IX

The reader will have observed that up to the present moment I have not

emphasized in any way the question of the identity of the

"intelligences" that have manifested themselves. The reason for this

lies in the fact that I was still seeking evidence concerning the

processes of mediumship. However, being convinced (by reason of my own

experiments, supported by those of Lombroso, Morselli, and Bottazzi)

that the facts of mediumship exist, it is my purpose to take up

definitely the question of identity, which is the final and most elusive

part of the problem--it may turn out to be the insoluble part of the

problem.

If you ask why it should be insoluble, I reply, because it concerns the

mystery of death, and it may be that it is not well for us to penetrate

the ultimate shadow. Among all the men of the highest rank who admit the

reality of apparitions and voices, there are but few as yet who are

willing to assert that the dead manifest themselves. By this I mean that

though some of them, like Crookes, for example, believe in "the

intervention of discarnate intelligences," they are not ready to grant

that these intelligences are their grandfathers returning to the scene

of their earthly labors.

I said something like this to Miller and Fowler, when we met at the club

one afternoon not long after the final meeting of Cameron's Amateur

Psychical Society, and I added: "I must confess that most of the spirits

I have met seem to me merely parasitic or secondary personalities (to

use Maxwell's term), drawn from the psychic or from myself. Nearly every

one of the mediums I have studied has had at least one guide, whose

voice and habit of thought were perilously similar to her own. This, in

some cases, has been laughable, as when 'Rolling Thunder,' a Sioux chief

(Indians are all chiefs in the spirit world), appears and says: 'Goot

efening, friends; id iss a nice night alretty.' And yet I have seen a

whole roomful of people receive communications from a spirit of this

kind with solemn awe. I burn with shame for the sitters and psychic when

this kind of thing is going on."

"You visit the wrong mediums," said Fowler. "Such psychics are on a low

plane. I never go to those who associate with Indians."

"But mediums are all alike in this respect. I don't suppose Mrs. Smiley

realizes that 'Maudie' would be called by a doubter a falsetto disguise

of her own voice, and 'Wilbur' a shrewd and humorous personification of

her subconscious self; or, if she does, she probably ascribes it to the

process of materialization which 'takes from' the medium. Never but once

have I had the sensation of being in the presence of a real spirit

personality, and that happened to me only a few days ago."

"It must have been an extraordinary experience to have made so deep an

impression upon you," said Fowler.

"Yes, it was extraordinary. It had the personal element in it to a much

greater degree than any case I had hitherto studied, and seemed a direct

attempt at identification on the part of a powerful and original

individuality but recently 'passed out.' It came about in this way:

"I met, not long ago, at the home of a friend in a Western city, a woman

who was said to be able to produce whispers independent of her own

organs of speech. I was assured by those in whom I had confidence that

these voices could be heard in the broad light of day, in the open air,

anywhere the psychic happened to be, and that her 'work' was of an

exceptionally high character. I was keenly interested, as you may

imagine, and asked for a sitting. Mrs. Hartley, as we will call her,

fixed a day and hour in her own house for the trial, and I went to the

sitting a few days later with high expectations of her 'phase.' I found

her living in a small frame house on a pleasant street, with nothing to

indicate that it was a meeting-place of mortals and their 'spirit

guides.'

"Mrs. Hartley was quite evidently a woman of power and native

intelligence. After a few minutes of general conversation she took me up

to her study on the second floor, a sunny little den on the east side of

the house, which was not in the least suggestive of hocus-pocus. A broad

mission table, two bookcases, a few flowers, and a curious battered old

black walnut table completed the furnishing of the room, which indicated

something rather studious and thoughtful in the owner.

"Mrs. Hartley asked me to be seated, and added, 'Please write on a sheet

of paper the names of such friends as you would like to communicate

with.' She then left the room on some household errand, and while she

was gone I wrote the name of her guide, 'Dr. Cooke' (out of compliment),

and added that of a musical friend whom I will call 'Ernest Alexander.'

I also wrote the names 'Jessie' and 'David,' folded the sheet once, and

retained it under my hand. Upon her return the psychic seated herself at

the battered oval table, and, taking up a pair of hinged school slates,

began to clean them with a cloth. I am not going to detail my

precautions. You must take my detective work for granted. Moreover, in

this case I was awaiting the voices; the slate-writing was gratuitous.

She took the slates (between which I had dropped my slip of paper),

and, putting them beneath the table, asked me to hold one corner."

"I _wish_ they wouldn't do that," protested Fowler. "It isn't necessary.

I've had messages on slates held in my own hands six feet from the

psychic."

"As we sat thus she told me that she had never been in a trance, and

that she never permitted the dark. 'I force my guides to work in the

light,' she said. She declared that the whispers which I was presently

to hear came to her under all conditions, and that her spirit friends

talked to her familiarly as she went about her household duties. She

assured me that 'they' were a great help and comfort to her. 'Dr. Cooke'

was her ever-present guide and counsellor, and her father and brother

were always near.

"It was plain that she did not stand in awe of them, for after half an

hour's wait she grew impatient and called out in an imperious tone:

'Come, dear, I want you. Come, anybody.' Two or three times she spoke

loudly, clearly, as if calling to some one through a thick wall. This

interested me exceedingly. Generally psychics are very humble and

patient with their 'guides.' A few moments later the slates began to

slam about so violently beneath the table that her arm was bruised, and

she protested sharply: 'Don't do that. You will break the slates and the

table both!' Thereupon the 'forces' quieted down till only a peculiar

quiver remained in them. I could hear writing going on steadily.

"At last a tap came to announce that the messages were written. The

psychic withdrew the slates and handed them across the table to me. I

opened them and took out my paper. On one slate was a message from 'Dr.

