OUT OF THE BODY.

Southland Times, Volume 2, Issue 106, 26 October 1863, Page 6 (Supplement)

OUT OF THE BODY.

(From Ohdb-a-Woek.) - Mauleverer began to describe, ncrirously and incoherently at first, afterwards with much animation, the symp- . TomS which I was so desirous to witness. Ir I will say here, once for all, that I ' do not attempt* to defend my conduct. \ It was reckless, cruel, unnatural — I •agree to all that my readers cart think about it. My curiosity overmastered all other feelings. I was terribly punished, as will be* scan i the end. Mauleverer's account agreed - with \ the outlino which Wyatt had given us in Allen's rooms. It was a perfectly voluntary act. Body and soul' did become ; actually separated from each other, though some kind of connection was retained. The thing being willed to be] done, the first sensation was of a col- | lecting of all the vital forces about the "region of the heart. From the heart -these forces passed off\ into the spinal column, and, streaming upwards, -exfrom the body through an aper- , ; ture which apparently opened in the. >:>cerebellum. To cause this aperture to form, and afterwards to retain it unxiosed, required a strong effort, painful through the fatigue it occasioned. I mentioned that this particular of i;lie aperture in the head seemed familiar to me. I ' "It is one of the symptoms related I by Cardan,"said Mauleverer. " He — I if hfi is to be believed — could exercise I precisely the same power that I can. I By his own confession, he was neither H ; an honest nor a trustworthy man ; but I he certainly speaks touthin this account I «of his own experience, His diagnosis I is singularly correct and complete. I "No one, however learned in physiology, B -could have hit precisely -oh these H symptoms. Cardan's tiase is a noted Hone, and probably you have seen it H -referred to in some book. Such cases, ; H^ however, are not so rare as is generally ■ That they are rare at all is,, H I believe, simply owin^ to people's H 'jgnorance of the extent of the natural H powers they posses?. lam quite sure H that this gift is not preternatural, but H' natural, possessed dormantly by everyV- *body, arid-capable of being used by every ■ body, if tbey^knew of it, and were d;s posed to use it. Sleep is a much more 'incomprehensible affair. Sleep is clearly a disease of "tired nature, whilst this species of trauce, or semi-separation of soul and body, is a legitimate exertion *df the forces of nature in their highest sstrength. It is half way en the road to "death, it nevertheless puts death in a new light, taking away from it all that mystery which ordinarily surrounds it. -All that is is an exercise of the a powerful exercise ; bat not more -powerful than is Tised daily by many •men upon trivial matters." '"And you reaVly think that anybody — that I, for instance, — could do the same if I chose to do it?'* "I feel certain of it. As I said 'before, instances are not so rare as they '-are supposed to be. I r rom the very •earliest times, and all nations, cases are ■handed down to us. If you look into "'--Moritfaucon-and. Denon, you will find this power represented as clearly as it •can be in the Egyptian hieroglyphics. The figure on the couch with the attendant priests and the symbol of the soul hovering above— -this most common of their pictures — what else does it mean 1 Then, among the Greeks, the mysteries •of the oracles, the sacred sleeps, — a thousand matters point ; the same way. philosophers often, when they arc ; 'interpreted as speaking metaphorically of abstract contemplation, are referring literally to this physical power ; and from whence do they derive their . analogy; when they are speaking metaphorically, unless from this well-known ? The very teaching of the antagonism of soul and senses comes from this. The legends of Pythagoras, of Hermbtimus, and of many more of the" •early philosophers, claim for them the power of leaving the body and returning to it. And when we come down to j Alexandria and the Neo-Platonists, the ! -exercise of the power is ordinary and j common. The sages of that city, heathen or Christian, possessed it alike. The religious books of the Jews, again, ■ teem with allusions and more certain illustrations; and we Christians have surely instances enough in our own writings." .•** But," I objected, " these old stories #re so vague (are they not? — I speak ignoTantly) and so mixed up with manifest superstitions and lies, as to afford little acceptable evidence. Besides, in almost all cases these stories 'claim to be miraculous and supernatural." V V "Any power," he answered, smiling, not yet accepted as natural and ordiDary* is sure to be looked on as a miracle, and to be surrounded by superstitious additions and interpretations, AH that I argue for. is for the existence of some natural cause 'lying beneath. Although we have ceased to beleive that thunder is a .divine ■voice, yet none the less do we believe in the thunder. The books of the middle . ages are.jfull of instances. ; Carden, as you know, affirms that he possessed the gift, and his ac- •; count has i in it the surest evidences of truth. The mediaeval saints afford cases as numerous as the Alexandrian mystics. : Whole communities of nuns and monks i, knew .and /practised the secret, and ff often turned it artfully as an instru!;ment totbeir own ends.'' It " Surely," j said, " those middle- age . legends were cases of disease or of imposture." '■' - ...; ? "Hardly of disease," he said; "though of course unhealthy people might discover this lalent power as well as jiealthy". 1 Because whole comexhibited the same symptoms |rt is said that it was an epidemic. The explanation is that one learned of the latent power from another. Of

