residence of former Swedish monarchs. The king's physician, Iven Hedin,
learnt accidentally from the sexton that his master had been spending
several nights in the building, in company with a few of his courtiers.
Alarmed by this information he persuaded the sexton to let him watch the
proceedings from a secret place in the old steeple of the church. An
opportunity came in the month of August, 1782, and he had scarcely taken
possession of his post when two of the royal secretaries came in, closed
the door, and arranged a curious contrivance in the body of the
building. To his great surprise and amusement the doctor saw them fasten
some horse-hairs to the heavy chandeliers suspended from the lofty
ceiling, and then pin to them masks sewed on to white floating garments.
Finally large quantities of incense were scattered on the floor and set
on fire, while all lights, save a few thin candles, were extinguished.
Then the king was ushered in with five of his courtiers, made to assume
a peculiar, very irksome position, and all were asked to hold naked
swords upon each other's breasts. Thereupon the first comer murmured
certain formulas of conjuration, and performed some ceremonies, when his
companion slowly drew up one of the masks. It was fashioned to resemble
the great Gustavus Adolphus, and in the dimly-lighted church, filled
with dense smoke, it looked to all intents and purposes like a ghost
arising from the vaults underneath. It disappeared as slowly into the
darkness above, and was immediately followed by another mask
representing Adolphus Frederick, and even the physician, who knew the
secret, could not repress a shudder, so admirably was the whole
contrived. Then followed a few flashes of lightning, during which the
horse-hairs were removed, lights were brought in, and the king, deeply
moved and shedding silent tears, escorted from the building. The
faithful physician watched his opportunity, and when a favorable hour
appeared, revealed the secret to his master, and thus, fortunately for
Sweden, defeated a very dangerous and most skillfully-conducted
conspiracy.
Even ventriloquism has lent its aid to many an historical imposture, as
in the case of Francis I. of France, whose valet, Louis of Brabant,
possessed great skill in that art, and used it unsparingly for his own
benefit and to the advantage of courtiers who employed him for political
purposes. He even persuaded the mother of a beautiful and wealthy young
lady to give him her daughter's hand by imitating the voice of her
former husband, and commanding her to do so in order to release him from
purgatory!
We fear that to this class of ghostly appearances must also be counted
the almost historical White Lady of the Margraves of Brandenburg.
Report says that she represents a Countess Kunigunde of Orlamuende, who
lived in the fourteenth century and killed her two children, for which
crime she was executed by order of a Burggrave of Nuremberg. History,
however, knows nothing of such an event, and the White Lady does not
appear till 1486, when she is first seen in the old palace at Baireuth.
This was nothing but a trick of the courtiers; whenever they desired to
leave the dismal town and the uncomfortable building, one of the court
ladies personated the ghost, and occasionally, even two white ladies
were seen at the same time. In 1540 the ghost met with a tragic fate;
it had appeared several times in the castle of Margrave Albert the
warrior, and irritated the prince to such a degree that he at last
seized it one night and hurled it headlong down the long staircase. The
morning dawn revealed his chancellor, Christopher Strass, who had
betrayed his master and now paid with a broken neck for his bold
imposture. After this catastrophe the White Lady was not seen for nearly
a hundred years, when she suddenly reappeared in Baireuth. In the year
1677 the then reigning Margrave of Brandenburg found her one day sitting
in his own chair and was terrified; the next day he rode out, fell from
his horse, and was instantly killed. From this time the White Lady
became a part of the history of the house of Brandenburg, accompanying
the princes to Berlin and making it her duty to forewarn the illustrious
family of any impending calamity. King Frederick I. saw her distinctly,
but other sovereigns discerned only a vague outline and now and then the
nose and eyes, while all the rest was closely veiled. In the old palace
at Baireuth there exist to this day two portraits of the White Lady, one
in white, as she appeared of old, and very beautiful, the other in black
satin, with her hair powdered and dressed after more modern
fashion--there is no likeness between the two faces. The ghost was
evidently a good patriot, for she disturbed French officers who were
quartered there, in the new palace as well as in the old, and as late as
1806 thoroughly frightened a number of generals who had laughed at the
credulity of the Germans. In 1809 General d'Espagne roused his aides in
