'Case of M. Valdemar' by Edgar A. Poe

Illustration ©John Skewes

Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not—especially under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties concerned to keep the affair from the public, at least for the present, or until we had farther opportunities for investigation—through our endeavors to effect this—a garbled or exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the source of many unpleasant misrepresentations, and, very naturally, of a great deal of disbelief.

It is now rendered necessary that I give the facts—as far as I comprehend them myself. They are, succinctly, these:

My attention, for the last three years, had been repeatedly drawn to the subject of Mesmerism; and, about nine months ago, it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that in the series of experiments made hitherto, there had been a very remarkable and most unaccountable omission:—no person had as yet been mesmerized in articulo mortis. It remained to be seen, first, whether, in such condition, there existed in the patient any susceptibility to the magnetic influence; secondly, whether, if any existed, it was impaired or increased by the condition; thirdly, to what extent, or for how long a period, the encroachments of Death might be arrested by the process. There were other points to be ascertained, but these most excited my curiosity—the last in especial, from the immensely important character of its consequences.

In looking around me for some subject by whose means I might test these particulars, I was brought to think of my friend, M. Ernest Valdemar, the well-known compiler of the “Bibliotheca Forensica,” and author (under the nom de plume of Issachar Marx) of the Polish versions of “Wallenstein” and “Gargantua.” M. Valdemar, who has resided principally at Harlaem, N. Y., since the year 1839, is (or was) particularly noticeable for the extreme spareness of his person—his lower limbs much resembling those of John Randolph; and, also, for the whiteness of his whiskers, in violent contrast to the blackness of his hair—the latter, in consequence, being very generally mistaken for a wig. His temperament was markedly nervous, and rendered him a good subject for mesmeric experiment. On two or three occasions I bad put him to sleep with little difficulty, but was disappointed in other results which his peculiar constitution had naturally led me to anticipate. His will was at no period positively, or thoroughly, under my control, and in regard to clairvoyance, I could accomplish with him nothing to be relied upon. I always attributed my failure at these points to the disordered state of his health. For some months previous to my becoming acquainted with him, his physicians had declared him in a confirmed phthisis. It was his custom, indeed, to speak calmly of his approaching dissolution, as of a matter neither to be avoided nor regretted.

When the ideas to which I have alluded first occurred to me, it was of course very natural that I should think of M. Valdemar. I knew the steady philosophy of the man too well to apprehend any scruples from him; and he had no relatives in America who would be likely to interfere. I spoke to him frankly upon the subject; and, to my surprise, his interest seemed vividly excited. I say to my surprise; for, although he had always yielded his person freely to my experiments, he had never before given me any tokens of sympathy with what I did. His disease was of that character which would admit of exact calculation in respect to the epoch of its termination in death; and it was finally arranged between us that he would send for me about twenty-four hours before the period announced by his physicians as that of his decease.

It is now rather more than seven months since I received from M. Valdemar, himself, the subjoined note:

“My dear P——,

“You may as well come now. D—— and F—— are agreed that I cannot hold out beyond tomorrow midnight; and I think they have hit the time very nearly.”

“Valdemar.”

I received this note within half an hour after it was written, and in fifteen minutes more I was in the dying man’s chamber. I had not seen him for ten days, and was appalled by the fearful alteration which the brief interval had wrought in him. His face wore a leaden hue; the eyes were utterly lustreless; and the emaciation was so extreme that the skin had been broken through by the cheek-bones. His expectoration was excessive. The pulse was barely perceptible. He retained, nevertheless, in a very remarkable manner, both his mental power and a certain degree of physical strength. He spoke with distinctness—took some palliative medicines without aid—and, when I entered the room, was occupied in penciling memoranda in a pocket-book. He was propped up in the bed by pillows. Doctors D—— and F—— were in attendance.

After pressing Valdemar’s hand, I took these gentlemen aside, and obtained from them a minute account of the patient’s condition. The left lung had been for eighteen months in a semi-osseous or cartilaginous state, and was, of course, entirely useless for all purposes of vitality. The right, in its upper portion, was also partially, if not thoroughly, ossified, while the lower region was merely a mass of purulent tubercles, running one into another. Several extensive perforations existed; and, at one point, permanent adhesion to the ribs had taken place. These appearances in the right lobe were of comparatively recent date. The ossification had proceeded with very unusual rapidity; no sign of it had been discovered a month before, and the adhesion had only been observed during the three previous days. Independently of the phthisis, the patient was suspected of aneurism of the aorta; but on this point the osseous symptoms rendered an exact diagnosis impossible. It was the opinion of both physicians that M. Valdemar would die about midnight on the morrow (Sunday.) It was then seven o’clock on Saturday evening.

On quitting the invalid’s bedside to hold conversation with myself, Doctors D—— and F—— had bidden him a final farewell. It had not been their intention to return; but, at my request, they agreed to look in upon the patient about ten the next night.

When they had gone, I spoke freely with M. Valdemar on the subject of his approaching dissolution, as well as, more particularly, of the experiment proposed. He still professed himself quite willing and even anxious to have it made, and urged me to commence it at once. A male and a female nurse were in attendance; but I did not feel myself altogether at liberty to engage in a task of this character with no more reliable witnesses than these people, in case of sudden accident, might prove. I therefore postponed operations until about eight the next night, when the arrival of a medical student with whom I had some acquaintance, (Mr. Theodore L——l,) relieved me from further embarrassment. It had been my design, originally, to wait for the physicians; but I was induced to proceed, first, by the urgent entreaties of M. Valdemar, and secondly, by my conviction that I had not a moment to lose, as he was evidently sinking fast.

Mr. L——l was so kind as to accede to my desire that he would take notes of all that occurred; and it is from his memoranda that what I now have to relate is, for the most part, either condensed or copied verbatim.

It was about five minutes of eight when, taking the patient’s hand, I begged him to state, as distinctly as he could, to Mr. L——l, whether he (M. Valdemar) was entirely willing that I should make the experiment of mesmerizing him in his then condition.

He replied feebly, yet quite audibly, “Yes, I wish to be mesmerized”—adding immediately afterwards, “I fear you have deferred it too long.”

While he spoke thus, I commenced the passes which I had already found most effectual in subduing him. He was evidently influenced with the first lateral stroke of my hand across his forehead; but although I exerted all my powers, no farther perceptible effect was induced until some minutes after ten o’clock, when Doctors D—— and F—— called, according to appointment. I explained to them, in a few words, what I designed, and as they opposed no objection, saying that the patient was already in the death agony, I proceeded without hesitation—exchanging, however, the lateral passes for downward ones, and directing my gaze entirely into the right eye of the sufferer. By this time his pulse was imperceptible and his breathing was stertorous, and at intervals of half a minute.

This condition was nearly unaltered for a quarter of an hour. At the expiration of this period, however, a natural although very deep sigh escaped the bosom of the dying man, and the stertorous breathing ceased—that is to say, its stertorousness was no longer apparent; the intervals were undiminished. The patient’s extremities were of an icy coldness.

At five minutes before eleven, I perceived unequivocal signs of the mesmeric influence. The glassy roll of the eye was exchanged for that expression of uneasy inward examination which is never seen except in cases of sleep-waking, and which it is quite impossible to mistake. With a few rapid lateral passes I made the lids quiver, as in incipient sleep, and with a few more closed them altogether. I was not satisfied, however, with this, but continued the manipulations vigorously, and with the fullest exertion of the will, until I had completely stiffened the limbs of the slumberer, after placing them in a seemingly easy position. The legs were at full length; the arms were nearly so, and reposed upon the bed at a moderate distance from the loins. The head was very slightly elevated.

When I had accomplished this, it was fully midnight, and I requested the gentlemen present to examine M. Valdemar’s condition. After a very few experiments, they admitted him to be in an unusually perfect state of mesmeric trance. The curiosity of both the physicians was greatly excited. Dr. D—— resolved at once to remain with the patient all night, while Dr. F—— took leave with a promise to return at day break. Mr. L——l and the nurses remained.

We left M. Valdemar entirely undisturbed until about three o’clock in the morning, when I approached him and found him in precisely the same condition as when Dr. F—— went away—that is to say, he lay in the same position; the pulse was imperceptible; the breathing was gentle (scarcely noticeable, unless through the application of a mirror to the lips;) the eyes were closed naturally; and the limbs were as rigid and as cold as marble. Still, the general appearance was certainly not that of death.

As I approached M. Valdemar I made a kind of half effort to influence his right arm into pursuit of my own, as I passed the latter gently to and fro above his person. In such experiments with this patient I had never perfectly succeeded before, and assuredly I had little thought of succeeding now ; but to my astonishment, his arm very readily, although feebly, followed every direction I assigned it with mine. I determined to hazard a few words of conversation.

“M. Valdemar,” I said, “are you asleep?” He made me no answer, but I perceived a tremor about the lips, and was thus induced to repeat the question, again and again. At its third repetition, his whole frame was agitated by a very slight shivering; the eye lids unclosed themselves so far as to display a white line of the ball; the lips moved sluggishly, and from between them, in a barely audible whisper, issued the words:

“Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!”

I here felt the limbs and found them as rigid as ever. The right arm, as before, obeyed the direction of my hand. I questioned the sleep-waker again:

“Do you still feel pain in the breast, M. Valdemar?”

