I shall next relate some little histories to show what perception men
have had of spirits by the sense of hearing. For, as Wierus says,
spirits appear sometimes invisibly, so that only a sound, voice, or
noise, is perceived by men, viz., a stroke, knocking, whistling,
sneezing, groaning, lamenting, or clapping of the hands, to make men
attent to inquire or answer.
In Luther's Colloquia Mensalia, &c., set forth in Latin, at Frankfort,
anno 1557, it being a different collection from that of Aurifaber, which
is translated from high Dutch into English. We have the following
relation:--
It happened in Prussia, that as a certain boy was born, there presently
came to him a genius, or what you please to call it, for I leave it to
men's judgments, who had so faithful a care of the infant, that there
was no need either of mother or servant; and, as he grew up, he had a
like care of him; he went to school with him, but so, that he could
never be seen either by himself, or any others in all his life.
Afterwards he travelled into Italy, he accompanied him, and whensoever
any evil was like to happen to him, either on the road or in the inn, he
was perceived to foretell it by some touch or stroke; he drew off his
boots as a servant; if he turned his journey another way, he continued
with him, having the same care of him in foretelling evil; at length he
was made a canon; and as, on a time, he was sitting and feasting with
his friends in much jollity, a vehement stroke was struck on a sudden on
the table, so that they were all terrified; presently the canon said to
his friends, be not afraid, some great evil hangs over my head. The next
day he fell into a great fever, and the fit continued on him for three
whole days, till he died, miserably.
Captain Henry Bell, in his narrative prefixed to Luther's Table, printed
in English, anno 1652, having acquainted us how the German copy printed
of it had been discovered under ground, where it had lain hid fifty-two
years, that edition having been suppressed by an edict of the Emperor
Rudolphus the second, so that it was death for any person to keep a copy
thereof; and having told us that Casparus van Spar, a German gentleman,
with whom he was familiarly acquainted, while he negotiated affairs in
Germany for King James the first, was the person that discovered it,
anno 1626, and transmitted it into England to him, and earnestly desired
him to translate the said book into English, says, he accordingly set
upon the translation of it many times, but was always hindered from
proceeding in it by some intervening business. About six weeks after he
had received the copy, being in bed with his wife, one night, between
twelve and one of the clock, she being asleep, but himself awake, there
appeared to him an ancient man standing at his bed-side, arrayed all in
white, having a long and broad white beard hanging down to his girdle,
who taking him by his right ear, said thus to him: Sirrah! will you not
take time to translate that book which is sent unto you out of Germany?
I will shortly provide for you both place and time to do it; and then he
vanished. Hereupon, being much affrighted, he fell into an extreme
sweat, so that his wife awaking and finding him all over wet, she asked
him what he ailed? He told her what he had seen and heard; but he never
regarded visions nor dreams, and so the same fell out of his mind. But a
fortnight after, being on a Sunday; at his lodging in King-street,
Westminster, at dinner with his wife, two messengers were sent from the
whole council-board, with a warrant to carry him to the Gate-house,
Westminster, there to be kept till farther order from the lords of the
council; upon which warrant he was kept there ten whole years close
prisoner, where he spent five years of it in translating the said book,
having good cause to be mindful of the old man's saying: I will shortly
provide for you both place and time to translate it.
Though the perception of spirits chiefly affects the hearing and seeing
faculties, yet are not the other senses without some participation of
these genial objects, whether good or evil; for, as St. Austin says, The
evil work of the devil creeps through all the passages of the senses; he
presents himself in figures, applies himself to colours, adheres to
sounds, introduces odours, infuses himself in savours, and fills all the
passages of intelligence; sometimes cruelly tormenting with grief and
fear, sometimes sportingly diverting man or taunting with mocks; and on
the other hand, as the learned Walter Hilton, a great master of
contemplative life, in his Scale of Perfection sets forth, that
appearances or representations to the corporeal senses may be both good
and evil.
But before I conclude upon this head, to give still more weight and
authority to the perception men have had of these genii, both by the
senses of hearing and seeing, I will relate two very remarkable
fragments of history of this kind, told us by persons who demand our
credit, and done within the memory of our grandfathers and fathers.
The first is concerning that Duke of Buckingham who was stabbed by
Felton, August the twenty-third, 1628.