Cooke,' the guide; on the other were these words, written in

slate-pencil: '_I would that you could see me as I am now, still

occupied, and happy to be busy._' This was followed by four lines and

three little marks, evidently intended to symbolize a bar of music, and

the whole was signed, 'E. Alexander.' The writing was firm and manly,

but I did not recognize it as that of my friend.

"The second trial resulted in this vague communication: '_My dear

friend, don't overdo. Earth is but one life. Many I recall. I tried to

give expression to my one talent._' This was signed 'Ernest Alexander.'

Both these replies, as you see, were very general in phraseology, but

the third message came closer to the individual: '_I was so tired and

not myself. I am well and in the world of progress. Ernest Alexander._'

The bar of music again appeared, this time much more 'developed.'"

Miller stopped me here. "All this is quite simple. Mrs. Hartley opened

and read your note and, following up the clew, simply did some neat

trick-writing beneath the table."

"It is not so simple as all that," I answered. "She was interrupted

about this time by the doorbell, and while she was gone I wrote on

another piece of paper: 'Ernest, give me a test of your identity. Write

a bar from the "---- Sonata."' This note I folded close and put in an

inside pocket.

"In answer to this request, when the medium returned I got these

pertinent words: '_I was not a disappointment to myself, but I was at a

point where nerve force failed me._' This was signed '_Ernest_,' and was

accompanied by another sketchy bar of music. It all looked like a real

attempt to give me what I had asked for, and yet it was the kind of

reply that might have been made by the medium had she known the history

of my musical friend, or had she been able to take it out of my mind."

"Even that is a violent assumption to me," remarked Miller.

"So it is to me," I answered. "I can't really believe in thought

transmission, and yet-- I then asked for the signature of the staff, and

a small '_c_' was written in the bar above, and another bar was added.

Now on the slates there came (with every evidence of eager haste)

intimate questions concerning Alexander's family: '_Is my wife cared

for?_' and the like. To these I replied orally. I must tell you that all

along the whisper spoke of Alexander's wife as 'Mary,' which was wrong,

although it was close to the actual name. Also, after I began to speak

of him as 'E. A.' the messages were all signed in that manner, all of

which would seem to argue a little confusion in the psychic's mind.

"A little later, _while I held the slate myself_, the mysterious 'force'

wrote, '_I thank you for what you have done. I have been told my mind is

clear_,' which was particularly full of meaning to me, for the reason

that my friend's mind was clouded toward the close of his life."

"All of which proves nothing," insisted Miller. "Your friend, if I

conjecture rightly, was a well-known man, and the psychic could have

read, and probably did read, all about his illness in the public press."

"It may be so. About this time I began to hear a faint whisper, which

_seemed_ to come from a point a little to the right of and a foot or two

above the psychic's lips. This, she informed me, was the voice of 'Dr.

Cooke,' her guide. I could catch only a few of the whispered words, and

Mrs. Hartley was forced to repeat them. 'Dr. Cooke,' thus interpreted,

said: '_Your friend Alexander is present, and overjoyed to talk with

you._' The conversation went on with both 'Dr. Cooke' and the psychic

standing between the alleged spirit and myself; but even then I must

admit that 'Alexander's' queries and answers were to the point.

"Under what seemed like test conditions I got two more bars of music,

both much more definitive in form than the others; and these, the

whisper declared, were from the third movement of the '---- Sonata.'

This message was accompanied by a curious little device like the letter

_C_ with a line drawn through it, and I said to myself: 'If this should

prove to be a mark which "Ernest" used in signing his manuscript,

something like Whistler's butterfly, I shall have a fine test of thought

transmission.'

"I now secured under excellent tests the writing of a singular word,

which was plainly spelled but meant nothing to me. It looked like

'_Isinghere_.' In answer to oral questioning, the whisper said that

these bars of music were part of an unpublished manuscript, a fragment,

which the composer had meant to call 'Isinghere.'"

"What about the process?" asked Miller. "Did the writing appear to be

supernormal?"

"Yes, and so did the whispering. I could detect no connection between

the lips of the psychic and the voice. In one way or another I varied

the conditions, so that I was at last quite convinced of the psychic's

supernormal power; but that was not my quest. I was seeking proof of the

identity of my friend 'E. A.'

"Seeing that the chief means of identification might be in the music, I

persuaded my friend Blake, who is a fairly competent musician, to sit

with me and decipher the score which 'E. A.' persisted in setting down.

I was now eager to secure a complete phrase of the music. I saw myself

establishing, at the least, the most beautiful case of mind-tapping on

record. 'If we can secure the score of an unpublished manuscript of

Alexander's composition we shall have worked a miracle,' I said to

Blake.

"Our first sitting, which took place in the home of a common friend, was

mixed as to results; but the second, which we held in Mrs. Hartley's

study one bright morning, was very fruitful. The 'powers' started in at

once as if to confound us both. Blake received a message written on a

slate under his foot, and I got the name '_Jessie_,' with the word

'_sister_' written beneath it; and then suddenly the whispers changed in

character. The words became swift, impetuous, imperious. '_Line off all

the leaves of a slate_,' the voice commanded. I understood at once, for

in the previous sitting 'E. A.' had seemingly found it difficult to draw

a long line.

"We had brought some silicon slates of the book variety, and Blake now

proceeded to rule one of them with the lines of a musical staff, and on

these slates, held as before beneath the table, we began to get bars of

music of a character quite outside the knowledge of the psychic and

myself; and, more remarkable still, the whispers, so the psychic

informed us, were no longer from 'Dr. Cooke'; 'E. A.,' she declared,

was there in person and directing the work.

