ACROSS THE THRESHOLD
Once upon a time I had an interesting experience showing how often one
may be in the presence of the disembodied without being in the least
aware of the fact.
It was a bright, cold day in October, with a biting wind and brilliant
sunshine. About midday I was walking up a long avenue leading to a great
house. On either side of me, for a mile or so, lay flat, open grass
country, pasturages full of grazing cattle. The trees bordering the
avenue stood at about thirty feet apart; they were gigantic beeches of
considerable age. Their silvery trunks of wide girth were smooth and
straight, and in no way impeded the view on all sides. The avenue was
wide and straight and bordered by grass out of which the trees sprang.
As I turned in at the lodge gate I noticed, without any particular
interest, a woman walking in front of me, but in a very few moments I
began to pay more attention to her obvious peculiarities. She was about
twenty-five to thirty feet ahead of me, moving in the same direction,
and the view I had of her back began to puzzle me. On that decidedly
chilly morning she wore a white muslin dress, a material never used out
of doors even in summer in that northern clime. Over her shoulders
floated something mauve and flimsy, and on her head was what looked like
an old-fashioned poke-bonnet.
Her back looked young, and yet she was a creature of a bygone century,
and knowing every one within a twenty-mile radius of where I walked I
speculated as to who she could possibly be.
Perhaps what puzzled me most was how she had managed to avoid the
attention of the village children, who would at once have been alive to
the novelty of her whole appearance. I looked forward to hearing all
about her at the big house, and as seemed highly probable, meeting her
face to face and obtaining an introduction to her.
Then it suddenly occurred to me to overtake her and pass her; we were
both walking very slowly. I at once quickened my steps, but somehow I
never seemed to gain on her. Even this did not rouse in me the faintest
suspicion of being in the presence of a disembodied soul, it merely
sharpened my curiosity and urged me to greater efforts.
I moved from the road to the grass which I calculated would deaden the
sound of my footsteps, then I began to run.
Still no success! The lady never turned her head to right or left, but
was clearly aware of my pursuit, for apparently without the least effort
she kept her distance from me.
At the moment when I was feeling rather baffled and very much puzzled I
caught sight of my friend, N., in the distance coming to meet me. "Ah!"
I thought, as I at once slowed down to draw breath, "she will have to
pass her and she'll tell me what her face is like."
I kept eyes and attention closely fixed on the two figures as they drew
nearer and nearer to one another. Now the stranger appeared to be
exactly at an equal distance between us, when, lo! she simply vanished
as utterly and entirely as the electric light one switches off in a
room. One second there she was, perfectly and clearly visible, the next
second, there she was not. I looked foolishly around, though I knew that
neither to right or left was there any hiding-place, moreover my eyes
had been fully upon her when she vanished, flicked out--
How well I remember N. running up to me and without any greeting, we
both simultaneously burst out--
"Did you see her?"
N. told me that the inside of the poke-bonnet was empty. The lady had no
face.
Of course we gazed around and searched behind the boles of the trees,
but we were both aware how foolish any such proceeding was, for we had
both been staring hard at her when she disappeared.
There was a bygone tragedy connected with that part of the avenue, but
on discussing the matter with the owner of the great house we all had to
come reluctantly to the conclusion that the woman we had seen had no
connection with that story. A former Lady Dalrymple had been murdered by
one of her servants in the avenue about a hundred years previously, but
the portraits of the deceased and the lady we had seen bore not the
smallest resemblance. It was said that "Lady Dalrymple walked"--a tall,
massive figure clad in a dark, heavy cloak sprinkled with snow. She had
been done to death one January night in a snowstorm which had hidden her
remains for several days.
The apparition we had seen was that of a very slender girl or young
woman. The interesting fact that I wish to emphasize is that had this
young drama in muslin turned aside, slipped through the light fence,
and struck off across the fields it would never have occurred to either
N. or me that she was not physical. We would have speculated as to who
she was, but out of common civility we would not have followed her. We
would have made casual inquiries as to who she was, simply out of
curiosity aroused by her peculiar attire, and then the trifling incident
would have been forgotten.