the depth of night by fearful cries, and when they rushed in he was
found lying in the centre of the room, under the bedstead. He told them
that the White Lady, in a costume of black and white, resembling one of
the portraits, had appeared and threatened to strangle him; in the
struggle she had dragged the bedstead to the middle of the room and
there upset it. The room was thoroughly searched at his command, the
hangings removed from the walls, and the whole floor taken up, but no
trace was found of any opening through which a person might have
entered; the doors had been guarded by sentinels. The general left the
place immediately, looking upon the vision as a warning of impending
evil, and, sure enough, a few days later he found his death upon the
battle-field of Aspern. Even the great Napoleon, whose superstition was
generally thought to be confined to his faith in his "star," would not
lodge in the rooms haunted by the White Lady, and when he reached
Baireuth in 1812, a suite of rooms was prepared for him in another wing
of the palace. It was, however, noticed that even there his night's rest
must have been interrupted, for on the next morning he was remarkably
nervous and out of humor, murmuring repeatedly "_Ce maudit chateau_,"
and declaring that he would never again stay at the place. When he
returned to that neighborhood in 1813, he refused to occupy the rooms
that had been prepared for him, and continued his journey far into the
night, rather than remain at Baireuth. The town was, however, forever
relieved of its ill-fame after 1822. It is not without interest that in
the same year the steward of the royal palace died, and report says in
his rooms were found a number of curiosities apparently connected with
the White Lady's costume; if this be so, his ardent patriotism and
fierce hatred of the French might well furnish a cue to some of the more
recent apparitions. The White Lady continued to appear in Berlin, and
the terror she created was not even allayed by repeated discoveries of
most absurd efforts at imposture. Once she turned out to be a white
towel agitated by a strong draught between two windows; at another time
it was a kitchen-maid on an errand of love, and a third time an old cook
taking an airing in the deserted rooms. She appeared once more in the
month of February, 1820, announcing, as many believed, the death of the
reigning monarch, which took place in June; and quite recently (1872)
similar warning was given shortly before the emperor's brother, Prince
Albrecht, died in his palace.
White ladies are, however, by no means an exclusive privilege of the
house of Brandenburg; Scotland has its ancient legends, skillfully used
in novel, poem and opera, and Italy boasts of a Donna Bianca, at
Colalta, in the Marca Trivigiana, of whom Byron spoke as if he had never
doubted her existence. Ireland has in like manner the Banshee, who warns
with her plaintive voice the descendants of certain old families,
whenever a great calamity threatens one of the members. Curiously
enough she clings to these once powerful but now often wretchedly poor
families, as if pride of descent and attachment to old splendor
prevailed even in the realms of magic.
Historical ghosts play, nevertheless, a prominent part in all countries.
Lilly, Baxter and Clarendon, all relate the remarkable warnings which
preceded the murder of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. In this case the
warning was given not to the threatened man, but to an old and faithful
friend, who had already been intimate with the duke's father. He saw the
latter appear to him several nights in succession, urging him to go to
the duke, and after revealing to him certain peculiar circumstances, to
warn him against the plots of his enemies, who threatened his life.
Parker was afraid to appear ridiculous and delayed giving the warning.
But the ghost left him no peace, and at last, in order to decide him,
revealed to him a secret only known to himself and his ill-fated son.
The latter, when his old friend at last summoned courage to deliver the
mysterious message, was at first inclined to laugh at the warning; but
when Parker mentioned the father's secret, he turned pale and declared
only the Evil One could have entrusted it to mortal man. Nevertheless,
he took no steps to rid himself of his traitorous friend and continued
his sad life as before. The father's ghost thereupon appeared once more
to Parker, with deep sadness in his features and holding a knife in his
hand, with which, he said, his unfortunate son would be murdered.
Parker, whose own impending death had been predicted at the same time,
once more waited upon the great duke, but again in vain; he was rudely
sent back and requested not to trouble the favorite's peace any more by
his foolish dreams. A few days afterwards Lieutenant Felton assassinated
the duke with precisely such a knife as Parker had seen in his visions.