imposture, no doubt. They deceived others^ and often deceived themselves, mixing the physicial' fact with a thousand superstitious; fancies and; lies.'* " They described the most wonderful visions as having occurred in these trances, did they not ? i I have some dim general notion of that class of stories. But, if I remember right, their trances were often of long continuance . — many. days. ". You said just now that you could not continue yours for more than two or three minutes. Tell me, too^pray, about these visions. Do you experience anything of, the kind ? What difference is there between your ordinary consciousness and your consciousness while in that state of trance ?'* Mauleverer paused. "As to time,'' he said, "we must allow for exaggeration in these old stories. But the possible duration would depend, no doubt, on the strength of the person, and the degree to which he had used the power. Myself, I am as yet still recovering from a severe illness — a person in perfect health would prebably find no difficulty in remaining in that state of trance on first trial for double the time that I can last out now. T have discovered this power only of late, and was on first discovery afraid to use i<^ I have had little practice. But already the duration which I can bear is rapidly increasing : it was only for a few moments \t first. This morning I extended the period to five minutes, timing myself by my watch/ "And your consciousness while in j | that state?" He paused again. M I cannot speak on that point/ he said at last. " I can tell you that Ido not experience the impossible visions that stand recorded in saintly legends ; butas to the kind or degree of my consciousness, I have arrived at no accurate knowledge on that point myself. The duration of the separation is so very short. Consciousness wholly distinct from the senses is such a strange process. It is only after many months that infants learn to use their senses — to think and feel through them. And I suffer the reverse process, and only for a few months at a time. I could not say that I heard or saw in that state, and yet I am conscious. It is impossible to explain. I myself have as great a curiosity and eagerness to learn more as you can have." We were both silent. Ti e i Mauleverer continued. "You disbelieve these old stories that come down to us, intermixed with superstitious additions. But there are plenty of later stories, of cases here in England, well-attested, and without I a shadow of imposture or superstition in them. Take, for example, tho case of Colonel Townshend." He got up, went to a book-case, and taking down a book, searched through the leaves for a moment or two, and at length handed it open to me. I glanced through it. The case was related by a physician, and other physicians attested it. The details were told at length, end with a perfect clearness. No explanation, physical or other, was attempted. Colonel Townshend died, anp returned to life — could do so habitually. There it was under the hands of the doctors. "But," I said, after consideration of the case, " Colonel Townshend was at this time in ill-health — a 'nephritic complaint,' as the book says — was, in fact, in the last stage of a long-continu-ing disease. This was surely some premonitor of death, no normal power of healthful nature." Mauleverer's face darkened — it became very sad and weary. 1 do not think at that time I at all took in the drift of his argument. Thinking over it many, many times afterwards, I can see plainly novy that, feeling the awful separation between himself and his fellow-men, he was eager to prove himself not different from, but like them. " All others have this awful power that I possess ; the only difference is, that they have not discovered that they possess it. It is simply a natural gift, little used.'' A victim to catalepsy, hefouud...he made up his mind to find — in this strange accompaniment of the disease (undoubtedly one of its symptoms) a new tie between himself and the ordinary people of the world — a discovery made by I him, the weak, which the strong had failed to make. He triumphed in this awful force of diseased nature with an altogether morbid pride. I learned afterwards that before his fall in hunt* ing he had been another man to what he became subsequently to it. A revulsion had taken place in his character. Previously devoted t o active exercises, he had become during his long illness a student. The ambition which had before been directed to bodily superiority was of necessity turned into another channel. The terrible burden and disgrace of his involuntary cataleptic fits, he managed by an insane self-deception to counteract by pride in that cataleptic trance which he could bring on at will. My observation on the story of Colonel Townshend was unwittingly cruel. Far more cruel, however, my persistence in my original curiosity. - What I write here as our conversation is derived from memory at the distance of a long period. It is of little consequence if I pass on abruptly to its conclusion. Mauleverer had resumed his place in the window-seat. The chapel service was not yet over. During his previous monologue, the antiphonic chants of the psalms, the silence of the spoken portion of the service, the momentary but longdrawn sounds of the choral Amens had accompanied his 'animated utterance. It was about this time that the anthem began— an anthem of Beethovan's, which under influence of (what I believe they call) the tremulato stop of the organ