"Furthermore, the requests that we now received were entirely different

in character from 'Cooke's' impersonal remarks. The whispers were quick

and masterful, wonderfully like 'Alexander' in content. 'He' was

humorous; 'he' acknowledged mistakes in the score, calling them '_slips

of the pen_.' 'He' became highly technical in his conversation with

Blake, talking of musical matters that were Greek to me and, I venture

to say, Coptic to the psychic. 'He' corrected the notations himself,

sometimes when Blake held the slate, sometimes when I held it. Part of

the time 'he' indicated the corrections orally. 'He' asked Blake to try

the air.

"At last 'he' broke off, and imperiously said: '_Take the table to the

piano._' This seemed to surprise the psychic, but she acquiesced, and we

moved the small stand and our slates down to the little parlor; and

there, with Blake now holding the slate beneath the table and now

playing the notes upon the piano, the score grew into a weird little

melody with bass accompaniment, which seemed to me at the moment exactly

like a message from my friend Alexander. The first bar went through me

like the sound of his voice."

"Now you are getting into the upper air of spiritualism," exulted

Fowler. "You are now receiving a message that has dignity and meaning."

"So it seemed at the moment, both to Blake and to myself. The music was

manifestly not the kind of thing that Mrs. Hartley could conceive. It

was absolutely _not_ commonplace. It was elliptical, touched with

technical subtlety, although simple in appearance. At last a complete

phrase was written out and partly harmonized. This, 'E. A.' said, was

the beginning of a little piece that he had intended to call 'Unghere'

or 'Hungarie.' Nothing in all my long experience with psychics ever

moved me like the first phrase of that sweet, sad melody. It seemed like

the touch of identification I had been seeking."

"But your friend Blake was a musician," interrupted Miller. "And how

about your own subconscious self? You are musical, and your mind is

filled with your friend Alexander's music."

"That is true, and I had that reservation all along. 'E. A.' may have

been made up of our combined subconscious selves; I admit all that. But

no matter; it was still very marvellous, even on its material side, for

some of this music was written in while the slates were in Blake's

entire control. At times he not merely inserted them himself but

withdrew them--the psychic merely clutched one corner of them.

Furthermore, throughout all this composition 'Ernest' was master of the

situation. 'Dr. Cooke' was superseded. There was neither feebleness nor

hesitation in the voice. I could now distinguish most of the words, and

the dialogue went forward exactly as if a master musician were dictating

to an intelligent amanuensis a new and subtle sketch."

"Did the medium look at the music?" asked Miller.

"Yes, now and then. However, most of the corrections were put in upside

down, as regards her position, and during the last sitting she appeared

to be no more than a mere on-looker. Once as we sat holding the slate

'Ernest' whispered to me: '_Blake is a fine fellow. I met him twice._'"

"'Can you tell me where?' asked Blake.

"'_It was in New York City_,' was the reply; then, after a moment's

hesitation: '_It was at dinner--both times!_' 'You are right,' said

Blake, much impressed. 'Can you tell me the places?' '_Once was on Fifth

Avenue. The other was--I can't tell the location exactly; but it was

where we went down a short flight of steps._' 'That is correct also,'

said Blake. 'How many persons were there?' '_Five._' 'Quite right. Can

you tell me who they were?' '_Well, Mary was there, and you, of course;

but I can't be sure of the others._'

"Blake looked at me in astonishment, and our minds flashed along the

same line. Suppose the whisper were only a bit of clever ventriloquism,

how did the psychic secure the information conveyed in this dialogue? It

was given as I write it, with only a bit of hesitation once or twice;

and yet, it may have been merely thought transference."

"_Merely_ thought transference!" exclaimed Miller. "I consider thought

transference quite as absurd as slate-writing."

Fowler interposed. "I consider this a simple case of spirit

communication. You should be grateful for such a beautiful response."

"This significant fact is not to be overlooked," I resumed: "the psychic

secured almost nothing else that concerned either Blake's affairs or my

own. Mainly the whispers had to do with 'E. A.,' which, of course, bears

out Miller's notion that the psychic could deal only with what was

public property, and yet this little colloquy about the dinners in New

York is very convincing so far as mind-reading goes.

"During the third sitting, Blake again being present, 'E. A.' took

control, as before, from the start, and carried forward the recording of

the musical fragment. '_I want you to fill in the treble, Blake_,' he

said. '_It's nothing but the bare melody now._' Blake protested: 'I'm

not up to this.' And the whisper came swiftly, '_You're too modest,

Blake_'; and a moment later it said: '_I hope you're not bored,

Garland._' If all this was a little play of the psychic's devising it

was very clever, for after a few minutes of close attention to Blake,

'E. A.' turned toward me and asked, with anxious haste: '_Where's

Garland?_' 'I am here,' I answered. '_Don't go away_,' he entreated. It

was as if for the moment he had lost sight of me by reason of fixing

his attention upon Blake."

"That is singular!" exclaimed Fowler. "Their field of vision is

evidently much more restricted than we thought."

"It must be very small indeed, for Blake and I sat touching elbows. Two

or three times the whispering voice called, '_Is Garland here?_' and

once it asked: '_What is Garland doing? I see his hand moving._' I

explained that I was making notes. '_Don't do it!_' was the agitated

request."

"A very neat little touch," remarked Miller.

"We worked for a long time over this music, directed by the voice, both

in the notation and in the execution of it. The lines were drawn for

both bass and treble lengthwise of the slate, and Blake found the little

piece difficult to play, partly because the staves were on different

leaves of the slate and partly because the notes, especially some of

those put in at the beginning by the composer, were becoming blurred. It

was marvellous to see how exactly these dim notes were touched up by the

mysterious pencil beneath the table. But our progress was slow. 'E. A.'

was very patient, though now and then he plumply opposed his will to

Blake's. Once, especially, Blake exclaimed: 'That can't be right!'

"'_Yes, it is right!_' insisted 'E. A.'

"'But it is very unusual to construct a measure in that way.' For there

was a seeming confusion of three-four time with six-eight time.

