I have mentioned the strong emotion which I felt in passing through the
village of St. Clair betwixt Rouen and Pontoise, as also the surprise
excited by the view of the features of an infant Jesus drawn by my
departed son immediately after his return from England. It is now the
proper time to explain to what I then referred. In saying that I alluded
to a _dream_, I know that I expose myself to ridicule: to pay regard to
dreams is justly considered as a sign of imbecillity of mind, and
generally condemned as superstitious: how far I may be exempted from
these censures by the prophetic nature of my dream, I leave to be
determined by those who shall compare it with the events lately
narrated, which seem to me to form a striking and full interpretation of
it. I no more affect the character of a dreamer, than that of a
visionary: but I am not deterred, by the fear of being laughed at, from
believing, in the case of the _vision_, the evidence of my senses, and
that a dream, portraying things future, ought to be distinguished from
the ordinary phenomena of that inexplicable faculty, (if that which is
involuntarily exercised may be called a faculty,) of our fearful and
wonderful nature.
On Thursday, the 27th of November, 1817, being then at Lincoln, I
dreamed that I was in a large, lofty room, which was entirely unknown to
me.
In the month of October, 1818, I hired a house at Avignon in which was a
salon, exactly resembling that of the dream; the situation of the doors,
windows, and chimney, and the appearance of them just the same.
A person came out of the cabinet by the side of this salon, with whom I
was unacquainted, but whom I supposed to be an English catholic priest:
he wore a black coat, and had boots on: I did not observe that he had
with him any hat: he was of rather less than the middle age of life.
This person resembled in features and expression of countenance the
infant Jesus drawn, three years afterwards, by my elder son: my
recollection did not serve me to recognise the likeness till after I had
seen my son's _drawing_ from the _engraving_: in the cabinet,
before-mentioned, was usually hung a small crucifix.
This priest approached me in a serious, but civil and friendly manner:
two chairs were near us, not far from one of the windows: I invited him
to be seated.
The chairs were like those I had at Avignon; they were placed near the
window: had this scene been represented as in the winter season, they
would have been near the fire: it was in the summer season that the
events occurred, which I suppose to have been now presignified. As it
was I who invited the other to sit down, it seems that I thought myself
to be in my own house.
The priest then said to me, in a slow and distinct voice, "You are to
found a new order in the church, to be called 'The Society of the
Penitents of St. Clair;' you know under what rule; but not _sub
peccato_;" he repeated "not _sub peccato_," and, rising from his seat,
took out his watch, an ordinary silver watch with small seals, looked at
it, and returned it to its place: then taking leave of me, he passed,
not through the door of the stairs, but into the second salon.
When the priest said, "You know the rule," I understood to what he
referred, without further explanation oh his part. When much younger
than I was at this epoch, I had thought of a rule of life, on the
observance of which it might be useful and desirable to form a society:
but I never had the presumption to conceive the idea of founding a new
order in the church. I will confess, so little were my dispositions at
this time penitential, that when the word "penitents" was pronounced, it
was to me displeasing and repulsive. I had regarded the rule which the
priest said, "you know," with a view to bodily health and temporal
convenience, not with any reference to religious mortification. I had
not thought of the rule for many years past, and had always considered
the formation of a society on the rule as an impracticable project. St.
Clair's name was unknown to me till I referred to "Butler's Lives of the
Saints." I had read of Sta. Clara, but was perfectly sure it was not she
that was intended.
When the priest had left the room, I saw, seated and eating at a large
round table, placed, not in the centre, but towards one side of the
room, a young man, whom I went up to, and conversed with: he talked to
me of his sins, and his penitential dispositions, and wept much: I asked
him if he would observe the rule of the society, not telling him what it
was, but supposing him to know it: he answered in the affirmative, but
hesitatingly, as if he knew he should be prevented. His dress perplexed
me; it was white, loose over his shoulders and before him; without
coat, vest, or waistcoat; he seemed to have nothing on but this
shapeless white mantle, and his shirt. He rose suddenly from the table
at which he had continued to sit while talking with me: his long white
robe flowed behind him: he gathered it up round his knees as he went
away, and passed through the door, and hastily down stairs.
I had no such table in England as this here described, but I had such an
one at Avignon. I have remarked in my narrative, that, on the day of my
son's death, this table was pushed aside to make room for the sofa
turned from the light by desire of my younger son. I have spoken of the
scruples of my elder son, and of the distress and uneasiness they caused
both to him and to me. The dress of the young man with whom I conversed
in my dream, was, in truth, (though then I knew it not, and had been
accustomed to see another sort of mortuary clothing,) the habiliments of
the dead in France.
I followed this young man to the top of the stairs: my family, or
persons whom I considered as such, were behind me: the staircase was
winding in such a manner that we could not see to the bottom of the
stairs; where we stood was a staircase to the second floor on the left
hand; a window to the right: all this as at Avignon.
As I stood looking down the stairs, my younger son said to me, "I'll go
after him:" accordingly he went quickly down the stairs. At this
interval, looking through the window, I saw a most beautiful garden,
with fruit-trees, and a light as of the reflection of the brightest
sunshine: it was reflected sunshine; the window is to the north. My
younger son came up stairs again, and standing by me, but turning to
look down stairs, and then turning to look at me, said, "He is gone."
I have related that, on the day of the death of my elder son, the
younger took to his bed, ill of the same typhus fever; and that, during
his illness, that supernatural light was seen which assured us of the
happy state of the elder. The face of my younger, when he spoke to me in
the dream, was nearly on a level with mine: at the age at which he was
at the time of the dream in 1817, he was not higher than my shoulder;
soon after his illness, he grew to be taller than me, but in 1821 his
stature was such as it appeared in my dream.
We returned into the room: those who had followed me to the top of the
stairs were in deep mourning, and it was understood we were about to
undertake a long journey. We set off for Italy at the end of the year,
the eventful year 1821.