Mr. Lilly, the astrologer, in his book entituled Monarchy or No
Monarchy, in England, printed in quarto, 1651; having mentioned the Duke
of Buckingham, writes as follows: Since I am upon the death of
Buckingham, I shall relate a true story, of his being admonished often
of the death he should die, in this manner:--
An aged gentlemen, one Parker, as I now remember, having formerly
belonged unto the duke, or of great acquaintance with the duke's father,
and now retired, had a demon appeared several times to him in the shape
of Sir George Villiers, the duke's father: this demon walked many times
in Parker's bedchamber, without any action of terror, noise, hurt, or
speech; but at last, one night, broke out in these words: Mr. Parker, I
know you loved me formerly, and my son George at this time very well, I
would have you go from me, you know me very well to be his father, old
Sir George Villiers of Leicestershire, and acquaint him with these and
these particulars, &c.; and that he above all refrain the council and
company of such and such, whom he then nominated, or else he will come
to destruction, and that suddenly. Parker, though a very discreet man,
partly imagined himself in a dream all this time; and being unwilling to
proceed upon no better grounds, forbode addressing himself to the duke;
for he conceived, if he should acquaint the duke with the words of his
father, and the manner of his appearance to him, such apparitions being
not usual, he should be laughed at and thought to dote, in regard he was
aged. Some few nights past without farther trouble to the old man, but
not very many nights after, old Sir George Villiers appeared again,
walked quick and furiously in the room, seemed angry with Parker, and at
last said, Mr. Parker, I thought you had been my friend so much, and
loved my son George so well, that you would have acquainted him with
what I desired, but I know you have not done it; by all the friendship
that ever was betwixt you and me, and the great respect you bear my son,
I desire you to deliver what I formerly commanded you to my son. The old
man seeing himself thus solicited, promised the demon he would, but
first argued it thus, that the duke was not easy to be spoken withal,
and that he would account him a vain man to come with such a message
from the dead: nor did he conceive the duke would give any credit to
him; to which the demon thus answered: If he will not believe you have
this discourse from me, tell him of such a secret and named it, which he
knows none in the world ever knew but myself and him. Mr. Parker being
now well satisfied that he was not asleep, and that the apparition was
not a vain delusion, took a fit opportunity, and seriously acquainted
the duke with his father's words and the manner of his apparition. The
duke laughed heartily at the relation, which put old Parker to a stand,
but at last he assumed courage, and told the duke that he acquainted his
father's ghost with what he found now to be true, viz., scorn and
derision. But, my lord, says he, your father bid me acquaint you by this
token, and he said it was such as none in the world but your two selves
did yet know. Hereat the duke was amazed and much astonished, but took
no warning or notice thereof, keeping the same company still, advising
with such counsellors and performing such actions as his father by
Parker countermanded. Shortly after, old Sir George Villiers, in a very
quiet but sorrowful posture, appears again to Parker, and said, Mr.
Parker, I know you delivered my words to George, my son, I thank you for
so doing, but he slighted them, and now I only request this more at your
hands, that once again you repair to my son, and tell him that if he
will not amend, and follow the counsel I have given him, this knife or
dagger, and with that he pulled a knife or dagger from under his gown,
shall end him; and do you, Mr. Parker, set your house in order, for you
shall die at such a time. Mr. Parker once more engaged, though very
unwillingly, to acquaint the duke with the last message, and so did; but
the duke told him to trouble him no farther with such messages and
dreams, and told him he perceived he was now an old man and doted; and
within a month after, meeting Mr. Parker on Lambeth bridge, said, Now,
Mr. Parker, what say you of your dream? Who only returned; Sir, I wish
it may never have success, &c. But within six weeks after, he was
stabbed with a knife, according to his father's admonition beforehand,
and Mr. Parker died soon after he had seen the dream or vision
performed.
This relation is inserted also in the great Lord Clarendon's History,
and in Sir R. Baker's Chronicle. The Lord Clarendon, in his History,
vol. i. lib. i., having given some relations, says, that amongst others,
there was one, meaning this of Parker, which was upon a better
foundation of credit than usually such discourses are founded upon. And
he tells us that Parker was an officer in the king's wardrobe in Windsor
Castle, of a good reputation for honesty and discretion, and then about
the age of fifty years or more. This man had, in his youth, been bred in
a school in the parish where Sir George Villiers, the father of the duke
lived, and had been much cherished and obliged in that season of his age
by the said Sir George, whom afterwards he never saw. About six months
before the miserable end of the Duke of Buckingham the apparition was
seen. After the third appearance, he made a journey to London, where the
court then was; he was very well known to Sir Ralph Freeman, one of the
masters of the requests, who had married a lady that was nearly allied
to the duke, and was himself well received by him. He informed the duke
with the reputation and honesty of the man, and Sir Ralph Freeman
carried the man the next morning, by five of the clock, to Lambeth,
according to the duke's appointment, and there presented him to the
duke, who received him courteously at his landing, and walked in
conference near an hour with him, and Sir Ralph's and the duke's
servants at such a distance that they heard not a word; but Sir Ralph
always fixed his eyes on the duke, who sometimes spoke with great
commotion and disorder; and the man told Sir Ralph in their return over
the water, that when he mentioned those particulars that were to gain
him credit, the duke's colour changed, and he swore he could come to
that knowledge only by the devil; for that those particulars were known
only to himself and to one person more, who, he was sure, would never
speak of them. So far the Lord Clarendon.