"'_It is a liberty I permit myself_,' was the swift reply.

"In the last bar, which did not appear to be filled satisfactorily, the

composer directed the insertion of a figure 2. This meant, as became

clear through a subsequent reference to his printed scores, the playing

of two quarter-notes in the time of three eighth notes, but was not

understood at the moment by Blake.

"'_Never mind_,' said 'E. A.,' pleasantly, '_I will write it

differently_.' The figure '2' was cancelled, and the measure was

completed by a rest. This is only one of many astonishing passages in

this dialogue.

"In all this work 'E. A.' carried himself like the creative master. He

held to a plane apparently far above the psychic's musical knowledge,

and often above that of his amanuensis. He was highly technical

throughout in both the composition and the playing, and Blake followed

his will, for the most part, as if the whispers came from Alexander

himself. And yet I repeat the music and all may have come from a union

of Blake's mind with that of the psychic, with now and then a mixture of

my own subconscious self."

"What was the psychic doing all this time?" asked Miller.

"She was listening to the voice and repeating the words which Blake

could not hear. She seemed merely the somewhat bored interpreter of

words which she did not fully understand. It was precisely as if she

were catching by wireless telephone the whispered instructions of my

friend 'E. A.' I can't believe she consciously deceived us, but it is

possible that these ventriloquistic voices have become a subconscious

habit.

"One other very curious event I must note. Once, when Blake was asking

for a correction, the whisper exclaimed: '_I can't see it, Blake!_'

"'_Cover it with your hand_,' interjected the 'control.' Blake did so,

and 'E. A.' spoke, gratefully: '_I see it now._"

"Seeing cannot mean the same with them that it does with us," exclaimed

Fowler. "You remember Crookes put his finger on the print of a newspaper

behind his back, and the 'spirit' spoke the word that was under his

finger-tip. They apprehend by means of some form of etheric vibration

not known to us."

I resumed: "Let me stop here for a moment to emphasize a very curious

contradiction. Between my first seance with Mrs. Hartley and this, our

third attempt to secure the music, I had held two sittings in the home

of a friend. Mrs. Hartley had come to the house about ten o'clock in the

morning, bringing nothing with her except a few tips of soft

slate-pencil. During the sitting I had secured in the middle of a manila

pad (a pad which the psychic had never seen and which I had taken from

my friend's desk) these words: '_Have Schumann.--E. A._' This writing I

had taken to mean that 'Ernest' wanted to hear some of Schumann's music,

and in that understanding I had called Blake in to play. This had seemed

at the moment perfectly conclusive and entirely satisfactory; yet now,

in this final sitting, 'E. A.' suddenly reverted to this message, and

whispered: '_Garland, there is a certain etude which I took to Schumann.

I want you to regain it and take it to Smart. Mary will know about it. I

meant to take it away, but did I? I was so badly off mentally that I

don't know whether I did or not._' Whereupon Blake said: 'Do you mean

Schumann the publisher?' '_Yes_,' 'E. A.' replied; and I said: 'And you

want the manuscript recalled from Schumann and given to Smart?' '_Yes_,'

was his very definite answer.

"'Very well, I will attend to it,' I replied. 'What do you want done

with this fragment, "Isinghere"?' I pursued. 'Shall I publish it?'

'_That is what it is for_,' he answered, curtly.

"'How many bars are in it?' asked Blake. 'Forty?' '_More_,' returned the

whisper.

"Blake made the mistake of again suggesting an answer. 'As many as

sixty?'

"'_Yes, sixty or seventy_,' was the answer, like an echo. Here Blake's

thought governed, but it was evident that the psychic had no clear

conception of what this reference to Schumann meant in the first

instance, for 'E. A.' was unable to complete his sentence, which should

have read: '_Have Schumann return a certain etude which I took.--E. A._'

Furthermore, the psychic evidently believed in the truth of the message

or she would not have gone into it with such particularity; she would

have been lacking in caution to have given me such definite and detailed

information, knowing that it was all false.

"So far as my own mind is concerned, I had no knowledge of such a music

publisher as Schumann. Smart I had met. Blake, however, knew of both

firms. The entire message and the method of its communication were

deeply exciting at the time, and completed what seemed like a highly

intellectual test of identity, and we both left the house of the psychic

with a feeling of having been very near to our dead friend.

"'To identify one of these bars of music would be a good test,' said

Blake, 'but to find that _etude_ at Schumann's would be a triumph.'

"'To find the manuscript fragment would be still more convincing,' was

my answer.

"Imagine my disappointment when, in answer to my inquiry, Schumann

replied that no such _etude_ had ever been in his hands, and Alexander's

family reported that no fragment called 'Unghere' could be found among

the composer's manuscripts."

Fowler shared my regret. "What about the other messages? Were they all

disappointing?"

"No; some of them were not. The most intimate were true; and a signature

which came on the slate under test conditions, and which I valued very

little at the moment, turned out to be almost the exact duplicate of

Alexander's signature as he used to write it when a youth twenty years

ago. As a matter of fact, it closely resembled the signature appended to

a framed letter which used to hang upon the wall of his study. But, even

so, its reproduction under these conditions is sufficiently puzzling."

"What was Blake's conclusion? Did he put the same value upon it all that

you did?"

"Yes, I think he was quite as deeply impressed as I. He said the music

seemed like Alexander's music, somehow distorted by the medium through

which it came. 'It was like seeing Alexander through a pane of crinkly

glass,' he put it. And he added: 'I had the sense of being in

long-distance contact with the composer himself.' He had no doubt of the

supernormal means through which our writing came, but he remains

doubtful of the value of the music as evidence of 'Ernest's' return from

the world of shadows."

"Have you tried to secure more of the music?" Fowler asked.

