The Mesmerism Of Augustus Gasparini

'There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul'.—Victor Hugo

It was a momentous occasion of the year 1909, at the renowned Teatro Colón, when I had met in person the enigmatic Señor Augustus Gasparini in Buenos Aires Argentina, during one of his epic performances of mesmerism. The unusual phenomenon of mesmerism was a superannuated 19th century method of wielding dominion over a person’s personality or actions, with potent and hypnotic influence.

This phenomenon was mostly known today, as hypnosis. What I did not know was that it was attributed to a Franz Anton Mesmer, a German doctor and creator of the practice of mesmerism. This historic revelation I would discover afterwards, when speaking to Señor Gasparini.

I was in Buenos Aires on a business engagement, when I had descried a placard that was visible on the corner of Cerrito Street. The main entrance to the theatre was from Libertad Street, Arturo Toscanini Street, and Tucumán Street. The placard had announced the performance of an Argentine mesmerist, whose name was Augustus Gasparini.

There was nothing particular about the name of this peculiar individual that seemed overtly riveting, until I had entered the crowded theatre and would be intrigued then, with the uncommon spectacle that ensued before my own eyes. It would be a suspicious performance like no other and cause, a major stir in the nonplussed people that were present.

The colourful audience was promptly seated, and the auditorium’s capacity was approximately 2,500 seats. There was an attractive gallery, originally built in 1857, featuring the Golden Room, the concert hall, and the stage, all beneath allegorical ceiling frescoes. The elegant balconies and the gala were architecturally identical to the grandiose theatres in Europe to which I had grown accustomed.

I had purchased a single ticket, not knowing quite what to expect based on my initial assumptions, and I presumed that I would not be overly impressed by this man’s supposed abilities. That would all change within a matter of minutes, when the mesmerist appeared from behind the dazzling drapes as they were lifted.

It seemed much of the audience was already familiar with the mesmerist’s reputation and was enthralled by this inexplicable phenomenon of mesmerism. Soon, he addressed the audience with a slight haughtiness that was perceived as theatrical, but exuded great confidence also.

He then asked if there was anyone amongst the audience who was willing to participate in his act. From the crowd, a woman of unassuming appearance raised her hand and was selected by the mesmerist for this important participation. A decorative balloon-back chair was placed centre stage for the woman to be seated.

Subsequently, he explained the gradual process that would be undertaken, and the performance began in earnest, which, astonishingly, entailed the removal of her soul from her body. The theatre lights were turned off, and complete darkness enveloped the auditorium, save for the dim illumination of the balcony lights. It seemed absurd to believe in such a fanciful exhibition; nevertheless, there were those present who were passionate believers in this improbable procedure.

The woman appeared somewhat nervous and gazed into the commanding eyes of Señor Gasparini, who began to mesmerise her with the power of his fingers, which moved with the force of a magnetic current. Before long, she was under his powerful influence, and her eyes closed completely.

Señor Gasparini then used his resonant voice to summon the soul of the woman, as she rested in a dormant state, her physical body rendered listless whilst her mind remained consciously attuned to the mesmerist’s voice.

An eerie mist began to materialise, and within minutes, her living soul appeared to emerge from her tranquil body, presenting itself before the captivated audience, who looked on in utter bewilderment and awe. The visible form of her soul lingered for only a fleeting moment before returning to the woman’s body.

Sudden gasps and shrieks were heard amongst the audience, as they recoiled in horror at this inconceivable occurrence. Not a single member of the audience could explain what had transpired in any logical manner, except to speculate whether the cunning mesmerist had employed some form of connivance, using an unseen contrivance in his act.

There were so many unanswered questions, and I was one of several present who was left with an overwhelming sense of disbelief. How had he achieved such a remarkable feat? Was this merely an elaborate hoax? Surely, I thought, there must have been some kind of deception involved—a mechanical device, perhaps, or an invisible wire that had escaped the notice of the spectators. Perhaps he had used a strange powder to produce the phantasmal mist as well.

Afterwards, he calmly awakened the woman who had participated, and concluded the performance as she rose to her feet, whilst the stunned crowd applauded. The velvet curtains descended over the stage, and the lights were switched back on. I could not say with any certainty whether what I had witnessed in that theatre was an obvious fabrication or a truly preternatural manifestation.