The answer now was immediate, but even less audible than before:

“No pain—I am dying.”

I did not think it advisable to disturb him farther just then, and nothing more was said or done until the arrival of Dr. F—— , who came a little before sunrise, and expressed unbounded astonishment at finding the patient still alive. After feeling the pulse and applying a mirror to the lips, he requested me to speak with the sleep-waker again. I did so, saying:

” M. Valdemar, do you still sleep?”

As before, some minutes elapsed before a reply was made ; and during the interval the dying man seemed to be collecting his energies to speak. At my fourth repetition of the question, he said, very faintly, almost inaudibly:

” Yes; still asleep—dying.”

It was now the opinion, or rather the wish, of the physicians, that M. Valdemar should be suffered to remain undisturbed in his present apparently tranquil condition, until death should supervene—and this, it was generally agreed, must now take place within a few minutes. I concluded, however, to speak to him once more, and merely repeated my previous question.

While I spoke, there came a marked change over the countenance of the sleep waker. The eyes rolled themselves slowly open, the pupils disappearing upwardly; the skin generally assumed a cadaverous hue, resembling not so much parchment as white paper; and the circular hectic spots which, hitherto, had been strongly defined in the center of each cheek, went out at once.

I use this expression, because the suddenness of their departure put me in mind of nothing so much as the extinguishment of a candle by a puff of the breath. The upper lip, at the same time, writhed itself away from the teeth, which it had previously covered completely; while the lower jaw fell with an audible jerk, leaving the mouth widely extended, and disclosing in full view the swollen and blackened tongue. I presume that no member of the party then present had been unaccustomed to death-bed horrors; but so hideous beyond conception was the appearance of M. Valdemar at this moment, that there was a general shrinking back from the region of the bed.

I now feel that I have reached a point of this narrative at which every reader will be startled into positive disbelief. It is my business, however, simply to proceed.

There was no longer the faintest sign of vitality in M. Valdemar; and concluding him to be dead, we were consigning him to the charge of the nurses, when a strong vibratory motion was observable in the tongue. This continued for perhaps a minute. At the expiration of this period, there issued from the distended and motionless jaws a voice—such as it would be madness in me to attempt describing. There are, indeed, two or three epithets which might be considered as applicable to it in part: I might say, for example, that the sound was harsh, and broken, and hollow; but the hideous whole is indescribable, for the simple reason that no similar sounds have ever jarred upon the ear of humanity.

There were two particulars, nevertheless, which I thought then, and still think, might fairly be stated as characteristic of the intonation—as well adapted to convey some idea of its unearthly peculiarity. In the first place, the voice seemed to reach our ears—at least mine—from a vast distance, or from some deep cavern within the earth. In the second place, it impressed me (I fear, indeed, that it will be impossible to make myself comprehended) as gelatinous or glutinous matters impress the sense of touch.

I have spoken both of “sound” and of “voice.” I mean to say that the sound was one of distinct—of even wonderfully, thrillingly distinct—syllabification. M. Valdemar spoke—obviously in reply to the question I had propounded to him a few minutes before. I had asked him, it will be remembered, if he still slept. He now said:

“Yes;—no;—I have been sleeping—and now—now—I am dead.”

No person present even affected to deny, or attempted to repress, the unutterable, shuddering horror which these few words, thus uttered, were so well calculated to convey. Mr. L——l (the student) swooned. The nurses immediately left the chamber, and could not be induced to return. My own impressions I would not pretend to render intelligible to the reader. For nearly an hour, we busied ourselves, silently—without the utterance of a word — in endeavors to revive Mr. L——l. When he came to himself, we addressed ourselves again to an investigation of M. Valdemar’s condition.

It remained in all respects as I have last described it, with the exception that the mirror no longer afforded evidence of respiration. An attempt to draw blood from the arm failed. I should mention, too, that this limb was no farther subject to my will. I endeavored in vain to make it follow the direction of my hand. The only real indication, indeed, of the mesmeric influence, was now found in the vibratory movement of the tongue, whenever I addressed M. Valdemar a question. He seemed to be making an effort at reply, but had no longer sufficient volition. To queries put to him by any other person than myself he seemed utterly insensible—although I endeavored to place each member of the company in mesmeric rapport with him. I believe that I have now related all that is necessary to an understanding of the sleep-waker’s state at this epoch. Other nurses were procured; and at ten o’clock I left the house in company with the two physicians and Mr. L——l.

In the afternoon we all called again to see the patient. His condition remained precisely the same. We had now some discussion as to the propriety and feasibility of awakening him; but we had little difficulty in agreeing that no good purpose would be served by so doing. It was evident that, so far, death (or what is usually termed death) had been arrested by the mesmeric process. It seemed clear to us all that to awaken M. Valdemar would be merely to insure his instant, or at least his speedy, dissolution.

From this period until the close of last week—an interval of nearly seven months—we continued to make daily calls at M. Valdemar’s house, accompanied, now and then, by medical and other friends. All this time the sleep-waker remained exactly as I have last described him. The nurses’ attentions were continual.

It was on Friday last that we finally resolved to make the experiment of awakening, or attempting to awaken him; and it is the (perhaps) unfortunate result of this latter experiment which has given rise to so much discussion in private circles—to so much of what I cannot help thinking unwarranted popular feeling. For the purpose of relieving M. Valdemar from the mesmeric trance, I made use of the customary passes. These, for a time, were unsuccessful. The first indication of revival was afforded by a partial descent of the iris. It was observed, as especially remarkable, that this lowering of the pupil was accompanied by the profuse out-flowing of a yellowish ichor (from beneath the lids) of a pungent and highly offensive odor.

It was now suggested that I should attempt to influence the patient’s arm, as heretofore. I made the attempt and failed. Dr. F—— then intimated a desire to have me put a question. I did so as follows:

“M. Valdemar, can you explain to us what are your feelings or wishes now?”

There was an instant return of the hectic circles on the cheeks; the quivered, or rather rolled violently in the mouth (although the jaws and lips remained rigid as before;) and at length the same hideous voice which I have already described, broke forth:

“For God’s sake!—quick!—quick!—put me to sleep—or, quick!—waken me!—quick!—I say to you that I am dead!”

I was thoroughly unnerved, and for an instant remained undecided what to do. At first I made an endeavor to re-compose the patient; but, failing in this through total abeyance of the will, I retraced my steps and as earnestly struggled to awaken him. In this attempt I soon saw that I should be successful—or at least I soon fancied that my success would be complete—and I am sure that all in the room were prepared to see the patient awaken.

For what really occurred, however, it is quite impossible that any human being could have been prepared.

As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejaculations of “dead! dead!” absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the sufferer, his whole frame at once—within the space of a single minute, or even less—shrunk—crumbled—absolutely rotted away beneath my hands. Upon the bed, before that whole company, there lay a nearly liquid mass of loathsome—of detestable putrescence.Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not—especially under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties concerned to keep the affair from the public, at least for the present, or until we had farther opportunities for investigation—through our endeavors to effect this—a garbled or exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the source of many unpleasant misrepresentations, and, very naturally, of a great deal of disbelief.

It is now rendered necessary that I give the facts—as far as I comprehend them myself. They are, succinctly, these:

My attention, for the last three years, had been repeatedly drawn to the subject of Mesmerism; and, about nine months ago, it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that in the series of experiments made hitherto, there had been a very remarkable and most unaccountable omission:—no person had as yet been mesmerized in articulo mortis. It remained to be seen, first, whether, in such condition, there existed in the patient any susceptibility to the magnetic influence; secondly, whether, if any existed, it was impaired or increased by the condition; thirdly, to what extent, or for how long a period, the encroachments of Death might be arrested by the process. There were other points to be ascertained, but these most excited my curiosity—the last in especial, from the immensely important character of its consequences.

In looking around me for some subject by whose means I might test these particulars, I was brought to think of my friend, M. Ernest Valdemar, the well-known compiler of the “Bibliotheca Forensica,” and author (under the nom de plume of Issachar Marx) of the Polish versions of “Wallenstein” and “Gargantua.” M. Valdemar, who has resided principally at Harlaem, N. Y., since the year 1839, is (or was) particularly noticeable for the extreme spareness of his person—his lower limbs much resembling those of John Randolph; and, also, for the whiteness of his whiskers, in violent contrast to the blackness of his hair—the latter, in consequence, being very generally mistaken for a wig. His temperament was markedly nervous, and rendered him a good subject for mesmeric experiment. On two or three occasions I bad put him to sleep with little difficulty, but was disappointed in other results which his peculiar constitution had naturally led me to anticipate. His will was at no period positively, or thoroughly, under my control, and in regard to clairvoyance, I could accomplish with him nothing to be relied upon. I always attributed my failure at these points to the disordered state of his health. For some months previous to my becoming acquainted with him, his physicians had declared him in a confirmed phthisis. It was his custom, indeed, to speak calmly of his approaching dissolution, as of a matter neither to be avoided nor regretted.