quivered down the long chapel, and out into the air; in measured waves of distinct and separate sound. An echo in the opposite corner of the quadrangle gave back these musical waves vaguely and faintly, as the reflection of a rainbow repeats dimly th« colours of its' original. "Of course," said STauleyerer, " you have never tried to* exercise this power ? Will you try to-night for the first time ? I am most anxious to attempt experiments in this way, and it is impossible for one person alone to do much. I will show you first how it is done, then, if you have no objection, you shall try." «I will," I said. . " Then/ he said, stretching his legs on the window-seat, his back- and head being propped against the shutter, " then in the first plac« you must be silent ; stand by mo without making any noise ; even hold your breadth if you cans I am peculiarly sensitive to noise. In the next place, do not on any account touch me ; I have always a fear of some fate like that of Her motius." He paused and then added, "It is fair to tell you. Take care of your thonghfcs. You asked me about my consciousness. la the trance I fancy I do become conscious of those who are present.'' The light from the lamp fell upon his face, and, although the misty moonlight somewhat mingled with and confused it, was sufficient for me to watch j the changes that came quickly oTe on the other. He fixed his eyes upon the opposite shutter. They soon lost intelligence and became filmy. A shade, as it seemed to me, rather than a paleness, came over his face. A" slight wind through the open window moved a lock of his long hair to and fro, and gave a flickering movement to the light. He had said that noise disturbed him. I suppose he meant noises close at hand The organ, arrived at the conclusion of the anthem, was pouring forth tempest of sound. The air throbbed to the deep tumultuous notes. Of this he was quite unconscious. That which had seemed to me a shadow upon his face whitened) not gradually, but by distinct changes, degree upon degree. Perhaps it was the flickering light and the measured notes of music which caused this appearance of regular and successive gradations in the changes. My own heart was beating in time to those outward pulses. I have seen twilight in summer deepen in very much the same way, veil after veil seeming to be dropped suddenly betweeu the sunset and the earth, the exact moment when each fell being apparent. To m a , it soemsd as if each increase of pallor marked a. fresh movement of the will — as if by successive impulses it were driving the life out of the body. The face had become intensely white ; the eyes were fixed; the ejelids dropped slowly over them. There was a subsidence of the whole body; the head slowly declined over the right shoulder towards the window. Suddenly the tumult of the organ ceased, and with the silence came a spasm at my heart. The regular beating died into a convulsion or a paralysis, I scarcely know which. I stooped over the body, there was a bubbling in the throat; then (whether it was imagination or fact I cannot say), I saw a bluish-white vapour issue from the mouth. That was all. I was in the presence of a corpse. The man, who a few minutes before had been talking with me, lay dead in my sight. Appalled as I was I took out my watch. Five minutes was to be the greatest duration. By Heaven, how slowly the minutes cr. pt by ! The five minutes were up. I fancied I saw a change in the body, the air of distress and pain and effort had left the face, and given place to a perfect quietude ; the contour of the limbs had subsided yet more. The minute hand of my watch was creeping past the five minutes, and into the next five. A terror seized me It is impossible for me to describe what I felt; the horror of what was, the dread of what might be ; the impression of a great crime upon my conscience, and the first overshadowing of an awful remorse. I cannot realise that scene again, save in a bewilderment of grief and terror ; description of it is impossible. Ten minutes had passed, it might have been years ; there was no difference in the body, save that, as I fancied, it settled down yet more and more into the quietness and vacancy of death. I fell upon my knees beside it, I tried to pray. Heaven knows what I did or how I got through the time. While I was still on my knees, still counting the tardy minutes on my watch, I became conscious of a darkening of the room. I turned round. The lamp was becoming dimmer. Soon the i sound at intervals of the suction of the j last drops of oil impressed upon me that , the lamp was going out. This measured sound, and the accompanying j flash of^the expiring flame throbbed through me. In many ways on that night my attention had been drawn by the pulsing of exterior things. The musical waves of the organ, this noise from the lamp recurring at regular intervals, the ticking of my watch, all connected themselves with the measured •and successive shades of change which had passed over the face of the corpse. Any audible throbbing to this day brings at once before me that scene. The light grew dimmer and dimmer. The figures on my watch became invisible. More than a quarter of an hour had passed when I ceased to be able to watch the movement of the hands further. The face of the corpse, no longer illumined by the red lamplight, looked yet more gastly in tile wan glimmer- of the moon. An unaccountable panic took posses- '

