fraudé avec ses procédés connus._ Voilà la première conclusion.
Et voici la seconde. _En mettant Eusapia dans l’impossibilité
de frauder, pendant cette même série d’expériences de
Cambridge, Eusapia n’a pas pu produire un seul phénomène
vrai...._
‘Il me paraît qu’il est téméraire de conclure que tous les
phénomènes produits ou présumés produits par Eusapia sont
faux.... Sous des influences morales et psychologiques
dont la nature nous échappe, pendant un très long temps
Eusapia est incapable de pouvoir exercer une action vraie
quelconque, et peut-être, à Cambridge elle s’est trouvée dans
ces conditions.... J’en conclus qu’il n’y a encore rien de
démontré, ni dans un sens, ni dans l’autre, et qu’il faut
courageusement poursuivre la recherche; et expérimenter
encore.’—CHARLES RICHET. (_Journal S. P. R._, vii. 179.)
The analysis of the documents published permits me to ascertain:—
1. Demonstration of fraud in certain hypothetical cases.
2. Omission to indicate if the medium was conscious or in trance.
3. Omission to discuss phenomena non-explicable by fraud.
4. Apparent contradiction between Dr. Hodgson’s statements and
those of other experimenters.
5. Omission to analyse if Eusapia’s suspicious movements were
not muscular movements synchronous with the phenomena. This
omission is capital, and demonstrates the relative inexperience
of the Cambridge group.
6. Evident bias of Dr. Hodgson, who had taken up a decided stand,
and treated Eusapia’s phenomena as fraudulent before having
seen them.
In a word, the Cambridge experimenters operated under bad conditions:
they could not obtain any good results by acting as they did. But,
even under these wretched conditions, they ought to have received
some veridical phenomena, and the reading of their publications leads
us to presume they did receive some. In any case, their report does
not demonstrate that everything was explicable by fraud, and is not
sufficient to justify the sweeping judgment they brought to bear upon
Eusapia Paladino.
Now, if we compare the Cambridge results with those obtained by other
experimenters, the conclusion we draw from these documents becomes more
precise. I refer my readers to the reports of the experiments at Milan
(_Ann. des Sc. Psych._, 1893), and at l’Agnélas (_Ibid._ 1896). I will
only dwell upon my personal experience with Eusapia. I experimented
with this medium in 1895, 1896, and 1897, and I obtained undeniable
phenomena with her.
Like other Continental experimenters, I tried to put Eusapia at her
ease, to win her confidence and sympathy; and the results of my seances
were convincing.
At l’Agnélas, out of seance hours, and in full light, I saw the table
raised to the height of my forehead. Every one was standing up,
Eusapia’s hands were held and seen; her left hand, held by me, rested
on the right angle of the table.
At Choisy, in 1897, we received doubtful phenomena, notably the
_apport_ of a carnation which appeared most suspicious to us; but we
spoke openly of our doubts to Eusapia. At other times the phenomena
were of extraordinary intensity. One afternoon, Sunday, 11th October,
all the sitters, even those furthest away from the medium, were touched.
But it was at Bordeaux, perhaps, in 1897 that the phenomena were most
intense. I find in my notes—which are not, and make no claim to be,
reports—the following recital:—
‘P. is vigorously touched. Eusapia gives him the control of her hands
and feet. P. receives slaps in the back every time Eusapia presses his
foot. The noise is distinctly heard. P.’s chair is shaken and drawn
from under him. Eusapia rubs her feet on the floor, to give fluid, she
says. Finally P.’s chair is slowly carried on to the seance-table.
The persons (Dr. Denucé, Madame A., and I) for whom P. is between
the table and the window (a light from outside streams through the
Persian shutters) see the chair very clearly outlined on the window
(a large bay, six feet wide). After having been placed on the table,
the chair is taken back to the floor, and, a second time, carried on
to the table. The movements were slowly produced; while they were
being produced, the hands, feet, and head of the medium were under
control. If any part of the medium’s body had touched the chair, the
contact would have been seen on the silhouette of the chair, the latter
standing out well against the lighted-up window. While the chair is in
movement P. is crouching down on his heels; he is touched on the back,
his garments are pulled, he is tickled; at the same time the table is
levitated. _These three manifestations were produced simultaneously._’
This phenomenon is, perhaps, the most convincing Eusapia has given
me in demi-obscurity; it was impossible to produce these three
manifestations simultaneously with a free hand and foot (admitting
there had been substitution): knowing the possible frauds, I had
indicated to my co-experimenters Eusapia’s ordinary tricks. Moreover,
Dr. Denucé and P., a barrister at Bordeaux, were both _au courant_ with
the usual frauds, and were experienced experimenters. I draw special
attention to the visibility of the chair suspended in the air. We only
saw the outline of the chair, but we saw it plainly.
Here is another levitation obtained under conditions which exclude
every device pointed out by Messrs. Hodgson and Maskelyne: teeth,
strap, hook, foot, hand holding the table, pressure of the knees,
etc.:—
‘Afterwards Eusapia makes us get up. She pulls the table into the
centre of the room (telling us she is doing this herself). She
invites M. to hold her feet; M. goes under the table. Eusapia becomes
impatient, and says to him “_dietro_” because the table would hurt her;
M. stoops down behind Eusapia, and seizes her by the feet. Eusapia then
says she is going to raise the table without touching it. A circle is
made around the table, which, after several oscillations, rises up
vertically. The top of the table reaches as high as our foreheads.
‘A second time the table is levitated under the same conditions, and
to the same height. The experimenters are all standing up around the
table, and no hand at all touches it.’
The table stood out plainly against the window. It would have been easy
to see the limb or instrument which was in contact with it, had there
been any such contact.
Professor Sidgwick ‘often asked Eusapia—or rather John—to favour him
with a hand-grasp when he was holding the two hands of the medium in
his two hands, since he regarded this as the only mode of holding the
hands which could ever be perfectly satisfactory to him.’ He solicited
in vain. Now we obtained this phenomenon frequently:—
‘Eusapia takes Dr. D.’s two hands, and gives him her two hands to
control. Under these conditions Dr. D. is touched. Eusapia does the
same thing with P., who is several times touched.’
Here are some phenomena obtained with a bright green light. ‘One side
of the table rises up, followed by two good levitations: the table is
levitated to a height of about one foot six inches, and remains from
two to three seconds in the air. Eusapia’s hands are well controlled
and visible; her feet do not move. The feet of the table (visible to
me) are not in contact with Eusapia’s dress during the levitation. I
see the dress distinctly; it is motionless. When the levitation took
place no hand was touching the table.’
Finally, here is a crucial experiment, an account of which M. de Rochas
has published in the _Annales des Sciences Psychiques_ in 1898. At that
moment I still suspended my judgment, not that my opinion with regard
to the phenomena produced by Eusapia and verified by me was uncertain,
but because I wished to study other mediums before pronouncing my
judgment. My studies are now sufficiently complete, from the point of
view of the observation of these facts, to permit me to declare my
opinion. The reasons of prudence, which led me to beg M. de Rochas to
withhold my name from his report, no longer exist. Here is the extract
from my notes made at the time of the experiment:—
‘I had bought, during the day, a letter-balance, which I brought to the
seance. Eusapia makes us sit for two or three minutes with our hands
on the table. Then she approaches her hands to the letter-balance,
placing her left hand on top of Dr. D.’s right hand. Dr. D. mentions
the sensation of a cold breeze, which ceases and recommences. Eusapia’s
hands are at about fifteen centimetres away from the letter-balance.