When the ideas to which I have alluded first occurred to me, it was of course very natural that I should think of M. Valdemar. I knew the steady philosophy of the man too well to apprehend any scruples from him; and he had no relatives in America who would be likely to interfere. I spoke to him frankly upon the subject; and, to my surprise, his interest seemed vividly excited. I say to my surprise; for, although he had always yielded his person freely to my experiments, he had never before given me any tokens of sympathy with what I did. His disease was of that character which would admit of exact calculation in respect to the epoch of its termination in death; and it was finally arranged between us that he would send for me about twenty-four hours before the period announced by his physicians as that of his decease.

It is now rather more than seven months since I received from M. Valdemar, himself, the subjoined note:

“My dear P——,

“You may as well come now. D—— and F—— are agreed that I cannot hold out beyond tomorrow midnight; and I think they have hit the time very nearly.”

“Valdemar.”

I received this note within half an hour after it was written, and in fifteen minutes more I was in the dying man’s chamber. I had not seen him for ten days, and was appalled by the fearful alteration which the brief interval had wrought in him. His face wore a leaden hue; the eyes were utterly lustreless; and the emaciation was so extreme that the skin had been broken through by the cheek-bones. His expectoration was excessive. The pulse was barely perceptible. He retained, nevertheless, in a very remarkable manner, both his mental power and a certain degree of physical strength. He spoke with distinctness—took some palliative medicines without aid—and, when I entered the room, was occupied in penciling memoranda in a pocket-book. He was propped up in the bed by pillows. Doctors D—— and F—— were in attendance.

After pressing Valdemar’s hand, I took these gentlemen aside, and obtained from them a minute account of the patient’s condition. The left lung had been for eighteen months in a semi-osseous or cartilaginous state, and was, of course, entirely useless for all purposes of vitality. The right, in its upper portion, was also partially, if not thoroughly, ossified, while the lower region was merely a mass of purulent tubercles, running one into another. Several extensive perforations existed; and, at one point, permanent adhesion to the ribs had taken place. These appearances in the right lobe were of comparatively recent date. The ossification had proceeded with very unusual rapidity; no sign of it had been discovered a month before, and the adhesion had only been observed during the three previous days. Independently of the phthisis, the patient was suspected of aneurism of the aorta; but on this point the osseous symptoms rendered an exact diagnosis impossible. It was the opinion of both physicians that M. Valdemar would die about midnight on the morrow (Sunday.) It was then seven o’clock on Saturday evening.

On quitting the invalid’s bedside to hold conversation with myself, Doctors D—— and F—— had bidden him a final farewell. It had not been their intention to return; but, at my request, they agreed to look in upon the patient about ten the next night.

When they had gone, I spoke freely with M. Valdemar on the subject of his approaching dissolution, as well as, more particularly, of the experiment proposed. He still professed himself quite willing and even anxious to have it made, and urged me to commence it at once. A male and a female nurse were in attendance; but I did not feel myself altogether at liberty to engage in a task of this character with no more reliable witnesses than these people, in case of sudden accident, might prove. I therefore postponed operations until about eight the next night, when the arrival of a medical student with whom I had some acquaintance, (Mr. Theodore L——l,) relieved me from further embarrassment. It had been my design, originally, to wait for the physicians; but I was induced to proceed, first, by the urgent entreaties of M. Valdemar, and secondly, by my conviction that I had not a moment to lose, as he was evidently sinking fast.

Mr. L——l was so kind as to accede to my desire that he would take notes of all that occurred; and it is from his memoranda that what I now have to relate is, for the most part, either condensed or copied verbatim.

It was about five minutes of eight when, taking the patient’s hand, I begged him to state, as distinctly as he could, to Mr. L——l, whether he (M. Valdemar) was entirely willing that I should make the experiment of mesmerizing him in his then condition.

He replied feebly, yet quite audibly, “Yes, I wish to be mesmerized”—adding immediately afterwards, “I fear you have deferred it too long.”

While he spoke thus, I commenced the passes which I had already found most effectual in subduing him. He was evidently influenced with the first lateral stroke of my hand across his forehead; but although I exerted all my powers, no farther perceptible effect was induced until some minutes after ten o’clock, when Doctors D—— and F—— called, according to appointment. I explained to them, in a few words, what I designed, and as they opposed no objection, saying that the patient was already in the death agony, I proceeded without hesitation—exchanging, however, the lateral passes for downward ones, and directing my gaze entirely into the right eye of the sufferer. By this time his pulse was imperceptible and his breathing was stertorous, and at intervals of half a minute.

This condition was nearly unaltered for a quarter of an hour. At the expiration of this period, however, a natural although very deep sigh escaped the bosom of the dying man, and the stertorous breathing ceased—that is to say, its stertorousness was no longer apparent; the intervals were undiminished. The patient’s extremities were of an icy coldness.

At five minutes before eleven, I perceived unequivocal signs of the mesmeric influence. The glassy roll of the eye was exchanged for that expression of uneasy inward examination which is never seen except in cases of sleep-waking, and which it is quite impossible to mistake. With a few rapid lateral passes I made the lids quiver, as in incipient sleep, and with a few more closed them altogether. I was not satisfied, however, with this, but continued the manipulations vigorously, and with the fullest exertion of the will, until I had completely stiffened the limbs of the slumberer, after placing them in a seemingly easy position. The legs were at full length; the arms were nearly so, and reposed upon the bed at a moderate distance from the loins. The head was very slightly elevated.

When I had accomplished this, it was fully midnight, and I requested the gentlemen present to examine M. Valdemar’s condition. After a very few experiments, they admitted him to be in an unusually perfect state of mesmeric trance. The curiosity of both the physicians was greatly excited. Dr. D—— resolved at once to remain with the patient all night, while Dr. F—— took leave with a promise to return at day break. Mr. L——l and the nurses remained.

We left M. Valdemar entirely undisturbed until about three o’clock in the morning, when I approached him and found him in precisely the same condition as when Dr. F—— went away—that is to say, he lay in the same position; the pulse was imperceptible; the breathing was gentle (scarcely noticeable, unless through the application of a mirror to the lips;) the eyes were closed naturally; and the limbs were as rigid and as cold as marble. Still, the general appearance was certainly not that of death.

As I approached M. Valdemar I made a kind of half effort to influence his right arm into pursuit of my own, as I passed the latter gently to and fro above his person. In such experiments with this patient I had never perfectly succeeded before, and assuredly I had little thought of succeeding now ; but to my astonishment, his arm very readily, although feebly, followed every direction I assigned it with mine. I determined to hazard a few words of conversation.

“M. Valdemar,” I said, “are you asleep?” He made me no answer, but I perceived a tremor about the lips, and was thus induced to repeat the question, again and again. At its third repetition, his whole frame was agitated by a very slight shivering; the eye lids unclosed themselves so far as to display a white line of the ball; the lips moved sluggishly, and from between them, in a barely audible whisper, issued the words:

“Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!”

I here felt the limbs and found them as rigid as ever. The right arm, as before, obeyed the direction of my hand. I questioned the sleep-waker again:

“Do you still feel pain in the breast, M. Valdemar?”

The answer now was immediate, but even less audible than before:

“No pain—I am dying.”

I did not think it advisable to disturb him farther just then, and nothing more was said or done until the arrival of Dr. F—— , who came a little before sunrise, and expressed unbounded astonishment at finding the patient still alive. After feeling the pulse and applying a mirror to the lips, he requested me to speak with the sleep-waker again. I did so, saying:

” M. Valdemar, do you still sleep?”

As before, some minutes elapsed before a reply was made ; and during the interval the dying man seemed to be collecting his energies to speak. At my fourth repetition of the question, he said, very faintly, almost inaudibly:

” Yes; still asleep—dying.”

It was now the opinion, or rather the wish, of the physicians, that M. Valdemar should be suffered to remain undisturbed in his present apparently tranquil condition, until death should supervene—and this, it was generally agreed, must now take place within a few minutes. I concluded, however, to speak to him once more, and merely repeated my previous question.

While I spoke, there came a marked change over the countenance of the sleep waker. The eyes rolled themselves slowly open, the pupils disappearing upwardly; the skin generally assumed a cadaverous hue, resembling not so much parchment as white paper; and the circular hectic spots which, hitherto, had been strongly defined in the center of each cheek, went out at once.

I use this expression, because the suddenness of their departure put me in mind of nothing so much as the extinguishment of a candle by a puff of the breath. The upper lip, at the same time, writhed itself away from the teeth, which it had previously covered completely; while the lower jaw fell with an audible jerk, leaving the mouth widely extended, and disclosing in full view the swollen and blackened tongue. I presume that no member of the party then present had been unaccustomed to death-bed horrors; but so hideous beyond conception was the appearance of M. Valdemar at this moment, that there was a general shrinking back from the region of the bed.

I now feel that I have reached a point of this narrative at which every reader will be startled into positive disbelief. It is my business, however, simply to proceed.

There was no longer the faintest sign of vitality in M. Valdemar; and concluding him to be dead, we were consigning him to the charge of the nurses, when a strong vibratory motion was observable in the tongue. This continued for perhaps a minute. At the expiration of this period, there issued from the distended and motionless jaws a voice—such as it would be madness in me to attempt describing. There are, indeed, two or three epithets which might be considered as applicable to it in part: I might say, for example, that the sound was harsh, and broken, and hollow; but the hideous whole is indescribable, for the simple reason that no similar sounds have ever jarred upon the ear of humanity.

