whom all the laws of nature were subservient. They were said to be
gods, and even superior to the gods in wisdom and power; and that they
were spirits, who sometimes assumed material bodies for the purpose of
studying the conditions of the lower kingdom of matter.”
My vanity became excited by the description which the princess made of
aboriginal man, and I did not wish to depreciate the good opinion which
she had formed of me; so I merely nodded consent.
“And from what region of the wide empyrean have you descended?”
continued the princess, folding her hands, as if filled with admiration
and reverence.
“It is from Limerick that I come,” was my answer.
“I have never heard of that region of space,” said the princess, “nor
did I ever see any of the immortal beings who inhabit that sphere;
but it is sufficient for me to know that you are a man, and that I am
permitted to worship you. My love to you is unbounded; all that I am
belongs to you; to become united with you for ever is my only desire.
Let me adore you. In you I shall find eternal life!”
No words can express the looks of love and affection which the princess
bestowed upon me while her rosy lips expressed these sentiments, and
she sank down before me in an attitude of worship. I at once thought
that there must be a mistake somewhere, and that she took me for
something higher than I knew myself to be; but I did not wish to
disappoint her. The straightforwardness of the princess in speaking out
her sentiments in plain language and without any mock modesty delighted
me very much. I then did not know that this was originally a natural
quality of the gnomes, who, being themselves born out of emotions,
cannot disguise the emotions which cause them to live. So I replied: