MY GENERAL INQUIRY RESPECTING OBSERVATIONS OF UNEXPLAINED PHENOMENA
A certain number of my readers perhaps remember the general inquiry that I
instituted in the course of the year 1899 respecting observation of the
unexplained phenomena of telepathy, manifestations of the dying,
premonitory dreams, etc.--an inquiry published in part in my work
_L'Inconnu et les problemes psychiques_. I received 4280 replies composed
of 2456 _no_ and 1824 _yes_. Among the latter there are 1758 letters with
more or less of detail. A large number of these were not presented in such
a shape that their claims could be discussed. But I was able to use 786 of
the most important of them. They were classified, the essential matters
transcribed, and summed up in the work of which I have just spoken. The
most striking thing in all these accounts is the loyalty,
conscientiousness, the frankness, and the sensitive refinement of the
narrators, who are anxiously concerned to say only what they know, and as
they know it, without adding or subtracting anything. In doing this, each
becomes the servant of truth.
These 786 letters, transcribed, classified, and numbered, contained 1130
different facts or observations. My examination of the instances recorded
in the letters reveals several kinds of subjects which may be classified
as follows:
Manifestations and Apparitions of the Dying.
Manifestations of the Living (in Health).
Manifestations and Apparitions of the Dead.
Clairvoyance.
Premonitory Dreams. Forecast of the Future.
Dreams that give Information of the Dead.
Meetings foreseen by Presentiment.
Presentiments realized.
Doubles of the Living.
Communications of Thought at a Distance (Telepathy).
Instinctive Presentiments of Animals.
Calls heard at Great Distances.
Movements of Objects without Apparent Cause.
Bolted Doors Opening of Themselves.
Haunted Houses.
Spiritualistic Experiments.
Since my first publication of these documents, I have received many new
ones. More than one thousand are to-day crowded into my manuscript
library. They contain about fifteen hundred observations which seem to me
to be sincere and authentic. The doubtful ones have been eliminated. These
narratives emanate as a general thing from persons who are filled with
astonishment and are extremely desirous of receiving, if possible, an
explanation of these strange events (often very affecting). All the
narratives which I have been able to verify have been found to be
fundamentally accurate--sometimes modified afterwards, as respects their
mere form, by a memory more or less confused.
In _L'Inconnu_, I published a portion of these narratives. But I excluded
from that work[75] phenomena not properly included within the limits of
its main plan, which was to show the existence of unknown faculties of the
soul.
I excluded, I say, "movements of objects without apparent cause," "bolted
doors opening of themselves," "haunted houses," "Spiritualistic
experiments;" that is to say, the very cases studied in the present work,
in which I hoped to be able to publish them. But space fails me. In my
desire to offer to my readers a set of records as complete as possible,
for the purpose of giving them a firmly based opinion, I have been swamped
by the abundance of material, and, can only rescue a few of the most
interesting specimens of them for presentation here.
First of all, I select the following communication as having a certain
intrinsic value. It was sent me by my regretted friend Victorin Joncieres,
the well-known composer of music.
I was on a tour of inspection of the music-schools of the Provinces
(he says), and happened to be in a city which I cannot name to you for
the reasons which I gave. I was coming out of the branch establishment
of our Conservatory, after having examined the piano-class there, when
I was addressed by a lady who asked me what I thought of her daughter,
and whether I judged that she ought to enter upon an artistic career.
After a rather long conversation, in the course of which I promised to
go to hear the young artist, I found myself engaged to go the same
evening (for I was leaving the next day) to the house of one of their
friends, a high official in the state service, to take part in a
Spiritualistic seance.
The master of the house received me with extreme cordialty, recalling
the promise I had given him to keep secret his name and that of the
city in which he lived. He presented his niece, _the medium_, to whom
he attributes the phenomena which take place in his house. It was, in
fact, after the young girl's mother had died, and she came to live
with him, that the strange occurrences began to take place.
They began with unusual noises in the walls, and in the floors, with
the displacement of articles of furniture that moved without being
touched, and with the warblings of birds. M. N. at first believed that
it was a piece of foolery planned either by one of his own family or
by one of his clerks. However, in spite of the most vigilant watching,
he could not discover any trickery, and he finally came to the
conclusion that the phenomena were produced, by invisible agents,
with whom he believed he could communicate. He soon obtained raps,
direct writing, the mysterious appearance of flowers, etc.
After this account, he led me into a large room with bare walls, in
which several persons had assembled, among whom were his wife and a
professor of natural philosophy at the lyceum--altogether, a dozen of
experimenters. In the middle of the room there was a big oak table,
upon which were placed paper, a pencil, a small harmonica, a bell, and
a lighted lamp.
"The spirit announced to me a little while ago that he would come at
ten o'clock," said the gentleman to me. "We have a good hour before
us. I am going to utilize it by reading to you the minutes of our
meetings for a year past." He laid on the table his watch, which
showed five minutes to nine, and covered it with a handkerchief.
For a whole hour he applied himself to reading what seemed to be very
improbable stories; but I was longing to see some of the wonders.
Suddenly a loud cracking sound was heard in the table. M. N. lifted
the handkerchief which covered the watch. It was just ten o'clock.
"Art thou there, spirit?" said he.
Nobody was touching the table; and on his recommendation, we formed
the chain about it, holding each other by the hand.
A vigorous rap was heard.
The young niece placed her two fingers against the edge of the table
and asked us to imitate her. Thereupon this extremely heavy table rose
up well _above our heads_, in such a way that we were obliged to stand
on tip-toe in order to follow it in its ascent. It hung poised for
some moments in the air and then slowly descended to the floor and
came to a stop without noise.
Then M. N. went to look up a large design for a church window. He put
it on the table and placed beside it a glass of water, a box of
colors, and a camel's hair brush. Then he put the lamp out. He lighted
it again at the end of two or three minutes: the sketch (still damp)
was painted in two colors, yellow and blue, and not a single brush
mark had passed beyond the traced lines of the sketch.
