THE PERSONALITY OF LEOPOLD
Is Leopold really Joseph Balsamo, as he pretends? Or, since he has
nothing in common with the famous thaumaturgist of the last century,
save a certain superficial resemblance, is he, at any rate, a real
being, separate from, and independent of, Mlle. Smith? Or, finally, is
he only a pseudo-reality, a kind of allotropic modification of Hélène
herself, a product of her subliminal imagination, just like our dream
creations and the rôles suggested to a hypnotic subject?
Of these three suppositions it is the last which to my mind is
undoubtedly the true one, while in Mlle. Smith’s eyes it is as
certainly the false view. It would be hard to imagine a more profound
difference of opinion than that which exists between Mlle. Smith
and myself on this subject. It is I, always, who get the worst of a
discussion with her concerning it. I yield for two reasons. First, out
of politeness; and, secondly, because I understand Hélène perfectly,
and, putting myself in her place, realize that I should think exactly
as she does about the matter.
Given her surroundings and personal experiences, it is impossible for
her to do otherwise than believe in the objective distinct existence
of that mysterious being who constantly enters into her life in a
sensible and quasi-material way, leaving her no room to doubt. He
presents himself before her endowed with corporeality like that of
other people, and hides objects which are behind him exactly as an
ordinary individual of flesh and bone would do. He talks into her ears,
generally into the left, in a characteristic voice, which appears to
come from a variable distance, sometimes about six feet off, sometimes
much farther. He jars the table on which she has placed her immobile
arms, takes hold of her wrist and writes with her hand, holding the pen
in a manner unlike her, and with a handwriting wholly different from
hers. He puts her to sleep without her knowledge, and she is astonished
to learn upon awaking that he has gesticulated with her arms and spoken
through her mouth in the deep bass voice of a man, with an Italian
accent, which has nothing in common with the clear and beautiful
quality of her feminine voice.
Moreover, he is not always on hand. He by no means answers Hélène’s
appeals on all occasions; is not at her mercy; far from it. His
conduct, his manifestations, his comings and goings cannot be predicted
with any certainty, and testify to an autonomous being, endowed with
free-will, often otherwise occupied or absent on his own affairs, which
do not permit of his holding himself constantly at the disposal of
Mlle. Smith. Sometimes he remains for weeks without revealing himself,
in spite of her wishing for him and calling upon him. Then, all at
once, he makes his appearance when she least expects him. He speaks
for her in a way she would have no idea of doing, he dictates to her
poems of which she would be incapable. He replies to her oral or mental
questions, converses with her, and discusses various questions. Like a
wise friend, a rational mentor, and as one seeing things from a higher
plane, he gives her advice, counsel, orders even sometimes directly
opposite to her wishes and against which she rebels. He consoles her,
exhorts her, soothes, encourages, and reprimands her; he undertakes
against her the defence of persons she does not like, and pleads the
cause of those who are antipathetic to her. In a word, it would be
impossible to imagine a being more independent or more different from
Mlle. Smith herself, having a more personal character, an individuality
more marked, or a more certain actual existence.
Hélène is also fortified in this conviction by the belief not only
of members of her own family, but by that of other cultivated people
who, having attended many of her seances, have no doubt whatever
of Leopold’s objective and separate existence. There are those who
believe so firmly in the reality of this superior being, invisible
to them, that they are in the habit of calling upon him during the
absence of Mlle. Smith. Naturally they obtain responses, through the
table or otherwise, and that causes unforeseen complications sometimes
when she comes to learn of it. For while she admits theoretically—and
Leopold himself has often declared the same thing—that he extends
his surveillance and protection from afar over other spiritistic
groups, and especially over all Hélène’s friends and acquaintances,
in practice and in fact, however, it happens that neither he nor she
will willingly admit the authenticity of those pretended communications
from Leopold obtained in the absence of the medium of his predilection.
It is generally some deceiving spirit who has manifested in his place
on these occasions. These denials, however, do not prevent those who
have become believers from continuing to believe in the omnipresence
of this good genius, or from teaching their children to revere him, to
make vows and address prayers to him. It must not be forgotten that
spiritism is a religion. This also explains the great respect shown to
mediums, which is like that accorded to priests.