I will now subjoin an authentic relation, which Mr. Beaumont tells us at
the end of his book of Genii, or Familiar Spirits, printed in the year
1705, he had just before received from the mouth of the then Bishop of
Gloucester himself. It is as follows, word for word:--
Sir Charles Lee, by his first lady, had only one daughter, of which she
died in childbirth; and when she died, her sister, the Lady Everard,
desired to have the education of the child; and she was by her very well
educated till she was marriageable; and a match was concluded for her
with Sir William Perkins, but was then prevented in an extraordinary
manner. Upon a Thursday night, she thinking she saw a light in her
chamber after she was in bed, knocked for her maid, who presently came
to her; and she asked why she left a candle burning in her chamber? The
maid said she left none, and there was none, but what she brought with
her at that time. Then she said it was the fire; but that the maid told
her was quite out, and said she believed it was only a dream: whereupon
she said it might be so, and composed herself again to sleep; but about
two of the clock she was awakened again, and saw the apparition of a
little woman between her curtain and her pillow, who told her she was
her mother, and that she was happy, and that by twelve of the clock that
day she should be with her; whereupon she knocked again for her maid,
called for her clothes, and when she was dressed, went into her closet,
and came not out again till nine; and then brought out with her a
letter, sealed, to her father, brought it to her aunt, the Lady Everard,
told her what had happened, and desired that, as soon as she was dead,
it might be sent to him; but the lady thought she was suddenly fallen
mad; and thereupon sent presently away to Chelmsford for a physician and
surgeon, who both came immediately, but the physician could discern no
indication of what the lady imagined, or of any indisposition of her
body; notwithstanding, the lady would needs have her let blood, which
was done accordingly; and when the young woman had patiently let them do
what they would with her, she desired that the chaplain might be called
to read prayers, and when prayers were ended, she took her guitar and
psalm book, and sat down upon a chair without arms, and played and sung
so melodiously and admirably, that her music master, who was then there,
admired at it; and near the stroke of twelve, she rose and sat herself
down in a great chair with arms, and presently fetching a strong
breathing or two, immediately expired, and was so suddenly cold as was
much wondered at by the physician and surgeon. She died at Waltham, in
Essex, three miles from Chelmsford; and the letter was sent to Sir
Charles, at his house in Warwickshire; but he was so afflicted with the
death of his daughter, that he came not till she was buried: but when he
came he caused her to be taken up, and to be buried by her mother at
Edmonton, as she desired in her letter. This was about the year one
thousand six hundred and sixty-two or sixty-three; and this relation the
Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Gloucester had from Sir Charles Lee
himself; and Mr. Beaumont printed it in his book above mentioned, from
the bishop's own mouth.
The relations which I have given above, are not like the trifling
accounts too often given of these things, and therefore causing grave
ones to be ridiculed in common with them. They are of that nature, that,
whoever attempts to ridicule them, will, instead of turning them into
jest, become the object of ridicule himself.
The first story, which has in it such amazing circumstances, and such
uncommon and dreadful incidents concerning the butler in Ireland, is, as
the reader sees, attested by no less a personage than an Earl of Orrery,
two bishops, and many other noblemen and gentlemen being present and
eye-witnesses of what the earl said. What greater testimony would the
most incredulous have? They say such things are told for interest. What
interest could an earl and many noblemen have in promoting such an
imposture? The incredulous say, likewise, great and learned men delight
sometimes in putting frauds upon the world, and after laugh at their
credulity. Would a number of noble laymen choose two prelates to carry
on such a fraud; and would two pious bishops probably combine with
several, and some servants there present, in spreading such a deceit?
It is past believing, and it demands the strictest of moral faith that
can be given to the most unquestioned history that the pen of man ever
wrote.
The second story is founded, first, upon the experience of one of the
most ingenious men of that age, Dr. Donne, and then upon the proof made
by his friend Sir Robert Drury, who could at first scarce believe it;
and shall we doubt the credit of men, whose company, for their credit be
it spoken, a British ambassador was proud of gaining.
The third story is told by Luther himself, who began the great work of
the Reformation.
The fourth is told by one that was a king's public minister and told
from his own trial of the matter, where he could have no interest in the
telling it.
The fifth is related by those great historians, the Lord Clarendon and
Sir Richard Baker, as a truth relied upon by themselves, and fit to be
credited by their readers.
The sixth and last was related to Mr. Beaumont, by the Lord Bishop of
Gloucester, who received the account from Sir Charles Lee himself, to
whose granddaughter the matter happened.
