SOME OTHER EXAMPLES OF ELVES.
On the 25th of August, 1746, I received a letter from a very worthy
man, the cure of the parish of Walsche, a village situated in the
mountains of Vosges, in the county of Dabo, or Dasburg, in Lower
Alsatia, Diocese of Metz. In this letter, he tells me that the 10th of
June, 1740, at eight o'clock in the morning, he being in his kitchen,
with his niece and the servant, he saw on a sudden an iron pot that
was placed on the ground turn round three or four times, without its
being set in motion by any one. A moment after, a stone, weighing
about a pound, was thrown from the next room into the same kitchen, in
presence of the same persons, without their seeing the hand which
threw it. The next day, at nine o'clock in the morning, some panes of
glass were broken, and through these panes were thrown some stones,
with what appeared to them supernatural dexterity. The spirit never
hurt anybody, and never did anything in the night time, but always
during the day. The cure employed the prayers marked out in the ritual
to bless his house, and thenceforth the genius broke no more panes of
glass; but he continued to throw stones at the cure's people, without
hurting them, however. If they fetched water from the fountain, he
threw stones into the bucket; and afterwards he began to serve in the
kitchen. One day, as the servant was planting some cabbages in the
garden, he pulled them up as fast as she planted them, and laid them
in a heap. It was in vain that she stormed, threatened, and swore in
the German style; the genius continued to play his tricks.
One day, when a bed in the garden had been dug and prepared, the spade
was found thrust two feet deep into the ground, without any trace
being seen of him who had thus stuck it in; but they observed that on
the spade was a riband, and by the spade were two pieces of two soles,
which the girl had locked up the evening before in a little box.
Sometimes he took pleasure in displacing the earthenware and pewter,
and putting it either all round the kitchen, or in the porch, or even
in the cemetery, and always in broad daylight. One day he filled an
iron pot with wild herbs, bran, and leaves of trees, and, having put
some water in it, carried it to the ally or walk in the garden;
another time he suspended it to the pot-hook over the fire. The
servant having broken two eggs into a little dish for the cure's
supper, the genius broke two more into it in his presence, the maid
having merely turned to get some salt. The cure having gone to say
mass, on his return found all his earthenware, furniture, linen,
bread, milk, and other things scattered about over the house.
Sometimes the spirit would form circles on the paved floor, at one
time with stones, at another with corn or leaves, and in a moment,
before the eyes of all present, all was overturned and deranged. Tired
with these games, the cure sent for the mayor of the place, and told
him he was resolved to quit the parsonage house. Whilst this was
passing, the cure's niece came in, and told them that the genius had
torn up the cabbages in the garden, and had put some money in a hole
in the ground. They went there, and found things exactly as she had
said. They picked up the money, which what the cure had put away in a
place not locked up; and in a moment after they found it anew, with
some liards, two by two, scattered about the kitchen.
The agents of the Count de Linange being arrived at Walsche, went to
the cure's house, and persuaded him that it was all the effect of a
spell; they told him to take two pistols, and fire them off at the
place where he might observe there were any movements. The genius at
the same moment threw out of the pocket of one of these officers two
pieces of silver; and from that time he was no longer perceived in the
house.
The circumstances of two pistols terminating the scenes with which the
elf had disturbed the good cure, made him believe that this tormenting
imp was no other than a certain bad parishioner, whom the cure had
been obliged to send away from his parish, and who to revenge himself
had done all that we have related. If that be the case, he had
rendered himself invisible, or he had had credit enough to send in his
stead a familiar genius who puzzled the cure for some weeks; for, if
he were not bodily in this house, what had he to fear from any pistol
shot which might have been fired at him? And if he was there bodily,
how could he render himself invisible?
I have been told several times that a monk of the Cistercian order had
a familiar genius who attended upon him, arranged his chamber, and
prepared everything ready for him when he was coming back from the
country. They were so accustomed to this, that they expected him home
by these signs, and he always arrived. It is affirmed of another monk
of the same order that he had a familiar spirit, who warned him, not
only of what passed in the house, but also of what happened out of it;
and one day he was awakened three times, and warned that some monks
were quarreling, and were ready to come to blows; he ran to the spot,
and put an end to the dispute.
St. Sulpicius Severus[284] relates that St. Martin often had
conversations with the Holy Virgin, and other saints, and even with
the demons and false gods of paganism; he talked with them, and
learned from them many secret things. One day, when a council was
being held at Nimes, where he had not thought proper to be present,
but the decisions of which he desired to know, being in a boat with
St. Sulpicius, but apart from others, as usual with him, an angel
appeared, and informed him what had passed in this assembly of
bishops. Inquiry was made as to the day and hour when the council was
held, and it was found to be at the same hour at which the angel had
appeared to Martin.
