And, indeed, the said Paul, cursing in his well-known French dialect,
courteously assured them, that he had cut small and kept excellent wood
for firing, which he was ready to kindle at once. “Fortunately,” said
Victor, “the same thing cannot happen to me here, that happened at a
drysalter’s at Meaux, where honest Paul lit me a fire that cost, at
least, 1200 francs. The good fellow had got hold of Brazilian
sandal-wood, hacked it to pieces, and put it on the hearth, so that I
looked almost like Andolosia, the famous son of the celebrated
Fortunatus, whose cook had to light a fire of spices, because the king
forbade him to buy wood. You know,” continued Victor, as the fire
merrily crackled and flamed up, and Paul Talkebarth had left the room,
“you know, my dear friend, Albert, that I began my military career in
the guards, at Potsdam; indeed, that is nearly all you know of my
younger days, because I never had a special opportunity to talk about
them--and, still more, because the picture of those years has been
represented to my soul in dim outlines, and did not, until I came here,
flame up again in bright colours. My first education, in my father’s
house, does not even deserve the name of a bad one. I had, in fact, no
education at all, but was left entirely to my own inclinations, and
these indicated any thing rather than a call to the profession of arms.
I felt manifestly impelled towards a scientific culture, which the old
magister, who was my appointed tutor, and who only liked to be left in
quiet, could not give me. At Potsdam I gained with facility a
knowledge of modern languages, while I zealously and successfully
pursued those studies that are requisite for an officer. I read,
besides, with a kind of mania, all that fell into my hands, without
selection or regard to utility; however, as my memory was excellent, I
had acquired a mass of historical knowledge, I scarcely knew how.
People have since done me the honour to assure me that a poetical
spirit dwelled in me, which I myself would not rightly appreciate.
Certain it is that the _chefs-d’oeuvre_ of the great poets, of that
period, raised me to a state of inspiration of which I had previously
no notion. I appeared to myself as another being, developed for the
first time into active life. I will only name the ‘Sorrows of
Werther,’ and, more especially, Schiller’s ‘Robbers.’ My fancy
received an impulse quite of a different sort from a book, which, for
the very reason that it is not finished, gives the mind an impetus that
keeps it swinging like a pendulum in constant motion. I mean
Schiller’s ‘Ghostseer.’ It may be that the inclination to the mystical
and marvellous, which is generally deep-rooted in human nature, was
particularly prevalent in me;--whatever was the cause, it is sufficient
for me to say that, when I read that book, which seems to contain the
exorcising formula belonging to the mightiest black art, a magical
kingdom, full of super-terrestrial, or, rather, sub-terrestrial
marvels, was opened to me, in which I moved about as a dreamer. Once
given to this mood, I eagerly swallowed all that would accord with it,
and even works of far less worth did not fail in their effect upon me.
Thus the ‘Genius,’ by Grosse, made a deep impression upon me, and I
have the less reason to feel ashamed of this, since the first part, at
least, on account of the liveliness of the style and the clear
treatment of the subject, produced a sensation through the whole
literary world. Many an arrest I was obliged to endure, when upon
guard, for being absorbed in such a book, or perhaps only in mystic
dreams, I did not hear the call, and was forced to be fetched by the
inferior officer. Just at this time chance made me acquainted with a
very extraordinary man. It happened on a fine summer evening, when the
sun had already sunk, and twilight had already begun, that, according
to my custom, I was walking alone in a pleasure ground near Potsdam. I
fancied that, from the thicket of a little wood, which lay by the
road-side, I could hear plaintive sounds, and some words uttered with
energy in a language unknown to me. I thought some one wanted
assistance, so I hastened to the spot whence the sounds seemed to
proceed, and soon, in the red glimmer of the evening, discovered a
large, broad-shouldered figure, enveloped in a common military mantle,
and stretched upon the ground. Approaching nearer I recognised, to my
astonishment, Major O’Malley of the grenadiers. ‘Good heavens!’ I
exclaimed, ‘is this you, major? In this situation? Are you ill? Can
I help you?’ The major looked at me with a fixed, wild stare, and then
said, in a harsh voice, ‘What the devil brings you here, lieutenant?