She makes two or three ascending and descending movements with
her hands, palm directed downwards. At the second movement the
letter-balance is pushed to the limit of its course, requiring for this
a force of more than one hundred and seventy grammes. Eusapia takes
P.’s left hand, and tries the experiment with him. She asks if he feels
the cool breeze. In a few seconds P. feels it over the third and fourth
fingers. (P.’s left hand is under the medium’s right hand.) The tray is
lowered, and the hand stops at the division 20.
‘Eusapia takes Dr. D.’s hand again. She forms a triangle with her
hands. Dr. D. has always his right hand in Eusapia’s left. The latter’s
hands are about fifteen centimetres away from one another, and about
ten centimetres away from the edge of the apparatus. The tray of the
latter is lowered; the hand marks 90 grammes, and _slowly_ returns to
0; in the two preceding experiments it had returned abruptly.
‘Eusapia tries to raise the scale. She directs her hands palms upwards.
The scale raises itself.
‘P. puts a black pocket-book weighing seventy grammes on the tray.
Eusapia begins the last experiment over again. After two or three
movements of her hands, palms upwards, the tray is raised to its
uttermost limit.’
These experiments were made in a good green light.
In conclusion, we never hesitated to act openly with Eusapia, telling
her what we thought. For example, at one time, in obscurity, Eusapia
drew the table to her without announcing it was she who did it. P.
immediately said: ‘It is the medium who’s drawing the table.’ Eusapia
was not annoyed, and said that P. was right to speak of what he noticed.
These experiments at Choisy and Bordeaux, in the course of which there
were both good and bad seances, convinced me that I had not been the
victim of illusion at l’Agnélas in M. de Rochas’ house.
My judgment will convince no one. In such matters we must see for
ourselves in order to be convinced. Mr. Hodgson himself knows
this to-day. My testimony contradicts formally and explicitly the
conclusions of the Cambridge investigators. Eusapia does not always
defraud; with us, she rarely defrauded.
Let me terminate this discussion with Richet’s words: ‘Malgré les
apparences qui sont en effet souvent contre Eusapia, je ne suis fixé
en aucune manière sur ce que j’ai appelé jusqu’ici fraude.... Il est
possible, que dans l‘état de trance, ou dans les états voisins, la
psychologie d’un médium soit très différente de la nôtre.’
APPENDIX B
I have criticised somewhat lengthily M. Janet’s opinions: will the
reader kindly allow me to make yet another incursion into scientific
ground. For it is perhaps necessary to reply to some objections which
are advanced—doubtless in all sincerity—by certain savants who are
either ill informed, or lacking in adequate knowledge of the subject.
Professor Grasset of the university of Montpellier, for whose talent
and earnestness I have the greatest respect, has just published a long
article entitled _Le Spiritisme et la Science_ in the last volume of
his _Leçons de clinique médicale_ (t. iv., 1903, p. 374). He begins
by stating that he is going to take Janet as his guide, because the
latter’s ‘luminous ideas are and remain for him the sole scientific
basis now existing of these questions.’ Though we see it in print,
this assertion is so extraordinary, that we wonder if we be not
dreaming when reading it. Professor Grasset, then, is going to take
Janet as a guide, Janet who has never seen anything! It makes one
think of the fable, only, this time, it is the blind man who climbs on
the paralytic’s back. Grasset is going to deal with matters of such
importance, so prolific probably in new and unexpected consequences,
without consulting the writers who have described the phenomena he is
going to study! The authors from whose works he quotes—Jules Bois,
Papus, Péladan, Mme. de Thébes, Léo Taxil!—have more to do with the
charms of fancy than with the gravity of science. The task of refuting
their assertions is far too easy a one, and the learned professor ought
to have chosen other and better representatives of psychical research.
His argumentation falls short of the mark.
Professor Grasset’s case is, however, instructive. I consider
him as one of our best-informed scientists, and he seems to look
upon psychical research without prejudice. Nobody can doubt his
earnestness, his learning, his talent; but, in spite of these
qualities, he shows himself to be unfamiliar with the serious work
which has been done, and which is being done in psychical matters. When
he quotes Myers, he misquotes him. When he discusses the Piper case, he
sums up the account given of the case by M. Mangin in the _Annales des
Sciences Psychiques_, and does not say a word of the careful reports
drawn up by Hodgson and Hyslop. It is not to be wondered at, therefore,
if the professor’s statements do not agree with the facts. He does
not appear to have studied either the original reports or M. Sage’s
remarkable summary of these reports.
Professor Grasset simply says: ‘Four months after the death of Mr.
Robinson (George Pelham), Mrs. Piper gave a seance in the house of one
of Mr. Robinson’s friends and fell into a trance.’ [A slight mistake,
the seance took place at Mrs. Piper’s.] ‘P., the secondary personality,
said that George Robinson was ready to communicate; and henceforth this
spirit took part in Mrs. Piper’s seances as another familiar spirit.
Such an example shows how _polygonal_ incarnations are formed during
the medium’s trance.’
And no more! Professor Grasset does not see the real problem: did the
medium show any knowledge of facts known only to the deceased? This is
the problem. The mode of formation of the secondary personality is but
an accessory question.
This kind of reasoning is common to savants. They keep aloof from
the real psychological problem, and only discuss its side issues.
I am sorry to see a man of Professor Grasset’s worth fall into the
usual errors, and pronounce a judgment upon facts before thoroughly
acquainting himself with those facts.
Professor Grasset speaks of _spiritisme scientifique_ as belonging
to the realm of biology, and demanding the serious attention of
scientists. But why speak of spiritism? Spiritism is a religion, it is
not a science; it is the _systematic explanation_ of the _ensemble_ of
certain facts, so far very ill understood, but it is not the assertion
of those facts. Are the alleged facts true? That is the question which
biology has to examine. Spiritism, on the contrary, that is to say, the
_ensemble_ of metaphysical doctrines founded upon the revelations of
spirits, cannot be considered, at least for the present, as belonging
to biology. I beg Professor Grasset not to confound the impartial,
unbiased research for scientific truth with spiritism.
The little influence which the criticism of savants—of even the
most renowned among them—has had upon contemporary thought (_e.g._
it has not been able to prevent or put a stop to the quest in the
domain of psychical sciences), is due precisely to their lack of
correct information. They have always reasoned beside the question,
analysing the facts imperfectly, admitting only those which they can
easily explain, and rejecting all others as fraudulent or doubtful.
To those who have studied these ‘fraudulent and doubtful’ facts,
they are neither doubtful nor fraudulent, and the only effect, which
the obstinate negation of certain savants has, is to rob their words
of all serious influence and value. And this is a pity, for the
savants themselves first of all, and afterwards for the public who,
ill enlightened, become the prey of charlatans or the victims of
_illuminés_.
APPENDIX C
It is to the kindness of M. Braunschweig that I owe the following
story, which is instructive from several points of view. M.
Braunschweig, a retired business man, intelligent and highly educated,
is well known in his town. The phenomena, of which he guarantees
the authenticity, have not been observed by me; but the disastrous
consequences of his and M. Vergniat’s too great confidence in a
‘spirit’ taught him such a useful and serious lesson, that I thought I
would do well to make it known. I only give it with that object, for I
cannot personally vouch for the extraordinary facts in this interesting
recital. I give this recital _in extenso_ without changing anything, in
order not to alter its physiognomy.
_A Mystery_
Canius Junius when walking to the scaffold said to his friends:
‘You ask me if the soul is immortal; I am going to find out, and
if I can, I will return to tell you.’
These notes, written in haste, and, as it were, off-hand, have no other
claim than to bring a few strange facts together, leaving every one
free to appreciate them as they think best.