Men who will not believe such things as these, so well attested to us,
and given us by such authorities, because they did not see them
themselves, nor anything of the like nature, ought not only to deny the
demon of Socrates, but that there was such a man as Socrates himself;
they should not dispute the genii of Caesar, Cicero, Brutus, Marc Antony,
but avow that there were never any such men existing upon earth, and
overthrow all credible history whatsoever. Meanwhile, all men, but those
who run such lengths in their fantastical incredulity, will, from the
facts above mentioned, rest satisfied, that there are such things as
evil and good genii, and that men have sometimes a commerce with them by
all their senses, particularly those of seeing and hearing, and will not
therefore be startled at the strange fragments of histories which I am
going to relate of our young Duncan Campbell, and look upon some
wonderful adventures which he performed by the intervention of his
familiar demon or genius, as falsehoods, only because they are uncommon
and surprising, more especially since they were not done in a corner,
but by an open way of profession of a predictor of things, in the face
of the metropolis of London, where he settled young, as will appear in
the progress of his life. However, some people, notwithstanding all
this, may allege, that though a man may have a genius appear to him, so
as to convey into his mind, through his senses, the knowledge of things
that are to come to pass, yet this happens but on very eminent and
extraordinary occasions. The murder, for example, of a prime minister,
and the favourite of a monarch, in such a manner as it was performed on
the great Duke of Buckingham, by Felton, was a thing so uncommon, that
it might perhaps deserve, by the permission of Heaven, an uncommon
prediction; the others likewise are instances eminent in their way,
particularly that of the lady Everard's niece; for that young lady being
then marriageable, and a treaty for that end being on foot with Sir
William Perkins, the Divine Providence foreseeing that such a state
might call away her thoughts, hitherto bent on him and spiritual
affairs, and fix them on the trifles of this world, might perhaps permit
her to be called by a holy mother to the state of happiness she before
her enjoyed, lest her daughter's mind should change, and she go into the
ways of a sinner. But if these supereminent, these scarce and rare
examples, may be admitted of man's holding a conversation with the
spiritualized beings of another world; it will, however, be far below
the dignity of human reason, methinks, to make such large concessions to
people who pretend to converse that wonderful way, as to allow them the
credit of being able to do it upon every slight occasion, and every
indifferent occurrence of human life.
I cannot help acknowledging, that a man of wisdom may at first thought,
make such an objection; but reflection will presently retract it, and
the same good sense that taught him to make an objection so well upon
the first thought, will teach him, upon second thoughts, to acquiesce in
the answer.
Infants may have, no doubt, the benefit of such an attending genius, as
well as people more advanced in years; as may be seen in one of the
instances, which is a very famous one, relating to the boy born in
Prussia, who was attended by one constantly, from the time of his birth
to his death. Besides, it is a mistake in the understanding to imagine,
that death, which is the determination and end of life, is of more
consequence to be known than the manner of regulating that life; for in
reality, according to the right way of considering death, or the
determination of a man's life, derives its importance from the steps
which he took in the due regulation of it; and therefore, every, the
least step proper to be taken for the due regulation of life, is of more
consequence to be known than the death of a person, though this at first
sight carries the face of significance, and the other nothing better
than the look of a trifle. Marriage, for example, is a step in life of
the utmost importance, whether we consider that estate with regard to
this, or the next world. Death is but the finishing of one person, but
marriage may be the introducing of many into the world with happiness;
it is therefore a thing of more importance to be known beforehand, and
consequently more worthy of the communication of a genius, to the man
with whom he conversed. Posidonius tells us, that a certain Rhodian
dying, nominated six of his equals, and said who should die first, who
next, and so on, and the event answered the prediction; why, then,
though some people are apt to make a jest of it, may not a man, by the
intervention of his good genius, tell a woman that is to have six
husbands, who she shall have first, who next, and so on, and the event
answer the prediction? If men of learning may acquire such knowledge as
to attain to extraordinary things by their ordinary faculties, why may
not ordinary things be taught others in this extraordinary way? For will
anybody say that it is easier for a man to accommodate himself to the
knowledge of a demon or genius than for a demon or genius to accommodate
himself to the knowledge of a man? Certain it is, indeed, that if this
good genius, that induces a man with a prophetic kind of science, be
anything resembling a good angel, the primary end of his being permitted
to direct mankind must consist in things relating more to their welfare
hereafter: yet I know not why they may not sometimes inspire, or openly
direct them in human knowledge, and in things relating to human life, so
they are of a good tendency; more especially since such a good
inspiration may be a counterbalance to the bad knowledge which some have
been inspired with by evil spirits. I would not be thought to go too far
in a point of this nature, and have, therefore, though perhaps I could
say much more if I followed entirely my own private opinion, and would
venture to introduce it here, in order to communicate it to others, and
make it a public one, said no more on this head than what divines
generally teach.
But the most unexceptionable mistress, that teaches these things to be
in nature, is experience. If we had very many people gifted this way,
the extraordinary thing would have been become ordinary, and therefore I
cannot help wondering that it should be so ordinary a thing for wise men
themselves to wonder too much at things because they are extraordinary,
and suspect them as frauds because they are uncommon.