It follows that, without in the least refraining from speaking ill of
them whenever they think they have a grievance against them, on the
other hand they bestow on them the same marks of respect as are only
accorded to the most sublime product of the human race.
I have known a _salon_ where, on the centre table, in full view and
in the place of honor, were two photographs in beautiful frames: on
the one side the head of Christ, on the other the portrait of—Mlle.
Hélène Smith. Among other believers, with less ideal but more practical
aspirations, no business matter of importance is closed, no serious
decision made, until Leopold has been consulted through Hélène as an
intermediary, and the cases are too numerous to mention in which he
has furnished important information, prevented a heavy pecuniary loss,
given an efficacious medical prescription, etc.
It is easily seen how all the successes obtained by Leopold, and the
mystical veneration which many very estimable persons accord him,
must contribute to strengthen the faith of Hélène in her all-powerful
protector. It is in vain that, against this absolute assurance, one
seeks to avail one’s self of the arguments of contemporary psychology.
The example of the fictions of the dream, the analogies taken
from hypnotism and from psychopathology, considerations of mental
disintegration, the division of the consciousness and the formation
of second personalities, all these refined subtleties of our modern
scientists break in pieces like glass against immovable rock. I shall
not undertake to combat a proposition which, for her, has incontestably
so much evidence in its favor, and which resolves all difficulties in
the most felicitous manner and in conformity to good common-sense.
Nevertheless, since each individual has a right to his own opinion in
the world, I beg leave to assume, for the time being, that Leopold does
not exist outside of Mlle. Smith, and to try to discover his possible
genesis in the mental life of the latter—solely by hypothesis and by
means of psychological experiment. Therefore, readers who have little
taste for this kind of academic composition had better skip this
chapter.
I. PSYCHOGENESIS OF LEOPOLD
A description of the development of Leopold is not easy, since he has a
double origin, apparent and real, like the cranial nerves which give so
much trouble to the students of anatomy.
His apparent origin, or, I should say, the moment when he is
outwardly separated from the personality of Hélène, and manifests as
an independent “spirit,” is relatively clear and well marked; but
his actual origin, profoundly enfolded in the most inward strata of
Hélène’s personality and inextricably mixed up with them, presents
great obscurities and can only be determined in a very conjectural
manner. Let us begin with the apparent origin, or the first appearance
of Leopold at the seances.
It is easy to understand that, once initiated into spiritism and
plunged into a current of ideas where the comforting doctrine of
spirit-guides and protectors holds an important place, Mlle. Smith
did not delay in coming into possession of, like all good mediums, a
disincarnate spirit specially attached to her person. She even had
two in succession, Victor Hugo and Cagliostro. It is not a question
of a simple change of name of the guide of Hélène, who presented
himself first under the aspect and the name of the great poet and then
afterwards adopted that of the renowned thaumaturgist, but there were,
at least at the beginning, two different personalities, apparently
hostile to each other, one of whom by degrees supplanted the other,
after a struggle, a trace of which is found in the very incomplete
reports of the seances of that period. Three phases can also be
distinguished in the psychogenesis of Mlle. Smith’s guide: an initial
phase of five months, during which Victor Hugo reigns alone; a phase of
transition of about a year, when the protection of Victor Hugo is seen
to be powerless to protect Hélène and her spiritistic group against
the invasion of an intruder called Leopold, who claims and manifests an
increasing authority over the medium by virtue of mysterious relations
in the course of a previous existence; finally, the present period,
which has lasted for six years past, in which Victor Hugo no longer
figures, and which may be dated approximately from the moment when it
was revealed that Leopold is only an assumed name, under which he hides
in reality the great personality of Joseph Balsamo.
I do not find any fact worthy of mention in the first phase, in which
Victor Hugo, who seems to have appeared as the guide of Mlle. Smith
about the 1st of April, 1892 (see above, p. 38), played a rôle of no
importance. In the second phase, however, it is necessary to cite some
extracts from the reports of the seances of the N. group, in order to
throw light upon the singular character which Leopold manifested there
from the beginning.