What does it matter to you whether I lie here or not? Go back to the
town!’ Nevertheless, the deadly paleness of O’Malley’s face made me
suspect that there was something wrong, and I declared that I would not
leave him, but would only return to the town in his company. ‘Good!’
said the major, quite coldly and deliberately, after he had remained
silent for some moments, and had endeavoured to raise himself, in which
attempt, as it appeared to be attended with difficulty, I assisted him.
I perceived now that--as was frequently the case when he went out in
the evening--he had nothing but a shirt under the cloak, which was a
common _commis-mantel_ as they call it, that he had put on his boots,
and that he wore upon his bald head his officer’s hat, with broad gold
lace. A pistol, which lay on the ground near him, he caught up
hastily, and, to conceal it from me, put it into the pocket of his
cloak. During the whole way to the town he did not speak a syllable to
me, but now and then uttered disjointed phrases in his own language--he
was an Irishman by birth--which I did not understand. When he had
reached his quarters he pressed my hand, and said, in a tone in which
there was something indescribable--something that had never been heard
before, and which still echoes in my soul: ‘Good night, lieutenant!
Heaven guard you, and give you good dreams!’ This Major O’Malley was
one of the strangest men possible, and if, perhaps, I except a few
somewhat eccentric Englishmen, whom I have met, I know no officer in
the whole great army to compare in outward appearance with O’Malley.
If it be true--as some travellers affirm--that nature nowhere produces
such peculiarities as in Ireland, and that, therefore, every family can
exhibit the prettiest cabinet pictures, Major O’Malley would justly
serve as a prototype for all his nation. Imagine a man strong as a
tree, six feet high, whose build could scarcely be called awkward, but
none of whose limbs fitted the rest, so that his whole figure seemed
huddled together, as in that game where figures are composed of single
parts, the numbers on which are decided by the throw of the dice. An
aquiline nose, and delicately formed lips would have given a noble
appearance to his countenance, but his prominent glassy eyes were
almost repulsive, and his black bushy eyebrows had the character of a
comic mask. Strangely enough there was something lachrymose in the
major’s face whenever he laughed, which, by the way, seldom happened,
while he seemed to laugh whenever the wildest passion mastered him, and
in this laugh there was something so terrific, that the oldest and most
stout-hearted fellows would shudder at it. But, however, seldom as
Major O’Malley laughed, it was just as seldom that he allowed himself
to be carried away by passion. That the major should ever have an
uniform to fit him seemed an utter impossibility. The best tailors in
the regiment failed utterly when they applied their art to the formless
figure of the major; his coat, though cut according to the most
accurate measure, fell into unseemly folds, and hung on his body as if
placed there to be brushed, while his sword dangled against his legs,
and his hat sat upon his head in such a queer fashion that the military
schismatic might be recognised a hundred paces off. A thing quite
unheard of in those days in which there was so much pedantry in matters
of form--O’Malley wore no tail! To be sure a tail could scarcely have
been fastened to the few gray locks that curled at the back of his
head, and, with the exception of these, he was perfectly bald. When
the major rode, people expected every moment to see him tumble from his
horse, when he fought they expected to see him beaten; and yet he was
the very best rider and fencer,--in a word, the very best _Gymnastiker_
that could exist.
“This will suffice to give you the picture of a man, whose whole mode
of life might be called mysterious, as he now threw away large sums,
now seemed in want of assistance, and removed from all the control of
superiors, and every restraint of service, could do exactly as he
liked. And even that which he did like was so eccentric, or rather so
splenetically mad, that one felt uneasy about his sanity. They said
that the major, at a certain period, when Potsdam and its environs was
the scene of a strange mystification, that even found a place in the
history of the day, had played an important part, and still stood in
certain relations, which caused the incomprehensibility of his
position. A book of very ill-repute, which appeared at the time--it
was called ‘Excorporations,’ if I mistake not,--and which contained the
portrait of a man very like the major, increased that belief, and I,
struck by the mysterious contents of this book, felt the more inclined
to consider O’Malley a sort of Arminian, the more I observed his
chimerical, I may almost say supernatural proceedings. He himself gave
me additional opportunity to make such observations, for since the
evening on which I found him ill, or otherwise overcome, in the wood,
he had taken an especial fancy to me, so that it seemed absolutely
necessary for him to see me every day. To describe to you the whole
peculiarity of this intercourse with the major, to tell you a great
deal that seemed to confirm the judgment of the men, who boldly
maintained that he had second-sight, and was in compact with the devil,
would be superfluous, as you will soon have sufficient knowledge of the
awful spirit that was destined to disturb the peace of my life.
“I was on guard at the castle, and there received a visit from my
cousin, Captain von T----, who had come with a young officer from
Berlin to Potsdam. We were indulging in friendly converse over our
wine, when, towards midnight, Major O’Malley entered. ‘I thought to
find you alone, lieutenant,’ said he, casting glances of displeasure at
my guests, and he wished to depart at once. The captain then reminded
him that they were old acquaintance, and at my request he consented to
remain.
“‘Your wine,’ exclaimed O’Malley, as he tossed down a bumper, after his
usual manner; ‘your wine, lieutenant, is the vilest stuff that ever
tortured an honest fellow’s bowels. Let us see if this is of a better
sort.’
“He then took a bottle from the pocket of the cloak which he had drawn
over his shirt, and filled the glasses. We pronounced the wine
excellent, and considered it to be very fiery Hungarian.
“Somehow or other, I cannot say how, conversation turned upon magical
operations, and particularly upon the book of ill report, to which I
have already alluded. The captain, especially when he had drunk wine,
had a certain scoffing tone, which every one could not endure, and in
this tone he began to talk about military exorcisors and wizards, who
had done very pretty things at that time, so that even at the present
time people revered their power, and made offerings to it. ‘Whom do
you mean?’ cried O’Malley, in a threatening tone; ‘whom do you mean,
captain? If you mean me, we will put the subject of raising spirits
aside; I can show you that I understand the art of conjuring the soul
out of the body, and for that art I require no talisman but my sword or
a good pistol-barrel.’
“There was nothing the captain desired less than a quarrel with
O’Malley. He therefore gave a neat turn to the subject, asserting that
he did indeed mean the major, but intended nothing but a jest, which
was, perhaps, an ill-timed one. Now, however, he would ask the major
in earnest, whether he would not do well by contradicting the silly
rumour, that he commanded mysterious powers, and thus, in his own
person, check the foolish superstition, which by no means accorded with
an age so enlightened. The major leaned completely across the table,
rested his head on both his fists, so that his nose was scarcely a span
removed from the captain’s face, and then said very calmly, staring at
him with his prominent eyes: ‘Even, friend, if Heaven has not blessed
you with a very penetrating intellect, I hope you will be able to see,
that it is the silliest conceit, nay, I may say, the most atrocious
presumption to believe that with our own spiritual existence every
thing is concluded, and that there are no spiritual beings, which,
differently endowed from ourselves, often from their own nature alone,
make themselves temporary forms, manifest themselves in space and time,
and further, aiming at a sort of reaction, can take refuge in the mass
of clay, which we call a body. I do not reproach you, captain, for not
having read, and for being ignorant of every thing that cannot be
learned at a review or on parade, but this I will tell you, that if you
had peeped now and then into clever books, and knew Cardanus, Justin
Martyr, Lactantius, Cyprian, Clement of Alexandria, Macrobius,
Trismegistus, Nollius, Dorneus, Theophrastus, Fludd, William Postel,
Mirandola; nay, even the cabalistic Jews, Josephus and Philo, you might
have had an inkling of things which are at present above your horizon,
and of which you therefore have no right to talk.’