When the mesmerist’s incredible performance concluded, I left the theatre with a desire to witness more; although I was not fully convinced that what I had seen was genuinely unprecedented. It was extremely difficult to conceive of mesmerism as possessing the power to remove the soul from the human body. Such an idea seemed entirely unreasonable, and I needed to be certain that what I had observed was not merely a clever act of manipulation. Thus, I was determined to return to the theatre once again for Señor Gasparini’s next performance, which was scheduled for two days hence.

I was staying at the home of a dear friend named Roberto Romano, who had invited me the night before. At his home, I explained to him in a discreet conversation what had occurred at the theatre with the mesmerist, and he seemed uncertain of what to say, except to remark that Señor Gasparini was becoming increasingly famous in Buenos Aires for his mesmerism.

When I asked him whether he believed it was realistic to conceive that mesmerism could truly draw the soul outwards from the human body, his response was succinct. He admitted he did not know, but added that if it were indeed possible, it would suggest that the soul was both interchangeable and invariable. I recalled having previously heard of an unusual phenomenon involving the soul leaving the body and returning, during a near-death experience in Brazil.

The only way I could hope to refute or confirm this was to attend another of Señor Gasparini’s unrivalled performances. Upon discovering the hour of his next act of mesmerism, I kindly invited my good friend Roberto to accompany me to the theatre. We departed his home and soon arrived. We took our seats amongst the audience and waited patiently for the mesmerist to reappear. Once again, the mesmerism commenced, after a volunteer from the audience stepped forward to assist Señor Gasparini.

Once more, Señor Gasparini succeeded in removing the soul, albeit briefly, from the body of the man who had participated in the intense performance. As with the previous occasion, I was left deeply impressed and astonished. I felt an urgent need to meet him and speak with him directly, and I immediately made my way backstage. Upon arrival, I was intercepted by one of his protective entourage, who was clearly stationed there for vigilance.

I explained that I wished to speak with Señor Gasparini and stated who I was. He showed no interest in my request and was adamant that I would not be permitted to pass. Realising my options were limited, I hastily mentioned my presumed status and told him I was willing to offer a thousand pesos for just one private session with the mesmerist. This was enough to persuade him to speak with Señor Gasparini and inform him of my lucrative offer. The mesmerist acquiesced and granted me the opportunity to converse with him regarding my proposal.

When I finally met him, he appeared puzzled as to why I would propose such a large sum of money for his service. I confessed, quite frankly, that although I had been sceptical at first, like many members of the audience, I was eager to uncover the truth. If what he professed was indeed genuine—if he truly possessed the exceptional ability to remove the soul from the body—then I was willing to concede and undergo his form of mesmerism or hypnosis at a considerable price.

I had expected some degree of doubt or suspicion on his part, concerned perhaps about exposing himself to the risk of ridicule or accusations from the press should he fail. He displayed neither. Instead, he exuded remarkable confidence. He enquired as to my reason for wishing to undergo mesmerism, and I confessed it openly: I had recently been haunted by a particular episode of death that had become a ceaseless nightmare of dread.

When he asked me to elaborate, I did so. I explained that the horrendous nightmare I had been experiencing was my own death unfolding—so vivid and harrowing that it sent a celeritous chill down my spine each time. Even though it was growing late in the day, he agreed to mesmerise me fully and attempt the removal of my soul from my physical body. However, he warned me of the imminent danger that could arise from such an intensified and deeply introspective session of mesmerism.

I was willing to take that daring risk, and after hearing my quiet confession, he consented. There was no absolute guarantee that I would be fully satisfied with what I might experience under his protracted mesmerism, nor any certainty that I would discover the significant answers I sought. I told him candidly that I yearned to know whether there existed an indeterminate and indefinite afterworld—or perhaps an intermediate realm, hidden from our perception during life.

He made it clear that he was no sagacious man who could predict the precise sequences of reality. All he could offer me was his extensive knowledge, applied through his practiced thespian talents. He was a man of considerable intelligence, having studied psychology rigorously during his university years. Moreover, he was an ardent disciple of Mesmer and had dedicated his entire life to the meritorious goal of proving, with irrefutable evidence, that the soul indeed traversed beyond the body, both during life and at death.