Even if we admit that some one of the sitters might have been able to
play the role of spirit, how, in the darkness of the room, could he
have so handled the brush as to precisely follow the lines of the
design? I will add that the door was closely shut, and, that, during
the very short space of time in which the performance took place, I
heard nothing but the sound of the water splashing in the glass.
Raps were next struck in the table, corresponding to the letters of
the alphabet. The spirit announced that he was going to produce a
special phenomenon in order to convince me personally.
By his order the light was again extinguished. The harmonica then
played a little sprightly _motif_, in six-eight. Scarcely had the last
note sounded when M. X. lighted the lamp. Upon a sheet of music-paper
which had been placed near the harmonica, the theme was written very
correctly in pencil. It would have been impossible for any one of the
company, in the complete darkness of the room, to write down these
notes upon the ruled staff-lines.
Thirteen freshly cut daisies lay scattered over the table.
"Hello!" says M. X. "these are daisies from the flower-pot at the end
of the passageway."
As I said a moment ago, the door of the room where we were met had
remained closed, and no one had stirred. We went into the passageway,
and, on noticing the stems denuded of their flowers, we could see very
plainly that the daisies came from the place indicated.
Scarcely had we entered the room, when the bell on the table rose up
to the very ceiling, ringing as it went, but fell abruptly back as
soon as it touched it.
* * * * *
On the next day, before my departure, I went to pay a visit to M. X.
He received me in his dining-hall. Through the large open window a
beautiful June sun flooded the room with its brilliant light.
While we were conversing in a desultory way, a piece of military music
rang out in the distance. "If there is a spirit here," said I,
smiling, "it ought by rights to accompany the music." At once
rhythmic taps, in exact harmony with the double quick time, were heard
in the table. The crackle of sounds in it died away little by little
in a decrescendo very skilfully timed to the last vanishing blare of
the bugles.
"Give us a fine tattoo to finish," said I, when the sounds had
completely ceased. The reply was a series of sounds like the heavy
roll of drums, given with such force that the table trembled on its
legs. I put my hand on it and very plainly felt the vibrations of the
wood as it was struck by the invisible force.
I asked if I might inspect the table. It was turned upside down in my
presence, and I examined it, as well as the floor, very carefully. I
discovered nothing. Besides, M. X. could not, you know, foresee, that,
during my visit, a military band would pass by, and that I should ask
the table to accompany it by imitating the drum.
I afterwards returned to the city where these things occurred and was
present at other very curious seances. I should be enchanted, my dear
master and friend, as I have said to you, to be your guide there some
day. But this "high functionary" absolutely insists on his incognito.
These remarkable observations by my friend Joncieres evidently have their
value, and belong here, in the train of all the preceding ones.
I give a few others below which we owe to an attentive and sceptical
observer, M. Castex-Degrange, sub-director of the National School Of Fine
Arts at Lyons, upon whose veracity and sincerity not the least shadow of
suspicion can rest, any more than in the preceding instances. I owe to his
kindness a large number of interesting letters, and I will ask his
permission to cite from them the most important passages.
The following is dated the 18th of April, 1899.
For the second time, I affirm upon my honor that I will tell you
nothing that is not strictly true, and usually easy to verify.
In spite of the calling I follow, I am not at all gifted with
imagination. I have lived much in the company of physicians, men from
the nature of their profession little given to credulity; and, whether
it is in consequence of my natural disposition, or by reason of the
principles which I absorbed in this kind of company, I have always
been very sceptical.
This is, indeed, one of the reasons why I abandoned my psychical
experiments. I reached the most stupifying results, and yet it was
impossible for me to get to believe myself. I was thoroughly convinced
that I was not seeking to deceive myself or to deceive others, and,
not being able to surrender myself to the evidence, I was always
seeking some other reason than the one given by the believers. That
made me suffer, and I stopped.
I here end this preamble, and am going to unfold to you the course of
my observations.
* * * * *
I was acquainted with a company of people, who were occupied with
Spiritualism and with turning-tables, and had made them the butt of my
wit,[76] a little; for, although not bitter or severe, I never
neglected to play a good practical joke on them when occasion served.
It seemed to me that these worthy people, who were, moreover, very
sincere, were all a little "cracked" (_maboules_), if I may be allowed
so uncouth, or _fin de siecle_, an expression.
One day I was visiting them. The drawing-room was lighted by two large
windows. I began, as usual, by some pleasantries. Their reply was in
the shape of an invitation to me to take part in the experiments.
"But," said I, "if I take a seat at your table it will not turn any
more, because I shall not push it."
"Come all the same."
Well, I declare upon my honor that, just for a joke, I tried it. I had
scarcely put my hands on the table when it made a rush at me.
I said to the person facing me, "Don't push so hard."
"But, dear sir, I was not pushing."
I put the centre-table back in its place, but the same thing occurred
again, once, twice, thrice. I began to get impatient and said,
"What you are doing is not very clever. If you want to convince me,
don't push."
He replied to me, "Nobody is pushing, only you probably have so much
fluid in you that the table is attracted toward you. _Perhaps you
could make it go, by yourself._"
"Oh, if I myself could make it go, that would be different!"
"Try it."
They all moved back. I remained alone face to face with the table. I
took hold of it, lifted it, thoroughly examined it. There was no trick
about it. I made every body go behind me. I was facing the windows,
and had my eyes open, I assure you. I stretched my arms out as far as
possible, in order to have a good view, only placing the ends of my
fingers on the table.
In a little less than two minutes it began to rock to and fro. I
confess that I felt a little foolish, not wishing to surrender--
"Yes, perhaps it moves," said I. "It is possible that an unknown fluid
is acting upon it; at any rate, it does not come toward me, and just
now some one was pushing it."