For a while I was swayed by a preoccupation; I hesitated in the face
of incredulity, which thrusts aside all which is neither matter nor
number, to unveil phenomena of the nature of those which have been
verified by so many persons already; but the duty imposed upon me of
preserving my children from trials similar to mine, has triumphed over
my hesitation, and I will proclaim the truth without any fear of their
ever doubting their father’s veracity.
In writing these lines, I yield to a feeling that the witness of
mysterious facts ought to give, in the interests of humanity or
science, a scrupulously exact narration of what he has seen. And
particularly so when his revelations are likely to preserve the
inexperienced from the pitfalls of an occult power which it would be as
senseless to deny the existence of as to doubt of its power for good or
evil, according as it desires good or evil. I therefore accomplish what
I believe to be a duty. This conviction suffices to brave the spirit
always more or less strong, which is ever inclined to deny what it
cannot explain.
The fear of being accused of seeking for sympathy, by relating these
facts of which I have been the victim, might also have stopped me from
speaking; but for the loss of a few worldly goods, my mind, my soul,
finds ample compensation in that certitude of a future life, which
results from the facts the Master permitted me to witness.
It was in 1867. Attracted by the noise of a trumpet, I crossed _La
Place Saint-André_, and went down the dark, narrow street which, at
that time, skirted the Cathedral, and where _bric-à-brac_ dealers used
to spread out their wares. At the corner of the street Palangues, I
came across a crowd gathered around an auctioneer who was holding a
sale of statuary.
I was passing on indifferently when the auctioneer held up a statuette,
the outlines and graceful pose of which immediately struck my fancy.
Was it a Virgin? A _mater dolorosa_? I do not know. But I still see
that beautiful face, stamped with sadness, the eyes upraised, two
great tears tremblingly seeming to implore me to put a stop to this
profanation. The general appearance of the statue—its head bent
slightly forward—and the graceful drapery denoted a work of art.
I bought it, yielding simply to the desire of possessing an artistic
work, and not to satisfy any religious sentiment, which, I must own,
did not exist.
I also bought a bracket to support the statuette, and a few minutes
afterwards, everything was arranged in my room, Rue du Palais Tallien,
No. 147.
My wife, Madame Vergniat, was at Périgord. When she returned home,
she was surprised to see, in the most conspicuous spot in my room, a
religious object which I myself had bought.
Her surprise was legitimate, for strong prejudices against religion
left little room in my mind for religious practices.
Nothing strange happened in that house, although we lived in it for
a long time after the purchase of the statuette. But I always felt
such great pleasure in admiring my Virgin, that I have often wondered
whether this ill-defined attraction were not the prelude, and, in some
measure, a first influence of the mysterious facts which were going to
happen.
We left our residence in the Rue du Palais Tallien to go to a house I
had bought in the Rue Malbec, No. 116.
It was a detached house surrounded by a garden; it contained two
bedrooms, a sitting-room, and a vestibule which served as a dining-room.
In order to make my recital intelligible, I am obliged to give a few
details about the furniture and its arrangement.
A night-table separated my bed from the fireplace. Above the table was
a holy-water fount; above the latter an oil painting representing the
Virgin; finally, near the ceiling, the statuette on its bracket.
To the left of the night-table, in the recess beside the chimney, there
was a panoply composed of swords and sabres.
When we were settled, Madame Vergniat again visited Périgord. It was
during her absence that the first manifestation took place, but I
attached no great importance to it.
Here are the circumstances under which the phenomenon occurred.
I was awakened in the night by the sound of a violent blow as of some
one hammering at the front door. I promptly lit the candle, and looked
at the time; it was one o’clock.
This visit was not of a reassuring nature, for, to be able to knock at
the front door at this hour of the night, it was necessary to leap over
the gate, which, securely closed, barred access to the house.
Before proceeding to open the door, I waited for a second knock, but
in vain. I was awakened, at the same hour on the following night, by a
similar rap.
The nurse, sleeping with the children in the next room, hearing the
knock, got frightened. I tried to reassure her by saying: ‘_To-morrow
a loaded gun will receive the individual who takes such a pleasure in
arousing us._’
I underline these words, because further on we will have occasion of
seeing them repeated in a surprising manner.
A few months later, and without any new incidents occurring in the
meantime, our nurse was discharged, and replaced by a strong healthy
girl from the Pyrenees.
The nocturnal visit had been quite forgotten, when on the 23rd January
1868, Madame Vergniat and the nurse, who were busy in my room, heard
something like a rustling on the window-panes, and saw the statuette
bow twice, as though saluting them. At first they thought an earthquake
had happened, and when I entered they related the incident to me in
scared tones.
The statuette was indeed displaced; but was that sufficient to convince
me? No.
I laughed at the story, convinced that my wife and the nurse were
victims of an illusion.
However, on the morrow and following days, the same phenomena occurring
at the same hour, that is to say towards eleven o’clock in the morning,
I determined to stay at home and verify _de visu_ this marvellous fact.
I got what I wanted; for on that day, the statuette turned about now
to the right, now to the left, twelve or fourteen times. Sometimes it
advanced and balanced itself on the edge of the pedestal.
The evolution was so prompt and so unexpected, that the eye could
scarcely follow the movement.
I was not long in ascertaining that, before executing these movements,
the mysterious power awaited the moment when the attention, tired of
remaining on the _qui vive_, was off its guard. Then a sharp sounding
rap, similar to the discharge of an electric spark, denoted that the
evolution had taken place.
The picture hanging under the statuette lost its equilibrium, the
_bénitier_ fell over, and the swords swayed about like so many clock
pendulums.
I noticed that the presence of my wife and the nurse aided these
manifestations considerably; I even noticed that the appearance of
either of them on the threshold of the room sufficed to provoke the
phenomena.
I tried to dissimulate the preoccupation these manifestations caused
me, and I pretended to attach no importance to them, in order to react
against the exaltation and fear which were taking hold of Madame
Vergniat and the nurse, and of the two work-women, who were also
constant witnesses of this disorder.
But instead of aiding me in my efforts, the Virgin no longer contented
herself with simple evolutions on her pedestal. She began to let
herself fall down on the eiderdown of my bed, and would remain buried
there until a sharp sounding rap announced that she had returned to her
pedestal.
In a short time, the raps became more frequent, and did not always
indicate displacements. We heard them on the doors, on the cupboards,
etc., and even in the middle of the garden.
Thus on returning home one day, such a formidable rap resounded, that
the neighbours ran to their windows, and called out to me: ‘Well, M.
Vergniat, one would think you were being saluted.’
These facts, already so extraordinary, were to be succeeded by others
more extraordinary still.
The watchmaker, M. Ouvrard, who wound up our clocks every fortnight,
having at one time taken up the study of somnambulism, thought he
recognised in our nurse a subject who would be susceptible to magnetic
influences, and proposed putting her to sleep.
A few minutes sufficed to obtain the state of prostration and
insensibility which characterises magnetic sleep. For the first few
seances, Marie’s replies were unintelligible, but she very soon began
to express herself clearly and even with volubility.
Considering the state of mind the manifestations of the statuette kept
us in, it will be readily understood that the first question put to the
somnambulist was, ‘Do you see who it is who moves the Virgin about?’
‘I see him,’ she replied, ‘he is close to me on his knees, praying. It
is a man dressed in a brown coat, holding a dark-covered book in his
hand. I do not see his face. I only see a part of his moustache, for he
is turning his back to me.’
For several days her answers were always the same. But having insisted
upon knowing the name of the man in prayer, the somnambulist at last
replied, ‘I am Madame’s father.’
However, this assertion was soon contradicted by a more explicit
declaration.