There were two particulars, nevertheless, which I thought then, and still think, might fairly be stated as characteristic of the intonation—as well adapted to convey some idea of its unearthly peculiarity. In the first place, the voice seemed to reach our ears—at least mine—from a vast distance, or from some deep cavern within the earth. In the second place, it impressed me (I fear, indeed, that it will be impossible to make myself comprehended) as gelatinous or glutinous matters impress the sense of touch.

I have spoken both of “sound” and of “voice.” I mean to say that the sound was one of distinct—of even wonderfully, thrillingly distinct—syllabification. M. Valdemar spoke—obviously in reply to the question I had propounded to him a few minutes before. I had asked him, it will be remembered, if he still slept. He now said:

“Yes;—no;—I have been sleeping—and now—now—I am dead.”

No person present even affected to deny, or attempted to repress, the unutterable, shuddering horror which these few words, thus uttered, were so well calculated to convey. Mr. L——l (the student) swooned. The nurses immediately left the chamber, and could not be induced to return. My own impressions I would not pretend to render intelligible to the reader. For nearly an hour, we busied ourselves, silently—without the utterance of a word — in endeavors to revive Mr. L——l. When he came to himself, we addressed ourselves again to an investigation of M. Valdemar’s condition.

It remained in all respects as I have last described it, with the exception that the mirror no longer afforded evidence of respiration. An attempt to draw blood from the arm failed. I should mention, too, that this limb was no farther subject to my will. I endeavored in vain to make it follow the direction of my hand. The only real indication, indeed, of the mesmeric influence, was now found in the vibratory movement of the tongue, whenever I addressed M. Valdemar a question. He seemed to be making an effort at reply, but had no longer sufficient volition. To queries put to him by any other person than myself he seemed utterly insensible—although I endeavored to place each member of the company in mesmeric rapport with him. I believe that I have now related all that is necessary to an understanding of the sleep-waker’s state at this epoch. Other nurses were procured; and at ten o’clock I left the house in company with the two physicians and Mr. L——l.

In the afternoon we all called again to see the patient. His condition remained precisely the same. We had now some discussion as to the propriety and feasibility of awakening him; but we had little difficulty in agreeing that no good purpose would be served by so doing. It was evident that, so far, death (or what is usually termed death) had been arrested by the mesmeric process. It seemed clear to us all that to awaken M. Valdemar would be merely to insure his instant, or at least his speedy, dissolution.

From this period until the close of last week—an interval of nearly seven months—we continued to make daily calls at M. Valdemar’s house, accompanied, now and then, by medical and other friends. All this time the sleep-waker remained exactly as I have last described him. The nurses’ attentions were continual.

It was on Friday last that we finally resolved to make the experiment of awakening, or attempting to awaken him; and it is the (perhaps) unfortunate result of this latter experiment which has given rise to so much discussion in private circles—to so much of what I cannot help thinking unwarranted popular feeling. For the purpose of relieving M. Valdemar from the mesmeric trance, I made use of the customary passes. These, for a time, were unsuccessful. The first indication of revival was afforded by a partial descent of the iris. It was observed, as especially remarkable, that this lowering of the pupil was accompanied by the profuse out-flowing of a yellowish ichor (from beneath the lids) of a pungent and highly offensive odor.

It was now suggested that I should attempt to influence the patient’s arm, as heretofore. I made the attempt and failed. Dr. F—— then intimated a desire to have me put a question. I did so as follows:

“M. Valdemar, can you explain to us what are your feelings or wishes now?”

There was an instant return of the hectic circles on the cheeks; the quivered, or rather rolled violently in the mouth (although the jaws and lips remained rigid as before;) and at length the same hideous voice which I have already described, broke forth:

“For God’s sake!—quick!—quick!—put me to sleep—or, quick!—waken me!—quick!—I say to you that I am dead!”

I was thoroughly unnerved, and for an instant remained undecided what to do. At first I made an endeavor to re-compose the patient; but, failing in this through total abeyance of the will, I retraced my steps and as earnestly struggled to awaken him. In this attempt I soon saw that I should be successful—or at least I soon fancied that my success would be complete—and I am sure that all in the room were prepared to see the patient awaken.

For what really occurred, however, it is quite impossible that any human being could have been prepared.

As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejaculations of “dead! dead!” absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the sufferer, his whole frame at once—within the space of a single minute, or even less—shrunk—crumbled—absolutely rotted away beneath my hands. Upon the bed, before that whole company, there lay a nearly liquid mass of loathsome—of detestable putrescence.

Work by M. Grant Kellermeyer

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Cool Air

You ask me to explain why I am afraid of a draught of cool air; why I shiver more than others upon entering a cold room, and seem nauseated and repelled when the chill of evening creeps through the heat of a mild autumn day. There are those who say I respond to cold as others do to a bad odour, and I am the last to deny the impression. What I will do is to relate the most horrible circumstance I ever encountered, and leave it to you to judge whether or not this forms a suitable explanation of my peculiarity.

     It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude. I found it in the glare of mid-afternoon, in the clangour of a metropolis, and in the teeming midst of a shabby and commonplace rooming-house with a prosaic landlady and two stalwart men by my side. In the spring of 1923 I had secured some dreary and unprofitable magazine work in the city of New York; and being unable to pay any substantial rent, began drifting from one cheap boarding establishment to another in search of a room which might combine the qualities of decent cleanliness, endurable furnishings, and very reasonable price. It soon developed that I had only a choice between different evils, but after a time I came upon a house in West Fourteenth Street which disgusted me much less than the others I had sampled.

     The place was a four-story mansion of brownstone, dating apparently from the late forties, and fitted with woodwork and marble whose stained and sullied splendour argued a descent from high levels of tasteful opulence. In the rooms, large and lofty, and decorated with impossible paper and ridiculously ornate stucco cornices, there lingered a depressing mustiness and hint of obscure cookery; but the floors were clean, the linen tolerably regular, and the hot water not too often cold or turned off, so that I came to regard it as at least a bearable place to hibernate till one might really live again. The landlady, a slatternly, almost bearded Spanish woman named Herrero, did not annoy me with gossip or with criticisms of the late-burning electric light in my third-floor front hall room; and my fellow-lodgers were as quiet and uncommunicative as one might desire, being mostly Spaniards a little above the coarsest and crudest grade. Only the din of street cars in the thoroughfare below proved a serious annoyance.

     I had been there about three weeks when the first odd incident occurred. One evening at about eight I heard a spattering on the floor and became suddenly aware that I had been smelling the pungent odour of ammonia for some time. Looking about, I saw that the ceiling was wet and dripping; the soaking apparently proceeding from a corner on the side toward the street. Anxious to stop the matter at its source, I hastened to the basement to tell the landlady; and was assured by her that the trouble would quickly be set right.

     “Doctair Muñoz,” she cried as she rushed upstairs ahead of me, “he have speel hees chemicals. He ees too seeck for doctair heemself—seecker and seecker all the time—but he weel not have no othair for help. He ees vairy queer in hees seeckness—all day he take funnee-smelling baths, and he cannot get excite or warm. All hees own housework he do—hees leetle room are full of bottles and machines, and he do not work as doctair. But he was great once—my fathair in Barcelona have hear of heem—and only joost now he feex a arm of the plumber that get hurt of sudden. He nevair go out, only on roof, and my boy Esteban he breeng heem hees food and laundry and mediceens and chemicals. My Gawd, the sal-ammoniac that man use for keep heem cool!”

     Mrs. Herrero disappeared up the staircase to the fourth floor, and I returned to my room. The ammonia ceased to drip, and as I cleaned up what had spilled and opened the window for air, I heard the landlady’s heavy footsteps above me. Dr. Muñoz I had never heard, save for certain sounds as of some gasoline-driven mechanism; since his step was soft and gentle. I wondered for a moment what the strange affliction of this man might be, and whether his obstinate refusal of outside aid were not the result of a rather baseless eccentricity. There is, I reflected tritely, an infinite deal of pathos in the state of an eminent person who has come down in the world.

     I might never have known Dr. Muñoz had it not been for the heart attack that suddenly seized me one forenoon as I sat writing in my room. Physicians had told me of the danger of those spells, and I knew there was no time to be lost; so remembering what the landlady had said about the invalid’s help of the injured workman, I dragged myself upstairs and knocked feebly at the door above mine. My knock was answered in good English by a curious voice some distance to the right, asking my name and business; and these things being stated, there came an opening of the door next to the one I had sought.

     A rush of cool air greeted me; and though the day was one of the hottest of late June, I shivered as I crossed the threshold into a large apartment whose rich and tasteful decoration surprised me in this nest of squalor and seediness. A folding couch now filled its diurnal role of sofa, and the mahogany furniture, sumptuous hangings, old paintings, and mellow bookshelves all bespoke a gentleman’s study rather than a boarding-house bedroom. I now saw that the hall room above mine—the “leetle room” of bottles and machines which Mrs. Herrero had mentioned—was merely the laboratory of the doctor; and that his main living quarters lay in the spacious adjoining room whose convenient alcoves and large contiguous bathroom permitted him to hide all dressers and obtrusive utilitarian devices. Dr. Muñoz, most certainly, was a man of birth, cultivation, and discrimination.