"No, not specifically; but I've had one further inconclusive sitting

since then with Mrs. Hartley. Almost immediately 'Ernest' whispered a

greeting and said: '_I want to go on with that music, Garland. I want to

put B and D and A into the first bar--it's only a bare sketch as it

stands._'

"To this I replied: 'I can't do it, 'Ernest.' It's beyond me. Wait till

I can get Blake again.'

"This ended his attempt, although he was 'terribly anxious,' so the

psychic said. I am going to try for the completion of this score through

another psychic. If I can get that eighth bar taken up and carried on by

'Ernest' through another psychic the case will become complicated.

"I have gone into detail in my account of this experiment, for the

reason that it illustrates very aptly the inextricable tangle of truth

and error which most 'spirit communications' present. It typifies in

little the elusive problem of spirit identification which many a veteran

investigator is still at work upon, after years of study. Maxwell gives

a case of long-continued unintentional and unconscious deception of the

general kind which went far to prevent his acceptance of the spirit

hypothesis."

"I don't think the failure to find the musical fragment invalidates this

beautiful communication," declared Fowler. "You admit that many of the

messages were to the point, and that some of them were very intimate and

personal."

"Yes, speaking generally, I would say that 'E. A.' might have uttered

all the words and dictated all the messages except those that related to

the publishing matter; but there is the final test. Schumann declares

that no such manuscript has ever been in his hands."

"He may be mistaken, or 'E. A.' may have misspoken himself--for, as

William James infers, the spirits find themselves tremendously hampered

in their attempts to manifest themselves. Furthermore, you say you could

not hear all that 'E. A.' spoke--you or the psychic may have

misunderstood him. In any case, it all seems to me a fine attempt at

identification."

"I wish I could put the same value on it now that I did when Blake

played the first bar of that thrilling little melody; but I can't. As it

recedes it loses its power over me."

"What did Alexander's family think of the music?"

"They thought it more like a Cheyenne or Omaha love-song than like a

melody of 'Ernest's' own composition."

"But that only adds to the mystery of the mental process," objected

Miller. "That supposes it to have come out of your mind."

"I can't believe that I had any hand in the musical part of it, and I

can't persuade myself that my dead friend was present."

"Suppose you had been able to find that musical fragment, would it have

converted you?" This was Miller's challenge.

"No, for even then some living person might have known of it--must have

known of it; and if a knowledge of it lay in some other mind, no matter

where and no matter how deeply buried in the subconscious, that

knowledge, according to Myers and Hudson, would have been accessible to

the supernormal perception of the psychic."

Fowler interrogated me: "But suppose a phantom form resembling 'E. A.'

had _spoken_ these things to you face to face--what then?"

"I would not have believed, even then."

"Why?"

"Well, for one reason, belief is not a matter of the will; it is not

even dependent upon evidence."

Miller interrupted me. "I am interested in the writing. How do you

account for the writing? As I understand it, the psychic did not, in

some instances, touch the slate while the writing was going on. Are you

sure of Blake?"

"Blake is as much to be trusted as I am. No, I am forced to a practical

acceptance of the theory of the fluidic arm, and yet this is a most

astounding admission. We must suppose that the psychic was able to read

our minds and write down our mingled and confused musical conceptions by

means of a supernumerary hand. It happens that I have since seen these

etheric hands in action, which makes it easier for me to conceive of

such a process. I have seen them dart forth from another medium

precisely as described by Scarpa. I have seen them lift a glass of

water, and I have had them touch my knees beneath a table while

slate-writing was going on--so that, given the power to read my mind,

there is nothing impossible (having regard to Bottazzi's definite

experiments) in the idea of the etheric hand's setting down the music

and reproducing the signature of 'E. A.' In fact, at a recent sitting in

a private house with a young male psychic, we had this precise feat

performed. Said the psychic to our host, Dr. Towne, 'Think hard of a

signature that is very familiar to you,' and Dr. Towne fixed his mind

upon the signature of his brother, and immediately, while the young

man's material hands were controlled, his etheric hand seized a pencil

in the middle of the table and reproduced the signature."

"Could you see this hand?" Miller asked.

"Not in this case; but at a sitting which followed this, during such

time as I sat beside the psychic and controlled one hand, I plainly saw

the supernumerary arm and hand dart forth and seize a pencil. I saw a

hand very plainly cross my knee and grasp me by the forearm. All of this

has its bearing upon this very curious phenomenon of the reproduction of

'E. A's.' youthful signature, which remained very puzzling to us all."

"But did you not say that 'E. A.' at times represented an opposing

will?" questioned Fowler--"that he disputed certain passages with Blake,

and that he finally carried his point in opposition to every mind in the

circle?"

"Yes, that happened several times, and was all very convincing at the

time. And yet this opposition may have been more apparent than real. It

may have concerned our conscious wills only; our subconscious selves may

have been in accord, working together as one."

Fowler was a bit irritated. "If you are disposed to make the

subconscious will all-powerful and omniscient, nothing can be proved. It

seems to me an evasion. However, let me ask how you would explain away a

spirit form carrying the voice, the features, and the musical genius of

'E. A.'?"

"Well, there is the teleplastic theory of Albert de Rochas. He claims to

have been able not merely to cause a hypnotized subject to exteriorize

her astral self, but to mould this vapory substance as a sculptor models

wax. So I can imagine that a momentary radiant apparition might have

been created in the image of my sister or 'David' or 'E. A.'"

"To my thinking, that is more complicated and incredible than the spirit

hypothesis," objected Fowler.

"Nothing can be more incredible to me than the spirit hypothesis," I

replied. "But, then, everything is incredible in the last analysis. I

am the more disposed to believe in the teleplastic theory, for the

reason that I have recently had an opportunity to witness a particularly

incredible thing: the materialization of a complete human form outside

the cabinet and beside the psychic--a phenomenon which has a special

bearing upon the matter of identity which we are discussing. The sitting

took place in a small private house here in the city. The psychic in the

case was a young business man who is careful not to advertise his power.

