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 had 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 if 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
to-morrow midnight; and I think they have hit the time
very nearly.
VALDEMAR
Copyrights
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