It was so easy to produce the magnetic sleep with Marie, that, once
when she asked me to put her to sleep, I succeeded in doing so without
having any other notions about such things than those I had gathered
from our few seances; but I found it impossible to awaken her, and was
obliged to send for the watchmaker, hoping he would help me out of my
dilemma. He arrived, but his efforts were in vain.
The somnambulist made fun of us, and teased the watchmaker about his
_embonpoint_.
This fact is to be noted, for it contradicts the current belief that
the subject obeys the will of the magnetiser: but what follows reveals
a phenomenon of vastly different interest.
Marie ceased to speak in her own name. A spirit having taken possession
of her will, declared that all our efforts to awaken the somnambulist
would be useless.
‘I am quite comfortable here,’ said the spirit, ‘and it pleases me to
stay. But at four o’clock, I am wanted elsewhere; the somnambulist will
then awaken of her own accord. Have the patience to wait.’
At the hour mentioned, at the exact moment, the somnambulist returned
to her normal state.
From that day forth the somnambulist remained constantly under the
influence of the spirits who took possession of her during her sleep.
Thus, as soon as she was asleep, the spirit sometimes said, ‘I have
only a few minutes to stay’; and when the time was up, Marie would
awaken without any intervention.
During these more or less lengthy conversations, the spirit took a
fancy to calling me his son. His advice testified to a disposition of
great benevolence, and was chiefly of a profoundly religious character.
It is incontestable that, by an inexplicable phenomenon, Marie’s
faculties were replaced, during these communications, by a spirit whose
superiority it was impossible not to recognise, a superiority revealed
by the tone of the discussion and the choice of expressions.
Pressing him one day for an explanation, I resolutely asked him, ‘But
who are you, then?’
‘I am he, you wanted to receive with a loaded gun, when I knocked at
your door at one o’clock in the morning.’
Remember the somnambulist was absolutely ignorant of this fact, as she
was not in our service when the strange nocturnal visit occurred.
As for the Virgin, she was not at a standstill all this time; she
continued to turn five or six times every day.
The good advice of the spirit, the purity of his principles, most
certainly interested me; but I confess the statuette interested me
more. Had I not a tangible, undeniable fact before me, just as stubborn
as my reason tried to be? Stamping my feet I repeated, ‘And still she
turns.’
Ever on my guard, even in face of evidence, I gave myself the
satisfaction of imprisoning the Virgin, but in such a way as to be able
to verify her evolutions.
I had a niche of wire made, covered with transparent gauze, and,
sealing it to the wall, I securely shut up the statuette therein.
My work done, I left my room. At once a formidable rap resounded: I ran
to the room, everything had disappeared, the pedestal alone was still
in its place. The Virgin, thrown on to the bed, was found buried in the
eiderdown, whilst the casing was at the side of the bed.
My precautions having incurred displeasure, I took care not to renew
them. When consulted on this, the next day, the somnambulist, or rather
the spirit acting through her, said, ‘Never touch the Virgin, leave her
there; otherwise she will be transferred,’ adding, ‘he who takes her
away from her pedestal will know very well how to put her back again.’
This recommendation was followed; but one day the statuette
disappeared. Madame Vergniat having quite got over her first fears,
searched for it actively everywhere, and after having turned the house
upside down in her quest, found it in a cupboard behind the children’s
bed. This cupboard, being dissimulated by tapestry, had never been
used, and we did not even know of its existence.
How had the Virgin got into it?
The displacements became more and more frequent. For instance, the
statuette took it into its head to change rooms, and the sitting-room
became its favourite resort, but it never let a whole day pass without
reappearing upon its pedestal.
The doors opened and shut before it with the same sharp sound which
followed each evolution. All this went on so rapidly that we were more
surprised than inconvenienced.
Under the influence of these phenomena, the ordinary sleep of the
somnambulist became heavier. At night she was often heard speaking
aloud. She awakened with difficulty, and having shaken off her torpor,
she could not open her eyes. ‘They feel as though they were glued
down,’ she used to say. But placing her fingers on Marie’s eyelids,
Madame Vergniat used to pray, and the difficulty would disappear.
In her ordinary sleep, the conversation was not serious; it was more
often commonplace, full of jesting, sometimes even of bad taste;
whereas in provoked sleep, we constantly found a serious spirit,
professing the purest maxims, and giving advice full of sincere charity.
I asked this mysterious spirit if it were true that he was Madame’s
father, as he had once declared himself to be.
Here is his reply, I give it word for word: ‘My son, I read in your
mind (for you cannot hide your thoughts from me) that not having enough
faith to attribute to God the happiness of the visit you receive in
your house, you seek its explanation in absurd suppositions. _Do not
believe in spiritism, my son._
‘God, who is essentially good, could not permit your spirit-friends,
after having gone through all the trials of earth, to be condemned to
look on at the turpitudes and the sufferings of those who are dear to
them. This is a torture which God did not wish to reserve for you.
‘Yes, a Spirit exists; but He is alone, unique, and that Spirit is
mine. It is He who breathes into all things, who animates all things;
He who makes you act, walk, stop when you believe that your own will is
all-powerful.
‘That Spirit, I repeat, is unique. It is the Master’s.’
Let us remark, _en passant_, that this is the opinion of Mallbranche,
who claims God to be the immediate Author of the union we admire
between soul and body.
‘I see that you doubt my words,’ added the spirit, ‘(for I have already
told you that you cannot hide your thoughts or actions from me), and
you are saying, “What presumption! to suppose that I have deserved such
a visit, and that the Divine Spirit has knocked at my door!”
‘You prefer, therefore, my son, to doubt my words and to stand aloof
from the truth. So be it! but do not forget, whatever your appreciation
may be about me and the object of my visit, be assured that I am only
able to visit your home in pursuance of a supreme will, and that all
your efforts to drive me away, and even my desire to leave you before
the accomplishment of my mission, would be equally useless.
‘Welcome me, therefore, as a kind father who comes to help his son to
tread the painful path of life. I have never left you since you came
into the world. We have gone through many worries together, we have
borne many sorrows; but better times are at hand, and I am able to
reveal to you, my child, that from the moment I am able to make my
voice heard, the blessing of the Master will assure you the repose of
body, soul, and spirit.
‘No more worry for you, your father is here to shield you. But in
exchange for the good which my mission is to bring you, I ask you to
turn your thoughts to the Creator, and thank Him for the immense favour
He has accorded you. For, learn that no man has ever before received
such a Visitor in his home.
‘I desire you to attend divine service regularly, and to go to
communion.
‘I also desire you to help those people whose addresses and needs I
will make known to you; but as I am a protector, if I impose charges
upon you, I will also procure you the means of providing for them.’
Imagine what an influence these mysterious facts already exercised
over me, when I say that I promised everything, and, like a submissive
child, took the communion with fervour.
From that day forth the benevolence of the unknown was extended over
every one and every thing, from the household to the house needs. His
solicitude, for the somnambulist especially, drove him sometimes to
charge me with delicate missions, of which I will give an example.
I had once just put Marie to sleep, when the spirit manifested itself,
saying:—
‘I am going to speak to you about some of the private affairs of the
somnambulist, and I beg you to follow my instructions.
‘This girl thinks of marrying a carpenter, named Toussaint, who has
been following her about for a long time. But Marie’s parents, who are
honest folk, will never consent to this marriage. First of all, because
Toussaint is a worthless fellow, and in the second place, because
Toussaint’s brother was condemned _yesterday_ to pay an ignominious
penalty for a foul crime he has committed.
‘Therefore, Marie must cease to know this young man; moreover, his
jealous and violent character might soon endanger her life.