For four years he has been holding secret developing circles whereto a

few of his friends only are invited. I was present last Sunday, and

shared in the marvels. The place of the seance was the parlor of his

apartment, his young wife and little daughter being present. There was,

in addition, an elderly lady, mother-in-law of the psychic, and a Polish

student whom I will call Jacob. I am quite sure that no one else entered

or left the room during the evening. Mrs. Pratt, the mother-in-law,

occupied a seat between me and Jacob. The little girl sat at the window,

and was under my eye all the time. The wife spent most of the evening at

the piano on my right. The room was fairly dark, though the light of a

far-away street lamp shone in at the window.

"The psychic retired into a little alcove bedroom, which served as

cabinet, and the curtain had hardly fallen between him and our group

when the spirit voices began. The first one to speak was 'Evan,' the

'guide,' and I remarked that his voice was precisely like a falsetto

disguise of the psychic's own.

"Soon 'Evan' and other spirits appeared at the opening of the curtain.

The wife called them each by name, but I could see only certain curious

fluctuating, cloud-like forms, like puffs of fire-lit steam. The effect

was not that of illuminated gauze, but more like illuminated vapor. At

length came one that spoke in a deep voice, using a foreign language.

Jacob, the young Pole, sprang up in joyous excitement, saying that he

had sat many times in this little circle, but that this was the first

time a spirit had spoken to him in his own tongue. As they conversed

together, I detected a close similarity of accent and of tone in their

speech. It certainly sounded like the Polish language, but I could not

rid myself of the impression that the Pole was talking to himself."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the accent, inflection, and quality of the ghost's voice

were identical with that of the living man, and this became still more

striking when, a little later, Jacob returned to his seat, and the

'Count,' his visitor, called for the Polish national hymn. Jacob then

sang, and the phantom sang with him. Now this seemed like a clear case

of identification, and was perfectly satisfactory to Jacob, but I had

observed this fact: the Pole was an indifferent singer--having hard

work to keep the key--and the 'Count' was troubled in the same way. His

deep, almost toneless, singing struck me as a dead, flat, wooden echo of

Jacob's voice. In short, it was as if the psychic had built up a

personality partly out of himself, but mainly out of his Polish sitter,

and as if this etheric duplication were singing in unison with its

progenitor."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Fowler.

"Did he manufacture a double out of you?" queried Miller.

"No one spoke to me from the shadow, except the 'guide,' although I was

hoping for some new word from 'Ernest,' and kept him uppermost in my

mind. A form came out into the centre of the room, which the wife said

was 'Evan,' and requested me to shake his hand. This I did. The hand

felt as if it were covered with some gauzy veiling. My belief is that it

was the psychic himself who stood before me, probably in trance. I could

see nothing, however. I do not remember that I could detect any shadow

even; but the hand was real, and the voice and manner of speech were

precisely those of the psychic himself."

"I repeat that this does not necessarily imply fraud, for the mind and

vocal organs of the psychic are often used in that way," Fowler argued.

"I grant that. Up to this point I had been able to see nothing but dim

outlines. But toward the end of the evening the psychic advanced from

the cabinet and in a dazed way ordered the lamp to be lit. This was

done. He then asked that it be turned low. This was also done.

Thereupon, directing his gaze toward the curtain, he called twice in a

tone of command, '_Come out!_'

"I could place every one in the room at the moment. I could see the

psychic distinctly. I could discern the color of his coat and the

expression of his face. He stood at least six feet from the opening in

the curtain. At his second cry, in which I detected a note of entreaty,

I saw a luminous form, taller than himself, suddenly appear before the

curtain and stand bowing in silence. I could perceive neither face,

eyes, nor feet, but I could make out the arms under the shining robe,

the shape of the head and the shoulders, and as he bowed I could see the

bending of his neck. It certainly was not a clothes-horse. The covering

was not so much a robe as a swathing, and we had time to discuss it

briefly.

"However, my eyes were mainly busy with the psychic, whose actions

impressed me deeply. He had the air of an anxious man undergoing a

dangerous ordeal. His right hand was stretched stiffly toward the

phantom, his left was held near his heart; his knees seemed to tremble,

and his body appeared to be irresistibly drawn toward the cabinet.

Slowly, watchfully, fearfully, he approached the phantom. The figure

turned toward him, and a moment later they met--they clung together,

they appeared to coalesce, and the psychic fell through the curtain to

the floor of the cabinet, like a man smitten with death."

"What do you wish to imply?" asked Miller. "Do you mean that the man and

the ghost were united in some way?"

"Precisely so. The 'spirit' seemed drawn by some magnetic force toward

the psychic, and the psychic seemed under an immense strain to keep the

apparition exterior to himself. When they met the spectre vanished, and

the psychic's fall seemed inevitable--a collapse from utter exhaustion.

I was at the moment convinced that I had seen a vaporous entity born of

the medium. It seemed a clear case of projection of the astral body. In

the pause which followed the psychic's fall the young wife turned to me

and said: 'Sometimes, if my husband does not reach the spirit form in

time, he falls _outside_ the curtain.' She did not seem especially

alarmed.

"The young psychic himself, however, told me afterward that he was

undergoing a tremendous strain as he stood there commanding the spirit

to appear. 'I had a fierce pain in the centre of my forehead,' he said.

'I couldn't get my breath. I felt as if all my substance, my strength,

was being drawn out of me. My legs seemed about to give way. It is

always hard to produce a form so far away from me when I am on the

outside of the cabinet in the light. The greater the distance, the

greater the strain.' I asked him what happened when he and the form

rushed together, and he answered: 'As soon as I touched it, it

re-entered my body.'"[2]

"I wonder why the spirits are always clothed in that luminous gauze?"

queried Miller.