     The figure before me was short but exquisitely proportioned, and clad in somewhat formal dress of perfect cut and fit. A high-bred face of masterful though not arrogant expression was adorned by a short iron-grey full beard, and an old-fashioned pince-nez shielded the full, dark eyes and surmounted an aquiline nose which gave a Moorish touch to a physiognomy otherwise dominantly Celtiberian. Thick, well-trimmed hair that argued the punctual calls of a barber was parted gracefully above a high forehead; and the whole picture was one of striking intelligence and superior blood and breeding.

     Nevertheless, as I saw Dr. Muñoz in that blast of cool air, I felt a repugnance which nothing in his aspect could justify. Only his lividly inclined complexion and coldness of touch could have afforded a physical basis for this feeling, and even these things should have been excusable considering the man’s known invalidism. It might, too, have been the singular cold that alienated me; for such chilliness was abnormal on so hot a day, and the abnormal always excites aversion, distrust, and fear.

     But repugnance was soon forgotten in admiration, for the strange physician’s extreme skill at once became manifest despite the ice-coldness and shakiness of his bloodless-looking hands. He clearly understood my needs at a glance, and ministered to them with a master’s deftness; the while reassuring me in a finely modulated though oddly hollow and timbreless voice that he was the bitterest of sworn enemies to death, and had sunk his fortune and lost all his friends in a lifetime of bizarre experiment devoted to its bafflement and extirpation. Something of the benevolent fanatic seemed to reside in him, and he rambled on almost garrulously as he sounded my chest and mixed a suitable draught of drugs fetched from the smaller laboratory room. Evidently he found the society of a well-born man a rare novelty in this dingy environment, and was moved to unaccustomed speech as memories of better days surged over him.

     His voice, if queer, was at least soothing; and I could not even perceive that he breathed as the fluent sentences rolled urbanely out. He sought to distract my mind from my own seizure by speaking of his theories and experiments; and I remember his tactfully consoling me about my weak heart by insisting that will and consciousness are stronger than organic life itself, so that if a bodily frame be but originally healthy and carefully preserved, it may through a scientific enhancement of these qualities retain a kind of nervous animation despite the most serious impairments, defects, or even absences in the battery of specific organs. He might, he half jestingly said, some day teach me to live—or at least to possess some kind of conscious existence—without any heart at all! For his part, he was afflicted with a complication of maladies requiring a very exact regimen which included constant cold. Any marked rise in temperature might, if prolonged, affect him fatally; and the frigidity of his habitation—some 55 or 56 degrees Fahrenheit—was maintained by an absorption system of ammonia cooling, the gasoline engine of whose pumps I had often heard in my own room below.

     Relieved of my seizure in a marvellously short while, I left the shivery place a disciple and devotee of the gifted recluse. After that I paid him frequent overcoated calls; listening while he told of secret researches and almost ghastly results, and trembling a bit when I examined the unconventional and astonishingly ancient volumes on his shelves. I was eventually, I may add, almost cured of my disease for all time by his skilful ministrations. It seems that he did not scorn the incantations of the mediaevalists, since he believed these cryptic formulae to contain rare psychological stimuli which might conceivably have singular effects on the substance of a nervous system from which organic pulsations had fled. I was touched by his account of the aged Dr. Torres of Valencia, who had shared his earlier experiments with him through the great illness of eighteen years before, whence his present disorders proceeded. No sooner had the venerable practitioner saved his colleague than he himself succumbed to the grim enemy he had fought. Perhaps the strain had been too great; for Dr. Muñoz made it whisperingly clear—though not in detail—that the methods of healing had been most extraordinary, involving scenes and processes not welcomed by elderly and conservative Galens.

     As the weeks passed, I observed with regret that my new friend was indeed slowly but unmistakably losing ground physically, as Mrs. Herrero had suggested. The livid aspect of his countenance was intensified, his voice became more hollow and indistinct, his muscular motions were less perfectly coördinated, and his mind and will displayed less resilience and initiative. Of this sad change he seemed by no means unaware, and little by little his expression and conversation both took on a gruesome irony which restored in me something of the subtle repulsion I had originally felt.

     He developed strange caprices, acquiring a fondness for exotic spices and Egyptian incense till his room smelled like the vault of a sepulchred Pharaoh in the Valley of Kings. At the same time his demands for cold air increased, and with my aid he amplified the ammonia piping of his room and modified the pumps and feed of his refrigerating machine till he could keep the temperature as low as 34° or 40° and finally even 28°; the bathroom and laboratory, of course, being less chilled, in order that water might not freeze, and that chemical processes might not be impeded. The tenant adjoining him complained of the icy air from around the connecting door, so I helped him fit heavy hangings to obviate the difficulty. A kind of growing horror, of outré and morbid cast, seemed to possess him. He talked of death incessantly, but laughed hollowly when such things as burial or funeral arrangements were gently suggested.

     All in all, he became a disconcerting and even gruesome companion; yet in my gratitude for his healing I could not well abandon him to the strangers around him, and was careful to dust his room and attend to his needs each day, muffled in a heavy ulster which I bought especially for the purpose. I likewise did much of his shopping, and gasped in bafflement at some of the chemicals he ordered from druggists and laboratory supply houses.

     An increasing and unexplained atmosphere of panic seemed to rise around his apartment. The whole house, as I have said, had a musty odour; but the smell in his room was worse—and in spite of all the spices and incense, and the pungent chemicals of the now incessant baths which he insisted on taking unaided. I perceived that it must be connected with his ailment, and shuddered when I reflected on what that ailment might be. Mrs. Herrero crossed herself when she looked at him, and gave him up unreservedly to me; not even letting her son Esteban continue to run errands for him. When I suggested other physicians, the sufferer would fly into as much of a rage as he seemed to dare to entertain. He evidently feared the physical effect of violent emotion, yet his will and driving force waxed rather than waned, and he refused to be confined to his bed. The lassitude of his earlier ill days gave place to a return of his fiery purpose, so that he seemed about to hurl defiance at the death-daemon even as that ancient enemy seized him. The pretence of eating, always curiously like a formality with him, he virtually abandoned; and mental power alone appeared to keep him from total collapse.

     He acquired a habit of writing long documents of some sort, which he carefully sealed and filled with injunctions that I transmit them after his death to certain persons whom he named—for the most part lettered East Indians, but including a once celebrated French physician now generally thought dead, and about whom the most inconceivable things had been whispered. As it happened, I burned all these papers undelivered and unopened. His aspect and voice became utterly frightful, and his presence almost unbearable. One September day an unexpected glimpse of him induced an epileptic fit in a man who had come to repair his electric desk lamp; a fit for which he prescribed effectively whilst keeping himself well out of sight. That man, oddly enough, had been through the terrors of the Great War without having incurred any fright so thorough.

     Then, in the middle of October, the horror of horrors came with stupefying suddenness. One night about eleven the pump of the refrigerating machine broke down, so that within three hours the process of ammonia cooling became impossible. Dr. Muñoz summoned me by thumping on the floor, and I worked desperately to repair the injury while my host cursed in a tone whose lifeless, rattling hollowness surpassed description. My amateur efforts, however, proved of no use; and when I had brought in a mechanic from a neighbouring all-night garage we learned that nothing could be done till morning, when a new piston would have to be obtained. The moribund hermit’s rage and fear, swelling to grotesque proportions, seemed likely to shatter what remained of his failing physique; and once a spasm caused him to clap his hands to his eyes and rush into the bathroom. He groped his way out with face tightly bandaged, and I never saw his eyes again.

     The frigidity of the apartment was now sensibly diminishing, and at about 5 a.m. the doctor retired to the bathroom, commanding me to keep him supplied with all the ice I could obtain at all-night drug stores and cafeterias. As I would return from my sometimes discouraging trips and lay my spoils before the closed bathroom door, I could hear a restless splashing within, and a thick voice croaking out the order for “More—more!” At length a warm day broke, and the shops opened one by one. I asked Esteban either to help with the ice-fetching whilst I obtained the pump piston, or to order the piston while I continued with the ice; but instructed by his mother, he absolutely refused.

     Finally I hired a seedy-looking loafer whom I encountered on the corner of Eighth Avenue to keep the patient supplied with ice from a little shop where I introduced him, and applied myself diligently to the task of finding a pump piston and engaging workmen competent to install it. The task seemed interminable, and I raged almost as violently as the hermit when I saw the hours slipping by in a breathless, foodless round of vain telephoning, and a hectic quest from place to place, hither and thither by subway and surface car. About noon I encountered a suitable supply house far downtown, and at approximately 1:30 p.m. arrived at my boarding-place with the necessary paraphernalia and two sturdy and intelligent mechanics. I had done all I could, and hoped I was in time.

     Black terror, however, had preceded me. The house was in utter turmoil, and above the chatter of awed voices I heard a man praying in a deep basso. Fiendish things were in the air, and lodgers told over the beads of their rosaries as they caught the odour from beneath the doctor’s closed door. The lounger I had hired, it seems, had fled screaming and mad-eyed not long after his second delivery of ice; perhaps as a result of excessive curiosity. He could not, of course, have locked the door behind him; yet it was now fastened, presumably from the inside. There was no sound within save a nameless sort of slow, thick dripping.