There has scarce been any period of time in which some person of this
prophetic class has not existed, and has not been consulted by the
greatest of men, and their predictions found at the long run to come
true; ignorant men always rise to their belief of them by experience,
and the most learned men submit their great opinions to experience, but
your men of middling talents, who make up their want of reason with
bustling obstinacy and noisy contradiction, have been and still continue
to be their own opposers, and without discovering the reason for what
they say, they content themselves with having the laugh on their sides,
and barely affirming without proving, that it is a kind of ideal juggle
and intellectual legerdemain, by which these modern predictors impose
things upon the eye of reason, as the corporeal eye is imposed upon by
sleight of hand; but it is a strange thing that men of such quick reason
cannot give us a sample of the frauds. Thus, I remember to have read, I
cannot tell where, the story of some courtiers, who, when a great artist
of legerdemain was to act before the King, pretended to be so
quick-sighted, that nothing he did should escape their discovery, were
left by his nimble fingers in the dark, and forced at last with blushes
to own they had no better eyes than other people. In a word, if people
will be led by suspicions and remote possibilities of fraud and
contrivance of such men, all historical truth shall be ended, when it
consists not with a man's private humour or prejudice to admit it. Now,
therefore, to prove by experience and undeniable testimonies, that these
kind of genii will submit to little offices, in order to bring men to
greater good, I will give three or four curious passages that will set
the reasonable reader at ease, and prepare him for reading the passages
of Mr. Campbell's life with pleasure, and as a fine history of wonderful
facts, that, though they seem to surpass belief, yet ought to have his
credit.
What in nature can be more trivial than for a spirit to employ himself
in knocking on a morning at a wainscot by the bed's-head of a man who
got drunk over-night, according to the way that such things are
ordinarily explained? And yet I shall give you such a relation of this,
that not even the most devout and precise Presbyterian will offer to
call in question. For Mr. Baxter, in his Historical Discourse of
Apparitions, writes thus:--
There is now in London an understanding, sober, pious man, oft one of my
hearers, who has an elder brother, a gentleman of considerable rank,
who, having formerly seemed pious, of late years does often fall into
the sin of drunkenness, he often lodges long together here in his
brother's house; and whensoever he is drunk and has slept himself sober,
something knocks at his bed's-head, as if one knocked on a wainscot;
when they remove his bed it follows him; besides other loud noises, on
other parts where he is, that all the house hears; they have often
watched him, and kept his hands lest he should do it himself. His
brother has often told it me, and brought his wife, a discreet woman, to
attest it; who avers, moreover, that as she watched him, she has seen
his shoes under the bed taken up, and nothing visible to touch them.
They brought the man himself to me, and when we asked him how he dare
sin again after such a warning, he had no excuse: but being persons of
quality, for some special reason of worldly interest, I must not name
him.
Two things are remarkable in this instance, says Mr. Baxter. First, what
a powerful thing temptation and fleshly concupiscence is, and what a
hardened heart sin brings men to; if one rose from the dead to warn such
sinners, it would not of itself persuade them.
Secondly, says Mr. Baxter, it poses me to think what kind of spirit this
is that has such a care of this man's soul, which makes me hope he will
recover. Do good spirits dwell so near us, or are they sent on such
messages? or is it his guardian angel? or is it the soul of some dead
friend that suffers? and yet, retaining love to him, as Dives to his
brethren, would have him saved? God yet keeps such things from us in the
dark.
So far we have the authority of the renowned and famous Mr. Baxter, who
makes this knocking of the spirit at the bed's-head, though what we
commonly call frivolous, an important errand.
Another relation of this kind was sent to Mr. John Beaumont, whom I
myself personally know, and which he has inserted in his Account of
Genii, or Familiar Spirits, in a letter by an ingenious and learned
clergyman of Wiltshire, who had given him the relation likewise before,
by word of mouth. It is as follows:--
Near eighty years since, in the parish of Wilcot, which is by Devizes,
in the vicar's house, there was heard for a considerable time the sound
of a bell constantly tolling every night. The occasion was this: A
debauched person who lived in the parish came one night very late and
demanded the keys of the church of the vicar, that he might ring a peal,
which the vicar refused to let him have, alleging the unseasonableness
of the time, and that he should, by granting his desires, give a
disturbance to Sir George Wroughton and his family, whose house adjoined
the churchyard. Upon this refusal, the fellow went away in a rage,
threatening to be revenged of the vicar, and going some time after to
Devizes, met with one Cantle or Cantlow, a person noted in those days
for a wizard, and he tells him how the vicar had served him, and begs
his help to be even with him. The reply Cantle made him was this; Does
he not love ringing? he shall have enough of it: and from that time a
bell began to toll in his house, and continued so to do till Cantle's
death, who confessed at Fisherton gaol, in Sarum, where he was confined
by King James during his life, that he caused that sound, and that it
should be heard in that place during life. The thing was so notorious
that persons came from all parts to hear it; and King James sent a
gentleman from London on purpose to give him satisfaction concerning the
truth of the report. Mr. Beaumont had likewise this story, as he tells,
from the mouth of Sir George Wroughton's own son; with this remarkable
circumstance, that if any in the house put their heads out of the window
they could not hear the sound, but heard it immediately again as soon as
they stood in the room.
The reader here sees that good and bad genii exercise themselves upon
very little functions, knocking at bed's-heads, and ringing of bells.
For proof of this we have the testimonies of two divines, of a man of
quality and probity, and the same satisfaction that a learned king had,
who sent to inquire into the matter; and after this there can be, I
think, no room for doubt.