“With these words O’Malley sprang up, and walked up and down with heavy
steps, so that the windows and glasses vibrated.
“The captain, somewhat astonished, assured the major, that although he
had the highest esteem for his learning, and did not wish to deny that
there were, nay, must be, higher spiritual natures, he was firmly
convinced that any communication with an unknown spiritual world was
contrary to the very conditions of humanity, and therefore impossible,
and that any thing advanced as a proof of the contrary, was based on
self-delusion or imposture.
“After the captain had been silent for a few seconds, O’Malley suddenly
stood still, and began, ‘Captain, or,’--turning to me,--‘lieutenant, do
me the favour to sit down and write an epic as noble and as
superhumanly great as the Iliad.’
“We both answered, that neither of us would succeed, as neither of us
had the Homeric genius. ‘Ha! ha!’ cried the major, ‘mark that,
captain! Because your mind is incapable of conceiving and bringing
forth the divine; nay, because your nature is not so constituted, that
it can even kindle into the knowledge of it, you presume to deny that
such things are possible with any one. I tell you, the intercourse
with higher spiritual natures depends on a particular _psychic_
organisation. That organisation, like the creative power of poetry, is
a gift which the spirit of the universe bestows upon its favourites.’
“I read in the captain’s face, that he was on the point of making some
satirical reply to the major. To stop this, I took up the conversation
myself, and remarked to the major that, as far as I had any knowledge
of the subject, the cabalists prescribed certain rules and forms, that
intercourse with unknown spiritual beings might be attained. Before
the major could reply, the captain, who was heated with wine, sprang
from his seat, and said bitterly, ‘What is the use of all this talking?
You give yourself out as a superior being, major, and want to believe,
that because you are made of better stuff than any of us, you command
spirits! You must allow me to believe that you are nothing but a
besotted dreamer, until you give us some ocular demonstration of your
_psychic_ power.’
“The major laughed wildly, and said, ‘So, captain, you take me for a
common necromancer, a miserable juggler, do you? That accords with
your limited view! However, you shall be permitted to take a peep into
a dark region of which you have no notion, and which may, perhaps, have
a destructive effect upon you. I warn you against it, and would have
you reflect, that your mind may not be strong enough to bear many
things, which to me would be no more than agreeable pastime.’
“The captain protested that he was quite ready to cope with all the
spirits and devils that O’Malley could raise, and we were obliged to
give our word of honour to the major that we would meet him at ten
o’clock on the night of the autumnal equinox, at the inn near the ----
gate, when we should learn more.
“In the meanwhile it had become clear daylight; the sun was shining
through the window. The major then placed himself in the middle of the
room, and cried with a voice of thunder, ‘Incubus! Incubus!
Nehmahmihah Scedim!’ He then threw off his cloak, which he had not yet
laid aside, and stood in full uniform.
“At that moment I was obliged to leave the room as the guard was
getting under arms. When I returned, the major and the captain had
both vanished.
“‘I only stayed behind,’ said the young officer, a good, amiable youth,
whom I found alone.--‘I only stayed behind to warn you against this
major, this fearful man! I will have nothing to do with his fearful
secrets, and I only regret that I have given my word to be present at a
deed, which will be destructive, perhaps, to us all, and certainly to
the captain. You may depend upon it that I am not inclined to believe
in the tales that old nurses tell to children; but did you observe that
the major successively took eight bottles from his pocket, that seemed
scarcely large enough to hold one?--that at last, although he wore
nothing but his shirt under his cloak, he suddenly stood attired by
invisible hands?’ It was, indeed, as the lieutenant had said, and I
felt an icy shudder come over me.
“On the appointed day the captain called upon me with my young friend,
and at the stroke of ten we were at the inn as we had promised the
major. The lieutenant was silent and reserved, but the captain was so
much the louder and in high spirits. ‘Indeed!’ he cried, when it was
already half-past ten, and no O’Malley had made his appearance, ‘indeed
I believe that the conjuror has left us in the lurch with all his
spirits and devils!’ ‘That he has not,’ said a voice close behind the
captain, and O’Malley was among us without any one having seen how he
entered. The laugh, into which the captain was about to break, died
away.