That sudden vanishing has rooted the experience firmly in my mind, and I
have long since become convinced that the little story I have just told
is an extremely common one. I believe such disembodied spirits are
constantly with us, and that many of us see them, pass them in the
streets, stand beside them in crowds, and accept them perfectly
naturally as physical entities in no way different from what we are
ourselves.
Many people believe that our faculties have a limit beyond which we
cannot go, but this is certainly not so, as it is now proved that some
people have the X-ray sight by nature and can see far more than others.
This faculty has nothing to do with keenness of sight, it is a question
of sight which is able to respond to different series of vibrations.
Undoubtedly there are many entities about us who do not reflect rays of
light that we can see, yet who may reflect those other rays of rates of
vibration which can be photographed.
It is extremely difficult for the average person to grasp the reality of
that which we cannot see with our physical eyes, and to realize how very
partial our sight is, yet science continually demonstrates to us worlds
of teeming life of whose very existence we should be ignorant so far as
our senses are concerned.
What ought clearly to be grasped is the fact that we are not separated
from the so-called dead, save by the limitation of our consciences. We
have not lost those gone before, we have only lost the power to see
them, and very occasionally that power is restored to us, by what means
we know not. All visible things are the result of invisible causes, and
doubtless those denizens of the subtler worlds come amongst us with a
distinct purpose in view. Sometimes that purpose can be traced to
remorse, revenge, a quest, a strong attraction to the scene of a crime,
but in many other cases no object can be discerned.
The condition of the observer is constantly found to be absolutely
normal. The mental conditions of both myself and N. were, as far as we
could tell, quite normal. Our mental activity was no greater, no more
vivid or more accurate than usual, yet we both saw an object that was
beyond normal sense and rational vision.
The fact that so often there is no connecting link between the
apparition and his or her surroundings induces me to believe that we are
everywhere surrounded by the denizens of the other world, and on rare
occasions we catch a glimpse of them.
Here is another utterly trivial story which emphasizes the above
suggestion.
I was lunching with my husband in a house built within the last fifty
years. The only former occupants were known to us. We were discussing a
letter I had that morning received and I said: "I'll go and fetch it for
you to read." I rose and left the dining-room, and pushed open the
half-closed door of the adjoining drawing-room.
What was my astonishment to behold standing in the middle of the floor
a tall, dark man, a total stranger. He stood exactly between the door
and a large bow window, through which poured a flood of sunshine, and I
paused involuntarily and stared at him. Not that there was anything the
least peculiar about him, and, indeed, his air of great respectability
instantly banished the flashing thought of "Burglar."
The stranger returned my stare with perfect composure, and in a second
or two during which we regarded each other I had time to observe his
appearance. He was well dressed, all in black, with a modern, black
broadcloth frockcoat buttoned close. He was very tall and strongly
built, his face was sallow and heavy featured, and he wore a short,
black beard. I bowed and addressed him:
"I'm sorry! I didn't know any one was waiting. Do you wish to see me or
my husband?" I said politely.
The man made no reply, but at once began to glide, not walk, towards a
closed glass door leading to a conservatory on the left. His eyes never
left mine. Without opening the door he passed through it and vanished.
Then I realized and darted after him, throwing open the door and staring
beyond. Nothing! Nothing physical could have passed through a glass door
without shattering it, and that is all there is to this story. The man
had no connection with us nor, so far as we could learn, with the former
occupants of the house.
A very old friend of mine, Mrs. Sinclair, wife of the late Sir
Tollemache Sinclair's second son, told me of an experience she and her
mother once had when visiting a cousin, Major Fetherston Dilke, of
Maxstoke Castle, Warwickshire. The Castle is ancient and surrounded by
a moat, and within the moat lies a tennis court. In order to reach their
rooms on the ground floor, Mrs. Sinclair and her mother had to pass
through a great stone hall filled with fine old oak and armor. Beyond
that their way lay through the remains of an old chapel, which once had
been extensively damaged by fire.
One evening after playing tennis till rather late, Mrs. Sinclair and her
mother hastened indoors to change for dinner. As they passed through the
chapel Mrs. Sinclair saw her mother suddenly shrink back against the
wall; at the same time she exclaimed, "Oh, May, stand aside and let that
person pass."
