[Okkulte Phänomene (Unsichtbare Helfer?]
Translation from the German by Robert Hütwohl[1]
The well-known poet Scheffel often told circles of acquaintances the following incident, which he had heard from a friend who had taken part in the Franco-Prussian War as a cavalry captain.
My friend was a cavalryman and during the last French campaign he was often ordered to hunt down the Frank-tireurs [R.H.—French for “free shooters.” Irregular French military.]. His prudence and courage which often bordered on recklessness made him especially qualified for this grueling and dangerous service. From that time he related to me the following event:
It was a moonlit night when I, with some particularly reliable members of my squadron, undertook the daring act of scouting out the enemy’s position. The terrain was only known to us in general terms. We knew that ahead was a moderately sized forest, beyond that was open meadows and farmland, and adjacent to that was a homestead. Here, we suspected the main hiding place and the ammunition depot of the Frank-tireurs and therefore wanted to occupy it and render it harmless. However, the forest turned out to be deeper and more arduous than we thought.
We were already considering whether it would be advisable under such circumstances to leave the protective darkness of the forest in the bright moonlight, when a rising storm covered the sky and all light was plunged into deepest darkness. We had reached the edge of the forest and sat helplessly silent for a moment, looking out over the pitch-dark plain. The wind rushed through the treetops and howled across the flat land, raindrops slapped down and nocturnal birds flew overhead with hoarse cries. You could no longer see your hand in front of your face and it seemed impossible to find the way to the farmstead. I was just about to make up my mind to retreat, when suddenly a light flashed in the distance. “Hooray, that’s where the house is!” whispered a private to me, and I took the binoculars and researched eagerly. That’s right, the light shone through the glass of the window pane, dimming at times as if shadows were sliding back and forth. The room was certainly occupied by enemies.
We rejoiced. The dark weather favored our approach, the storm and rain drowned out our hoofbeats, we had the best chance of sneaking up unnoticed. So we rode off, first carefully examining, then, until the ground showed itself to be a high-grassed, velvety meadow, getting bolder and reaching out more sharply. The light was getting nearer and nearer and, according to our calculations, would have to be reached in ten minutes at the most. It seemed striking that neither garden land nor fields or fences announced the proximity of the farmstead. The light stood motionless and burned quietly and brightly at the window of the peaceful house. I rode first in front of my people, my gaze fixed on the flame, whose bright glow dazzled even more against the darkness.
Suddenly I gave a start, so suddenly that I involuntarily pulled my horse back and thereby stopped the riders who were following me. Eyes wide, hair ruffled in sudden terror, I stared at a white female figure who suddenly emerged from the darkness, arms outstretched in fearful defence—my mother! Truly and in the flesh my mother, who had been sleeping at home in the cemetery for three years. I saw her exactly, every feature of her dear face, her eyes, her mouth, her figure in the white shroud, just as I looked at her for the last time, full of despairing pain, before the coffin was closed forever. And now suddenly she stood before me, in the pitch-dark night, in distant enemy country, on a lonely heath. Mother! I cried out, mother!
The private took my arm in horror: “For heaven’s sake, Herr Rittmeister!”
Then the wonderful apparition melted before my eyes. Once again she waved at me with every sign of great fear: Back, back! and then the deepest darkness enveloped me again. Incapable of a word, I sat in the saddle; I felt the horse tremble beneath me and back up, snorting.
“Mr. Captain. . .!”
“Hackert, didn’t you see anything?” he grumbled from my dips.
“No, Captain!”
I straightened up resolutely: “Stop! Not a step further; we are in danger! Hackert, hold my horse.” — I jumped to the ground. Loose stones crunched under my feet, it crumbled off, and I heard a stone roll away and then rumble: It fell down a deep abyss. What was that? Undecided I stand there and hesitate to take another step forward, when the moon breaks through the clouds with a bright ray, and I look down into the yawning depths of a quarry, while over there on the opposite edge there is a lantern hanging, where the Franktireurs confronted us. For a moment a cold dread ran through my limbs; two more steps and we would have been lying shattered in the depths. I jumped back on my horse. “Return! We are at quarries!” I call out softly “And my brave men, who had seen the horror like me, jerked their horses around. Then there was a rattling noise on the other side of the quarry. Bullets whistled over us, one hit my private in the carabiner, yet he already has it on his cheek and gives us a light right away. Twice we shoot into the darkness, the moon hides again, we no longer see any enemy and now chase through storm and rain towards the protective forest.
I have never found an explanation for the enigmatic, ghostly apparition, only that during my mother’s lifetime I had always been her problem child, over whom she spread her hands in a particularly faithful and loving manner.
Notes:
[1] Occult Phenomena (Invisible Helpers?) [Okkulte Phänomene (Unsichtbare Helfer?) Franz Hartmann, M.D. Neue Lotusblüten 5, no. 5-6 (May-June 1912), 169-173] {This article was reformatted from the original, but with the content unchanged other than fixing minor typos. Translation from the German by Robert Hütwohl, ©2025}