"No," said one of the sitters, "nobody was pushing it; but, although
you are highly charged with fluid, the assistance of another person is
needed for the production of the phenomenon: you are not enough by
yourself. Will you allow one of us to put a hand _upon_ yours, without
touching the table?"
"Yes."
Someone put a hand on mine and _I watched_. The table at once began to
move, and came and pressed against me. They all cried out, and claimed
that they had caught a medium in me. I was not very much flattered
with the title, which I considered as synonymous with "lunatic."
"You ought to try to write," said some one to me.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why, see here. You take paper and pen, let your arm lie passive, and
have the wish in your mind that _some unknown person or force_ shall
cause you to write."
I tried it. At the end of five minutes, my arm felt as if it were
wrapped in a woolen blanket. Then, in spite of myself, my hand began
to trace at first mere strokes, then _o's_, _a's_, letters of all
sorts, as a schoolboy learning to write would do. Then, all of a
sudden, came the notorious word attributed to Cambronne at Waterloo! I
assure you, my dear sir, that I am never in the habit of using this
coarse and dirty term, and that there was no auto-suggestion, or
unconscious act of my own, in the case. I was absolutely _stupefied_
by the occurrence.
I continued these experiments at my own home.
1. One day, when I was seated at my writing-desk, I felt the weird
seizure in my arm. I let my arm remain passive. The Unknown wrote:
"Your friend Aroud is coming to see you. He is at this moment in such
and such an omnibus-office in the suburbs. He is asking the price of
tickets and the hour of departure."
(This M. Aroud is chief of the bureau of police, prefecture of the
Rhone.) In fact, a half-hour afterwards, Aroud made his appearance. I
told him what had taken place.
"It is a good thing for you that you are living in the nineteenth
century," said he to me. "A few hundred years ago you would not have
escaped death at the stake."
2. On another occasion the phenomenon occurred again, and this time
also I was at my writing desk:
"Your friend Dolard is coming to see you."
An hour afterward, sure enough he came. I told him how it happened
that I was waiting for him. Although he was very incredulous by
nature, yet, for all that, this fact set him to thinking. The next day
saw his re-appearance.
"Can you get a reply to a question I am going to ask you?" said he.
"Don't ask," I replied, "think it. We will try."
I must here tell you parenthetically that I had known of Dolard for
thirty years. He was my comrade at the Beaux-Arts. I knew that he had
lost an elder brother, that he had been married, and had had the
misfortune to lose, one by one, all the members of his family. That
was all I knew about them.
I took the pen and the Invisible wrote, "The sufferings of your sister
Sophia have just ended."
Now Dolard had mentally asked what had become of the spirit of a
sister named Sophia, whom he had lost forty-two years ago, and about
whom I had never heard a word spoken.
3. My principal at the School of Fine Arts in Lyons, a former
architect of the city of Paris, was M. Hedin. This M. Hedin had an
only daughter, who some years ago had married another architect, M.
Forget, in Paris. The woman became enceinte.
One day when I was thinking of anything but her, the same thing
occurred as before. The Invisible wrote:
"_Mme. Forget is going to die._"
Mme. Forget was not at all ill, apart from her being in a delicate
situation. The next day morning, M. Hedin said to me that his daughter
was in her pains; and the same evening he told me that his wife had
just set out for Paris to be with her. The next day I received
instructions to assume his duties. Mme. Hedin had telegraphed to her
husband to come to her. Her daughter was taken with puerperal fever.
When the father got there he found only a corpse.
4. I had a cousin named Poncet (since dead) who was formerly an
apothecary, at Beaune (Cote-d' Or). I had never been at his
apartments. One day he came to Lyons to see our aunt (she who had the
vision about which I spoke to you). We conversed about these
extraordinary psychical occurrences. He was incredulous.
"Well then," said he, "try to find for me a thing which has no
particular market value, but which I laid great store by, because it
belonged to my deceased wife. I had a little packet of laces that she
was very fond of, and I can't put my hand on it."
The Unknown wrote, "_It is in the middle drawer of the secretary in
the chamber, behind a package of visiting cards_."
My cousin wrote to his servant at Beaune, _without giving her any hint
of our experiment_, "Send by post a little packet which you will find
in [such a place] behind a package of visiting cards."
The laces arrived by return mail.
You will notice, my dear sir, that, during the experiments, I was by
no means asleep or in a state of trance, and that I was conversing in
my usual manner.
5. One of my childhood friends, M. Laloge, at the present time a
dealer in coffees and chocolates at Saint-Etienne (Loire), had had as
his professor, as well as I, an excellent man whom we most highly
esteemed, and who was named Thollon.[77]
M. Thollon, after having directed the education of the children of the
Prince of Oldenburg, uncle of the present emperor of Russia, had
returned to France and entered the Nice Observatory.
We had the misfortune to lose him shortly after. Laloge had a
photograph of him but had lost it. He came and begged me to try to
find it. The Unknown wrote, "_The photograph is in the upper drawer of
the secretary in the chamber_."
Laloge had two rooms,--one which he called the "salon," and another
called the "chamber."
"There is some mistake," said he. "I have turned everything
topsy-turvy in the place you mention and have found nothing."
In the evening having to search for some object in the drawer, he saw
in the middle of a package of letter-paper a little dark end of
something sticking out. He pulled it forth: it was the photograph.
6. Camille Bellon, No. 50 Avenue de Noailles, at Lyons, had three
young children whose education he had intrusted to a young governess.
This person left when the children entered college, and, sometime
after, she married a very fine man, whose name I have unfortunately
forgotten, but which I can easily find again if there is any need of
it.
This young woman came on her wedding trip to visit her old employer. I
was invited to go and pass a day with them at the chateau of my friend
Bellon. During the course of this visit, we talked of spiritualistic
phenomena; and the newly married man, a highly educated veterinary
doctor, joked me about my so-called mediumship. I, of course, laughed
about it and we parted the best kind of friends.
Some days afterward, I received a letter from my friend. He had
himself received a letter from the young lady, who was in a great
state of mind. She had lost her wedding ring, and was in despair. She
begged my friend to ask me to recover it for her.
The Mysterious Force wrote, "_The ring slipped from her finger while
she was asleep. It is on one of the cleats which hold up the mattress
of the bed_."
I transmitted the _despatch_. The husband put his hands between the
wood of the bed and the mattress. The wife did the same thing. Nothing
was found. Some days afterwards, having decided to change the
arrangement of their apartments, they moved their bed into another
room. Of course they had to lift up the mattress, in order to get it
into the other chamber. The ring was upon one of the cleats. They had
not found it when they were hunting for it, because it had slipped
_under_ the mattress, which did not adhere to the cleat in that
particular place.
7. One of my friends, named Boucaut, who lived at 15 quai de la
Guillotiere at Lyons, had lost a letter which he sadly wanted. He
begged me to ask where it was.
The Invisible replied in writing, "_He must remember that he has an
oven in his garden_."
Before showing it to him, I began to laugh, saying that it was a joke
and had nothing to do with his request. As he insisted that it did, I
read it to him.
"Why yes," he said to me, "that agrees very well. My tenant-farmer had
just had his bread baked. I had heaps of papers which I wanted to get
rid of, to burn up. My letter must have been burned in the pile which
I reduced to ashes."
8. One evening, in an assembly composed of a score of persons, a lady
dressed in black greeted my entrance with a little nervous laugh.
After the customary introductions, this lady spoke to me as follows:
"Sir, would it be possible to ask your spirits to reply to a question
I am going to ask you?"
"In the first place, madam, I have no spirits at my disposal; but I
should be a lack-wit indeed if I said yes. You, of course, don't
suppose that I am unintelligent enough not to find some kind of an
answer; and, consequently, if any 'spirits,' as you so kindly call
them should happen to respond, you would not be convinced, and you
would be right. Write your request. Put it in an envelope there on the
table and we will try. You see that I am not in a somnambulistic
state, and you must believe that it is wholly impossible for me to
know the contents of what you are going to enclose in it."
So said, so done.
At the end of five minutes I assure you I was very much embarrassed. I
had written a reply, but it was such that I did not dare to
communicate it. But here it is:
"You are in a very bad way, and, if you persist, you will be severely
punished. Marriage is something sacred, it should never be regarded as
a question of money."
After some oratorical precautions, I decided to read her this reply.
The lady blushed up to the roots of her hair and stretched out her
hands to seize her envelope.
"Pardon me, madam," I replied, putting my hand upon it. "You began by
making fun of me. You wished a reply. It is only just, since we are
making an experiment, that we know what the request was."
I tore open the envelope. Behold its contents:
"Will the marriage take place that I am trying to bring about between
M. X. and Mlle. Z? And, in that case, shall I get what I have been
promised?"
Notwithstanding this shameful exposure, the woman did not consider
that she was beaten. She asked a second question under the same
conditions.
Reply: "Leave me alone! When I was living you abandoned me. Now don't
bother me."
Upon this, the lady got up and disappeared! I told you she was in
mourning. This last request of hers was as follows: "What has become
of the soul of my father?"
Her father had been ill for six months. Persons who were present and
who were stupefied at the results, told me that during his illness she
had not paid him a single visit.
9. One day, shortly after I had lost one of my good friends, I was
seated at my writing-desk with my head resting on my hand, and I was
thinking of what the hereafter might possibly be. If all the work that
a man had done was to be irretrievably lost, and if the beyond
existed, I was wondering what the life might be that one would lead
there. All of a sudden, the phenomenon well known to me occurred (that
weird seizure of the arm). Of course, I allowed my arm to remain
passive, and here is what I read:
"You wish to know what our occupations are? We organize matter, we
ameliorate the condition of the spirits, and, above all, we adore
the Creator of your souls and ours."
ARAGO.
In _all_ the communications which I have obtained, every time a word
representing an idea of the Supreme Being--such as God, the
All-Powerful, etc.--came under my pen, the writing doubled in size,
but immediately after resumed the same dimensions as before.[78] It
would be very easy for me to give you still more numerous examples of
the strange things that happened to me, but those I have given seem to
me quite remarkable. I shall be happy if this true account can give
you any assistance in your important researches.
The letter which my readers have just perused contains a series of cases
of such great interest that I lost no time in entering into regular
correspondence with the author. And first I thought I ought to ask him
about the conclusions which he himself had been able to draw from his
personal experience. The following is an abstract of his replies:
May 1st, 1899.
You ask me, my dear sir, the following questions:
1. Whether I have reached absolute conviction as to the existence of
one or of several _spirits_?
I am a person of absolute good faith. I examined myself as a surgeon
would examine an invalid. I am a person of such good faith that I have
long been seeking (without finding him) a skilful practitioner who
would consent to study in my own person the phenomenon while it was
taking place; to ascertain the state of my pulse, the warmth of the
skin, etc.,--in a word, the apparent physical side. Furthermore, in my
opinion there is no auto-suggestion in this thing; and the proof is
that I was _absolutely ignorant_ of the things that I was writing
_mechanically_,--so mechanically that, when, by chance, my attention
was called away, whether by reading or by conversation, and I forgot
to look where my hand was going, when it approached the edge of the
paper the writing would continue backward across the sheet in
_reversed letters and just as fast_, so that I was obliged to turn the
paper over in order by holding it to the light to read what was
written on it.
So then, if there is neither auto-suggestion in it, nor a
somnambulistic condition (I was completely awake and not at all
hypnotized), then there must be external "forces" acting upon my
senses, "intelligent forces." This is my fixed and unalterable
opinion.
Now are these forces spirits? Do they belong to beings like ourselves?
It is evident that this hypothesis would explain many things, but
leave quite a number obscure. Since I several times discovered a
mental state of the lowest kind among these "beings," I have reached a
conclusion that it is not absolutely necessary to think that they are
"men."