August 26, 1892.—“A spirit announces himself under the name of Leopold.
He comes for Mlle. Smith, and seems to wish to have a great authority
over her. She sees him for some moments, he appears to be about
thirty-five years of age, and is clothed altogether in black. The
expression of his countenance is rather pleasing, and through answers
to some questions which we put to him we are given to understand that
he knew her in another existence, and that he does not wish her to give
her heart to any one here below.... Mlle. Smith recognizes her guide,
Victor Hugo. She is made happy by his arrival, and asks his protection
against the obsession of this new spirit. He answers that she has
nothing to fear, that he will always be present. She is joyful at being
guarded and protected by him, and feels that she has nothing to fear.”
September 2.—... “Leopold comes also, but Mlle. Smith fears nothing,
since her guide (Victor Hugo) is there to protect her.”
September 23.—... “An unpleasant evening. A spirit announces himself.
It is Leopold. He speaks to us at once: ‘I am here. I wish to be master
of this sitting.’ We are very much disappointed, and do not expect any
good of him. He tries, as he had already done once before, to put Mlle.
Smith to sleep, who has great difficulty in struggling against this
sleep. She rises from the table, hoping by this means to rid herself of
him, and that he will give up his place to others. She returns in about
ten minutes, but he is still there, and apparently has no intention of
abandoning his place. We summon our friends (spiritual) to our aid....
They take Leopold’s place momentarily, but very soon Leopold returns;
we struggle with him, we desire him to go away, but neither soft nor
hard words have any effect; before that dogged determination we realize
that all our efforts will be useless, and we decide to close the
seance.”
October 3.—“[Manifestation by the favorite spirits of the group, who
declare] that they have not been able to come, as they would have liked
to do; that they were prevented by the spirit of Leopold, who is
trying to introduce himself to us; that we should repulse him as much
as possible, persuaded that he does not come for any good end. I do not
know whether we shall be able to rid ourselves of him, but we greatly
fear that he will injure us and retard our advancement.”
October 7.—... “Leopold announces himself. We try to reason with him;
we do not wish to forbid his coming, but we ask of him that he shall
come as a friend to all, and not in the rôle of master. He is not
satisfied; appears to bear much malice. We trust he will come to have
better feelings. He shows himself, walks around the table, bows to us,
and salutes each one with his hand, and retires again, leaving his
place to others.”
October 14.—“[After a quarter of an hour of motionless and silent
waiting in darkness around the table Mlle. Smith is questioned, and she
is shaken in vain.] She is asleep. By the advice of persons present we
allow her to remain asleep, when, at the end of five minutes, the table
raises itself, a spirit announces himself. It is Victor Hugo; we ask
if he has anything to say; he answers yes, and spells out: _Wake her;
do not allow her ever to sleep_. We try to do so. We are nervous about
that sleep; we have great difficulty in awakening her.”
January 6, 1893.—“After twenty minutes of waiting, Leopold arrives,
and, as is his habit, puts the medium to sleep for some minutes; he
torments us, and prevents our friends (disincarnate) from coming to
the table. He vexes us in every way, and goes contrary to all our
wishes. In presence of that rancor the sitters regret the indications
of ill-humor they have shown towards him, and deplore having to pay so
dear for them. It is with difficulty that the medium can be awakened.”
February, 1893.—“In one of the seances of this month a remarkable
thing happened: the spirit of Leopold, who was very much irritated
on that day, twice in succession took away her chair from our medium
and carried it to the farther end of the room, while Mlle. Smith
fell heavily to the floor. Not expecting this wretched farce, Mlle.
Smith struck her knee so hard that for several days she suffered pain
in walking. We were obliged to terminate the seance; we were not
comfortable. Why this animosity?”