He expounded at length on this incredible concept, while I listened attentively, my fascination heightened by the fantastic wonders he described. My initial reluctance to believe that this one man held the power to cause a soul to leave the body through mere mesmeric influence began to dissolve, bit by bit. Although I had studied, to some degree, the theories of Sigmund Freud, I had never known them to be demonstrated so unequivocally. My intrigue with Señor Gasparini’s abilities as a mesmerist now compelled me more than ever to seek his renowned talent.

The mesmerism would take place on the stage, lit only by the dim glow of the balcony lights. It was agreed that no one else would be involved in the session, and that there would be no audience save for Roberto—my trusted acquaintance, whom I had entrusted with my safety.

The following are the vivid words of Señor Gasparini, spoken in his deep, deliberate voice:

‘What I shall profess through my candid admission is an unparalleled encounter that will empower your soul to reach the ultimate state of spiritual transcendence. I assure you that this daunting experience will manifest as transferable energy—the transportation of the soul from one solid vessel, the corporeal body, into a mass of anthropomorphism. Some doubtful scientists will insist that what I declare is anthropocentric and egregious. Nonetheless, to me, it is a conducted experiment to prove that no specific external agency is necessary for the fundamental production of this mesmeric phenomenon; the determining cause is found within the dynamic subject.

Thus, mesmerism functions purely through the superlative power of intense thought and meditation. It is produced through the active transmission of a non-transparent influence from the body of the supernal operator to that of the subject, by which a particular condition of the nervous system’s functions can be controlled through artificial application. Therefore, it is an invisible force possessed by all animate beings whose brains are activated through tangible stimulation and perceptible noesis. This insurmountable force can exert physical effects that command the individual’s mind and induce the sequential fulfilment of profound rumination'.

He paused briefly before continuing.

‘Henceforth, you will undergo what may be called bilocation, wherein you feel you are in two places simultaneously. It is analogous to an elevated dream, or an altered state of consciousness, without any infatuated recourse to a supernatural state of existence. This mystifying phenomenon was once known during the Victorian period as “travelling clairvoyance”. Now, if we can proceed with the mesmerism! If you would be so kind as to sit and relax in the chair—for it is paramount that you be in your most placid state of mind and well-being'. He paused then continued.

‘If during this mesmerism you find yourself in a perilous condition and transfixed with terror, your sentient cognition will enable you to react intuitively and quickly. This will thereby abate the mesmerism and the interaction between us. I insist that whatever transpires does not dissuade your perfervid interest in the topic, and I shall attempt to discover the actual veracity behind your troubling episode, if permissible.

Now that you are reposing and tranquil, I shall need you to stare directly at the fingers of my hand. Do not look at my eyes; instead, maintain your fixation on the movement of my fingers. Next, you will begin to feel a profound and lethargic stupor overcoming your muscular sensations and movements. Do not be restless—for it is the natural reaction of your body, responding to the actuated sequence of the progrediency you are experiencing.’

Once more he paused before he continued.

‘You are slowly reaching the non-material level of high consciousness, and detaching your mind from your body at an acute interval. Do not question this succession; instead, embrace the authentic thoughts surfacing in your operative brain at this very moment in time. Herein, what you are experiencing is not incongruent, but the admissible access of the sustainable flow of energy transmitted through the consequential causation of this process.

What are you currently experiencing with this activity? I must hear you relate to me everything. What are you feeling?’

I was unruffled in the beginning, and my words, though declared with a restive demeanour of composure, were, ‘I do not know, except to say that I am calm!’

‘What do you see momentarily?’ The mesmerist enquired.

‘What I see is nothing but a place of my childhood, and people whom I know very well', I answered.

‘What are they doing?’

‘They only exist, that is all'.

‘Now, you are slowly experiencing the pleasurable and natural side of your mind that allows you to dream in such an innocuous and delightful manner. Soon, you will begin to experience the commencement of the initial stage of your horrific nightmare. It will not be pleasant but irresistible, and you will struggle to resist its effectiveness', the mesmerist stated before continuing.

‘Therefore, you must be prepared for the eventuality of your nightmare. Remember that I am here to assist you in overcoming your fear and guiding you through this mental process of discovery. Tell me, what are you experiencing at this exact moment?’