“The major, who was dressed as usual in his military cloak, thought
that there was time to drink a few glasses of punch before he took us
to the place where he designed to fulfill his promise. It would do us
good as the night was cold and rough, and we had a tolerably long way
to go. We sat down at a table, on which the major had laid some links
bound together, and a book.
“‘Ho ho!’ cried the captain, ‘this is your conjuring book is it, major?’
“‘Most assuredly,’ replied O’Malley, drily.
“The captain seized the book, opened it, and at that moment laughed so
immoderately, that we did not know what could have struck him, as being
so very ridiculous.
“‘Come,’ said he, recovering himself with difficulty, ‘come, this is
too bad! What the devil, major--oh, you want to play your tricks upon
us, or have you made some mistake? Only look here, comrades!’
“You may conceive our astonishment, friend Albert, when we saw that the
book which the captain held before our eyes, was no other than
‘Peplier’s French Grammar.’ O’Malley took the book out of the
captain’s hand, put it into the pocket in his cloak, and then said very
quietly--indeed his whole demeanour was quiet and milder than
usual--‘It must be very immaterial to you, captain, of what instruments
I make use to fulfill my promise, which only binds me to give you a
sensible demonstration of my intercourse with the world of spirits
which surrounds us, and which, in fact, comprises the condition of our
higher being. Do you think that my power requires such paltry crutches
as especial mystical forms, choice of a particular time, a remote awful
spot--things which paltry cabalists are in the habit of employing for
their useless experiments? In the open market-place, at every hour, I
could show you my power; and when, after you had presumptuously enough
challenged me to enter the lists, I chose a particular time, and, as
you will perceive, a place that you may think rather awful, I only
wished to show a civility to him, who, on this occasion, is to be in
some sort your guest. One likes to receive guests in one’s best room,
and at the most suitable hour.’
“It struck eleven, the major took up the torches, and desired us to
follow him.
“He strode so quickly along the high road that we had a difficulty in
following him, and when we had reached the toll-house, turned into a
footpath on the right, that led to a thick wood of firs. After we had
run for nearly an hour, the major stood still, and told us to keep
close behind him, as we might otherwise lose ourselves in the thicket
of the wood that we now had to enter. We went through the densest
bushes, so that one or the other of us was constantly caught by the
uniform or the sword, so as to extricate himself with difficulty, until
at last we came to an open space. The moonbeams were breaking through
the dark clouds, and I perceived the ruins of a large building, into
which the major strode. It grew darker and darker; the major desired
us to stand still, as he wished to conduct every one of us down singly.
He began with the captain, and my turn came next. The major clasped me
round, and I was more carried by him than I walked into the depth.
‘Stop here,’ whispered the major, ‘stop here quietly till I have
fetched the lieutenant, then my work shall begin.’
“Amid the impenetrable darkness I heard the breathing of a person who
stood close by me. ‘Is that you, captain?’ I exclaimed. ‘Certainly it
is,’ replied the captain, ‘have a care, cousin; this will all end in
foolish jugglery, but it is a cursed place to which the major has
brought us, and I wish we were sitting at a bowl of punch, for my limbs
are all trembling with cold, and, if you will have it so, with a
certain childish apprehension.’