This word _animosity_ describes very well the conduct and the feelings
that Leopold seemed to have towards the N. group and against his placid
rival, Victor Hugo. The personal recollections of the sitters whom I
have been able to interrogate confirm the substantial physiognomy of
the two figures. That of Hugo is, in effect, effaced and altogether
eclipsed by the totally opposite character of the arrogant Leopold,
who takes a peculiar pleasure in the rôle of vindictive and jealous
mischief-maker, obstructing the appearance of the “spirits” desired by
the group, putting the medium to sleep, or causing her to fall on the
floor, forbidding her to give her heart to another, and breaking up
the seances as far as he is able. It seems to have finally resulted in
the meetings of the N. group coming to an end at the beginning of the
summer; then comes a break of six months, after which I find Mlle.
Smith on the 12th of December inaugurating a new series of seances,
with an entirely different spiritistic group organized by Prof.
Cuendet. Here Victor Hugo very rarely appears, and never in the rôle of
guide, which rôle is freely accorded, without objection, to Leopold,
whose real identity (Cagliostro) was no secret to any one in the new
environment. It was, therefore, in the course of the year 1893, at a
period which cannot be precisely determined from the records, that
the rivalry of these two personalities was terminated by the complete
triumph of the second.
It follows from the preceding recital that the appearance of Leopold
in seances of the N. group was a phenomenon of manifest contrast, of
hostility, and of antagonism towards that group.
It is a difficult and delicate task to pronounce upon the complex
spirit of an environment of which one was not a part, and in regard to
which one possesses only a few and not very concordant incidents. The
following, however, seem to be the facts:
The N. group, much more numerous than is convenient in seances of
that kind, was composed of very varied elements. Alongside of serious
believers were ordinarily some students who boarded with one of the
ladies of the group, and who do not appear to have felt the seriousness
of spiritistic reunions.
That age has no mercy, and the profound signification of the seances
often escaped their superficial and frivolous intelligence. Under such
conditions Mlle. Smith was inevitably compelled to experience two
contrary impressions. On the one hand, she perceived herself admired,
made much of, fêted, as the unrivalled medium, which she really was,
and upon whom the group depended for its existence; on the other
hand, her secret instincts and high personal dignity could not but be
offended by the familiarities to which she was exposed in this mixed
environment.
I regard the two rival and successive guides of Hélène as the
expression of this double sentiment. If she had been brought up like
an American woman, or if her nature had been a degree less fine, the
frivolity of the seances would undoubtedly have only given more warmth
and brilliancy to Victor Hugo; instead of which, the victorious colors
of Leopold are raised over a nature of great native pride, extremely
sensitive on the point of feminine dignity, and whose severe and
rigid education had already exalted her sense of self-respect. After
a struggle of a year between these two personifications of opposite
emotional tendencies, the second, as we have seen, finally triumphs;
and Mlle. Smith withdraws from the N. group, which at the same time
breaks up.
The idea I have formed of Leopold is now apparent. He represents,
to my mind, in Mlle. Smith, the synthesis, the quintessence—and
the expansion, too—of the most hidden springs of the psychological
organism. He gushes forth from that deep and mysterious sphere into
which the deepest roots of our individual existence are plunged,
which bind us to the species itself, and perhaps to the Absolute,
and whence confusedly spring our instincts of physical and moral
self-preservation, our sexual feelings. When Hélène found herself in an
environment not exactly dangerous, but where she simply ran the risk,
as in the N. group, of yielding to some inclination contrary to her
fundamental aspirations, it is then that Leopold suddenly springs up,
speaking as the master, taking possession of the medium for himself,
and indicating his unwillingness that she should attach herself to any
one here below. We here recognize the same principle of self-protection
and self-preservation which was already active in her as a young girl
in the teleological automatisms arising on the occasion of certain
emotional shocks, of which I have spoken on p. 25.
But, by these considerations, we have travelled very far from the
original appearance of Leopold in the seance of the 26th of August,
1892, towards his actual, more ancient origin. This seems to date from
a great fright which Hélène had in the course of her tenth year. As
she was walking along the street, on her way home from school, she
was attacked by a big dog. The terror of the poor child can well be
imagined, and from which she was happily delivered by a personage
clothed in a long brown robe with flowing sleeves and with a white
cross on the breast, who, appearing to her suddenly and as by a
miracle, chased the dog away, and disappeared before she had time to
thank him. But, according to Leopold, this personage was no other than
himself, who on this occasion for the first time appeared to Hélène,
and saved her by driving away the dog.
This explanation was given by Leopold on the 6th of October, 1895, in
a seance in which Hélène experienced, in a somnambulistic state, a
repetition of that scene of fright, with heart-rending cries, gestures
of struggle and defence, attempts at flight, etc. In the waking state
she very well recalls this episode of her childhood, but cannot accept
Leopold as the person who came to her rescue, but believes it to have
been a priest or member of some religious order who rushed to her
assistance and drove the animal away. Her parents also recollected
the incident, which she told them one day on returning from school in
a very excited state, and after which she could not for a long time
encounter a dog in the street without hiding herself in the folds of
her mother’s dress. She has since always preserved an instinctive
aversion towards dogs.
We have seen (p. 31) that after this first incident, matters remained
_in statu quo_ for four years, up to the time when the age of puberty
began to favor the development of the Oriental visions. Here, Leopold,
to whom we owe this information, does not altogether agree with
himself, for at one time he says that it was he himself who furnished
Mlle. Smith with her visions of India, at another time he says that
they are reminiscences of one of her former existences.
Alongside of these varied visions, Leopold has clearly appeared under
the form of the protector in the dark robe in a number of cases. I will
only cite two examples, one very remote, the other quite recent.
One day Hélène went to consult her family physician for some trifling
ailment, who, having known her for a long time and being an old friend
of her family, presumed to give her an innocent kiss. He was quite
unprepared for the explosion of wrath which this familiarity provoked,
and hastened to make his apologies: but what is of interest to us in
this connection is the fact that under the shock of this emotion her
defender of the brown robe appeared before her in the corner of the
room, and did not leave her side until she had reached home.
A short time ago this same protector, always in the same costume,
accompanied her several days in succession while she was traversing a
little-frequented part of the route towards her place of business. One
evening, also, he appeared to her at the entrance to the street leading
to the locality in question, in the attitude of barring the way, and
obliged her to make a detour to regain her house.
Mlle. Smith has the impression—and several indications go to show that
she is not deceived—that it is with the purpose of sparing her some
unpleasant sight or a dangerous encounter that Leopold, in the brown
robe, appears to her under perfectly well-known conditions. He rises
before her always at a distance of about ten yards, walks, or rather
glides, along in silence, at the same rate as she advances towards him,
attracting and fascinating her gaze in such a manner as to prevent her
turning her eyes away from him either to the right or the left, until
she has passed the place of danger. It is to be noted that whereas
Leopold, under other circumstances—for instance, at the seances—shows
himself to her in the most varied costumes and speaks on all subjects,
it is always under his hieratic aspect, silent, and clothed in his long
dark robe, that he appears to her on those occasions of real life in
which she is exposed to feelings of fright peculiar to her sex, as he
appeared to her on that first occasion in her tenth year.
The hints I have given sufficiently justify, I think, my opinion that
the real and primordial origin of Leopold is to be found in that deep
and delicate sphere in which we so often encounter the roots of hypnoid
phenomena, and to which the most illustrious visionaries, such as
Swedenborg,[8] seem to owe a great part not only of the intellectual
content but of the imaginative form, the hallucinatory wrapping, of
their genius. There is a double problem to be solved in Mlle. Smith’s
case. Why have these instinctive feelings and emotional tendencies
which are common to the entire human race succeeded in developing in
her a product so complex and highly organized as is the personality of
Leopold? and why, in the second place, does that personality believe
itself to be Joseph Balsamo?
I instantly reply that these two results are, to my mind, entirely the
effect of autosuggestion. To explain the first, the simple fact of her
being occupied with spiritism and engaged in mediumistic experiments,
is sufficient. Take any individual having in her subconsciousness
memories, scruples, emotional tendencies, put into her head spiritistic
leanings, then seat her at a table, or put a pencil in her hand:
even though she may not be of a very impressionable or suggestible
temperament, or inclined to the mental disintegration which the
general public calls the mediumistic faculty, nevertheless, it will
not be long before her subliminal elements group themselves and arrange
themselves according to the “personal” form to which all consciousness
tends,[9] and which discloses itself outwardly by communications which
have the appearance of coming directly from disincarnate spirits.