     Briefly consulting with Mrs. Herrero and the workmen despite a fear that gnawed my inmost soul, I advised the breaking down of the door; but the landlady found a way to turn the key from the outside with some wire device. We had previously opened the doors of all the other rooms on that hall, and flung all the windows to the very top. Now, noses protected by handkerchiefs, we tremblingly invaded the accursed south room which blazed with the warm sun of early afternoon.

     A kind of dark, slimy trail led from the open bathroom door to the hall door, and thence to the desk, where a terrible little pool had accumulated. Something was scrawled there in pencil in an awful, blind hand on a piece of paper hideously smeared as though by the very claws that traced the hurried last words. Then the trail led to the couch and ended unutterably.

     What was, or had been, on the couch I cannot and dare not say here. But this is what I shiveringly puzzled out on the stickily smeared paper before I drew a match and burned it to a crisp; what I puzzled out in terror as the landlady and two mechanics rushed frantically from that hellish place to babble their incoherent stories at the nearest police station. The nauseous words seemed well-nigh incredible in that yellow sunlight, with the clatter of cars and motor trucks ascending clamorously from crowded Fourteenth Street, yet I confess that I believed them then. Whether I believe them now I honestly do not know. There are things about which it is better not to speculate, and all that I can say is that I hate the smell of ammonia, and grow faint at a draught of unusually cool air.

     “The end,” ran that noisome scrawl, “is here. No more ice—the man looked and ran away. Warmer every minute, and the tissues can’t last. I fancy you know—what I said about the will and the nerves and the preserved body after the organs ceased to work. It was good theory, but couldn’t keep up indefinitely. There was a gradual deterioration I had not foreseen. Dr. Torres knew, but the shock killed him. He couldn’t stand what he had to do—he had to get me in a strange, dark place when he minded my letter and nursed me back. And the organs never would work again. It had to be done my way—artificial preservation—for you see I died that time eighteen years ago.”

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Lovecraftian Literature

Thing on the Doorstep

Without doubt, Lovecraft is the father of modern horror genre. His influence on the genre as a whole cannot be underestimated. While lich owes its existence primarily from sword and sorcery genre, there are quite a number of beings and persons within Lovecraftian universe that can be retroactively considered liches in some shape or form.

Cold Air -  Written in March 1926 and published in the March 1928 issue of Tales of Magic and Mystery. The story deals with the protagonist moving in a new apartment building, and meeting mysterious Dr. Muñoz, a "sworn enemy to death." Strange scents and ice cold temperatures of the doctor's apartment soon unfold a chilling secret. This story was inspired by Edgar A. Poe's "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar."

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward is a short horror novel written in early 1927, but not published during the author's lifetime. The novel, set in 1928, describes how Charles Dexter Ward becomes obsessed with his distant ancestor, Joseph Curwen, an alleged wizard with unsavory habits. Ward physically resembles Curwen, and attempts to duplicate his ancestor's Qabalistic and alchemical feats. Ward's doctor, Marinus Bicknell Willett, investigates Ward's activities and is horrified by what he finds.

The Thing on the Doorstep is a horror short story by American writer H. P. Lovecraft, part of the Cthulhu Mythos universe. It was written in August 1933, and first published in the January 1937 issue of Weird Tales. In a lot of ways, "The Thing on the Doorstep" uses the same story elements and tropes of "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward;" however, whereas "The Case" dealt primarily with temporal transmigration of souls, "The Thing" has enough new elements to make it one of the essential early lich stories.

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Tzarevich Petr and the Wizard

The Last Treasure by Alexey Zaporozhets

In old, olden times, when God's world was full of wizards and forest monsters, and when the rivers ran with sweet milk, there lived a Tzar named Bel-Belianin with his Tzaritza and their three sons, Alexé, Dimitry and Petr, lads comely and clever, all three of them.

One day the Tzaritza, who had gone to walk on the open steppe, failed to return to the Palace, and though wide search was made, no trace could be found of her. She had disappeared as completely as if she had fallen into the water. Then Tzar Bel-Belianin called together his Ministers and Boyars, his sages, his grandees and councilors, and asked their advice, and when they had deliberated for three weeks, the eldest among them came before him and said:

"O Tzar's Majesty! it is clear that the Tzaritza has been spirited away by Kastchey, the most powerful of all the wizards. While his own realm and castle are beyond three times nine lands, he possesses strongholds many and various in other Tzardoms, and it has long been known that his most splendid Palaces are upon the tops of the highest, most inaccessible mountains in the next Tzardom to thine own. It is, however, bootless to war against him, for his Palaces are, each and every one, surrounded by enchantment, and Kastchey himself cannot be killed by mortal means, since he carries his life not in his body, but in a secret place that is known only to himself. We counsel thee, therefore, to choose another wife, for thy lost Tzaritza thou wilt never regain as long as the world lasteth."

The Tzar was deeply saddened by this speech. So much did he love his vanished Tzaritza that he would not choose another in her place, but sent criers into far kingdoms, offering wealth and honors to whomever would restore her to him. Daring heroes and great generals came in response from all sides, each promising valiant deeds, and Tzar Bel-Belianin bade each take from the royal treasury sufficient gold for his needs. But though scores arrived thus and rode away, there came no news of the missing Tzaritza.

Russian Wonder Tales 349.jpg
KASTCHEY.

One day, as the Tzar sat musing sadly and troubled at heart in his summer-house, his three sons came into the garden and not knowing that he was within hearing, began to converse. "Methinks our little father is bereft of his reason," said Alexé, the eldest. "These boasting heroes who come from afar are galloping off with all his treasures. He is a fool to put faith in them. I warrant I could do as well as they."
Dimitry, the second son, said: "Doubtless they are but sorry scoundrels who play upon our Tzar-father's credulity. With a tenth of the sum that has been given them I myself would find our little mother."

But Petr, the youngest, said: "Not so, my brothers. If Kastchey the Wizard has her, it will need a stout heart to bring her back, and who knoweth where that may be found? Would, however, that our little father would send us abroad to do our best!"

When the lads had left the garden, Tzar Bel-Belianin reëntered the Palace and summoned them to his presence. "My dear sons," he said, "ye know how the loss of thy mother oppresses my heart and soul. Many brave heroes have searched for her vainly and I am minded now to send one of ye forth. Thou, therefore, Alexé, who art my eldest, take my fatherly blessing, with as much gold and as many troops as thou requirest, and try thy fortune in the quest. If thou dost succeed, thou shalt inherit my Tzardom."

So, boasting much, Tzarevich Alexé took from the treasury a full purse and with fifty thousand soldiers armed with iron lances, set out from the capital. He rode one day, he rode one week, he rode a month, and two and three, asking questions of all he met, until he had passed beyond the borders of his father's Tzardom, but no one had heard of the lost Tzaritza or of the strongholds of Kastchey the Wizard. At length he came, through fen and morass, to a desert land where only earth and sky were to be seen and the sand was as hot as cinder-cakes, and here his host vanished one by one till but ten remained. Beyond the desert was a forest and on the skirt of the forest, in a patch of wild hemp and bramble, he came upon an old gray-beard, a yard tall, sitting on a stone.

"Health to thee, grandfather," said Tzarevich Alexé.

"Health to thee, Tzarevich," replied the old man. "Where doth God carry thee? Art thou come hither to shirk a task or to find one?"

"To find one," answered Tzarevich Alexé. "I seek the stronghold of Kastchey the Wizard, who hath stolen away my little mother."

"Thou art on the right track," said the other, "but thou wilt not be able to reach it."

"Why not?" asked the Tzarevich.

"Because," said the gray-beard, "there are three broad rivers between, over which thou must be ferried, and the price asked is a great one."

Tzarevich Alexé threw the old man a piece of money. "I have gold and to spare," he said haughtily, and spurring forward, rode on to the first of the three rivers. There waited on its bank a ferryman covered with scales of copper like a tortoise, with a head like a cask and so huge of stature that the horses that carried the Tzarevich's ten men snorted with terror and turning, galloped away with their riders. The Tzarevich approached trembling and asked: "O ferryman, wilt thou ferry me over?"

"If thou pay me my price," answered the ferryman.

"And what is thy price?" asked the Tzarevich.

"I will bring thee back for naught," said the other, "but for carrying thee across, I shall strike off thy right hand."

Tzarevich Alexé saw the sharp sword girded at the ferryman's side and his rebellious head drooped lower than his broad shoulders. "Of small use to myself should I be without my good right hand," he thought. "Yet, if I succeed, I shall be Tzar, and a Tzardom is worth the price."

So he bade the other take him across and on the further side the ferryman drew his sword and struck off his right hand, and bemoaning its loss the Tzarevich spurred on alone. He rode one day, he rode two, and three, and came to the second river, and on its bank waited a ferryman as tall as a fir-tree, armored with plates of silver and of such a countenance that Tzarevich Alexé's heart fainted for very fear, and turning, he struck spurs to his steed and rode back the way he had come, to his own Tzardom.

When he reached the capital, he entered the Palace, came to his father, and said: "Gracious Sir! I have searched, these months through, in many lands, till there remains not a single man of the great host I took with me, while I myself have lost my right hand, but no trace of Kastchey the Wizard or of the Tzaritza, my little mother, could I find!"