A similar occurrence is related of the famous Duchess of Mazarin, the
favorite of Charles II., and Madame de Beauclair, who stood in the same
relation to James II. The two ladies, who were bosom friends, had
pledged their word to each other, that she who died first should appear
to the survivor and inform her of the nature of the future state. The
duchess died; but as no message came from her, her friend denied stoutly
and persistently the immortality of the soul. But many years later, when
the promise was long forgotten, the duchess suddenly was seen one night,
gliding softly through the room and looking sweetly at her friend,
whispering to her: "Beauclair, between twelve and one o'clock to-night
you will be near me." The poor lady died at the appointed hour (Nork.
"Existence of Spirits," p. 260). Less well-authenticated is the account
of a warning given to King George I. shortly before his death, although
it was generally believed throughout England at the time it occurred.
The report was that the Queen, Sophia, repeatedly showed herself to her
husband, beseeching him to break off his intercourse with his beautiful
friend, Lady Horatia. As these requests availed nothing, and the monarch
refused even to believe in the reality of her appearance, she at last
tied a knot in a lace collar, declaring that "if mortal fingers could
untie the knot, the king and Lady Horatia might laugh at her words." The
fair lady tried her best to undo it, but giving it up in despair, she
threw the collar into the fire; the king, highly excited, snatched the
lace from the burning coals, but in so doing, touched with it the light
gauze dress of his companion. In her terror she ran with great swiftness
through room after room, thus fanning the flames into a blaze, and
perished amid excruciating pains. The king, it is well known, died only
two months later.
A case which created a very great sensation at the time when it
happened, and became generally known through the admirable manner in
which it was narrated by the eloquent Bernardin de St. Pierre (_Journal
de Trevoux_, vol. viii.), was that of the priest Bezuel. When a young
man of 15, and at college, he contracted an intimate friendship with the
son of a royal official, called Desfontaines. The two friends often
spoke of future life, and when parted in 1696, they signed with their
blood a solemn compact, in which they agreed that the first who died
should appear after death to the survivor. They wrote to each other
constantly, and frequently alluded in their letters to the agreement. A
year after their parting, Bezuel happened to be, one day, in the
fields, delivering a message to some workmen, when he suddenly fell down
fainting. As he was in perfect health, he knew not what to think of this
accident, but when it occurred a second and a third time, at the same
hour, on the two following days, he became seriously uneasy. On the last
occasion, however, he fell into a trance, in which he saw nothing around
him, but beheld his friend Desfontaines, who seized him by the arm and
led him some thirty yards aside. The workmen saw him go there, as if
obeying a guardian hand, and converse with an unseen person for three
quarters of an hour. The young man heard here from his friend's lips,
that he had been drowned while bathing in the river Orne on the day and
at the hour when Bezuel had had his first fainting fit, that a companion
had endeavored to save him, but when seized by the foot by the drowning
man, had kicked him on the chest, and thus caused him to sink to the
bottom. Bezuel inquired after all the details and received full answers,
but none to questions about the future life; nevertheless, the
apparition continued to speak fluently but calmly, and requested Bezuel
to make certain communications to his kinsmen, and to repeat the "seven
penitential psalms," which he ought to have said himself as a penance.
It also mentioned the work in which Desfontaines had been engaged up to
the day of his death, and some names which he had cut in the bark of a
tree near the town in which he lived. Then it disappeared. Bezuel was
not able to carry out his friend's wishes, although the arm by which he
had been seized, reminded him daily of his duty by a severe pain; after
a month, the drowned man appeared twice more, urging his requests, and
saying each time at the end of the interview, "_bis, bis_," just as he
had been accustomed to do when in life. At last the young priest found
the means to do his friend's bidding; the pain in the arm ceased
instantly and his health remained perfect to the end of his life. When
he reached Caen where Desfontaines had perished, he found everything
precisely as he had been told in his visions, and two years afterwards
he discovered by chance even the tree with the names cut in the bark.
The amiable Abbe de St. Pierre does his best to explain the whole
occurrence as a natural series of very simple accidents; there can be,
however, no doubt of the exceptionable character of the leading features
of the event, and the priest, from whose own account the facts are
derived, must evidently in his trance have been endowed with powers of
clairvoyance.