In the case of Mlle. Smith, Leopold did not exist under the title of
a distinct secondary personality before Hélène began to be occupied
with spiritism. It was at the seances of the N. group, by an emotional
reaction against certain influences, as we have seen, that he began,
little by little, to take shape, aided by memories of the same general
tone, until he finally grew into an apparently independent being,
revealing himself through the table, manifesting a will and a mind of
his own, recalling analogous former incidents of Hélène’s life, and
claiming for himself the merit of having intervened in it in the rôle
of her protector.
Once established, this secondary self could not do otherwise than
to grow, and to develop and strengthen itself in all directions,
assimilating to itself a host of new data favoring the state of
suggestibility which accompanies the exercise of mediumship. Without
the spiritism and the autohypnotization of the seances, Leopold
could never have been truly developed into a personality, but would
have continued to remain in the nebulous, incoherent state of vague
subliminal reveries and of occasional automatic phenomena.
The second problem, that of explaining why this secondary personality,
once established, believes itself to be Cagliostro rather than any
other celebrated personage, or of remaining simply the anonymous
guardian angel of Mlle. Smith, would demand a very complete knowledge
of the thousand outside influences which have surrounded Hélène since
the beginning of her mediumship, and which may have involuntarily
influenced her.
But on this point I have only succeeded in collecting a very few
incidents, which leave much still to be desired, and are of such a
character that it is entirely permissible for any one to claim that
the purely psychological origin of that personality is not clearly
established, and to prefer, if he chooses, the actual intervention of
the disincarnate Joseph Balsamo to my hypothesis of autosuggestion.
The following, however, are the facts advanced by me in support of the
latter:
The authoritative and jealous spirit, the evident enemy of the N.
group, who manifested himself on the 26th of August, 1892, under the
name of Leopold, did not reveal his identity as that of Cagliostro
until some time afterwards, under the following circumstances:
One of the most regular attendants at the reunions of the N. group
was a Mme. B., who had long been an adherent of spiritism, and who
had previously attended numerous seances at the house of M. and Mme.
Badel, a thoroughly convinced couple of amateurs, now deceased, whose
_salon_ and round table have held a very honorable place in the history
of Genevese occultism. But I learned from Mme. B. that one of the
disincarnate spirits who manifested himself oftenest at the seances of
M. and Mme. Badel was this very Joseph Balsamo. There is, indeed, no
figure in history which accords better with the idea of a posthumous
return to the mysteries of the round table than that of the enigmatic
Sicilian, especially since Alexandre Dumas, _père_, has surrounded him
with an additional halo of romance.
Not content with the public reunions of the N. group, Mme. B. often
invited Hélène to her house for private seances, of which no record
was made. At one of these, Hélène having had a vision of Leopold, who
pointed out to her with a wand a decanter, Mme. B. suddenly thought
of a celebrated episode in the life of Cagliostro, and after the
seance she proceeded to take from a drawer and show to Hélène an
engraving taken from an illustrated edition of Dumas, representing
the famous scene of the decanter between Balsamo and the Dauphin at
the château of Taverney. At the same time she gave utterance to the
idea that the spirit who manifested himself at the table by means of
Hélène’s hands was certainly Joseph Balsamo; and she expressed her
astonishment that Hélène had given him the name of Leopold, to which
Hélène replied that it was he himself who had given that name. Mme.
B., continuing her deductions, told Mlle. Smith that perhaps she had
formerly been the medium of the great magician, and consequently had
been Lorenza Feliciani in a former life. Hélène at once accepted the
idea, and for several weeks considered herself to be the reincarnation
of Lorenza, until one day a lady of her acquaintance remarked that it
was impossible, Lorenza Feliciani having never existed save in the
imagination and the romances of Alexandre Dumas, _père_.[10]
Thus dispossessed of her supposed former existence, Hélène was not
long in declaring through the table that she was Marie Antoinette. As
to Leopold, a short time after Mme. B. had hypothetically identified
him with Cagliostro, he himself confirmed that hypothesis at a seance
of the N. group, dictating to the table that his real name was Joseph
Balsamo.