Then Tzar Bel-Belianin embraced him and wept over him and summoning his second son, said: "My dear son Dimitry, take my blessing, with gold and troops as much and many as thou wilt, and go thou forth and try. And if thou dost succeed, thou shalt have my Tzardom after me."

And Dimitry, vowing he would do better than his brother, took a knapsack full of gold and a hundred thousand soldiers officered by captains of captains, and set out. He, too, came at length through swamp and bog, to the desert of hot sand, and here his men vanished till there were left but a score. And on the edge of the further forest, in the acre of wild hemp and bramble, he came upon an old woman, a yard tall, sitting on a stone.

"Health to thee, grandmother!" said he.

"And to thee, Tzarevich!" she answered. "Where doth God carry thee? Why comest thou hither? To escape a task or to meet one?"

"To meet one," he replied. "I seek the retreat of the Wizard Kastchey, who hath stolen away my little mother."

"Thou goest in the right direction," the old woman said, "but all the same thou wilt never reach it."

"Why not?" asked the Tzarevich.

"Because," answered the old woman, "there are three wide rivers between, on each of which is a ferry, and the price asked thee will be great."

Tzarevich Dimitry threw her two pieces of gold. "I have a plenty of such," he said scornfully, and rode on to the river. When they saw the gigantic ferryman, however, with his frame covered with copper armor, the horses his twenty men rode, stricken with terror, galloped away and the Tzarevich approached him trembling. He, too, was ferried over at the cost of his right hand, and lamenting its loss, rode on alone to the second river. And there, though the fierce aspect of the ferryman made his horse sweat and his own heart shake, he approached and asked, "O ferryman, wilt thou ferry me over?"

"If thou wilt pay my price," answered the ferryman.

"And what is thy price?" asked the Tzarevich.

"I will bring thee back for naught," said the other, "but for ferrying thee over, I shall strike off thy left foot."

The Tzarevich's bright head hung lower than his stalwart shoulders. "I have already given my right hand," he thought, "and a foot is not so much more when a Tzardom is the reward." So he bade the other carry him over and when they had crossed the ferryman drew his sword and struck off his left foot, and Tzarevich Dimitry rode on.

He went one day, and two, and three, and came to the third river, on whose bank stood a ferryman as tall as a tower, with legs like buttresses, clad all in golden armor and with a face so fierce and terrible that the Tzarevich's courage died within him. So he turned his horse about and in mortal fear spurred back the way he had come to his own Tzardom. There, coming before his father, he said:

"Gracious Sir! I have wandered these many months through strange lands, till there is left not one of the great army I took with me. As for me, I have, as thou seest, lost my right hand and my left foot, but I found no sign of the Wizard or of my little mother, the Tzaritza!"

Tzar Bel-Belianin kissed him and grieved over him and then, sending for his youngest son, bade him also take what he required and go and search.

"I have need of neither gold nor army, little father," said Tzarevich Petr. "Give me only a horse of my own choosing and a sword fit for a hero."

His father bade him choose the best blade from his armory and the finest steed in his stables. Tzarevich Petr went to the armory accordingly and tested the blades for a month, till he had picked the keenest and the strongest; then he bade the stable grooms collect all the Tzar's stud-horses and drive them to the blue sea-ocean, and watched to see what they would do. One swam far out and began to wrestle with the waves till the water boiled and dashed against the shore as in a tempest, and him Tzarevich Petr chose. He took his father's blessing, girded on the keen sword, and mounting the horse, set out.

He rode for a day and a night, for a week, for one month and for three. He passed the quagmire and the fiery desert, and at the edge of the forest, in the plot of wild hemp and briar, met the little old man and the little old woman sitting on two stones. He told them of his errand and the gray-beard said: "Thou hast a keen sword and the horse of a hero, but all the same thou wilt not get to Kastchey."

"Why not?" asked the Tzarevich.

"Because," replied the other, "thou must first pass three rivers. At each river is a ferry, and the price each ferryman asks is a great one, for the first will strike off thy right hand, the second thy left foot, and the third thy head."

"Well," answered Tzarevich Petr, "a man can die but once!" And he thanked him and made to ride on, but the old man stopped him.

"Thou art both brave and courteous too," he said, "and perchance thou mayest cross the three rivers. If thou dost, ride straight on till thou reachest a high mountain, on whose top are the four Palaces of Kastchey. At the base of the mountain is a cave with an iron door. Enter it and thou wilt find four iron claws. Bind these to thy hands and feet and it may be thou wilt be able to reach the top."

The Tzarevich bade the old man and the old woman farewell, rode to the first river, and demanded to be ferried over.

"Wilt thou pay me my price?" asked the huge ferryman.

"Time enough to talk of price when thou hast served me thy service," said the Tzarevich, and rode his horse into the boat. So they crossed and when they came to the other side he asked: "What is there to pay?"

"Stretch forth thy right hand," said the ferry-man, and drew his sword.

"Nay," answered Tzarevich Petr. "I need my hand myself." And he whipped out his own blade and struck the ferryman such a blow that the steel pierced through the copper armor and killed him. He fell with a crash into the water, and the Tzarevich, pulling the boat high up on the shore, rode on to the second river.

There the like happened. When the gigantic ferryman bade him stretch forth his left foot, the Tzarevich, drawing sword, sprang upon him before his blade had left its scabbard and smote him with a blow that cleaved through the silver plates of his armor and killed him. Then the Tzarevich secured the boat and rode on to the third river. And on its bank stood a wild man, as tall as a giant and as thick as a haystack, with a shield, helmet and breastplate all of gold, and with an oak club in his hand.

Tzarevich Petr, however, was not daunted nor did his horse show fear. He rode aboard and bade the giant ferry him over, and when they were come to the other side he asked: "What is there to pay?"

"Stretch out thy neck," said the ferryman, "that I may strike off thy head."

But even as he lifted his huge oak club, the Tzarevich sprang in under his shield and dealt him such a blow with his tested sword that the point shivered the gold breastplate and killed him. Tzarevich Petr fastened the boat and rode on, and presently he came to a mountain so high that its top was propped against the sky and he could scarce lift his eyes to its summit. He turned out his good horse to graze on white summer wheat on the open steppe, searched till he came upon the iron door and entered the cave. Here he found the four iron claws, and binding them to his hands and feet, began to climb the mountain.

For a whole month he climbed, higher and higher, and finally he reached the top, which was so high that from it one could see the whole world, with all its countries, spread out as if on the palm of the hand. Here he took off his iron claws, thanked God, and after resting three days, went straight before him.

Whether the way was long or short, he came at length to a vast Palace built all of copper. No guard stood at its gate, and he entered. Each room through which he passed was of copper. In the inmost chamber sat a maiden on a copper chair, embroidering upon a copper frame, and the scissors, the thimble and the needle she used were of copper also. He greeted her and told her his quest.

"This is indeed a Palace of Kastchey, good youth," said the damsel. "I, too, was stolen away from my father's Tzardom by the Wizard, who comes hither to visit me once every three months. I know naught of thy little mother, but if thou goest further, to Kastchey's second Palace, perchance thou mayest hear of her. The Wizard is hard to conquer, however, and thou art the first who has been able to come thus far. Shouldst thou succeed, I pray thee to remember me and take me back with thee to the white world."

Tzarevich Petr promised her this, and setting out, traveled for the space of a day till he came to a Palace more splendid than the first, built all of silver. It, too, was unguarded, and entering, he found in its further chamber a damsel sitting on a silver stool, weaving on a silver loom with thread of pure silver. Her, also, he greeted and told his errand.

"I, too," she said, "was stolen away from my father's realm by the Wizard, and brought to this Palace, whither he comes to visit me once every two months. I have not seen thy little mother, but go thou to Kastchey's third Palace, beyond this, and perchance thou mayest hear of her. If thou meetest and art victor over him, forget me not, I beseech thee, but take me with thee to the white world."

The Tzarevich gave the damsel his promise and set out at once, and the next day came to a Palace wealthy and magnificent which blazed like fire in the sunlight, for it was built entirely of gold. Like the others, it was unguarded, so he entered and explored it and in its inmost chamber he found a damsel sitting on a golden divan, making lace upon a golden pillow, and both the shuttle and the thread were of pure gold. The damsel was of such beauty that it could not be described but only told in a tale, and Tzarevich Petr could not look at her enough.

"Health to thee, beautiful maiden!" he said.

"Health to thee, Tzarevich," she replied. "But how comest thou hither? By thine own will or by force?"

"By mine own will," he answered. "I seek my little mother who has been stolen away from my father's Tzardom by Kastchey. Canst thou tell me where she is?"

"Why should I not be able?" she rejoined. "I, too, was stolen from my father's Tzardom by the Wizard, who visits me here once each month. But thy little mother he keeps in his fourth Palace, which is built of pearl, and thither thou must go. But, I implore thee, if thou dost overcome and slay the monster, remember me and take me with thee out into the white world."

"Sooner than leave thee here to Kastchey would I give mine own life!" he answered. "Never fear that I could ever forget thee!"

"Harken, now," she said. "When thou comest to the last of the Wizard's Palaces, thou wilt see that it lies in a garden which is surrounded like a wall by an enormous serpent coiled with its tail in its mouth. Take this bundle of herbs and when thou comest into the open field about the Palace, choose a spot whence the wind doth blow from thee toward the serpent, and there build a fire and throw some of the herb into the flame. Mind that thou dost not use it all and that thou thyself stand behind the wind. The smoke will cause the serpent to fall asleep and thou mayst then climb over its body and enter the Palace."