I began to fret as my body’s reaction changed dramatically—from subdued placidity to a state of anxiety and apprehension that grew by the minute. The mesmerist noticed the rapid alteration in my mood and pattern of thought.

‘Something is wrong; I can see that the individuals are fading away, and a vast mist from afar is emerging from the nearby clouds, covering the previously cerulean sky’.

‘What are you seeing now?’ The mesmerist enquired.

‘Darkness, utter darkness, as if the day has been sequestered by the night! I can strongly perceive the darkled shade of death approaching—for it is nigh!’

‘Calm yourself! I am here to guide you. Do not permit this shade of death to absorb your thoughts completely, to the point that it renders you incapacitated!’ he instructed.

After that, he continued his mesmerism. ‘Now, you must proceed with the sequence of the ongoing dream. Presently, your thoughts are concentrated on the absolute fright that has been tormenting you before. It is considerably normal that you succumb to this distinct distraction. The mind does have a habitual tendency to react in this predictable way'.

The more time elapsed, the more alarmed I became by the evolution of this dream, which was increasingly developing into an unsteady nightmare.

‘What is important is that you do not falter in the face of the systematic hallucinations that are connected to the variable abruption of this impulsive force of nature, which conflicts with the soul and causes panic. You must utilise your thoughts prudently rather than yield to the intrusive compulsion of trepidation that is overbearing. Consequently, what is required to control this menacing susceptibility is constant fortitude. Once more, I am here to guide and assist you in this endeavour. As you traverse into the boundless realm of this consistent nightmare, you will start to perceive in your subconscious the vibrant depiction of this actual convergence of thoughts. Thus, you must be cognisant of the progression of that conglomerative inclusion and comprehend the magnitude of that supposed correlation. The entrance to the evolution of this process depends on the control of your brain and how it responds to the intrinsic nature of that function. When the nightmare appears, you must allow the sequence to continue its course, irrespective of the presence of the incertitude that may result. What do you see occurring in your mind? Has the dream become your frightening nightmare?’

'Yes, yes! I can sense the sinister presence of death, and the enclosure of the walls of the nightmare are rising all around, as I look straightaway in every direction,’ I replied.

‘Do not bow to death in reverence, nor submit to the effects of its influential dominion. You must resist this vigorously—do not provoke death! Do not let death be the cause of your indomitable fear; be resolute amidst its dauntless and fiendish presence! Once that has been achieved, you will notice your soul emerge from your body, like a fathomless shadow. Then your unrestricted soul will secure the abatement of your nightmare and induce the shadowy fiend of death to vanish. Until this is effectuated, your nightmare will never be gone, but instead haunt you forever.’

By that time, all the vestiges of the original dream had long since evaporated, and the disconcerting nightmare had developed with an incessant passion, precluding my incisive inclination to decipher its origin. It was a lethiferous mass that surged from the mist of the Cimmerian tincture of expiry, slowly engulfing the perimeter of my surroundings.

As I sat there, my body heavy with the residual effects of the mesmerism, I began to feel the first stirrings of unease. There was a creeping, insidious sensation that something was wrong—something far darker than I could comprehend. My thoughts twisted, and the peaceful tranquility that had settled over me began to unravel.

It was as if my soul was being tugged at by an invisible hand, drawing me closer to something I could neither see nor understand. My reflection in the dimly lit glass before me seemed to distort, as if it were no longer entirely my own. My heart began to race, and I could feel the familiar grip of fear tightening around me, constricting my chest.

'What is this?' I whispered, more to myself than to the mesmerist.

'You are experiencing the fear of death', he answered, his voice steady, but not without a hint of urgency.

He paused then said, 'It is a fear that resides within us all, yet it is not to be feared. It is a part of life, a shadow that we must learn to embrace. Only by facing it can you hope to transcend it'.

The words brought little comfort. In that moment, I felt the crushing weight of my mortality more acutely than ever before. I could almost hear the distant sound of a bell tolling, a harbinger of the end that was inexorably approaching. My mind, once so calm, was now a battlefield, torn between the desire to understand and the instinct to run, to escape the terrifying unknown.

'Calm yourself', the mesmerist instructed.

'Yes'.

"You must resist this fear, or it will consume you. The mind is a powerful tool, but only if you learn to wield it'.