"They are not," replied Fowler. "More often they come in the clothing

which was their habitual wear."

"I asked this young psychic if drapery were used out of respect to us

mortals, and he replied: 'No; the forms are swathed not from sense of

propriety so much as to protect the body, which is often incomplete at

the extremities.' The wife and Jacob told me that at one of their

meetings a naked Hercules suddenly appeared before the curtain. The Pole

declared: 'He was of giant size and strength. I felt of his muscles (he

was clothed only in a loincloth), and I closely studied his tremendous

arms and shoulders. The medium, as you know, is a small, thin man. We

called this figure "the man from Mars." He was at least six feet high,

and strong as a lion. He rushed back into the cabinet, and came out

holding the medium above his head on his upraised palms. It was very

wonderful.'"

"You didn't see anything like that, did you?" asked Miller.

"No," I replied; "but I did see the development of a figure apparently

from the floor between me and the curtain of the cabinet. My attention

was called to something wavering, shimmering, and fluctuating about a

foot above the carpet. It was neither steam nor flame. It seemed

compounded of both luminous vapor and puffing clouds of drapery. It rose

and fell in quivering impulses, expanding and contracting, but

continuing to grow until at last it towered to the height of a tall man,

and I could dimly discern, through dark draperies edged with light, a

man's figure.

"'This,' the young wife said, 'is Judge White, the grandfather of the

psychic,' and she conversed with him, but only for a few moments. He

soon dwindled and faded and melted away in the same fashion as he had

come, recalling to my mind Richet's description of the birth and

disappearance of 'B. B.,' in Algiers. I know this sounds like the

veriest dreaming, but you must remember that materializations much more

wonderful have been seen and analyzed in the clinical laboratories of

Turin and Naples. Morselli, Bottazzi, Lombroso, Porro, and Foa have been

confronted by similar apparitions. They saw 'sinister' faces, and were

repelled by 'Satanic hands agile and prompt' in cabinets of their own

construction, surrounded by their own registering machinery, and Richet

photographed just such figures as this I have described.

"The question with me is not, Do these forms exist? but, What produces

them? I am describing this sitting to explain what I mean by the

ideoplastic or teleplastic theory. If, for example, this psychic had

known me well enough to have had a very definite picture of 'E. A.,' he

might have been able to model from the mind-stuff that he or the circle

had thrown off, a luminous image of my friend, and, aided by my

subconscious self, might have united the presence and the musical

thought of Ernest Alexander."

"It won't do!" exclaimed Miller. "It's all too destructive, too

preposterous!"

"I insist that the spirit hypothesis is simpler," repeated Fowler.

"It isn't a question of simplicity," I retorted. "It's a question of

fact. If the observations of scientific experimentalists are of any

value, the teleplastic theory is on the point of winning acceptance."

"I will not admit that," rejoined Fowler. "For, even if you throw out

all the enormous mass of evidence accumulated by spiritistic

investigators, you still have the conversion of Wallace, Lodge, and

Lombroso, not to speak of De Vesme, Venzano, and other well-known men of

science, to account for. Even Crookes himself admits that nothing but

some form of spirit hypothesis is capable of explaining _all_ the

phenomena; and in a recent issue of the _Annals of Psychic Science_

Lombroso writes a paper making several very strong points against the

biologic theory. One of these is the simultaneous occurrence of

phenomena. 'Can the subconscious self act in several places at once?' he

asks. A second objection lies in the fact that movements occur in

opposition to the will of the psychic--as, for example, when Eusapia was

transported in her chair. 'Can a man lift himself by his boot-straps?'

is the question. 'The centre of gravity of a body cannot be altered in

space unless acted upon by an external force. Therefore, the phenomena

of levitation cannot be considered to be produced by energy emanating

from the medium.'"

"I don't think that follows," I argued. "Force may be exerted

unconsciously and invisibly. Because the psychic does not _consciously_

will to do a certain thing is no proof that the action does not

originate in the deeps of her personality. We know very little of this

obscure region of our minds."

Fowler was ready with his answer: "But let us take the case that

Lombroso cites of the beautiful woman spirit whose hand twice dashed the

photographic plates from the grasp of those who wished to secure her

picture. Here was plainly an opposing will, for the psychic was lending

herself to the experiment, and the spectators were eager for its

success. Notwithstanding which co-operation this phantom bitterly

opposed the wishes of every one present, and it was _afterward_ learned

that there was a special reason why she did not wish to leave positive

proofs of her identity. 'It is evident, therefore,' concludes Lombroso,

'that a third will can intervene in spiritistic phenomena.'

"Furthermore, Dr. Venzano, as well as De Vesme, have taken up the same

body of facts upon which Foa and Morselli base their theory, and arrive

at a totally different conclusion. They call attention to a dozen events

that can be explained only on the theory of discarnate intelligences.

Venzano observed that the forms occurred in several places at once, that

they appeared in many shapes and many guises. Some were like children,

some had curly hair, some had beards. In one case identification was

made by introducing the finger of one of the sitters within the phantom

mouth to prove the loss of a molar tooth. Sometimes the hair of these

heads was plaited like that of a girl. Some of the hands were large and

black, others fair and pink--like a child's. In short, he argues that

the medium could not have determined the size, shape, or color of the

phantoms."

