Chapter XI: Mesmer's Chest

by Bram Stoker

　　After a couple of weeks had passed, the kite seemed to give EdgarCaswall a new zest for life. He was never tired of looking at itsmovements. He had a comfortable armchair put out on the tower,wherein he sat sometimes all day long, watching as though the kitewas a new toy and he a child lately come into possession of it. Hedid not seem to have lost interest in Lilla, for he still paid anoccasional visit at Mercy Farm.Indeed, his feeling towards her, whatever it had been at first, hadnow so far changed that it had become a distinct affection of apurely animal kind. Indeed, it seemed as though the man's naturehad become corrupted, and that all the baser and more selfish andmore reckless qualities had become more conspicuous. There was notso much sternness apparent in his nature, because there was lessself-restraint. Determination had become indifference.The visible change in Edgar was that he grew morbid, sad, silent;the neighbours thought he was going mad. He became absorbed in thekite, and watched it not only by day, but often all night long. Itbecame an obsession to him.Caswall took a personal interest in the keeping of the great kiteflying. He had a vast coil of cord efficient for the purpose, whichworked on a roller fixed on the parapet of the tower. There was awinch for the pulling in of the slack; the outgoing line beingcontrolled by a racket. There was invariably one man at least, dayand night, on the tower to attend to it. At such an elevation therewas always a strong wind, and at times the kite rose to an enormousheight, as well as travelling for great distances laterally. Infact, the kite became, in a short time, one of the curiosities ofCastra Regis and all around it. Edgar began to attribute to it, inhis own mind, almost human qualities. It became to him a separateentity, with a mind and a soul of its own. Being idle-handed allday, he began to apply to what he considered the service of the kitesome of his spare time, and found a new pleasure--a new object inlife--in the old schoolboy game of sending up "runners" to the kite.The way this is done is to get round pieces of paper so cut thatthere is a hole in the centre, through which the string of the kitepasses. The natural action of the wind-pressure takes the paperalong the string, and so up to the kite itself, no matter how highor how far it may have gone.In the early days of this amusement Edgar Caswall spent hours.Hundreds of such messengers flew along the string, until soon hebethought him of writing messages on these papers so that he couldmake known his ideas to the kite. It may be that his brain gave wayunder the opportunities given by his illusion of the entity of thetoy and its power of separate thought. From sending messages hecame to making direct speech to the kite--without, however, ceasingto send the runners. Doubtless, the height of the tower, seated asit was on the hill-top, the rushing of the ceaseless wind, thehypnotic effect of the lofty altitude of the speck in the sky atwhich he gazed, and the rushing of the paper messengers up thestring till sight of them was lost in distance, all helped tofurther affect his brain, undoubtedly giving way under the strain ofbeliefs and circumstances which were at once stimulating to theimagination, occupative of his mind, and absorbing.The next step of intellectual decline was to bring to bear on themain idea of the conscious identity of the kite all sorts ofsubjects which had imaginative force or tendency of their own. Hehad, in Castra Regis, a large collection of curious and interestingthings formed in the past by his forebears, of similar tastes to hisown. There were all sorts of strange anthropological specimens,both old and new, which had been collected through various travelsin strange places: ancient Egyptian relics from tombs and mummies;curios from Australia, New Zealand, and the South Seas; idols andimages--from Tartar ikons to ancient Egyptian, Persian, and Indianobjects of worship; objects of death and torture of AmericanIndians; and, above all, a vast collection of lethal weapons ofevery kind and from every place--Chinese "high pinders," doubleknives, Afghan double-edged scimitars made to cut a body in two,heavy knives from all the Eastern countries, ghost daggers fromThibet, the terrible kukri of the Ghourka and other hill tribes ofIndia, assassins' weapons from Italy and Spain, even the knife whichwas formerly carried by the slave-drivers of the Mississippi region.Death and pain of every kind were fully represented in that gruesomecollection.That it had a fascination for Oolanga goes without saying. He wasnever tired of visiting the museum in the tower, and spent endlesshours in inspecting the exhibits, till he was thoroughly familiarwith every detail of all of them. He asked permission to clean andpolish and sharpen them--a favour which was readily granted. Inaddition to the above objects, there were many things of a kind toawaken human fear. Stuffed serpents of the most objectionable andhorrid kind; giant insects from the tropics, fearsome in everydetail; fishes and crustaceans covered with weird spikes; driedoctopuses of great size. Other things, too, there were, not lessdeadly though seemingly innocuous--dried fungi, traps intended forbirds, beasts, fishes, reptiles, and insects; machines which couldproduce pain of any kind and degree, and the only mercy of which wasthe power of producing speedy death.Caswall, who had never before seen any of these things, except thosewhich he had collected himself, found a constant amusement andinterest in them. He studied them, their uses, their mechanism--where there was such--and their places of origin, until he had anample and real knowledge of all concerning them. Many were secretand intricate, but he never rested till he found out all thesecrets. When once he had become interested in strange objects, andthe way to use them, he began to explore various likely places forsimilar finds. He began to inquire of his household where strangelumber was kept. Several of the men spoke of old Simon Chester asone who knew everything in and about the house. Accordingly, hesent for the old man, who came at once. He was very old, nearlyninety years of age, and very infirm. He had been born in theCastle, and had served its succession of masters--present or absent--ever since. When Edgar began to question him on the subjectregarding which he had sent for him, old Simon exhibited muchperturbation. In fact, he became so frightened that his master,fully believing that he was concealing something, ordered him totell at once what remained unseen, and where it was hidden away.Face to face with discovery of his secret, the old man, in apitiable state of concern, spoke out even more fully than Mr.Caswall had expected."Indeed, indeed, sir, everything is here in the tower that has everbeen put away in my time except--except--" here he began to shakeand tremble it--"except the chest which Mr. Edgar--he who was Mr.Edgar when I first took service--brought back from France, after hehad been with Dr. Mesmer. The trunk has been kept in my room forsafety; but I shall send it down here now.""What is in it?" asked Edgar sharply."That I do not know. Moreover, it is a peculiar trunk, without anyvisible means of opening.""Is there no lock?""I suppose so, sir; but I do not know. There is no keyhole.""Send it here; and then come to me yourself."The trunk, a heavy one with steel bands round it, but no lock orkeyhole, was carried in by two men. Shortly afterwards old Simonattended his master. When he came into the room, Mr. Caswallhimself went and closed the door; then he asked:"How do you open it?""I do not know, sir.""Do you mean to say that you never opened it?""Most certainly I say so, your honour. How could I? It wasentrusted to me with the other things by my master. To open itwould have been a breach of trust."Caswall sneered."Quite remarkable! Leave it with me. Close the door behind you.Stay--did no one ever tell you about it--say anything regarding it--make any remark?"Old Simon turned pale, and put his trembling hands together."Oh, sir, I entreat you not to touch it. That trunk probablycontains secrets which Dr. Mesmer told my master. Told them to hisruin!""How do you mean? What ruin?""Sir, he it was who, men said, sold his soul to the Evil One; I hadthought that that time and the evil of it had all passed away.""That will do. Go away; but remain in your own room, or withincall. I may want you."The old man bowed deeply and went out trembling, but withoutspeaking a word.