Lucie was thrown into catalepsy; then M. Janet clenched her left hand (she began at once to strike out), put a pencil in her right hand, and said, "Adrienne, what are you doing?" The left hand continued to strike, and the face to bear the look of rage, while the right hand wrote, "I am furious." « With whom?" "With F." "Why?" "I don't know, but I am very angry." M. Janet then unclenched the subject's left hand and put it gently to her lips. It began to "blow kisses," and the face smiled. "Adrienne, are you still angry?" "No, that's over." "And now?" "Oh! I am happy." "And Lucie?" "She knows nothing, she is asleep".

Now, so far as I know, this is absolutely the first glimpse that has yet been obtained into the subjective being of the subject in the cataleptic state. We have thus far only been able to conjecture whether there was or was not any psychical concomitant of the cataleptic gestures of anger or satisfaction. "II n'y a que le cataleptique," say MM. Binet and Féré,1 "qui mérite le nom d'automate.... On a dit avec raison que le cataleptique n'a point une personnalité à lui, qu'il n'existe pas de moi cataleptique." Yet the key of automatic writing has unlocked this closely-barred chamber, and has shown us that the clenched fist, which strikes out at our suggestion as if it were moved by a spring, does in fact imply a corresponding emotion of anger, which (in Lucie's case at least) is definite enough to select its own object, although it cannot explain to us its own origin.

1 Binet et Fere, Le Magnitisme Animal, p. 105.

The peculiar condition of Lucie when awake adds a further interest to this experiment. When awake, she suffered, as I have explained, from a grave sensory disturbance - an entire absence of the so-called muscular sense. But here we find Lucie 3 (Adrienne) possessed of that sense - responding to muscular stimuli in a way which showed normal sensibility. Adrienne's intelligence, indeed, showed little verve or spontaneity; but she might claim that if she were beneath the level of Lucie's waking intellect, she was - in another sense - beneath the level of Lucie's sensory disturbances as well: somewhat as deep-sea denizens are beneath not the sunlight only but the storm. This was, in fact, a culminant example of the disappearance, in hypnotic trance, of functional nervous derangements. The inabilities which result from organic lesion subsist, of course, though they may lose their painful character; but the inabilities which, for want of a better name, we call hysterical, may, any of them, in any phase of hypnotism, change, diminish, or disappear.

Thus, as in Félida X.'s case (given in 231 A), the secondary or induced state was in some respects less morbid than the habitual state - free from the nervous troubles which crippled the patient's waking life. Unless "morbid " is to become a word as question-begging as the word "natural" long has been, we must be as careful not to call these novel states morbid as we should be not to describe these operations of Nature as unnatural.

In Lucie's case, indeed, these odd manifestations were - as the pure experimentalist might say - only too sanative, only too rapidly tending to normality. M. Janet accompanied his psychological inquiries with therapeutic suggestion telling Adrienne not only to go to sleep when he clapped his hands, or to answer his questions in writing, but to cease having headaches, to cease having convulsive attacks, to recover normal sensibility, and so on. Adrienne obeyed; and even as she obeyed the rational command, her own Undine-like identity vanished away. The day came when M. Janet called on Adrienne, and Lucie laughed and asked him whom he was talking to. Lucie was now a healthy young woman; but Adrienne, who had risen out of the Unconscious, had sunk into the Unconscious again - must I say? - for evermore.

I must now point out the chief lesson which is in my view to be drawn from a study of this case. We have here demonstrably what we can find in other cases only inferentially - an intelligence manifesting itself continuously by written answers, of purport quite outside the normal subject's supraliminal mind, while yet that intelligence was but a part, a fraction, an aspect, of the normal subject's own identity.

We must bear this ascertained fact - for it is as near to an ascertained fact as anything which this perplexing inquiry can bring us - steadily in mind while we deal with future cases. And we must remember that Adrienne - while she was, if I may so say, the subliminal self reduced to its simplest expression - did, nevertheless, manifest certain differences from Lucie, which, if slightly exaggerated, might have been very perplexing. Her handwriting was slightly different, though only in the loose and scrawling character so frequent in automatic script. Suppose the handwriting had been rather more different, and had vaguely resembled that of some deceased member of the family? It is easy to understand what inferences might have been based on such a fact. Again, Adrienne remembered certain incidents in Lucie's childhood which Lucie had wholly forgotten. These events occurred at a grandmother's house. Suppose that the sentence recording them had been signed with the grandmother's name, instead of with the merely arbitrary name selected for the convenience of a cool observer? Here, too, it is easy to imagine the confidence - in one sense the well-grounded confidence - with which any knowledge on Lucie's own part of those long past events would have been disclaimed.