says that the fits, which come upon him against his will, are ordinary cataleptic fits; but, over and above this affliction, he lays claim to a power of putting himself into a trance whenever he pleases. For myself, I don’t see much difference between the two. He declares that the trances into which he throws himself are absolutely a separating of the soul from the body. He talks in the most mysterious manner about this power that he possesses. He asserts most solemnly that when he uses this power he is consciously out of and separate from his body, which is to all intents and purposes dead. I can’t express myself clearly—but you understand what I mean.”
There were exclamations of surprise.
“He only fancies this, I suppose,” said Allen; “it is a hallucination. He cannot really bring on these fits when he likes, can he?”
“He certainly can, though.”
“Have you ever seen him do it?”
“Yes; once only. That was enough for me.”
“By Jove! tell us about it,” cried a chorus of voices.
“There is not much to tell. He had been talking about these trances of his, and I was curious, and not a little sceptical. I challenged him to do it, and, by Heaven, in five minutes he lay before me seemingly quite dead. I don’t like to talk of it!”
Wyatt shuddered.
“You don’t mean to say that he really did go off in this way, of his own will and act?”
“Not a doubt of it.”
“And how did he do it?”—
“How long did he remain so?”—
“Did he come to again, all right?”—
There was a shower of questions.
“He seemed to me to remain in the trance a long time, but, I confess, I was desperately frightened, and the time would seem long. He says himself that he cannot continue so for more than two or three minutes—that it is great labour to keep body and soul apart. He describes the connection between them as something like an elastic string at full stretch. If the tension is relaxed, they fly together again.”
“And how did he go off? Tell us about it?”
“He cautioned me at first not to speak, and on no account to touch him. Then he fixed his eyes, and seemed to hold his breath. After a few moments he began to grow pale. This pallor increased rapidly till he was quite white. Then there was a bubbling sound in his throat, and he gave a long expiration. The breath came out of his mouth like a bluish stream. Then all was over—he lay quite dead. It was perfectly awful. The first sign of his coming to was a rush of colour into his face: from white it became crimson. He awoke up as from a dream, seeming a little bewildered at first, and much exhausted. He says it is very hard work. He describes the soul—or the life-principle, or the breath, or whatever it is—as first collecting in the heart, and then passing from that up the spine, and so out from the body at the top of the head. He says an aperture is formed in the head, through which the soul goes out, and that it is very difficult to keep this aperture open while the soul is absent. I suppose if it closed he would never revive. He assured me that he was perfectly conscious of existing apart from his body, and of the presence of the body as a thing separate and distinct from himself. I asked whether his soul went far away from the body, and he said, ‘No; that the separation was not absolutely complete; that there was some link of connection,’ which he likened to an elastic string, as I said before. He distinguishes between his fits and the voluntary exercise of this power. He did not possess the power previous to his fall. Thus he allows it to be in some way connected with the fits, though he says that the symptoms of the two are quite different.”
“I never heard such an extraordinary story in my life!” said Allen.
I confess that I (the writer) had listened to Wyatt with an absorbing interest. Unhappily the case of Mauleverer aroused in me an unquenchable curiosity. I resolved on the instant to use my slight acquaintance with him to put this strange preternatural power of his to the test.
I had some dim remembrance of having read of cases of the kind before. Marvellous instances of cataleptic trances were on record. I mingled remembrances of accounts of such physical wonders with remembrances of more mysterious legends of ancient philosophers and mystics. All my notions on the subject were vague, and for that reason, probably, my curiosity was the stronger. One point, however, in Wyatt’s account seemed familiar to me. Of the aperture in the head, through which the vital principle issued from the body, I had certainly heard before. Where, I could not tell; but this one point coming clearly before me as a fact known before, impressed me forcibly.
“Is Mauleverer ashamed of exhibiting this power which he possesses?” I asked. “I suppose he does not wish it to be known or talked of.”
“On the contrary,” said Wyatt, “I think he is rather proud of it. He is fond of obtruding the subject, and has several times, since that first, proposed to exhibit, as you call it, before me. That one exhibition, however, was quite enough. I never will submit to another. It must be awfully dangerous to himself; and the sight of it is not entertaining. It is a kind of thing that one dreams about afterwards.”
“I should very much like to see the performance, nevertheless,” I said. “As to danger, I should think there could be little, if it is a habitual thing with him.”
“Nothing easier than to see it, if you are so inclined. You know him. Call on him, and just introduce the subject, and I bet that he will at once offer to gratify your curiosity. He has a morbid kind of pride in the possession of this gift.”
“Will you go with me?”
“Yes, any day you please.”
I looked at my watch.
“Why not at once?” I said. “Are you going to chapel? There will just be time before it begins.”