sion of me. I started to my feet and rushed out of the room. I shut-to the outer door as I came out. Every barrier that I placed betwpen me and that fearful thing in the window-seat seemed a relief. My sudden panic has often reminded me of an adventure that Rousseau relates of himself somewhere jn his Confessions. A friend with whom hehad for Jong been travelling, being seized with a fit in the market-place of some foreign town- through which they were passing, Roflsseau, on the instant, deserted him and hastened away, never seeing him again. There was no cause for the desertion ; reason had no influence in it; it was merely an impulse of blind terror. It was an impulse of blind terror in my case. Anything to get clear of- the horror which had gradually accumulated in that room. Instead of at Once giving the alarm and calling in medical aid, I never spoke to a soul, for the life of mo I could not have Spoken on the subject. I hastened from the college, through the streets to the outskirts of the town. When I began to get among the hedges I, in part, recovered my power of reasoning. I acknowledged that I ought to have given the alarm. It came home to me that I was little less than the murderer of Mauleverer. Still I j kept moving away from, not on my return to the town. It was too late now. With that thought I comforted myself — yes, comforted myself, for it was a relief to me to dismiss, or determine to dismiss, the whole matter from my thoughts in any possible manner. I remained wandering about the outskirts of the town for the greater part of the night, and returned to my rooms at length (I was in lodgings) utterly worn out. I went to bed, not to sleep, however. I will not attempt to give a notion of the agonies of that night. I was haunted by the idea of Mau'sa rer's soul pursuing me. Strange to say, not the face of the corpse upon the window-seat, but the pain-tortured head painted upon the wall of the circular closet was the visible image which would not loose itself from my memory. The idea of Mauleverer's soul joining itself in some inexplicable way with the remembrance of that face. In a waking nightmare the hours passed by. As morning dawned a hope dawned, too, in my mind. Mauleverer might have recovered. Oh ! please Heaven it might be so ! — that all this fearful agony might turn out to be as causeless and -unreal as a dream ! Against myself the hope grew. I remembei % ed how I had left Mauleverer, seated in the window-seat, with his face turned towards the open window. I could see at onc-e from the court if he were still there. I would get up. I sprung out of bed, and dressed with trembling hands. Even with my mind full of the figure on the window-seat, and of the face turned towards the window, I could not realise that face. No image, no remembrance of it w uld come to me, try to reach it as 1 would. Instead of that face came the other. Why this was I cannot tell; but at other times in my life I have been unable to recal a countenance which should, according to ordinary judgment, have stamped itself indelibly in my mind. I have heard other people remark upon the same marvel. 1 hastened to the college. As 1 I turned into the court through the great \ gateway, I saw obliquely that the window of Mauleverer's rooms was still open. Going forward I soon got within sight of Mi at which I had come to see. Good God ! there was the dead face turned towards me ! » * * -s There was an inquest on Mauleverer, and there were medical examinations. They decided that he died in one of his customary fits. I will tell the truth, here, as to my conduct then, I denied all knowledge of his death. Wyatt, of course, affirmed that he had left me in Mauleverer's rooms at chapel time. This I could not deny ; but I did deny that I was with Mauleverer when he died, and that 1 had any knowledge of his death. I have never confessed the truth to a soul till now. After this I had a terrible fever. My cousin, who helped to nurse me through it, "told me of my ravings about this-dreadful story. She, who knew nothing of Mauleverer or of his death, attributed them wholly to fever delusions. I did not betray myself. If my cousin (now my wif°), were to see these pages, I believe she would still think the story a fever delusion, and nothing more. People say that a fever always leaves some searing mark upon the mind which it has once held iv torment. ... I wish it might be only this. A flag of truce, says the Cincinnati Commercial, came to our lines a day or two ago on the following subject : — It represented that an English lady, resident of Vicksburg, in one of those critical conditions from which neither rank nor wealth exempl.Eve's daughters in a state of matrimony, desired to enter our lines, that the "interesting event " might lake place at some point not so exclusively under the sway of the war god. A request appealing so directly to the sympathies of our nature was readily granted. .The prospective mother was permitted to enter our lines and proceed to Memphis. A woman, has been arrested at Burclone, for praclising magi-, and in the very act. of making cabalistic conjurations. In her apartment were found philtres to produce affection, pills to secure long life, powders to produce death, a magical cal, entirely black with the exception of the required tuft of white at the end of the tail, and a quantity of diabolical emblems ! Prince Frederick of Prussia, cousin to the king, and eldest son of Prince Louis, died on the evening of the 27th July, at Berlin. He was born in 1794, and took part in the wars of independence in 1813 and 1815. :