We have been told several times that a young ecclesiastic, in a
seminary at Paris, had a genius who waited upon him, and arranged his
room and his clothes. One day, when the superior was passing by the
chamber of the seminarist, he heard him talking with some one; he
entered, and asked who he was conversing with. The youth affirmed that
there was no one in his room, and, in fact, the superior could neither
see nor discover any one there. Nevertheless, as he had heard their
conversation, the young man owned that for some years he had been
attended by a familiar genius, who rendered him every service that a
domestic could have done, and had promised him great advantages in
the ecclesiastical profession. The superior pressed him to give some
proofs of what he said. He ordered the genius to set a chair for the
superior; the genius obeyed. Information of this was sent to the
archbishop, who did not think proper to give it publicity. The young
clerk was sent away, and this singular adventure was buried in
silence.
Bodin[285] speaks of a person of his acquaintance who was still living
at the time he wrote, which was in 1588. This person had a familiar
who from the age of thirty-seven had given him good advice respecting
his conduct, sometimes to correct his faults, sometimes to make him
practice virtue, or to assist him; resolving the difficulties which he
might find in reading holy books, or giving him good counsel upon his
own affairs. He usually rapped at his door at three or four o'clock in
the morning to awaken him; and as that person mistrusted all these
things, fearing that it might be an evil angel, the spirit showed
himself in broad day, striking gently on a glass bowl, and then upon a
bench. When he desired to do anything good and useful, the spirit
touched his right ear; but if it was anything wrong and dangerous, he
touched his left ear; so that from that time nothing occurred to him
of which he was not warned beforehand. Sometimes he heard his voice;
and one day, when he found his life in imminent danger, he saw his
genius, under the form of a child of extraordinary beauty, who saved
him from it.
William, Bishop of Paris,[286] says that he knew a rope-dancer who had
a familiar spirit which played and joked with him, and prevented him
from sleeping, throwing something against the wall, dragging off the
bed-clothes, or pulling him about when he was in bed. We know by the
account of a very sensible person that it has happened to him in the
open country, and in the day time, to feel his cloak and boots pulled
at, and his hat thrown down; then he heard the bursts of laughter and
the voice of a person deceased and well known to him, who seemed to
rejoice at it.
The discovery of things hidden or unknown, which is made in dreams, or
otherwise, can hardly be ascribed to anything but to familiar spirits.
A man who did not know a word of Greek came to M. de Saumaise, senior,
a counselor of the Parliament of Dijon, and showed him these words,
which he had heard in the night, as he slept, and which he wrote down
in French characters on awaking: "_Apithi ouc osphraine ten sen
apsychian_." He asked him what that meant. M. de Saumaise told him it
meant, "Save yourself; do you not perceive the death with which you
are threatened?" Upon this hint, the man removed, and left his house,
which fell down the following night.[287]
The same story is related, with a little difference, by another
author, who says that the circumstance happened at Paris;[288] that
the genius spoke in Syriac, and that M. de Saumaise being consulted,
replied, "Go out of your house, for it will fall in ruins to-day, at
nine o'clock in the evening." It is but too much the custom in
reciting stories of this kind to add a few circumstances by way of
embellishment.
Gassendi, in the Life of M. Peiresch, relates that M. Peiresch, going
one day to Nismes, with one of his friends, named M. Rainier, the
latter, having heard Peiresch talking in his sleep in the night, waked
him, and asked him what he said. Peiresch answered him, "I dreamed
that, being at Nismes, a jeweler had offered me a medal of Julius
Caesar, for which he asked four crowns, and as I was going to count him
down his money, you waked me, to my great regret." They arrived at
Nismes, and going about the town, Peiresch recognized the goldsmith
whom he had seen in his dream; and on his asking him if he had nothing
curious, the goldsmith told him he had a gold medal, or coin, of
Julius Caesar. Peiresch asked him how much he esteemed it worth; he
replied, four crowns. Peiresch paid them, and was delighted to see his
dream so happily accomplished.
Here is a dream much more singular than the preceding, although a
little in the same style.[289] A learned man of Dijon, after having
wearied himself all day with an important passage in a Greek poet,
without being able to comprehend it at all, went to bed thinking of
this difficulty. During his sleep, his genius transported him in
spirit to Stockholm, introduced him into the palace of Queen
Christina, conducted him into the library, and showed him a small
volume, which was precisely what he sought. He opened it, read in it
ten or twelve Greek verses, which absolutely cleared up the difficulty
which had so long beset him; he awoke, and wrote down the verses he
had seen at Stockholm. On the morrow, he wrote to M. Descartes, who
was then in Sweden, and begged of him to look in such a place, and in
such a _division_ of the library, if the book, of which he sent him
the description, were there, and if the Greek verses which he sent him
were to be read in it.