In the first part of this century a book appeared in Germany which led
to a very general and rather violent discussion of the whole subject. It
was written by a Dr. Woetzel, whose mind had, no doubt, been long
engaged in trying to solve mysteries like that of the future life, since
he had early come in contact with strange phenomena. The father of a
dear friend of his having fainted in consequence of receiving a serious
wound, was very indignant at being roused from the state of perfect
bliss which he had enjoyed during the time. He affirmed that in the
short interval he had visited his brother in Berlin, whom he found
sitting in a bower under a large linden-tree, surrounded by his family
and a few friends, and engaged in drinking coffee. Upon entering the
garden, his brother had risen, advanced towards him and asked him what
had brought him so unexpectedly to Berlin. A few days after the
fainting-fit a letter arrived from that city, inquiring what could have
happened on that day and at that hour, and reciting all that the old
gentleman had reported as having been done during his unconsciousness!
Nor had the latter been seen by his brother only, but quite as
distinctly by the whole company present; his image had, however,
vanished again as soon as his brother had attempted to touch him
(Woetzel, p. 215). From his work we learn that he had begged his wife on
her death-bed to appear to him after death, and she had promised to do
so; but soon after her mind became so uneasy about the probable effects
of her pledge, that her husband released her, and abandoned all thoughts
on the subject. Several weeks later he was sitting in a locked room,
when suddenly a heavy draught of air rushed through it, the light was
nearly blown out, a small window in an alcove sounded as if it were
opened, and in an instant the faint luminous form of his wife was
standing before the amazed widower. She said in a soft, scarcely audible
voice: "Charles, I am immortal; we shall see each other again." Woetzel
jumped up and tried to seize the form, but it vanished like thin mist,
and he felt a strong electric shock. He saw the same vision and heard
the same words repeatedly; his wife appeared as he had last seen her
lying in her coffin; the second time a dog, who had been often petted by
her, wagged his tail and walked caressingly around the apparition. The
book, which appeared in 1804, and gave a full account of all the
phenomena, met with much opposition and contempt; a number of works were
written against it, Wieland ridiculed it in his "Euthanasia," and others
denounced it as a mere repetition of former statements. The author was,
however, not abashed by the storm he had raised; he offered to swear to
the truth of all he had stated before the Great Council of the
University of Leipzig, and published a second work in which he developed
his theory of ghosts with great ability. According to his view, the
spirits of the departed are for some time after death surrounded by a
luminous essence, which may, under peculiarly favorable circumstances,
become visible to human eyes, but which, according to the weakness of
our mind, is generally transformed by the imagination only into the more
familiar form of deceased friends. He insists, besides, upon it that all
he saw and heard was an impression made upon the outer senses only, and
that nothing in the whole occurrence originated in his inner
consciousness. As there was nothing to be gained for him by his
persistent assertions, it seems but fair to give them all the weight
they may deserve, till the whole subject is more fully understood.
Another remarkable case is that of a Mr. and Mrs. James, at whose house
the Rev. Mr. Mills, a Methodist preacher, was usually entertained when
his duties brought him to their place of residence. One year he found
they had both died since his last visit, but he staid with the orphaned
children, and retired to the same room which he had always occupied. The
adjoining room was the former chamber of the aged couple, and here he
began soon to hear a whispering and moving about, just as he used to
hear it when they were still alive. This recalled to him the reports he
had heard in the town, that the departed had been frequently seen by
their numerous friends and kinsmen. The next day he called upon a plain
but very pious woman, who urged him to share her simple meal with her;
he consented, but what was his amazement when she said to him at the
close of the meal: "Now, Mr. Mills, I have a favor to ask of you. I want
you to preach my funeral sermon next Sunday. I am going to die next
Friday at three o'clock." When the astonished minister asked her to
explain the strange request, she replied that Mr. and Mrs. James had
come to her to tell her that they were ineffably happy, but still bound
by certain ties to the world below. They had added that they had not
died, as people believed, without disposing of their property, but that,
in order to avoid dissensions among their children, they had been
allowed to return and to make the place known where the will was
concealed. They had tried to confer with Mr. Mills, but his timidity had
prevented it; now they had come to her, as the minister was going to
dine that day at her house. Finally they had informed her of her
approaching death on the day she had mentioned. The Methodist minister
looked, aided by the heirs and a legal man, for the will and found it at
the place indicated. Nanny, the poor woman, died on Friday, and her
funeral sermon was preached by him on the following Sunday (Rechenberg,
p. 182).