But to carry the point still nearer home; inasmuch as I know some will
leave no stone unturned to make the extraordinary actions which the
person whose life I write has performed, appear impostures, and inasmuch
as for this end they may say, that though many people may have been
gifted in this extraordinary manner, yet not so as to make a profession
of it, and therefore, from thence they take their suspicions, I shall in
this place, to remove every nicest scruple they can have touching this
affair, give the reader one instance of this kind likewise, before I
proceed with my history.
There lived not many years since a very aged gentlewoman in London, in
Water-lane, by Fleet-street, whose name was Pight, who was endowed with
a prophetic spirit; and the ingenious Mr. Beaumont, whom I personally
knew, and who had a familiar genius himself, gives the world this
account of her. She was very well known, says he, to many persons of my
acquaintance now living in London. Among others, a gentleman, whose
candour I can no way suspect, has told me, that he often resorted to her
as to an oracle; and that as soon as he came into her presence, she
would usually tell him, that she knew what he was coming for, for that
she had seen his spirit for some time before; and without his saying
anything to her, she would commonly tell him what the business was which
he came to consult her about, and what the event of it would be; which
he always found to fall out as she said, and many other persons now
living can testify the like experience of her as to themselves.
Before I conclude this chapter, I am willing to give the public one
farther little history of the like kind with the foregoing ones, with
this only difference, that if it be valued according to the worth the
world has always attributed to the very ingenious person whom it
concerns, it will be far the most famous of them all, and therefore
fittest to finish this chapter, and to crown this part of the work, in
which we are showing that persons have had a perception of genii or
spirits, not visible at the same time to others.
The famous Torquatus Tasso, Prince of the Italian poets, and scarce
inferior to the immortal Virgil himself, and who seems to enjoy the
intermingled gifts of the most accurate judgment of this Latin poet, and
the more fertile and copious invention and fancy of the Greek one,
Homer, strongly asserted his own experience in this kind. His life was
written and published in French, anno 1692, by D.C.D.D.V. who, in his
preface, tells us, that in what he writ he has followed chiefly the
history given us in Italian by John Baptista Manso, a Neapolitan
gentleman, who had been a very intimate friend to Tasso. In his life,
among other things, he acquaints us that Tasso was naturally of that
melancholic temperament, which has always made the greatest men, and
that this temperament being aggravated by many hardships he had
undergone, it made him sometimes beside himself, and that those
melancholic vapours being despatched, he came again to himself, like
those that return from fits of the falling sickness, his spirit being as
free as before. That, near his latter end, he retired from the city of
Naples, to his friend Manso, at Bisaccia, a small town in the kingdom of
Naples, where Manso had a considerable estate, and passed an autumn
there in the diversions of the season.
And here the French author gives us an account of Tasso's sensible
perception of a genius, as follows:--As after these amusements, he
usually retired to his chamber, to entertain himself there with his
friend Manso, the latter had the opportunity to inquire into one of the
most singular effects of Tasso's melancholy, of this heroic melancholy,
as I may call it, which raised and brightened his spirit, so far it was
from depressing or rendering it obscure; and which, among the ancients,
would have reasonably caused them to have ascribed a familiar demon to
him, as to Socrates. They were often in a warm debate concerning this
spirit, with which Tasso pretended to have so free a communication. I am
too much your friend, said Manso to him one day, not to let you know
what the world thinks of you concerning this thing, and what I think of
it myself. Is it possible, that being enlightened as you are, you should
be fallen into so great a weakness as to think you have a familiar
spirit; and will you give your enemies that advantage, to be able to
prove by your own acknowledgment, what they have already published to
the world? You know, they say, you did not publish your Dialogue of the
Messenger, as a fiction; but you would have men believe that the spirit
which you make to speak there, was a real and true spirit; hence men
have drawn this injurious consequence, that your studies have embroiled
your imagination, so that there is made in it a confused mixture of the
fictions of the poets, the inventions of the philosophers, and the
doctrine of religion.
I am not ignorant, answered Tasso, of all that is spread abroad in the
world on account of my Dialogue; I have taken care divers times to
disabuse my friends, both by letter and word of mouth: I prevented even
the malignity of my enemies, as you know at the time I published my
Dialogue. Men could not be ignorant that I composed it for the young
Prince of Mantua, to whom I would explain after an agreeable manner, the
principal mysteries of the Platonic philosophy. It was at Mantua itself,
after my second flight from Ferrara, that I formed the idea of it, and I
committed it to paper a little after my unfortunate return. I addressed
it to this prince, and all men might have read in the epistle
dedicatory, the protestation I there make, that this dialogue, being
written according to the doctrine of the Platonics, which is not always
conformable to revealed truths, men must not confound what I expose
there as a philosopher, with what I believe as a Christian. This
distinction is by so much the more reasonable, that at that time nothing
extraordinary had happened to me, and I spake not of any apparition.
This can be attested by all those with whom I lodged, or whom frequented
in this voyage; and therefore there is no reason for confounding the
fiction of my Dialogue with what has happened to me since. I am
persuaded of all you say to me, replied Manso; but truly I cannot be of
what you believe, at present, concerning yourself. Will you imagine that
you are in commerce with a spirit? And I ask you, of what order is that
spirit? Shall we place him in the number of the rebels, whom their pride
precipitated into the abyss? or of the intelligences, who continued firm
in faith and submission to their creator? For there is no mean to take
in the true religion, and we must not fall into the extravagances of the
gnomes and sylphs of the cabalists.