M. Descartes replied that he had found the book in question; and also
the verses he had sent were in the place he pointed out; that one of
his friends had promised him a copy of that work, and he would send it
him by the first opportunity.
We have already said something of the spirit, or familiar genius of
Socrates, which prevented him from doing certain things, but did not
lead him to do others. It is asserted[290] that, after the defeat of
the Athenian army, commanded by Laches, Socrates, flying like the
others, with this Athenian general, and being arrived at a spot where
several roads met, Socrates would not follow the road taken by the
other fugitives; and when they asked him the reason, he replied,
because his genius drew him away from it. The event justified his
foresight. All those who had taken the other road were either killed
or made prisoners by the enemy's cavalry.
It is doubtful whether the elves, of which so many things are related,
are good or bad spirits; for the faith of the church admits nothing
between these two kinds of genii. Every genius is either good or bad;
but as there are in heaven many mansions, as the Gospel says,[291] and
as there are among the blessed, various degrees of glory, differing
from each other, so we may believe that there are in hell various
degrees of pain and punishment for the damned and the demons.
But are they not rather magicians, who render themselves invisible,
and divert themselves in disquieting the living? Why do they attach
themselves to certain spots, and certain persons, rather than to
others? Why do they make themselves perceptible only during a certain
time, and that sometimes a short space?
I could willingly conclude that what is said of them is mere fancy and
prejudice; but their reality has been so often experienced by the
discourse they have held, and the actions they have performed in the
presence of many wise and enlightened persons, that I cannot persuade
myself that among the great number of stories related of them there
are not at least some of them true.
It may be remarked that these elves never lead one to anything good,
to prayer, or piety, to the love of God, or to godly and serious
actions. If they do no other harm, they leave hurtful doubts about the
punishments of the damned, on the efficacy of prayer and exorcisms; if
they hurt not those men or animals which are found on the spot where
they may be perceived, it is because God sets bounds to their malice
and power. The demon has a thousand ways of deceiving us. All those to
whom these genii attach themselves have a horror of them, mistrust and
fear them; and it rarely happens that these familiar demons do not
lead them to a dangerous end, unless they deliver themselves from them
by grave acts of religion and penance.
There is the story of a spirit, "which," says he who wrote it to me,
"I no more doubt the truth of than if I had been a witness of it."
Count Despilliers, the father, being a young man, and captain of
cuirassiers, was in winter quarters in Flanders. One of his men came
to him one day to beg that he would change his landlord, saying that
every night there came into his bed-room a spirit, which would not
allow him to sleep. The Count Despilliers sent him away, and laughed
at his simplicity. Some days after, the same horseman came back and
made the same request to him; the only reply of the captain would
have been a volley of blows with a stick, had not the soldier avoided
them by a prompt flight. At last, he returned a third time to the
charge, and protested to his captain that he could bear it no longer,
and should be obliged to desert if his lodgings were not changed.
Despilliers, who knew the soldier to be brave and reasonable, said to
him, with an oath, "I will go this night and sleep with you, and see
what is the matter."
At ten o'clock in the evening, the captain repaired to his soldier's
lodging, and having laid his pistols ready primed upon the table, he
lay down in his clothes, his sword by his side, with his soldier, in a
bed without curtains. About midnight he heard something which came
into the room, and in a moment turned the bed upside down, covering
the captain and the soldier with the mattress and paillasse.
Despilliers had great trouble to disengage himself and find again his
sword and pistols, and he returned home much confounded. The
horse-soldier had a new lodging the very next day, and slept quietly
in the house of his new host.
M. Despilliers related this adventure to any one who would listen to
it. He was an intrepid man, who had never known what it was to fall
back before danger. He died field-marshal of the armies of the Emperor
Charles VI. and governor of the fortress of Segedin. His son has
confirmed this adventure to me within a short time, as having heard it
from his father.
The person who writes to me adds: "I doubt not that spirits sometimes
return; but I have found myself in a great many places which it was
said they haunted. I have even tried several times to see them, but I
have never seen any. I found myself once with more than four thousand
persons, who all said they saw the spirit; I was the only one in the
assembly who saw nothing." So writes me a very worthy officer, this
year, 1745, in the same letter wherein he relates the affair of M.
Despilliers.
Footnotes:
[284] St. Sulpit. Sever. Dialog. ii. c. 14, 15.
[285] Bodin Demonomania, lib. ii. c. 2.
[286] Guillelm. Paris, 2 Part. quaest. 2, c. 8.
[287] Grot. Epist. Part. ii. Ep. 405.
[288] They affirm that it happened at Dijon, in the family of the MM.
Surmin, in which a constant tradition has perpetuated the memory of
the circumstance.
[289] Continuation of the Count de Gabalis, at the Hague, 1708, p. 55.
[290] Cicero, de Divinat. lib. i.
[291] John xiv. 2.