We are told that there are stars which photography alone can reveal,
and which, possessing a color imperceptible to our eye, are invisible
to us. Then there are the gases through which a human body passes
without experiencing resistence. Who will say then, that there are not
around us invisible beings?
And look at the instinct of the child, of the woman, of feeble beings
in general. They fear darkness; isolation makes them afraid. This
sentiment is instinctive, irrational. Is it not due to an intuitive
perception of the presence of these invisible personages, or forces,
against which they are helpless? That is pure hypothesis on my part,
but after all it seems to me defensible. As to the number of the
invisible beings, I believe they are legion.
2. You ask me whether I have been able to establish their identity.
I answer that they sign some name or other, choosing in preference
names of illustrious persons, in whose mouths they sometimes put the
most stupid sort of expressions.
Furthermore the writing frequently ceases abruptly, as if an electric
current has just been interrupted, and that without any appreciable
reason. Then the writing changes, and sometimes sensible things end in
absurdities, etc.
How explain this tangle of contradictions? I was so chafed and fretted
by these incoherent results that I had for a long time abandoned the
study of psychic forces, when your alluring researches came to wake in
me my old self.
If the unconscious doubling of the personality of the individual (his
externalization) can, in an extreme case, be sometimes admitted, it
seems to me that there are cases in which this explanation becomes
possible.
But I will explain. If, as respects the facts which happened to me
personally, and _the authenticity of which I affirm to you upon my
honor_, there are some in which this externalization could have been
possible, there are others in which it seems to me impossible.
Yes, strictly speaking, I might have been able, without suspecting it,
to externalize myself, or, rather, unknown to myself, to be influenced
by my friend Dolard when, in my own presence, he mentally asked me
what had become of the soul of a deceased sister of whose name and
very existence I was ignorant; yes, the same thing may, strictly
speaking, explain the responses I made to the lady who questioned me
on the subject of a marriage and her father, although it would in that
case be necessary to suppose that she dictated to me the words that I
was writing; yes, my friend Boucaud, who was hunting letters, might,
at the moment when he was asking me about them, have thought of that
oven, of the existence of which I was ignorant; yes, all of that is
(in the last analysis) possible, although it would need a large amount
of good will to admit it.
Yes, once more I say--and always with much good will--a table may be
under the unconscious domination of a musician present and dictate a
musical phrase. But, as it stands, it is difficult to admit the same
phenomenon in the case of Victor Hugo, whose curious seances you have
just described to the public. Why, just look at this great poet who,
when he is asked by the table to put one or more questions _in verse_,
and, not feeling that he is man enough, in spite of his genius, to
improvise something passable, asks for a breathing spell to prepare
his questions, and brings them in next day!--and yet you would wish
that, on this same next day, a part of himself should perform its
functions, _unknown to himself_, and compose _illico_, without any
preparation, verses at least as fine as those which he took an entire
day to create!--verses of a pitiless logic and more profound than his
own!
Yet let us admit even that. You see, dear sir, that I have all the
good will possible, and that I have the most profound respect for the
scientific method. But can you explain by externalization the case of
finding a lost object when one is even ignorant of the way in which
the apartment is arranged where it has been lost? or the ability to
know, two days in advance, of the death of a person about whom one was
not thinking at all? A possible coincidence, you will tell me, but at
least very strange.
And those inverted dictations? and those in which we are obliged to
skip every other letter?
* * * * *
No, I believe that we need not give ourselves so much trouble and rack
our brains, for it seems to me that it is like looking for mid-day at
two o'clock in the afternoon. It would require the labor of all the
devils to explain how this phenomenon can take place in our nature
without the knowledge of the proprietor. I do not like to see a part
of my personality scampering away, and then housing itself again
without my knowing anything about it.
As to what concerns the production of this externalization in a way
which I may call voluntary--when a person who feels himself dying
thinks intensely about those whom he loves and whose absence he
deplores, yes, it may be that his will, even unknown to himself,
suggesting the absent person produces the phenomena of telepathy;
but, in the phenomena of which we are speaking, that explanation seems
to me more than doubtful.
I find much more simple the explanation that the phenomena are caused
by the presence and the action of an independent being,--a spirit,
phantasm, or elemental.
In fine what are we all seeking? The proof of the survival of the ego,
of _the individuality_ after death. _To be or not to be_--it is all in
that. For I frankly confess to you if I am going to dissolve away
again into the great All, I should just as soon be annihilated. That
is perhaps a weakness; but it cannot be helped. I hold above
everything else to my individuality; not that I set a great value on
it, but the feeling is instinctive and I believe that at bottom
everybody is of this opinion. This then is the goal or end, which at
all epochs has powerfully interested man and interests him still
to-day.
One of the weightiest proofs of the survival of the individual being
that I have ever met with is, in my opinion, the vision which my aunt
had _several days_ after the death of a friend of hers who, in order
to give her a proof of the reality of her apparition, inspired in her
by mental suggestion the power of seeing her in the dress she had on
in her coffin, _a costume which my aunt had never seen_.
This is one of the fine and rare arguments in favor of the survival of
the soul, so far as my experience goes. Many things are explained by
this survival,--above all, what is apparently the frightful injustice
of this world.
To these important observations of M. Castex-Degrange, I should like to
add those of a distinguished scientist, who has also for a long time now
devoted himself to the analysis and synthesis of these phenomena. I mean
M. Goupil. Some of his studies are yet in manuscript form, and I am
indebted to this savant for permission to use them. Others have been
reprinted in a curious brochure (_Pour et Contre_, Tours, 1893). But in
citing such a large number of instances and experiments, I am abusing the
kindness of my readers, even the most curious and the most eager for
knowledge. However, I will at least point out the conclusions drawn by M.
Goupil from his personal experiences. They are to be found in the work of
which I have just spoken, and are as follows:
Table-turning seances yield very insignificant results, regarded as
pure science obtained from the spirits; but they are not lacking in
interest from the point of view of the analysis of the facts and of
the science to be established in accordance with the causes and the
laws which govern these phenomena.