“It was no better with me than with the captain. The boisterous autumn
wind whistled and howled through the walls, and a strange groaning and
whispering answered it from below. Scared night birds swept fluttering
by us, while a low whining noise seemed to be gliding away close to the
ground. Truly both the captain and myself might say of the horrors of
our situation the same thing that Cervantes says of Don Quixote, when
he passes the portentous night before the adventure with the
fulling-mills: ‘One less courageous would have lost his presence of
mind altogether.’ The splashing of some water in the vicinity, and the
barking of dogs, showed that we were not far from the
leather-manufactory, which is by the river in the neighbourhood of
Potsdam. We at last heard some dully sounding steps, which became
nearer and nearer until the major cried out close to us: ‘Now we are
together, and that which we have begun can be completed.’ By means of
a chemical fire-box he kindled the torches which he had brought with
him and stuck them in the ground. They were seven in number. We found
that we were in the ruined vault of a cellar. O’Malley ranged us in a
half-circle, threw off his cloak and shirt, so that he remained naked
to the waist, and opening the book began to read as follows, in a voice
that more resembled the dull roaring of a distant beast of prey than
the sound of a human being: Monsieur, pretez moi un peu, s’il vous
plâit, votre canif.--Oui, Monsieur, d’abord--le voilà, je vous le
rendrai.’
“Come,” said Albert, here interrupting his friend, “this is indeed too
bad! The dialogue ‘On writing,’ from Peplier’s Grammar, as a formula
for exorcism! And you did not laugh out and bring the whole thing to
an end at once?”
“I am now,” continued Victor, “coming to a moment which I doubt whether
I shall succeed in describing. May your fancy only give animation to
my words! The major’s voice grew more awful, while the wind howled
more loudly, and the flickering light of the torches covered the walls
with strange forms, that changed as they flitted by. I felt the cold
perspiration dripping on my forehead, and forcibly succeeded in
preserving my presence of mind, when a cutting tone whistled through
the vault, and close before my eyes stood something----”
“How?” cried Albert. “Something! What do you mean, Victor? A
frightful form?”
“It sounds absurd,” continued Victor, “to talk of ‘a formless form,’
but I can find no other word to express the hideous something that I
saw. It is enough to say that at that moment the horror of hell thrust
its pointed ice-dagger into my heart, and I became insensible. At
broad mid-day I found myself undressed and lying upon my couch. All
the horrors of the night had passed, and I felt quite well and easy.
My young friend, the lieutenant, was asleep in the arm-chair. As soon
as I stirred he awoke, and testified the greatest joy at finding me in
perfect health. From him I learned that as soon as the major had begun
his gloomy work, he had closed his eyes, and had endeavoured closely to
follow the dialogue from Peplier’s Grammar, without regarding any thing
else. Notwithstanding all his efforts, a fearful apprehension,
hitherto unknown, had gained the mastery over him, though he preserved
his consciousness. The frightful whistle, was, he said, followed by
wild laughter. He had once involuntarily opened his eyes, and
perceived the major, who had again thrown his mantle round him, and was
upon the point of taking upon his shoulders the captain, who lay
senseless on the ground. ‘Take care of your friend,’ cried O’Malley to
the lieutenant, and giving him a torch, he went up with the captain.
The lieutenant then spoke to me, as I stood there immoveable, but it
was to no purpose. I seemed quite paralysed, and he had the greatest
difficulty in bringing me into the open air. Suddenly the major
returned, took me on his shoulders, and carried me away as he had
carried the captain before. But what was the horror of the lieutenant,
when on leaving the wood, he saw a second O’Malley who was carrying the
captain along the broad path! However, silently praying to himself, he
got the better of his horror, and followed me, firmly resolved not to
quit me, happen what might, till we reached my quarters, where O’Malley
set me down and left me, without speaking a word. With the help of my
servant,--who even then, was my honest Eulenspiegel, Paul Talkebarth;
the lieutenant had brought me into my room, and put me to bed.
“Having concluded this narrative, my young friend implored me, in the
most touching manner, to shun all association with the terrible
O’Malley. The physician, who had been called in, found the captain in
the inn by the gate, where we had assembled, struck speechless by
apoplexy. He recovered, indeed, but remained unfit for the service,
and was forced to quit it. The major had vanished, having, as the
officers said, obtained leave of absence. I was glad that I did not
see him again, for a deep indignation had mingled itself with the
horror which his dark mode of life occasioned. My cousin’s misfortune
was the work of O’Malley, and it seemed my duty to take a sanguinary
revenge.