‘Marie is ignorant of these details. Therefore, when she awakens, take
care not to repeat our conversation; but to-morrow, when returning from
Bordeaux, tell her about this as though it were some news you had heard
of in town.
‘Marie will deny everything, first of all; she will pretend not to know
the individual; but insist upon it, and she will confess everything.’
And this, in fact, is what happened.
The spirit went on to say:—
‘This workman has recently wounded his hand, and is consequently
debarred from working; he is always prowling about the house, and I
advise you to be on your guard against him.’
Marie often used to ask me to put her to sleep in the evening. Then,
strange to say, she would tell us when and how many times this man
Toussaint would pass the door, the next day.
This information was always correct. However, one day, our man did not
turn up at the given time—he was two minutes late. Marie was asleep
in the sitting-room, and I went backwards and forwards from her to
the terrace. I was nearly losing patience, when she cried out, ‘He is
coming—you will barely have time to get to the terrace.’ And so it was;
as soon as I reached my post of observation, the carpenter came into
the Rue Malbec out of the Rue Bègles.
A few days afterwards, the spirit, whom the somnambulist called ‘Grand
Father,’ warned us that Marie ran a great risk. Toussaint having had
the door shown to him everywhere because of the disgrace which had
fallen upon his family, had made up his mind to avenge himself.
Animated with the worst designs, he had shaved off his beard in order
to make himself unrecognisable; and hiding a large knife under his
coat, he was bending his way to the house, with the fixed purpose, said
the spirit, of striking Marie.
When giving us this information through the somnambulist, our
mysterious friend added: ‘Do not allow this girl to go out to-day. I
will deliver you from this dangerous man very soon, by making him wish
to go on a long voyage, from which he will never return.’
Two or three days afterwards, Marie heard that this individual had left
for Algeria.
First of all we have seen, by the substitution of the spirit to the
faculties of the somnambulist, how our free-will is subordinated to
occult influences. And if the objection be made that in that case,
magnetic influences facilitated this substitution, there still remains
the case of the carpenter, whose free-will was absolutely subjugated
after premeditation, as is shown by the spirit’s declaration that he
would ‘make him wish to take a long voyage from which the individual
would never return.’
In proportion as these strange facts succeeded each other, we yielded
further and further to an influence from which it was impossible to
escape—I may even say we were happy to obey.
How could we thrust aside advice which was always thoroughly honest,
and with which the name of God was constantly associated?
After the somnambulist, Madame Vergniat was the one who felt the
effects of this mysterious atmosphere the most strongly.
For my part, I had, at first, confined myself simply to observing the
phenomena, to accepting them only as a study; but under the influence
of surprise upon surprise, filled with admiration, I ended in blind
submission. And yet, we were only at the beginning of our marvellous
manifestations.
Often, during a meal, if we had need of something or other, Marie would
bring it to us before we asked for it. A voice, which she thought was
at times mine, at times Madame Vergniat’s, transmitted our desire
to her before it was expressed. It was a splendid case of thought
transference.
If the maid’s work was not quite properly done, he who watched over
the house so assiduously, punished her immediately, by removing with
remarkable dexterity the foulard she wore on her head. And if she ever
happened to be wanting in politeness towards us, she was instantly
called to order in the same way, without any consideration for the
place or circumstances she might be in at the moment. I have often seen
her foulard thrown on the ground, to remind her that she should allow
us to pass before her into a carriage, omnibus, etc.
I have also had occasion to witness a very surprising manifestation,
surprising because of the facility shown for displacing a piece of
furniture the weight of which was relatively considerable.
Often, after retiring to rest, the somnambulist would feel her bed
gently rolled into the centre of the floor, and then back again to its
place. This to-and-fro movement used to be repeated as often as three
or four times in the same evening; the movement was slow, we could see
distinctly that great mass moving about under the impulsion of some
invisible force.
The somnambulist, as I said in the beginning, was a big, stout girl
from the Pyrenees. She could neither read nor write, and the sight
of all these supernatural things astounded and alarmed her. I have
remarked that, in her normal state, she often forgot what she had seen
the previous day. But what she really did understand was that ‘Grand
Father’ was not satisfied with her when a crust of bread or some cheese
was thrown at her head; this was a sure sign that there was a hitch
somewhere.
In the vestibule, which we used as a dining-room, a small Louis xv.
lustre was suspended; it often swayed about when we sat down to meals,
and the movement, which was always preceded by a rustling on the metal
chains, was slow or accelerated according to my wife’s expressed or
unexpressed wish.
If we had visitors, everything was so quiet that no one would ever have
suspected what strange things happened to us habitually. It looked as
though these manifestations were reserved for the inmates of the house
and for a few privileged guests, whose attention was, perforce, aroused
by the noise.
Two young girls, one Anna ——, from Périgord, the other Mathilde ——,
from Bordeaux, who worked almost constantly in our house, were present
at most of these occurrences, and ‘Grand Father’ even testified much
affection for these girls.
In the beginning, I said that when the statuette turned on its
pedestal, the swords had moved about in the contrary direction. One of
them was unhooked and deposited in a corner of the wall, but in the
presence of Madame Vergniat an invisible force almost immediately put
it slowly back again in its place.
The oscillations of the lustre, the movements of the swords, the
displacements of the bed were the only phenomena which the eye was able
to follow; all the others were so rapid that they escaped even the most
vigilant attention.
Our presence in the house was not necessary to produce noises and
other phenomena. The fact which I am going to relate contradicts the
opinion emitted by some spiritists, that spirits borrow the force which
is indispensable to produce these displacements from the mediums or
assistants.
We once went to spend a day in the country, taking the nurse with us,
and leaving the house empty for the day. Returning in the evening, the
neighbours came out to meet us saying that they feared all our crockery
was broken, because ever since our departure a dreadful noise had
reigned in the house. We searched all the rooms, but no damage had been
done, and everything was in its place.
Where, therefore, in that empty house had the spirit taken the
auxiliary force which we are told is necessary for its manifestations?
I was very reserved respecting these facts. I did not care to noise
them abroad, for had I done so controversy would certainly have arisen.
Another reason for remaining silent was, that once after having spoken
of these events to the member of a reputedly religious family, the
Virgin refused to make any evolution before this visitor. But scarcely
was the incredulous person out of the house when the statuette was
displaced.
The same evening I put Marie to sleep, and reproached the spirit
severely.
‘What happens here is for you alone,’ he replied, ‘and ought not to be
exhibited as a spectacle.’
However, this apparently severe admonition was soon infringed upon by
himself under the following circumstances:—
M. Bossuet, a hairdresser in the Rue Bouffard, at Bordeaux, was
dressing Madame Vergniat’s hair in the sitting-room: my wife heard
the sharp rap which usually announced a displacement of the Virgin.
She got up, and without saying anything went into the room, followed
instinctively by M. Bossuet. The Virgin was balancing herself on
the edge of the bracket. M. Bossuet, quickly understanding what was
happening, cried out in admiration, ‘_Mon Dieu!_ how glad I am to have
seen such a thing!’
M. Bossuet is dead now; who can say whether he has found the solution
of the problem which engages us?
I took advantage of this incident to ask why the Virgin had moved
during M. Bossuet’s visit, since it was told me that these favours were
exclusively reserved for the household.
‘I choose my company,’ replied the spirit, ‘and I had to reward M.
Bossuet for having patiently reproduced the features of Christ in some
hair.’
I do not know if it be true—though many have since assured me it is
true—that M. Bossuet was the author of such a work. I confine myself,
as a faithful reporter, to recording the reply which was given me.