I believe that I can draw the conclusion from these phenomena that two
theories (the _reflex_ and the _Spiritualistic_) may be drawn from the
facts. It seems to me impossible to maintain that an intelligent agent
other than that of the experimenters is not operative in them. What is
this intelligence? I believe it is very hazardous to express a
confident opinion on this point in view of the incongruity of all
these communications.
It is also undeniable that the intellects of the operators enter into
the phenomena to a great extent, and that in many cases they alone
seem to act.
I should perhaps be sufficiently near the truth if I gave the
following definition of the phenomenon:
_Functions external to the animistic principle of the operators, and
above all of the medium, and governed by their intellects, but
sometimes associated with an intellect unknown and relatively
independent of man._
Experimenters have maintained that communications obtained from the
so-called spirits through mediums never show more intellectual
capacity than is possessed by the most intelligent person among the
sitters. This assertion is generally justified, but it is not
absolute.
I will mention, in connection with this point, some seances which took
place at my house. The medium was Mme. G., whose life I had been
familiar with for twenty-seven years, day by day, and consequently had
an intimate acquaintance with her character, her manners, temperament
and education.
The communications which were obtained through mediumistic writing in
these seances extended over a period of more than fifteen months.
Mme. G. had the sense of a kind of _mental_, rather than auricular,
psychical rather than physical, audition which dictated to her what
she had to write in bits of sentences one after another; and this
impression was accompanied by a strong desire to write, somewhat like
the intense longing that a woman with child experiences.
If this medium gave her attention to the sense of the writing during
the composition, the current of power was shut off, and everything
resumed the state of ordinary composition. Her condition was that of a
clerk writing unconcernedly and mechanically under the dictation of a
superior. It resulted from this that the writings, executed at the
maximum speed of the subject, and generally without retardation or
stoppage after the questions, were in one long string, without
punctuation or paragraphs, and full of mistakes in spelling, resulting
from the fact that the medium was acquainted with the sense of the
writing only when she had read it over, at least in the case of rather
long communications.
The gist or substance of the _writings_ seems very frequently to be
drawn from our ideas, our conversation, our reading, or our thoughts;
but there are certain plainly marked exceptions.
While Mme. G. was writing, I applied myself to other
occupations,--calculations, music, etc., or I walked up and down in
the room; but I only examined the replies when she had stopped
writing.
Nothing indicated that the physical and physiological condition of the
medium during these writings was in any way different from that of her
ordinary condition. Mme. G. could interrupt her writing at will and
apply herself to other occupations or make responses about things
unconnected with the seance, and it never happened that she found
herself short of an answer.
There is no parallelism between these writings and the mental
endowments of Mme. G., either in promptness of repartee, in breadth of
view, or in philosophic depth.
In 1890 I bought Flammarion's _Uranie_, which Mme. G. did not read
until 1891. I found in it doctrines absolutely similar to those which
I had deduced from my experiments and from our communications. Any one
who should compare these mediumistic writings with the philosophical
works of the French astronomer would be led to believe that Mme. G.
had previously read them.
Psychic phenomena have this peculiarity, that identical assertions are
made in far distant places through mediums who have never known each
other,--a fact which would tend to demonstrate that, running through
many declarations which apparently contradict each other, there is a
certain uniformity of action on the part of the intelligent occult
power.
In 1890 I also read the work of Dr. Antoine Cros, _The Problem_, in
which I also found astonishing agreements between the ideas of this
author and those of our Unknown Inspirer,--among others this: that man
himself creates his Paradises and becomes that to which he has
aspired.
We should always seek the simplest explanation of the facts, without
desiring to find the occult in them, and above all without looking for
spirits everywhere, but also without wishing, under any circumstances,
to reject the intervention of unknown agents and deny the facts when
they cannot be explained.
It is rather curious to remark that if we compare the dictations given
by the tables and the other so-called mediumistic phenomena with
observations made in conditions of natural or hypnotic somnambulism,
we find the same phases of incoherence, hesitation, error, lucidity
and supernormal excitation of the faculties.
On the other hand, the supernormal excitation of the faculties neither
explains the cases of prediction nor the citation of unknown facts. In
the case of many telepathic or other phenomena every explanation limps
that excludes the intervention of external intelligences. But it is
still impossible to formulate a theory. There exists a gap to be
filled by new discoveries.[79]
I will add to these conclusions two short extracts from a letter which M.
Goupil wrote me on the 13th of April, 1899, and from another one on the
1st of June, in the same year.
1. Replying to the request which you address to your readers, I will
say that I have never observed telepathic cases, but that I have for a
long time been experimenting with the phenomena _called_
Spiritualistic, of which I was a simple analyst. I have come to no
conclusions as to explanatory theories. However, I consider it
_probable_ that there exists powerful intelligences other than human
that intervene under certain circumstances. My opinion is based upon a
large number of very curious personal occurrences. In my opinion, we
have not in these phenomena the appearance of simple coincidences, but
of circumstances willed, foreseen, and produced by an intelligent _x_.
2. Of the ensemble--of all that I have seen--there is simultaneously
the reflex action of the experimenters and an independent personality.
This hypothesis seems to me true, while I should make at the same time
this reservation, that the personality or spirit is not a finished
being, with limitations of form, such as an invisible man would have,
going, coming and executing commissions for human beings. I have
glimpses of a grander and vaster system.
Take a handful of the ocean, and you have _water_.
Take a handful of the atmosphere, and you have _air_.
Take a handful of space, and you have _mind_.
That is the way I interpret it. That is why mind is always present,
ready to respond when it finds in any place a stimulus that incites
it, and an organism which permits it to manifest itself.