"All that does not really militate against the ideoplastic theory," I

retorted. "It is as easy to produce a phantom with hair plaited as it is

to produce one with hair in curls. If it is a case of the modelling of

the etheric vapor by the mind of the psychic, these differences would be

produced naturally enough. The forcible handling of the medium by the

invisible ones is a much more difficult thing for me to explain, for to

imagine the psychic emitting a form of force which afterward proceeds to

raise the psychic herself against her will--as Mrs. Smiley testifies

happened again and again in her youth--is to do violence to all that we

know of natural law. And yet it may be that the etheric double is able

to take on part of the forces resident in the circle of sitters, and so

become immensely more potent than the psychic himself, as in the case of

the 'Man from Mars'--the Hercules I have just been telling you about.

Then, as to the content of these messages, they may be impulses, hints,

fragments of sentences caught from the air as one wireless operator

intercepts communications meant for other stations than his own. So that

my interview with 'E. A.' may have been a compounding of the psychic,

Blake, and myself, and fugitive natures afloat in the ether. In fact, I

am not as near a belief in the return of the dead as I was when I began

this last series of experiments. These Italian scientific observers, I

confess, have profoundly affected my thought."

"Your idea is, then," said Miller, "that these apparitions are

emanations of the medium's physical substance, moulded by his will and

colored by the minds of his sitters?"

"That is the up-to-date theory, and everything that I have experienced

seems capable of a biologic interpretation against it."

Fowler hastened to weaken the force of this statement. "Spiritists all

admit that the forms of spirits are made up--partly, at least--of the

psychic's material self, but that does not prove that the mind of the

ghost is not a separate entity from that of the psychic. I grant that

the only difference between the psycho-dynamic theory and the

spiritualistic theory lies in the question of the origin of the

intelligences that direct the manifestation. Foa would say they spring

from the subconscious self of the psychic. We say they come from the

spirit world, and there we stand."

Miller's words were keen and without emotion. "Until all phenomena are

explained there will be obscure happenings and things to be explained by

some one who can, but it is no final explanation to say 'a man did it'

or 'an intelligence did it.' I have often been told that things cannot

move in certain ways or certain things cannot be done except by

intelligent action or guidance, but it may be remembered that Kepler

thought guiding spirits were needful for making the planets move in

their elliptical orbits."

"Your scientists are feeding millions of people stones," exclaimed

Fowler. "They ask for bread, and you give them slices of granite."

"Better granite than slime," said Miller. "I am with the biologists in

this campaign. Let us have the truth, no matter how unpalatable it may

be. If these phenomena exist, they are in the domain of natural law and

can be weighed and measured. If they are imaginary, they should be swept

away, like other dreams of superstition and ignorance."

Fowler was not to be silenced. "I predict that you and your like will

yet be forced, like Lombroso, to take your place with Aksakof, Lodge,

Wallace, Du Prel, and Crookes, who have come to admit the intervention

of discarnate intelligences. Lombroso says, 'We find, as I already

foresaw some years ago, that these materialized bodies belong to the

radiant state of matter, which has now a sure foothold in science. This

is the only hypothesis that can reconcile the ancient and universal

belief in the persistence of some manifestation of life after death with

the results of science.' He adds: 'These beings, or remnants of beings,

would not be able to obtain complete consistency to incarnate

themselves, if they did not temporarily borrow a part of the medium.

_But to borrow force from the medium is not the same thing as to be

identical with the medium._'"

"Well," said I, "of this I am certain: we cannot afford to ignore such

experiments as those of Morselli and Bottazzi. I am aware that many

investigators discountenance such experiments, but I believe with

Venzano that the physical phenomena of mediumship cannot be, and ought

not to be, considered trivial. It was the spasmodic movement of a

decapitated frog that resulted in the discovery of the Voltaic Pile.

Furthermore, I intend to try every other conceivable hypothesis before

accepting that of the spiritists."

"What is your reason for that?" asked Fowler.

"Because I am a scientist in my sympathies. I believe in the methods of

the chemist and the electrician. I prefer the experimenter to the

theorist. I like the calm, clear, concise statements of these European

savans, who approach the subject, not as bereaved persons, but as

biologists. I am ready to go wherever science leads, and I should be

very glad to _know_ that our life here is but a link in the chain of

existence. Others may have more convincing knowledge than I, but at this

present moment the weight of evidence seems to me to be on the side of

the theory that mediumship is, after all, a question of unexplored human

biology."

"I don't see it that way," rejoined Fowler, calmly. "Suppose your

biologists prove that the psychic can put forth a supernumerary arm, or

maintain, for a short time, a complete double of herself. Would that

necessarily make the spiritist theory untenable? Is it not fair to

conclude that if the soul or 'astral' or 'etheric double' can act

outside the living body, it can live and think and manifest after the

dissolution of its material shell? Does not the experimental work of

Bottazzi, Morselli, and De Rochas all make for a spiritual

interpretation of life rather than for the position of the materialist?

I consider that they have strengthened rather than weakened the mystic

side of the universe. They are bringing the wonder of the world back to

the positivist. Let them go on. They will yet demonstrate, in spite of

themselves, the immortality of the soul."

"I hope they will," I replied. "It would be glorious at this time, when

tradition begins to fail of power, to have a demonstration of

immortality come through the methods of experimental science. Certainly

I would welcome a physical proof that my mother still thinks and lives,

and that Ernest and other of my dearest friends are at work on other

planes and surrounded by other conditions, no matter how different from

the conventional idea of paradise these environments might be; but the

proof must be ample and very definite."

Miller put in a last word of warning: "Because a phenomenon has not

been explained, and no one knows how to explain it, is no reason for

supposing there is anything extraphysical about it. No one has explained

the first cause of the development of an embryo. No one knows what goes

on in an active nerve, or why atoms are selective in their associates.

Ignorance is not a proper basis for speculation, and if one must have a

theory, let it be one having some obvious continuity with our best

physical knowledge."

And at that point our argument rested. We separated, and each went his

way, to be met by questions of business and politics, and to be once

more blended to the all-enveloping mystery of life.