Our house had one inconvenience—a very disagreeable one in winter—that
of obliging the maid to cross the garden in order to open the gate for
the milkman, who rang every morning at daybreak.
We were looking for a combination which might enable us to avoid this
inconvenience, when our kind protector came to our aid.
This fact is one of the most curious of our long series of surprising
adventures.
Henceforth, when the milkman’s cart stopped at the gate and before he
rang, a mysterious power shot back the bolt in the lock. Then the gate
opened, and the milkman placed on the window-sill the jug of milk,
which the domestic took in later on.
Perhaps the milkman thought a special mechanism allowed us to open the
door. However that may be, his imagination was evidently at work, for
he was heard to say aloud, when getting into his cart, ‘All the same,
this is a very queer house.’
Sometimes, after having attended vespers either at Sainte-Croix or at
the Vieillards, we used to take a long walk, and often we returned home
tired and impatient to sit down and rest a while.
So that we might not have to wait, an invisible hand used to knock at
the door before we arrived there.
This fact could not be hidden, and our neighbour, Madame Pardeau, in a
good position for observation, laughed at the attentions shown us.
At about this time there was a strange substitution, one which would,
henceforth, render the intervention of the somnambulist unnecessary.
Madame Vergniat and I were returning home after visiting Talence. On
the way, my wife turned round quickly, saying: ‘Some one has just
called me: twice I heard a voice say, “Héloïse! Héloïse!”’
From that day forth, Madame Vergniat asked questions mentally and a
foreign voice answered them.
Very soon the voice took the initiative of conversations, and absorbing
Madame Vergniat’s faculties, spoke through her.
There was no being deceived; it was easy to recognise the same
benevolent spirit, which had only changed his dwelling-place, as it
were.
The first recommendation given through Madame Vergniat was to cease
putting Marie to sleep. ‘Henceforth you will not be able to do so,
without incurring much unpleasantness.’
But my keen desire to see and to observe everything was so great, that
it got the better of this last advice, and I put the somnambulist
to sleep as usual. Ill came of it. To the charitable and benevolent
discourses succeeded a dishevelled language, which I thought I could
put an end to by awakening the somnambulist; but it was impossible to
do so.
She walked about the room with her eyes closed, crying out: ‘I will
wake up when it suits me to do so. I am here, and I want to stay just
because my staying annoys you.’ Then she tried to go out to walk about
in the garden, and I was obliged to lock the door.
This scene, which lasted for several hours, took away my wish for
further experimentation with Marie.
From that time, Marie was subjected to several ill-defined influences
during her ordinary sleep; she spoke aloud, sometimes she used serious
language; sometimes she seemed to be filled with mad joy. The former
depth and goodness in advice given through her had disappeared.
Moreover, I was amply compensated by the new situation which rendered
the somnambulist’s intervention unnecessary, and I thought no further
of risking the disagreeable scene of which I have spoken. I may even
say that all magnetic attempts and experiments with Marie ended here.
There was no further question of them.
Sometimes the spirit when consulted did not answer. Madame Vergniat
would then say, ‘I speak to him, but he does not reply.’ But he never
kept us waiting very long.
The spirit often announced his departure. ‘If you have something to ask
me, or to tell me,’ he would say, ‘be quick, because I am obliged to
go away, and will only be able to return to-morrow at such and such a
time.’
And, until the time indicated had arrived, all questioning was useless.
There were no replies.
Hundreds of times I had had occasion of verifying the exactness of
information furnished by means of Marie; but it remained to me to find
out if the information given by the new channel had the same value.
I had not long to wait before attaining certitude in that respect.
It was on a winter’s evening, the night was pitch dark, it was pouring
in torrents. Returning home from business, the maid came to tell me
that a small Havanese dog, which a neighbour had kindly given us, had
gone astray. As I said, the weather was fearful, and we could not
think of going out to search for the tiny animal. But, as I appeared
to be troubled about the matter, Madame Vergniat, who so far had
said nothing, raised her head, and addressing me in the peculiar way
which announced an official communication, said, ‘So you were really
attached to that little animal! Very well! do not be sad, you will
find it again. I see it; a workman is holding it under his jacket in a
hairdresser’s establishment in the Rue Bègles (the little hunchback).’
The information was precise; given by the somnambulist, I would not
have hesitated believing it; but I now needed further proof; therefore,
in spite of the weather, I went out in search of the dog. My quest
having led me to the hairdresser’s, I looked timidly in at the
window, when the hunchback perceived me, and called out: ‘Do you want
something, M. Vergniat?’ I replied, ‘If you should happen to hear that
a small Havanese dog has been found, be kind enough to let me know.’
A workman, who was in the shop, said: ‘Five minutes ago I held it in my
jacket trying to warm it. I had picked it up sopping wet, in a corner
of the street, where I dropped it again.’
Some few steps further off, I observed a white spot in the darkness. It
was Fleurette crouching down in the shelter of a doorway.
I returned home triumphantly, carrying the children’s happiness with
me, as well as the confirmation of the infallibility of our protector.
The influence of this power, which revealed itself as unlimited, will
be easily understood. Always gaining fresh ground by new supernatural
phenomena, its will entirely superseded ours. What in the beginning it
formulated as a desire, soon became an order. It paid attention to the
smallest details; designated the necessary provisions for the day and
fixed the prices thereof. If a more important purchase than usual had
to be made, he indicated the shop and price beforehand.
These facts gave rise to some curious incidents. Thus, for example,
when a shopkeeper charged too high a price. ‘Grand Father,’ always
at hand, used to whisper to Madame Vergniat, ‘Tell that woman her
goods only cost her such and such a price. Offer her so much. That is
sufficient profit....’
The shopkeeper, dumfounded, could not deny, and the bargain would be
concluded.
I reveal all these facts without hesitation, persuaded that the study
of such persistent and varied manifestations may help to lift the
mysterious veil surrounding us. Moreover, why should I hesitate or keep
silent? Have I not seen? The more incomprehensible the facts may be,
the greater the duty to reveal them.
I will, perhaps, be accused of weakness by showing so much submission
to this occult power, which, however, only put forth the claim of
coming from God, and expressed none but honourable sentiments. To
my accusers, I will reply, ‘Go through the same trial, then I will
recognise your right to criticise.’
As for weakness, this was never one of my failings, unless I should
make an exception for the sentiment, which makes me bow before the
Master—a sentiment I mean to preserve.
I said my wife and I went regularly to vespers, sometimes at Talence,
sometimes at Sainte-Croix; but more often at the Vieillards.
I remember that once when gazing upon these latter poor creatures, ever
at the mercy of public charity, our mysterious guest confided to us:
‘Without my visit, my children, that fate might have been yours.’
In the beginning, I said I had promised to take the communion; I did
so with fervour, so profoundly had these mysterious facts impressed
me; I carried submission to the extent of giving up theatres, and all
amusements, obeying the express desire of the unknown.
To make up for this, I was permitted to join every pilgrimage.
One morning, as I was starting for my office, Madame Vergniat, with
an inspired air, dictated the following order to me: ‘You must send a
telegram to Paris this morning, bidding the agents to sell out 6000
francs worth of French stock at 3 per cent., and buy in 10,000 francs
of Italian stock.’ He added: ‘Did I not tell you, that when it would
please me to impose an obligation upon you, it would never be at your
own expense? Now, I have need of a few thousand francs, the use of
which I will point out to you when the time comes.’
In spite of the strange things I had already seen, I was bewildered.
Madame Vergniat, although the wife of a stockbroker, had never
interested herself in business affairs, and was absolutely ignorant of
financial combinations.