Tzarevich Petr bade her farewell and set out, and when he had traveled a day he came to a Palace which rose dazzling white from the midst of a green garden, and all about the garden lay coiled a huge snake, a living, scaly wall. He went into the meadow, built a fire and threw upon it some sprigs of the herbs, and from it arose a great volume of smoke which the wind drove toward the serpent, causing it to fall asleep. He then climbed over it and entered the Palace of pearl.

He passed through room after room till he came to the inmost of all, and there he saw his little mother sitting on a high pearl throne, dressed in a robe of brocade sewn with seed pearls, and wearing a Tzaritza's pearly crown.

When she saw him she ran to him, and embracing him, fell to weeping. "How hast thou found me here," she cried, "my brave and beloved son? For I, thy mother, am in the power of this mighty Wizard who comes to me each day. Thou wilt strive to overcome him, yet is he strong in his enchantments, while thou art but an untried youth, so that I greatly fear for thee!"

"The wind doth not blow for ever," said the Tzarevich, and he comforted his mother and they kissed and caressed one another, when there rose a roaring of wind so that all the crystal windows rattled. "Kastchey comes even now," she said. "Hide thee quickly beneath my mantle!"

He concealed himself and scarce had he done so when the Wizard entered, green-eyed, naked and hairy, with a bared sword in his hand and a nose curved like a scimitar. He hastened to the Tzaritza and began to pet and fondle her. "Hast thou been lonely, light of mine eyes?" he asked.

'Yes," she answered. "Thou travelest far and hast many enemies and I fear for thy life."

"No fear of that," he said. "My life I carry not in my body but in another place."

"Where is that place?" she asked.

"It is in the broom that stands beside the door," he answered; "but now I am tired and I would sleep."

He laid his head on the Tzaritza's knees and slept, while the Tzarevich lay hidden, and when he woke he bade her farewell till the morrow and departed in a whirlwind from the Palace.

Then the Tzaritza went and fetched the broom, and bringing a quantity of precious stones, bade Tzarevich Petr sew them all about it. This he did, when she returned it to its place and they spent the afternoon in conversation.

Next day, as they sat together, there came again the sound of the howling wind and a second time she concealed the Tzarevich beneath her mantle, when the Wizard entered and began to fondle her as before. Presently he saw the broom and asked: "Why, thou dearest of women, hast thou sewn a common broom with jewels?"

"Because," she replied, "thou didst tell me that in it was contained thy life and thy life is more precious to me than many jewels!"

Then he embraced her more tenderly and said he: "I did but tell thee that to try thee. My life is not in the broom but is in the hedge that rings the garden." Then, when he had slept and refreshed himself, he bade her farewell till the morrow and departed in his whirlwind.

The Tzaritza at once fetched a quantity of gold and said to the Tzarevich: "Go thou and cover the garden hedge with this, every twig and leaf." He did so and they spent the afternoon in conversation as before.

Next day there came again the sound of the shrieking wind, the Tzarevich concealed himself for a third time, and Kastchey entered and began to fondle the Tzaritza. "Love of my heart," he said, "as I came hither I saw that thou hadst covered the garden hedge with gold. Why hast thou done so?"

"For the reason," she answered, "that thou didst tell me thy life was contained within it and thy life is more dear to me than much gold!"

The Wizard caressed her in the most tender fashion. "I did but tell thee that," he said, "to try thee still further. Now, however, I am assured that thou dost truly love me. Know that my life is in neither the broom nor the hedge, but is in an egg. The egg is in a duck, and the duck is in a hare, and the hare nests in a great hollow log that floats in a pond in a forest of the island Bouyan." Having thus spoken, Kastchey put his head on the Tzaritza's knees and slept, and soon, awaking, bade her farewell and departed.

Then Tzarevich Petr came from his concealment and his mother said: "This time, my dear son, Kastchey has told truly wherein his wicked life lies. Only when thou hast found the egg canst thou overcome him. Go, therefore, with God, for here thy life is in danger each moment."

So he embraced her, and burning in the garden some of the herb which the maiden of the golden Palace had given him, climbed over the serpent and went his way. He passed the gold, the silver, and the copper Palaces without stopping, found his iron claws and began to climb down the mountain. At the end of a month he reached its foot, left the iron claws in the cave, found his horse grazing on the open steppe, and set out for the island Bouyan.

He rode a long way and he rode a short way, and at length he came to the sea-ocean. On the sand, gasping out its life, lay a stranded pike-fish, and pitying its plight, the Tzarevich dismounted, picked it up and threw it into the water. Then remounting his good horse, he spurred it into the water and it began to swim to the island Bouyan. It swam one day, it swam two, and on the third it reached the island, and leaving his steed to rest, Tzarevich Petr went straight to the forest.

He had scarce entered it when he came upon a great bear whose paw was caught beneath a fallen tree. Drawing his sword, he cut the creature loose and went on, and presently he saw an otter fast in a snare. He released the otter, and a little further on he found a hawk struggling in a tangle of vines. He freed the hawk also, and pressing on, soon came to the pond.

In the middle of it floated a great branchless log, but it was beyond his reach. While he wondered what he should do, a heavy rain began to fall and the water of the pond rose. He climbed a tree and when the log floated near he secured it. When the rain ceased and the water fell, he attacked the log with his sword, but so huge was it that he could not cut it through. Suddenly, while he labored, the bear he had befriended rushed from the wood and tore the log asunder with its great paws. Out of the log leaped a hare, but the otter he had released sprang from the thicket, pursued the hare and caught it and tore it to pieces. From the hare flew a duck, but the hawk he had freed darted after it into the sky and seized it. The duck thereupon laid an egg, and the egg fell into the sea, but while the Tzarevich was bemoaning its loss with tears, there came swimming to the shore the pike-fish whose life he had saved, bringing the egg in its mouth. Then Tzarevich Petr put the egg in his belt, mounted his horse, which swam back with him across the sea-ocean, and having rested, set out again for the mountain of Kastchey.

The telling is easy but the labor is hard. Whether he rode a week or a month, he came at length to the mountain, left his horse to graze on the steppe, and binding the iron claws to his hands and feet, climbed to the summit and hastened to the Palace of pearl. Again he burned some of the drowsy herb, climbed over the serpent, entered and embraced his mother and showed her the egg.

Before long there arose the sound of the whistling wind and in came Kastchey. He ground his teeth when he saw the Tzarevich, and would have rushed at once upon him, but Tzarevich Petr squeezed the egg in his hand, ever so slightly, and as he did so the fierce light grew dim in the Wizard's eyes. The Tzarevich tossed the egg from the right hand to the left, and Kastchey was hurled violently from one corner of the room to the other. With a last effort the wicked Wizard strove to reach his enemy with his sword, but Tzarevich Petr threw the egg on the floor. It broke, and instantly Kastchey fell down dead and the serpent that coiled about the garden vanished.

The Tzarevich made a great pyre, burned the body of the Wizard to ashes and scattered the ashes to the winds. Then with his mother he set out on their return. The lovely damsel of the gold Palace met them with joy, and her the Tzarevich kissed on the sugar-sweet mouth and they plighted their troth that moment. Taking her with them, they visited the Palaces of silver and copper, and the maidens imprisoned there welcomed them with gladness and accompanied them.

When they came to the brink of the steep descent, Tzarevich Petr found his iron claws once more, donned them, and tearing into strips the outer robes of the three maidens, twisted a rope by means of which, as he climbed, he lowered them, with his mother, down the mountain. When they reached the level ground, he caught his good steed, set his mother upon it and they and the three Tzarevnas set out for the Tzardom of his father.

In the forest which skirted the desert of hot sand, they came upon the little old man and woman sitting upon two stones. "So thou hast slain Kastchey!" said the gray-beard. "Now I rejoice also, for he was my greatest enemy." He gave them four noble steeds, a milk-white mare to bear the Tzaritza and stallions of gold, of silver and of copper-color for the three Tzarevnas, and in this wise they rode to the Tzardom of Tzar Bel-Belianin.

When they drew near to the capital, the Tzarevich sent in advance a swift messenger to the Tzar with this message: "Little father! I, thy son Petr, am returning home, bringing with me my mother the Tzaritza, my own bride to be, who is a maiden as lovely as the stars, and Tzarevnas for my two brothers. Come thou out to meet us."

The Tzar, hearing the message, could not believe his ears. He mounted and rode out of the capital at the head of all his Ministers and Boyars and his army, and when he saw that it was indeed true and that his well-loved Tzaritza was alive, his joy knew no bounds. He ordered the musicians to play their instruments and the drummers to beat their drums, and bringing them to the Palace decreed a great festival whose splendor made the whole Tzardom wonder.

When the feastings were ended, Tzarevich Petr wedded the lovely damsel of the golden Palace, and the maidens of the silver and copper Palaces were wed to his brothers the Tzareviches Alexé and Dimitry. And soon after Tzar Bel-Belianin laid down his scepter, and Tzarevich Petr ruled the Tzardom after him. He rejoiced in his good fortune without boasting, his subjects loved and feared him, and his life was long and his reign glorious.

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