Now the spirit in question cannot be a demon: you own that instead of
inspiring you anything contrary to piety and religion, he often
fortifies in you the maxims of Christianity: he strengthens your faith
by profound reasonings, and has the same respect with you for sacred
names and things. Neither can you say that it is an angel; for though
you have always led a regular life, and far from all dissoluteness;
though for some years past you have applied yourself, after a
particular manner, to the duties of a true Christian, you will agree
with me, that these sorts of favours are not common; that a man must
have attained to a high degree of sanctity, and not be far from the
pureness of celestial spirits, to merit a familiar converse, and bear a
harmony with them. Believe me, there is nothing in all these discourses
which you imagine you have with this spirit. You know, better than any
man, those symptoms which the black humours wherewith you are tormented
causes in you. Your vapours are the source of your visions, and yourself
would not judge otherwise of another person to whom a like thing should
happen; and you will come to this in your own respect also, if you will
make a mature reflection, and apply yourself to blot out, by an effort
of reason, these imaginations which the violence of your evil effect
causes in you. You may have reason, replied Tasso, to think so of the
things that pass in me; but as to myself, who have a sensible perception
of them, I am forced to reason after another manner. If it were true
that the spirit did not show himself to me, but in the violent assault
of my vapours; if he offered to my imagination but wandering and
confused species, without connection or due sequel; if he used to me
frivolous reasonings, which ended in nothing; or if having begun some
solid reasoning he broke it off on a sudden, and left me in darkness, I
should believe with you, that all things that pass are but mere dreams
and phantoms; but it is quite otherwise. This spirit is a spirit of
truth and reason, and of a truth so distinct, of a reason so sublime,
that he raises me often to knowledges that are above all my reasonings,
though they appear to me no less clear; that he teaches me things which,
in my most profound meditations, never came into my spirit, and which I
never heard of any man, nor read in any book. This spirit, therefore, is
somewhat of real; of whatsoever order he be, I hear him and see him,
nevertheless for its being impossible for me to comprehend and define
him. Manso did not yield to these facts, which Tasso would have passed
for proofs; he pressed him with new questions, which were not without
answers. Since you will not believe me on my word, said Tasso to him
another day, after having well disputed, I must convince you by your own
eyes, that these things are not pure imaginations: and the next day,
conversing together in the same chamber, Manso perceived that, on a
sudden, he fixed his eyes towards the window, and that he stood, as it
were, immoveable; he called to him and jogged him many times, but
instead of answering him; See there the spirit, says Tasso, at last,
that has been pleased to come and visit me, and to entertain himself
with me; look on him, and you will acknowledge the truth of what I say.
Manso, somewhat surprised, cast his eyes towards the place he showed
him, and perceived nothing but the rays of the sun passing through the
glass, nor did he see anything in all the chamber; though he cast his
eyes round it with curiosity, and he desired him to show him the spirit,
which he looked for in vain, while he heard Tasso speak with much
vehemency. He declares in a letter which he writ concerning this to the
Admiral of Naples, that he really heard no other voice but Tasso's own;
but they were sometimes questions made by him to the pretended spirit,
sometimes answers that he made to the pretended questions of the spirit,
and which were couched in such admirable terms, so efficacious,
concerning subjects so elevated, and so extraordinary, that he was
ravished with admiration, and dared not to interrupt him. He hearkened,
therefore, attentively, and being quite beside himself at this
mysterious conversation, which ended at last by a recess of the spirit,
as he found by the last words of Tasso; after which, Tasso, turning
himself to him, Well, said he, are your doubts at last dissipated? On
the contrary, answered Manso, I am more embroiled than ever; I have
truly heard wonderful things; but you have not showed me what you
promised me. You have seen and heard, resumed Tasso, perhaps more
than----he stopped here; and Manso, who could not recover himself of his
surprise, and had his head filled with the ideas of this extraordinary
entertainment, found himself not in a condition to press him farther.
Meanwhile he engaged himself not to speak a word to any man of these
things he had heard, with a design to make them public, though he should
have liberty granted him. They had many other conversations concerning
this matter, after which Manso owned he was brought to that pass, that
he knew not what to think or say, only, that if it were a weakness in
his friend to believe these visions, he much feared it would prove
contagious to him, and that he should become at last as credulous as
himself.
Dr. Beaumont, who is still living, and with whom I have had formerly
some acquaintance myself, has set down, among the others, this relation
at large concerning Tasso, and gives this reason for it: Because, says
the doctor, I think it contains a sufficient answer to what many learned
friends have said to myself on the like occasion.