I attempted to withstand the powerful effects of its domination, but the darkness knew no boundary, accruing with relentless celerity and the telltale signs of death. I sensed, perhaps, that my time of living was reaching its final mortal breath and that I could not eschew the misfortune of my destiny.

It was then that my soul was visibly seen by those present, emerging completely from my body, as a horrible clangor of death resounded obstreperously, like the metallic vesper bells from the tower of a lofty cathedral. My soul then began to walk unhurriedly towards a long, spiralling stairway, and immediately my intuition compelled me to climb the endless rows of stairs.

The anxiety continued to swell within me, and in the deepest recesses of my mind, something shifted. A dream—no, a nightmare—had begun to take shape. It was not a simple terror, but a complex and suffocating presence, one that seemed to loom over me like a shadow stretching across the fabric of existence.

I found myself in a labyrinth, its walls shifting with every step I took. The corridors stretched out endlessly, each turn leading to another. I could hear my breath echoing off the stone, my footsteps soft yet unsettling. There was no way out. The air was thick with an oppressive darkness, the walls closing in with every passing moment

Then, the figures appeared. Faces from my past—faces I had long since buried—stared back at me from the shadows. Each one seemed to beckon me forth, but as I approached, they dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind only the hollow echo of their presence. The deeper I ventured, the more they multiplied, until I could no longer distinguish between them and the shadows themselves. It was as if they were all part of the same dark tapestry, woven together by some unfathomable force.

In the distance, I saw a figure standing at the end of the maze. It was me—or rather, a version of me. A distorted reflection, a shadow of what I feared becoming. It stood motionless, waiting for me to approach. My heart pounded as I stepped closer, each movement feeling heavier than the last. The figure did not speak, but its eyes—those dark, soulless eyes—seemed to pierce through me, seeing into the innermost core of my being.

'What do you want from me?' I asked, my voice trembling.

The figure remained silent, its gaze unyielding. And in that moment, I realised—this was not merely a nightmare. This was a reckoning. A confrontation with the darkest parts of myself.

When I awoke, I was still disoriented, my mind a swirling vortex of fragmented images and half-formed thoughts. The mesmerist’s voice slowly penetrated the haze of my thoughts, grounding me once again in the room. His words, calm and soothing, helped to steady my racing heart.

'Tell me. What did you see? What did you feel?'

I struggled to find the words to describe what had happened. How could I explain the vast, incomprehensible realms I had witnessed? The labyrinth, the figures, the shadow of myself that haunted me. It was as though I had glimpsed something beyond the veil of life and death, something I was not meant to understand.

'It was…overwhelming', I admitted, my voice shaky. 'I saw myself, or at least a version of myself, and it frightened me. It was as if I were standing on the threshold of something…eternal'.

The mesmerist nodded thoughtfully, his gaze piercing yet understanding.

'You have faced the deepest fear within you', he said. 'The fear of your own mortality, the fear of becoming something less than yourself. But in doing so, you have taken the first step towards understanding. The mind is a powerful thing, and it will show you what you need to see, when you are ready'.

'But what does it mean?' I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. 'What is this nightmare trying to tell me?'

The mesmerist smiled softly, his eyes alight with a wisdom that seemed to transcend time itself.

'It is a warning', he said. 'But it is also a guide. Death is not the end, but a transformation—a passage to something greater. You must learn to accept it, to walk with it, and in doing so, you will find the peace you seek'.

After the session, I felt as though I were no longer quite the same. The world around me seemed somehow altered—colder, more distant, yet simultaneously more vivid. The shadows seemed to lengthen in a way that I had never noticed before, and the silence felt heavier, as though it were pregnant with meaning.

I sat alone in the room, my thoughts racing. What had I truly experienced? Was it merely the product of my mind, twisted by the mesmerism? Or had I glimpsed something real, something beyond the boundaries of my understanding?

The question gnawed at me, and I could feel the pull of the unknown calling me once more. I rose from my chair and walked toward the window, gazing out into the darkness beyond. The world seemed still, yet within me, a storm was raging. The fear of death still lingered, but now it was tempered by a strange sense of curiosity. A desire to understand, to transcend.

As I stood there, lost in my thoughts, I heard a faint noise—soft, almost imperceptible. It was a bell, distant yet clear, ringing in the night. The sound sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something move in the shadows. But when I turned, there was nothing there. Just the empty space between me and the world outside.