Let us confess that the problem is complex and that it is good to compare
all the hypotheses.[80]
From the numerous papers and documents laid out at this moment upon my
writing-desk, I can only select a small number for insertion here,
although they all have their special interest. One is overwhelmed by the
richness and vastness of the material. However, out of the material
acquired in the course of the Inquiry of which I spoke above, let me give
here one piece which I should regret not to be able to include within the
compass of the present work.
The former governess of the poet Alfred de Musset, Mme. Martelet, nee
Adele Colin,--who still lives in Paris and who has just been present (in
1906) at the unveiling of the statue of the poet (although his death dates
from the year 1857),--has given the following account, which may be added
here to that of movements without contact.
An inexplicable occurrence which my sister, Mme. Charlot, and myself
witnessed impressed us most deeply. It took place at the time of the
last sickness of M. de Musset. I shall never forget the emotion we
felt that evening, and I still have the minutest incidents of the
strange occurrence stamped on my memory.
My master, who had taken no rest during all the previous night, had
toward the end of the day, fallen into a doze in a large easy-chair.
My sister and I had entered the chamber on tip-toe, in order not to
trouble this precious rest of his, and we sat quietly down in a corner
where we were concealed by the curtains of the bed.
The invalid could not perceive us, but we saw him very well, and I
sorrowfully contemplated that suffering face which I knew I could not
much longer look upon. And still, even now, when I recall the features
of my master, I see them as they appeared to me on that evening,--the
eyes closed, his finely shaped head resting upon the easy-chair, and
his long, thin, pale hands (the paleness of the dead already upon
them), crossed upon his knees in a contracted and shriveled way. We
remained motionless and silent, and the chamber, lighted only by a
feeble lamp, seemed wrapped in shadows and was filled with that
peculiar mournful atmosphere that characterizes the chamber of the
dying.
Suddenly we heard a deep sigh. The invalid had waked up and I saw his
looks go toward the bell-cord that hung near the fireplace some steps
from the easy-chair. He evidently wanted to ring, and I do not know
what feeling it was that held me nailed to my place. Still I did not
move, and my master, having a horror of solitude and believing that he
was alone in his chamber, rose up, stretched out his arm with the
evident intention of calling someone; but, already fatigued by this
effort, he fell back into the chair without having taken a step. It
was at this moment that we had an experience that terrified us. The
bell, which the sick man had not touched, rang, and instinctively, at
the same moment, my sister and I seized each other's hands, each
anxiously interrogating the face of the other.
"Did you hear?"--"Did you see?"--"He did not move from his chair!"
At this moment the nurse entered and innocently asked, "Did you ring,
sir?"
This event put us into an extraordinary state of mind, and if I had
not had my sister with me I should have believed that it was an
hallucination. But both of us saw, and all three of us heard. It is a
good many years now since all that took place, but I can still hear
the ominous and mournful sound of that bell ringing in the silence of
the chamber.
This account, also, seems not to be devoid of value. There are undoubtedly
several ways of explaining it. The first is that which occurs to
everybody.
The Frenchman, born malign, says Boileau, does not mince matters, and,
apropos of this story of De Musset, simply exclaims in his language
(always flashy and devoid of literary distinction), "What a fine piece of
rot!" And that is all there is to it. A few may reflect for a moment more,
and not admit that there is necessarily any invention on the part of the
governess, and may think that she, as well as her sister, believed that De
Musset had not touched the bell cord, while in reality he touched it with
the ends of his fingers. But these ladies can answer that the distance
between the hand of the poet and the cord was too great, that the cord was
inaccessible in that position, _and that it was that very thing which
impressed them_, and without which there would have been no story to tell.
We may also suppose that the bell was rung by some external force
impinging on it, although the cord was not pulled. We may still further
suppose that, in the restlessness of these hours of distress, the
waiting-woman came in without having heard anything, and that the
coincidence of her arrival with the gesture of De Musset surprised the two
watchers, who afterward thought that they had heard the bell. However, to
sum up the whole thing, while we may regard the occurrence as
inexplicable, we may yet admit its truth as narrated. This seems to me the
most logical view, and the more so that the gentle poet had, several times
in his life, given other proofs of possessing faculties of this kind.
I will add here one more instance of the _movement of objects without
contact_ which is not without value. It was published by Dr. Coues in the
_Annales des sciences psychiques_, for the year 1893. The views stated are
also worthy of being summed up here. The observers, Dr. and Mrs. Elliott
Coues, speak out of their own personal experience.
It is a principle of physics that a heavy body can only be put in
motion by the direct application of a mechanical force sufficient to
overcome its inertia, and orthodox science maintains that the idea of
action at a distance is an erroneous idea.
The authors of the present study assert, on the contrary, that heavy
bodies may be, and frequently are, put in motion without any kind of
direct application of mechanical force, and that action at a distance
is a well-established fact in nature. We offer proofs of these
propositions based on a series of experiments undertaken for this
purpose.
We often repeated these experiments, _during more than two years_,
with results that were convincing not only to ourselves but to many
other witnesses.
We do not understand how the scientific world has been able to accept
the idea that the expression "action at a distance" is a false one,
unless those who see an error in the assertion attach to these words a
special meaning of which we are ignorant.
It is certain that the sun acts at a distance upon the earth and the
other planets of the solar system. It is certain that a piece of
anything thrown into the air falls back in consequence of the
attraction of gravitation,--and that, too, at no matter what distance.
The law of gravitation, so far as we know it, is universal, and it is
not yet proved that there exists a ponderable, or otherwise palpable,
medium which serves to transmit the force.[81]
We go a little farther, even, and declare that, probably, all action
of matter is an action at a distance, especially since (so far as our
knowledge goes) there are not in the whole universe two particles of
matter in absolute contact; and, consequently, if they act the one
upon the other, it must be at some distance, this distance being
infinitely small and entirely inappreciable to our senses.
We therefore maintain that the law of movement at a distance is a
universal mechanical law and that the idea that it does not exist is a
kind of a paradox, simply a hair-splitting quibble.