Mrs. Sinclair looked round, but could see no one. Again her mother cried
out insistently:
"Oh, do let her pass."
"But no one is here," Mrs. Sinclair assured her. Then seeing that her
mother looked terrified she took her by the arm and hurried her to their
rooms.
When the door was shut Mrs. Sinclair tried to soothe her mother's
agitation, and asked her what she had seen, and why she was so
disturbed.
Her mother replied: "There was a young woman in the corner who was
trying hard to escape observation, and the sight of her gave me the most
uncomfortable feeling. She was not a maidservant, and wore no cap. She
was dressed in a mauve print gown with a violet sprig upon it. She might
have been a needle-woman." Mrs. Sinclair calmed her mother as well as
she could, and they went down to dinner together.
During the meal what was her horror to hear her mother say to their
host, "Oh, William, I feel sure there are ghosts in the Castle. I've
seen one to-night."
There was a most uncomfortable silence after this, and Major Fetherston
Dilke looked terribly agitated.
After dinner, when the ladies were alone in the drawing-room, Mrs. Dilke
asked Mrs. Sinclair what they had seen, and on being told she explained
that before a death in the family a certain housekeeper, who had been
murdered, always haunted the chapel, and in consequence of this warning
always coming true her husband was exceedingly nervous of this
apparition. Nothing more was said upon the subject during Mrs.
Sinclair's stay, but before the end of the year Major Fetherston Dilke
lay dead.
Such warnings are very common, and very hard to understand. They suggest
that the apparition knows of the approaching death of a certain person,
and that it has the power to make itself visible to certain persons, at
certain times. Why this warning should be given is a baffling mystery.
Again, why did not Mrs. Sinclair see this ghost when her mother so
plainly saw it?
The fact is that all sorts of most unlikely persons see apparitions,
even the rankest unbeliever and the most matter-of-fact individual, and
they generally see them at most unexpected moments.
I remember one day walking along a country road, and seeing a dog-cart
in the distance coming towards me. As it drew nearer I saw that it
contained (the late) Lord Wemyss, and on recognizing me he drew up and
jumped down.
"I've got a confession to make to you," he said. "I wouldn't tell any
one else for the world. I'd have the life chaffed out of me. I've
actually seen a ghost."
"I'm not in the least surprised. Why shouldn't you see a ghost?" I
retorted.
"Well! I never believed in them, and I didn't think I was the sort of
man who'd ever see one. Now, if it had been Arthur Balfour there would
have been nothing in it. He's a member of the Psychical Society, and all
that sort of thing."
"But being a member of the Psychical Society does not predispose one to
see ghosts," I expostulated, but Lord Wemyss remained very puzzled.
He told me that when about half a mile from his own front door at
Gosford, East Lothian, he saw a man walking in front of him in the same
direction, going towards the house. In a vague sort of way he wondered
for a moment where this man had suddenly sprung from, as he had not
noticed him before, but there was nothing unusual in his appearance to
arouse curiosity. He was a stranger and looked like a foreman in his
Sunday clothes.
Lord Wemyss walked on, always keeping about ten yards between himself
and the stranger. At a certain point he fully expected he would strike
off by a path leading to the servants' and tradesmen's entrance, but
rather to his surprise, the man did no such thing. He pursued an
undeviating course towards the main entrance, and on observing this Lord
Wemyss became more interested, and looked at him more closely.
Still there was something remarkable to be observed, and concluding that
the man, being a stranger, did not know of any other entrance, he
quickened his steps in order to come up with him. In this he failed--the
man kept his distance, and just as he reached the door he vanished from
sight.
I tried hard to persuade Lord Wemyss to tell this story to Mr. Balfour,
who was so intimate a friend, but I believe he never did so. The
interest lies in the long time, during a half-mile walk, in which the
ghost was under observation, also in the fact that until the man
disappeared on the doorstep Lord Wemyss had never suspected that the
stranger was other than ordinary flesh and blood.
So many people have confided their ghost stories to me, and swore me to
secrecy, that I am convinced such experiences are very common, and only
remain hidden either from fear of being laughed at or from being thought
to suffer from hallucinations.