Had I imagined it? Or had I truly crossed some threshold, some boundary between life and death? I could not say. But one thing was certain—I would never look at the world the same way again.

Several weeks passed in uneasy quietude. Though my dreams had grown less severe, my mind remained tethered to the strange experiences I had endured. What I could not have foreseen was the sudden and startling revelation that awaited me one unremarkable morning.

It began when I unfolded my usual copy of the daily newspaper. My eyes roamed indifferently over the typical fare—politics, trade disputes, society gossip—until they halted abruptly upon a headline that struck me with the force of a lightning bolt:

“Renowned Mesmerist Vanishes Mysteriously: Only Cryptic Note Left Behind.”

My heart pounded furiously as I devoured the article, my hands trembling so violently that the paper itself seemed to quiver in my grasp. The report was sparse yet deeply unsettling. It stated that the mesmerist—my mesmerist—had disappeared without warning or trace. His residence had been found abandoned, the doors locked from within, his belongings undisturbed. There was no indication of foul play, nor any evidence suggesting a departure of conventional means.

The only clue left behind was a letter—a letter described as bizarre and incomprehensible by the authorities. The article reproduced a portion of the missive, and as my eyes fell upon the familiar cadence of his writing, a cold chill passed through me:

'To whomever reads this letter, know that I have crossed the boundary that separates our fragile reality from the great beyond. I have found the point of no return—a juncture where the fabric of existence unravels, and truth is laid bare in its most unadulterated form. I step now into a realm where thought and matter converge, where shadows dance in perpetual twilight. There is no coming back from this crossing, for once one glimpses the other side, the tether to this world is severed irreversibly. Fear not for me, for I go willingly into the infinite unknown'.

I read the words again and again, scarcely able to believe what was before me. It felt both impossible and, at the same time, eerily consistent with the strange and inexplicable knowledge he had always seemed to possess. My memories of our last encounters now took on a sinister new hue, as though all along he had been preparing—slowly guiding me to an understanding of something far more profound and perilous than I could have imagined.

The days that followed were a haze of reflection and troubled sleep. I wandered to his residence, standing before its shuttered windows and silent door, trying to sense some lingering presence, some residual echo of his existence. But there was nothing. Just a hollow, oppressive stillness that seemed to confirm the finality of his vanishing.

Rumours began to swirl in town—whispers of madness, of dark dealings with the occult, of forbidden knowledge pursued to the brink of oblivion. Yet none of it brought me any closer to an answer. The mesmerist was simply… gone, as though he had stepped out of time itself.

And as for me, I was left with the letter’s chilling words etched permanently into my mind. I could not help but wonder—had he truly crossed into another plane of reality? Had he found the fabled “point of no return”? Or was it all some elaborate theatre of the mind, a final, desperate plunge into the abyss of insanity?

In the quiet hours of the night, I would sit alone, staring into the darkness, the echo of his voice resounding faintly in my ears. 'Once one glimpses the other side…'

A shiver would run through me, and I would clutch at my own fragile reality all the more tightly, fearful yet fascinated by the yawning void that now seemed forever closer.

Death is never a welcomed occasion, but I, who have experienced its lethal grasp for a brief interval, can profess with sincerity to its unrelenting determination and execution. It does not discriminate amongst those in its path, and it can drive one to arrant madness if persistent.

As for the veritable significance of a nightmare, one must always be mindful of the daunting duplicity that the brain can transmit or display so effortlessly. What I acknowledge through my admission is for the world to discover—and for sceptics to unravel its inscrutable enigma.

The numinous origin of a dream is aligned with the essential concept of a nightmare, which often accompanies that dream in the integral contents of its internal composition. Despite that intricate anomaly, there remains a persistent apprehension in our society: a need to understand something that is meant to be incomprehensible in nature and meaning.

Once more, I discovered through this complex process of mesmerism the troublesome aspect of interpreting life and death with such mundane descriptions. The computed pattern of our thoughts lies within the uninhibited areas of our brains, whose mental capacities—to project the abundant flow of energy necessary—are enough to drive us to either insanity or brilliance. If we are dependent solely on science to answer every feasible question, then we are, indisputably, at the mercy of those who may never fully comprehend the extensive capability and universal function of the mind.

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