The two authors of this study sometimes experimented together, sometimes
separately, more often with one or more additional experimenters,
sometimes with four, five, six, seven or eight. They witnessed at
different times, in full light, the vigorous and even violent movements of
a large table which nobody touched directly or indirectly. The persons
mentioned were all friends of theirs, living, like them, in the city of
Washington, and all sincerely desirous of knowing the truth of the matter.
There was no professional medium.
The scene opens in a little parlor in our house (they write). In the
centre of the room is a large heavy oak table in marquetry, which
weighs about one hundred pounds. The top is oval and measures four
feet and a half by three and a half. It has only a single support, in
the middle, branching off into three legs, or feet, with casters.
Above it is the chandelier, several burners of which are lighted and
give sufficient light for the ladies to read and work by the table.
Dr. Coues is seated in his easy-chair, in a corner of this large room,
at a distance from the table, reading or writing by the light of two
other burners.
The ladies express the wish to see if the table "will do something,"
as they say.
The cloth is removed. Mrs. C., seated in a low rocking-chair, places
her hands on the table. Mrs. A., also seated in a low easy-chair, does
the same, facing her at the opposite side of the table. Their hands
are opened and placed upon the upper surface of the table. In this
position, they cannot lift the table by themselves with their hands:
that is an entire impossibility. Neither can they push it by leaning
on it in order to make it rise on the opposite side, except by
muscular effort easily observed. Neither can they lift the table
unaided with their knees, since these are at least a foot away from
the top and since moreover their feet never leave the floor. Finally,
they cannot lift the table by means of their toes slipped under a foot
of the table, because the table is too heavy.
Under these conditions, and beneath the full light of at least four
gas jets, the table habitually began to crack or snap, and produced
divers strange noises quite different from those which could be
obtained by leaning upon it. These noises soon showed, if I may so
say, some reason in their incoherence, and certain definite strokes or
rappings came to represent "yes," and "no." According to an arranged
code of signals, we were able to enter into a conversation with an
unknown being. Then the table was generally polite enough to do what
it was asked. One side or another of it tipped as we wished. It went
from one side or the other according as we requested. Under these
circumstances we made the following experiments:
The two ladies removed their hands from the table and drew back their
chairs, while still remaining seated in them at a distance of _one or
two feet_. Dr. Coues from his arm chair saw distinctly above and
beneath the table. The feet of the ladies were from twelve to
thirty-six inches distant from the feet of the table. Their heads and
their hands were still farther off. There was no contact with it. Even
their dresses were not within a foot or two of it. Under these
conditions, the table lifted one of its feet and let it fall heavily
back. It lifted two feet to a height of from two to six inches, and,
when they fell back, the blow was heavy enough to make the floor
shake, and make the glass globes of the chandelier tinkle. Besides
these energetic, even violent movements, the table displayed its power
by means of raps or balancings.
Its _yes's_ or its _no's_ were commonly rational, sometimes in
agreement with the ideas of the one who put the question, sometimes in
persistent opposition to those ideas. Sometimes the invisible agent
affirmed that he was a certain person, and maintained that
individuality during an entire seance. Or possibly this character was
dropped, so to speak, or at least ceased to appear, and another
person, or another being, took its place, with different ideas and
opinions. Thereupon, the raps or the movements also differed. Finally
the inanimate table, which was supposed to be inert, took on for the
moment all the appearance of a living being possessing an intelligence
as keen as that of an ordinary person. It expressed itself with as
much will and individuality as our friends caused it to do by their
voices and their gestures. And yet, during this whole time _no one of
the three persons present touched the table_, the two ladies being at
a distance of two or three feet, and Dr. Coues seven to ten feet, in a
corner of the room, which was lighted by four gas jets. There was no
other person present that one could see. If this was not a case of
telekinesis, or movement of objects without contact, absolutely
different from ordinary and normal mechanical movement, we can
certainly no longer put trust in our senses.
These observations of Dr. and Mrs. Elliott Coues are all as positively
accurate and authentic as the occurrence of an earthquake, the falling of
a fire-ball from the sky, a chemical combination, an experiment with an
electrical machine. The sceptics who smile at them and say that everything
is fraud are persons in whom the sense of logic is wanting.
As to the explanation to be given of them, that is a different question
from that of the pure and simple authentication of the facts.
Those to whom these descriptions of phenomena and experiments appeal
(adds the narrator) must take particular notice that the authors of
this study, although they have had occasion to speak of conversations
held with the table and to mention special tones of voice, and
intelligible messages imparted by pieces of inert wood, _categorically
refuse to approach the question of the source or origin of the
intelligence thus manifested_. That is an entirely different question,
with which we do not meddle. The single, or at least the principal,
object of the publication of this study is to establish the truth of
movement without contact.
But, having very plainly verified the fact and established it by
proofs in our possession, it might perhaps be expected of us that we
offer some explanation of the extraordinary things that we vouch for.
We respectfully reply that we are both too old and perhaps too wise to
claim to explain anything. When we were younger, and fancied that we
knew everything, we could explain everything,--at least to our own
satisfaction. Now that we have lived long enough, we have discovered
that every explanation of a thing raises at least two new questions,
and we do not feel any desire to stumble against new difficulties; for
these multiply in geometrical ratio, in proportion to the extent and
accuracy of our researches. We hold to this principle, that nothing is
explained so long as there still remains an explanation to be sought.
Under these conditions, we shall do better to recognize the
inexplicability of these psychical mysteries, before, rather than
after, futile theories about them.
There you have what is absolutely reasonable, whatever may be said of it.
And now, after these innumerable verifications of facts, and after all
these professions of faith, shall I myself, have the courage, the
pretension, the pride or the simplicity of mind, to start in search of the
much desired information?
Whether we find it or not, the facts nevertheless exist. It was the object
of this book to convince my readers of this,--readers who should give to
the subject their close attention, be possessed of unbiased judgment and
good faith, and have the eyes of the spirit wide open and free from all
weakness.