The terms used to dictate the transaction, indicated that the operation
was planned by a mind accustomed to this kind of business.
As the advice was not dangerous, and, in case of failure, would not
carry me very far, I telegraphed to Paris without hesitating. Before
I returned home in the evening, I had the reply, and wished to
communicate it to my mysterious client. ‘Useless,’ he said to me, ‘I
know it.’
I took advantage of this circumstance of talking business with him,
with the object of finding out just how far the spirit’s knowledge, in
matters of speculation, went.
‘Do you know,’ I said to him, ‘that your transaction is founded on two
liquidations. The Italian stock is in liquidation for the 15th inst.,
and the 3 per cent. for the end of the month.’
‘I did it purposely. The Italian will be liquidated first, for the
profits thereof are urgently required. Whoever procures the French
stock for the end of the month is destined to offer a present to his
daughter. I will give you a few instructions on this subject.’
I risked the question: ‘You then believe in the rise of the Italian and
fall of the French stock?’
‘Your Father is not one who doubts, who believes, or who only hopes; He
is always sure, because He is the Master.’
From the day the exchange transaction was made, the two contrary
movements, favourable to the arbitration, were not belied; and (an
important fact to take note of) every morning, with mathematical
precision, the unknown predicted the stock-list which the telegraph
only brought at four o’clock in the afternoon.
I wish to insist upon this fact, because some people seem to question
the spirits’ possibility of foretelling the future.
Always preoccupied in studying these facts, I sometimes asked, the
evening before, what the rate would be the following day. ‘I cannot
tell you before to-morrow morning. I have need of the night to gather
my information.’
One day, there was a difference of a farthing between the rate
predicted in the morning, and the official rate received at four
o’clock. When I made the remark, the unknown said to me: ‘It was a bad
head who rang down the changes at the stroke of the bell.’ The spirit
evidently even possessed the slang of the stockbrokers’ ring.
Seeing so much penetration, I meekly asked if he could be useful to me
in my own business. He replied: ‘I did not come for that; my visit has
another object in view; nevertheless I think I can be useful to you,
and when the opportunity occurs, I will not forget.’
This declaration seemed to contradict the first one. At the outset of
these manifestations, the ‘Master’s‘ blessing assured the repose of
body, soul, and spirit: ‘No more worries for you: your Father is here
to turn them all aside.’ There was now a slight deviation which we
cannot help observing.
Let us, however, return to this power of penetration; it was such,
that, consulted upon the state of my cash-box, he at once told me how
much it contained. For him, it was mere child’s play to tell any one
the contents of their purse.
During the arbitration process, I sometimes asked him, ‘What profit
does your stock operation give you this evening?’ He mentioned it at
once, and, without omitting a farthing, he even counted brokerage and
the price of telegrams.
‘Your business affairs,’ said he, ‘should no longer trouble you, for
they are mine. I will look after them: you have only to obey, and to
satisfy me in order to be rewarded.
‘You may be sure that nothing would be easier for me than to load you
with riches any day; and, if I make you wait, it is because you made me
wait a long time before I was able to bring you to me.’
This is another remark which is not any clearer than the one I quoted a
little while ago.
Whilst the arbitration was proceeding favourably, the Virgin continued
her evolutions; however, they were soon to cease.
One afternoon she made some evolutions noisier than usual, and going
out of the house, went and placed herself upon some grape-vines in the
garden.
At that moment, one of our former servants, a girl named Caroline T...,
the same who was in our service when the nocturnal visit occurred,
happened to come up to the house; seeing the statue in the garden, she
and another servant decided to put it back again on its pedestal.
It was scarcely replaced when a violent rap resounded, and the Virgin
fell on the ground broken to pieces.
Great was Madame Vergniat’s grief when she heard of the accident.
I must own that I, too, was vexed. The debris were gathered up and
preserved with veneration for a long time.
But the pedestal remained vacant. Then the thought came to me of asking
our protector if it would be possible to find a similar statuette.
‘I will see about it to-night,’ he replied. The spirit often begged
me to leave him the night for reflection. He said it was then that he
found the necessary information.
The next day, faithful to his promise, he gave me the following
information: ‘There is, in Bordeaux, a Virgin like the one which is
broken. You will find it at a sculptor’s in the Rue Bouquière (a small
shop situated in a corner of the street). There is only that one
specimen, and the tradesman has no cast.’
I quickly took one of the fragments, and went to the Rue Bouquière.
I found the shop, and the tradesman told me he had a Virgin similar
to the one I desired, but that he had no cast of it. ‘I will look for
it, and you may come and fetch it this evening.’ The same evening I
returned to Malbec with the statuette which was going to stifle all
regrets.
My arrival with the statuette was the occasion for another official
communication: ‘My son, that Virgin will be displaced. I will not tell
you where I shall carry it to; she herself will reveal it to you. Now,
as she will go very far away, you must put your name and address inside
the statuette.’ This was done.
Placed upon the pedestal, the new Virgin turned round three times the
day after her arrival; since that day she never stirred.
I do not know if she will ever go on this journey; in any case, she is
a long time making her preparations.
All the incidents touching the statuette end here: the circumstances of
the _année terrible_ caused it to pass into other hands.
We said that the stock transaction was going on better and better. And
with his facility to foretell the future, the unknown sold out the
Italian stock at the highest rate, whilst he waited for several days to
buy back his 3 per cent. favourably.
All this was done with astounding precision; with a power equal to his,
fortune was simply without bounds.
The profits of these two transactions amounted to about three thousand
francs. With the funds resulting from the liquidation of the 15th I
was given the mission to reserve one thousand francs for the father of
a large family. And the souvenir of this good action, for which, in a
way, I was but an agent, rejoices me still.
Other less important distributions were ordered to be made.
Finally, to crown everything, we were told to illuminate our garden in
honour of the Virgin.
The profits of the second liquidation followed afterwards, and gave
rise to a curious incident.
On pay-day, when the profits were at the disposition of the mysterious
spirit, he begged me to return to Bordeaux to buy a piano, which he
offered to my daughter. (This was the ‘present’ which had been spoken
of in the beginning of these bourse transactions.)
‘Go,’ he said, ‘to M. Caudéré’s, Allées de Tourny, No. 50, where you
will buy a second-hand piano; you will be asked six hundred and fifty
francs for it.’
Upon making the remark that I needed precise indications in order to
avoid all confusion, he replied: ‘It is not necessary. I will be there
to see that they offer you the piano I want. You will not be obliged to
bargain, for the price is less than the value of the instrument.’
How could I resist the commands of such a kind-hearted friend, whose
power seemed to have no other limit than that of his will?
Moreover, was it my province to discuss the manner of employing money
which did not belong to me?
Therefore I arrived at Allées de Tourny. Madame Caudéré was alone in
the shop. I followed my instructions, and was offered a second-hand
piano for six hundred francs. It was fifty francs below the stated
price. I hesitated taking it, but, remembering his own words, ‘_I will
be there_,’ I concluded the bargain on the express condition that
the instrument might be delivered the same evening, according to our
benefactor’s will.
I arrived home quickly, impatient to have an explanation concerning the
fifty francs.
It was the first time I had observed an irregularity, and as my
submission was only the result of an infallibility which, until then,
had never been belied, the absolute and regular continuation of these
facts was required in order to keep up that blind confidence which
already impaired so seriously my free will.
It was with almost a triumphant air I announced that the piano had only
cost six hundred francs.
‘I know it,’ said the unknown; ‘but Madame made a mistake.’
On the morrow, when settling the account, the shopkeeper said to me:
‘You got a bargain yesterday; my wife made a mistake in selling you for
six hundred francs a piano I had fixed at six hundred and fifty.’