Perhaps it may not be ungrateful to the reader, if I subjoin here the
short eulogium writ on Tasso, by the famous Thuanas, which is as
follows:--
Torquatus Tasso died about the forty-fifth year of his age, a man of a
wonderful and prodigious wit, who was seized with an incurable fury in
his youth, when he lived at the court of Ferrara, and nevertheless, in
lucid intervals, he writ many things both in verse and prose, with so
much judgment, elegancy, and extreme correctness of style, that he
turned at length that pity which many men had conceived for him, into an
amazement; while by that fury, which, in others, makes their minds
outrageous or dulls them, after it was over, his understanding became as
it were more purified, more ready in inventing things, more acute in
aptly disposing them after they were invented, and more copious in
adorning them with choice words and weight of sentences; and that which
a man of the soundest sense would scarce excogitate at his leisure, with
the greatest labour and care imaginable, he, after a violent agitation
of the mind set beside itself, naturally performed with a wonderful
felicity, so that he did not seem struck with an alienation of mind, but
with a divine fury. He that knows not these things, which all men know
that have been in Italy, and concerning which himself sometimes
complains, though modestly, in his writings; let him read his divine
works, and he must necessarily conclude, either that I speak of another
man than Tasso, or that these things were written by another man than
Tasso.
After having given my readers so many memorable accounts concerning the
perception men have had in all ages, and still continue to have of genii
or familiar spirits, by all the senses, as seeing, hearing, &c., which
accounts have been attested by men of the greatest learning and quality,
if any of them still remain dissatisfied, I am contented, and desire
them, for their punishment, to lay down the book before they arrive at
the more pleasant parts of it, which are yet to come, and not to read
one tittle farther. These unbelieving gentlemen shall then be at
liberty, according as their different spirits dictate, to ridicule me
in the same manner as many more learned and greater men than I have been
satirized, before my time, by persons of a like infidel temper, who
would fain pass incredulity upon the world as wisdom; and they may, with
all the freedom in nature, bestow upon me those merry appellations
which, I very well know such extraordinary freethinkers imagine to
belong of right, to any author, that either believes himself, or would
possess the world with an opinion and belief, that there is such a thing
as the holding commerce and conversation in this habitable world with
genii, and familiar spirits. I shall only first tell them all I have to
say to terminate the dispute between them and me.
Those who, to give themselves the air and appearance of men of solid
wisdom and gravity, load other men, who believe in spirits, with the
titles of being men of folly, levity, or melancholy, are desired to
learn, that the same folly, as they are pleased to term it, of opinion,
is to be found in the greatest men of learning that ever existed in the
universe. Let them, in order to be convinced of this, read Apuleius's
book, _de deo Socrat._; Censorinus's book _de die Nat._ c. 3;
Porphyrius, in his book _de Abstinentia_; Agrippa, in his _Treatise de
Occult. Phil._ 1. 3, c. 22, and also c. 21; _Natalis_ comes in his
_Myth._ 1. 4, c. 3; Maraviglia, in his _Pseudomantia. Dissertation._ 9
and 11, and _Animadversion_. 10; Plato in his _Timoeus et Cratylus_;
Ammianus Marcellinus's History, book 21; Hieronimus Cardanus in his book
_de Vita Propria_, c. 47; the great Kircher, in his _OEdipus
AEgyptiacus_, vol. iii. p. 474; Pausanius, in _Cliac. Poster._; that
immortal orator, Cicero, lib. i. _de Divinatione_; lib. ii. _de Natura
Deorum_; the _Histoire Prodigieuse_, written by Pere Arnault; and a book
entituled _Lux e Tenebris_, which is a collection of modern visions and
prophecies in Germany by several persons, translated into Latin, by Jo.
Amos. Comenius, printed at Amsterdam, 1655. And if they will be at the
pains of having due recourse to these quotations, they will find that
all these men, whose learning is unquestionable, and most of whom have
been in a firm and undisputed possession of fame for many centuries,
have all unanimously agreed in this opinion, how foolish soever they may
think it, that there ever was and ever would be a communication held
between some select men and genii, or familiar spirits. I must therefore
desire their pardon, if I rejoice to see them remain wise by themselves,
and that I continue to be esteemed by them a fool among so much good
company.
Others out of a mere contempt of religion, or cowardly, for fear of
being thought pusillanimous by men, turn bravos to Heaven, and laugh at
every notion of spirits as imbibed from the nurse or imposed upon us by
priests, and may top these lines upon us with an elegant and a
convincing magisterial sneer, though the divine Socrates was of our
opinion, and even experienced it to be true, having a genius himself:--
The priests but finish what the nurse began,
And thus the child imposes on the man.
These bring into my mind a saying of Sir Roger L'Estrange on Seneca,
which I must apply to Socrates; I join in opinion with a Christian
heathen, while they remain heathen Christians.
The third sort, out of a pretended veneration to religion and divinity,
may call me superstitious and chimerical. To them I answer, I will
continue chimerical and superstitious with St. Austin; who gives the
same opinion in his _Civitate Dei_ with Ludovicus Vives; let them be
solider and more religious divines than St. Austin in disowning it. Thus
I bid these austere critics heartily farewell; but let my better-natured
readers go on and find a new example of this conversation being held
with the genii by our Duncan Campbell.