A certain Dr. T. Van Velseu published in 1870, in Dutch, a work, called
_Christus Redivivus_, in which he relates a number of very remarkable
appearances of deceased persons, and among these the following: "A
friend of the author's, a man of sound, practical mind, and a declared
enemy of all superstition, lost his mother whom he had most assiduously
nursed for six weeks and who died in full faith in her Redeemer. A few
days later his nephew was to be married in a distant province, but
although no near kinsman of his, except his mother, could be present,
he, the uncle, could not make up his mind so soon after his grievous
loss, to attend a wedding. This decision irritated and wounded his
sister deeply and led to warm discussions, in which other relatives also
took her side, and which threatened to cause a serious breach in the
family. The mourner was deeply afflicted by the scene and at night,
having laid the matter before God, he fell asleep with the thought on
his mind: 'What would your mother think of it?' Suddenly, while yet wide
awake, he heard a voice saying: 'Go!' Although he recognized the voice
instantly, he thought it might be his sister's and drew the bed-curtain
aside, to see who was there. To his amazement he saw his mother's form
standing by his bedside; terrified and bewildered he dropped the
curtain, turned his face to the wall and tried to collect his thoughts,
but at the same time he heard the same voice say once more: 'Go!' He
drew the curtain again and saw his mother as before, looking at him with
deep love and gentle urgency. This excites him so that he can control
himself no longer; he jumps up and tries to seize the form--it draws
back and gradually dissolves before his eye. Now only he recalls how
often he has conversed with his mother about the future life and the
possibility of communication after death; he becomes calm, decides to
attend the wedding and sleeps soundly till the morning. The next day he
finds his heart relieved of a sore burden; he joins his friends at the
wedding and finds, to his infinite delight, that by his presence only a
serious difficulty is avoided and peace is preserved in a numerous and
influential family. In this case the effect of the mind on the
imagination is strikingly illustrated, and although the vision of the
mother may have existed purely in the son's mind, the practical result
was precisely the same as if a spirit had really appeared in tangible
shape so as to be seen by the outward eye."
In some instances phenomena, like those described, are apparently the
result of a disturbed conscience, and occur, therefore, in frequent
repetition. Already Plutarch, in his "Life of Cimon," tells us that the
Spartan general, Pausanias, had murdered a fair maiden, Cleonice,
because she overthrew a torch in his tent and he imagined himself to be
attacked by assassins. The ghost of the poor girl, whom he had
dishonored in life and so foully killed, appeared to him and threatened
him with such fearful disgrace, that he was terrified and hastened to
Heraclea, where necromancers summoned the spirits of the departed by
their vile arts. They called up Cleonice, at the great commander's
request, and she replied reluctantly, that the curse would not leave him
till he went to Sparta. Pausanias did so and found his death there, the
only way, says the historian of the same name, in which he could ever be
relieved of such fearful guilt. Baxter, also, tells us (p. 30) of a Rev.
Mr. Franklin, whose young son repeatedly saw a lady and received at her
hands quite painful correction. Thus, when he was bound apprentice to a
surgeon, in 1661, and refused to return home upon being ordered to do
so, she appeared to him, and when he resisted her admonitions,
energetically boxed his ears. The poor boy was in bad health and seemed
to suffer so much that at last the surgeon determined to consult his
father, who lived on the island of Ely. On the morning of the day which
he spent travelling, the boy cried out: "Oh, mistress, here's the lady
again!" and at the same time a noise as of a violent blow was heard.
The child hung his head and fell back dead. In the same hour the surgeon
and the boy's father, sitting together in consultation, saw a lady enter
the room, glance at them angrily, walk up and down a few times and
disappear again.