Absorbed in these supernatural incidents, I did not think of replying.
I walked slowly home wrapped in thought. I related to the mysterious
being what had happened to me at the piano-shop.
If my mystical preoccupations had made me forget my duty for an
instant, he was not long in recalling it to me.
‘I apprised you of it,’ he answered. I understood, and brought back the
fifty francs to the tradesman, not caring to benefit by a mistake.
At that time my daughter’s musical knowledge was limited to the ‘_Bon
Roi Dagobert_,’ and yet, when she sat down to the piano, her fingers,
yielding to some mysterious influence, moved involuntarily over the
piano, and played unknown airs whose accompaniments were in accordance
with all the rules of harmony.
Convinced that the child was playing from memory, the pianoforte-tuner
complimented her upon her musical dispositions.
This phenomenon was only produced three or four times; it is true, I
always took care to take the child away from the piano as soon as I
suspected the approach of the influence.
The stock transaction accomplished, other business, patronised and
advised by the protector, succeeded as well as the first. The object
was always charity. These operations were not important; but for all
that, their results increased the importance of the help every day.
The spirit had reserved to himself the right of designating the persons
he wished to help. Sometimes he indicated the name, but more often he
confined himself to mentioning the street, the number, and flat.
I remember one Sunday, while breakfasting, I was suddenly told to go
_immediately_ and visit a family living in a tiny house behind the
Rue François-de-Sourdis. It was a long way off, and notwithstanding
the indications given me, I went up and down several streets in that
quarter of the town in vain, and I returned without having been able to
fulfil my mission.
‘You must go back again,’ said the unknown, ‘and before breakfasting;
for you yourself can wait; but it is not the same there, where the
children are hungry...!’
Every morning, when leaving home to go to my office, I was commissioned
to do a good work. ‘In such and such a street, at such and such a
number and flat, at the door to the right, etc., lives a widow; you
will give her five francs, or ten francs, and so forth....’
In the beginning, fearing to be led astray, these missions made me feel
rather uncomfortable, especially when he sent me to places where there
was no apparent misery; but he never made a mistake.
To provide for these distributions, and carry out certain religious
projects, which he acknowledged to me—such, for example, as the
erection of a chapel on the ground of ‘Malbec,’ in order to perpetuate
the memory of his visit—to provide, I say, for so much expense, he
considerably increased the figure of his operations.
It is true that an affair undertaken by his order always the same
evening gave good results. And it was necessary it should be rigorously
so, if he wished to maintain the blind confidence he seemed so desirous
of preserving.
It was then that he changed his tactics. Instead of taking his profits
at each liquidation, he now opposed himself to any realisation
whatsoever.
In the face of such a dangerous system, I timidly risked some remarks:—
‘No one could guide me better than you do, and I would be already
_too rich_ if, as before, you took advantage of every fluctuation of
the market, instead of opposing yourself to the realisation of the
profits. It is true there is a large margin on your purchases, but our
prosperity is only artificial, since it is but the result of recharges
and not of liquidated operations. That is to say, by this system we are
constantly laying ourselves open to emergencies.’
It was also under this mysterious inspiration that I then took an
engagement to buy out the interest of my sleeping partners.
Always under the same guidance, our business affairs rapidly created an
opulent position for me. The upward movement of stocks continued, and
if at times a slight reaction arose, it could only touch a small part
of the profits already acquired, and constantly carried over.
The dangerous system of non-realisation, we see, had not been abandoned.
I often complained.
It was thus that on the 1st January 1870 (a Sunday, I think), the
_Coulisse_ having quoted on the boulevards 75·05 francs, and this
rate assuring us a profit of 30,000 francs on one affair alone, I
implored him to consent to realising. He refused energetically, saying,
‘Money-jobbing does not suit me, I have put you in a position which
will be your last affair.’ Moreover, he affected a great dislike to
my profession, saying he desired to see me leave it as speedily as
possible.
Sometimes the spirit dropped certain exclamations, aside, as it were,
the most frequent of which was, ‘_What a struggle!_’
I paid no attention to this, and it was only after the tragic
_dénouement_ of this affair that the souvenir of these exclamations,
although so frequently repeated, came back to my memory.
The circumstances which follow sadly demonstrate that during two and
a half years the aim, so patiently followed, was simply to bribe my
confidence with strange revelations, and to keep me under his thumb.
This result obtained, he had only to use influence in order to keep me
in a position whose importance could not help being fatal, in view of
coming events, and which the unknown’s power of penetration permitted
him to foresee.
It was in the midst of all this, in a way, borrowed prosperity, since
it only resulted from non-realised operations, that I took possession
of my new residence, Rue d’Enghien, No. 11.
For several months, although it was impossible for stock to rise above
seventy-five francs, faithful to his system, the unknown refused to
sell out.
It was therefore necessary to continue. But could I complain if funds
remained stationary? The profits entered into cash as a consequence of
the rise of stocks, which seemed a sufficient guarantee against any
event whatsoever.
Moreover, it seemed to me mean to reproach him with not giving me more,
when I owed him already such unhoped-for prosperity.
My tranquillity was, therefore, absolute when complications with
Germany broke out. Then, from the first day, I wished to liquidate.
‘There, are your fears beginning again as at the time of the Luxembourg
incident? Believe him who is the Master, and who for nearly three years
has never deceived you.’
Notwithstanding his affirmations, two days afterwards war was decided,
and in taking possession of the telegraph lines, the light-hearted
minister put the finishing-stroke to my ruin, for it placed me in the
impossibility of communicating, and therefore of limiting my loss.
Whatever may be the danger of a struggle, we succumb with less regret
when we have fought on equal terms; but here, without speaking of the
strange circumstances, the suppression of telegraphic communication
placed me in the position of a man bound hand and foot, who is thrown
into the sea and reproached for not swimming.
In this critical moment, the unknown was absolutely dumb. He answered
none of the questions I asked him. And yet the situation was most
critical; for twenty years of labour disappeared into the gulf, and,
moreover, to this material loss was added the grief of being forced to
remain separated from my daughter, who was dangerously ill.
A last explanation took place: ‘There, then,’ I said to him, ‘here is
what you have brought me to, and I do not know who you are; I only know
that you have appealed to honourable sentiments, in order to make me
your dupe, and that you have not hesitated using the name of God when
laying your snares.’
I was too irritated to heed his reply; and I have only a vague souvenir
of the word ‘_trials_’ faltered out in answer to my upbraidings.
Thus ends this long and sad ‘story.’
* * * * *
I have given this curious self-observation _in extenso_. The
personification is liable to errors which may be dangerous if we
abandon ourselves to its direction, as too many people are tempted to
do.
The extraordinary facts with which Madame Vergniat’s life was filled
are not confined to those just related; she appears to have possessed
supernormal faculties right up to the last. It might be of considerable
interest if her family would give a detailed account of her life.
Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press
Transcriber’s note
Words in italics have been surrounded with _underscores_, some bold
letters with =signs=, and small capitals were changed to all capitals.
A few missing page numbers were added to the table of Contents, but
other omissions and inconsistencies were preserved.
Some missing punctuation has been corrected, also the following
changes were made, on page
24 under point 6 “a” changed to “d” ((_d_) Lastly, the most
complete)
64 “IV.” added (IV. THE PERSONIFICATION)
95 “is” changed to “are” (Phenomena are often forthcoming)
368 “Phenomenon” changed to “Phenomena” (Phenomena of the same
kind).
Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling
and hyphenation and possible errors in languages other than English.
Additional: Mallbranche, on page 429, should probably be Malebranche.