The origin of the name of Leopold is very obscure, and many hypotheses
have been advanced to account for it without our being able to
establish any of them with certainty.
One fact, however, is certain, namely, that save for the vague
affirmation that he had known Hélène in a previous existence, Leopold
had never pretended to be Cagliostro, or given any reason for being
thought so, before the reunion where Mme. B., who had been for some
time accustomed to manifestations of that personage, announced the
supposition and showed Mlle. Smith immediately after the seance (at
a moment when she was probably still in a very suggestible state) an
engraving from Dumas’ works representing Balsamo and the Dauphin. From
that day Leopold, on his part, never failed to claim that personality,
and progressively to realize the character of the rôle in a very
remarkable manner, as we shall see.
II. PERSONIFICATION OF BALSAMO BY LEOPOLD
There is no need, I think, to remind the reader of the well-known
fact—so often described under the names of objectivity of types,
personification, change of personality, etc.—that a hypnotized subject
can be transformed by a word into such other living being as may be
desired, according to the measure in which his suggestibility on the
one hand and the vividness of his imagination and the fulness of his
stored-up knowledge or memories on the other, enables him to fulfil
the rôle which is imposed upon him. Without investigating here to what
extent mediums may be likened to hypnotized subjects, it is undeniable
that an analogous phenomenon takes place in them; but the process is
more gradual, and may extend itself over several years. In place of the
immediate metamorphosis which modifies at one stroke and instantly,
conformably to a prescribed type, the attitude, the physiognomy,
the gestures, the words, the intonations of voice, the style, the
handwriting, and other functions besides, we are, in the case of the
medium, in the presence of a development formed by successive stages
arranged according to grades, with intervals of different lengths,
which finally succeed in creating a complete personality, all the more
astonishing, at first sight, because the involuntary suggestions have
not been noticed, the accumulations of which have little by little
caused its birth. This process of development is present in a high
degree in the case of Mlle. Smith, in the elaboration of her secondary
personality, Leopold-Cagliostro.
In the beginning, in 1892 and 1893, this “spirit” only manifested
himself by the brief periods of sleep which he induced in Hélène at
certain seances, by raps struck upon the table, by visions in which he
showed himself clothed in black and of youthful appearance, and, more
rarely, by auditive hallucinations. His character and the content of
his messages were summed up in imperious, authoritative, domineering
manners, with the pretension of claiming Mlle. Smith all for himself,
of defending her against the influences of the N. group, and, finally,
of detaching her from that environment.
There was nothing, however, in this general character of monopoly
and of protection which specially recalled the Balsamo of history
or of romance. The personification of complete objectivity of this
established type really began only in 1894, when Leopold had no longer
to struggle with an environment foreign to his nature. The subconscious
psychological task of realization of the proposed model could then
be followed by him more freely; in spiritistic terms, Joseph Balsamo
was able to manifest himself and make himself known in a manner more
complete through Hélène as an intermediary, while continuing to follow
and protect her as the reincarnation of the royal object of his passion.
At the seances held with M. Cuendet, Leopold frequently showed himself
to Hélène clothed after the fashion of the last century and with a face
like that of Louis XVI., under the different phases of his multiplex
genius. He also showed himself to her in his laboratory, surrounded by
utensils and instruments appropriate to the sorcerer and alchemist that
he was; or, again, as the physician and possessor of secret elixirs,
the knowledge of which is productive of consultations or remedies
for the use of sitters who need them; or, again, as the illumined
theosophist, the verbose prophet of the brotherhood of man, who
diffuses limping Alexandrine verses—which seem to have been inherited
from his predecessor, Victor Hugo—containing exhortations a little
weak at times, but always stamped with a pure moral tone, elevated
and noble sentiments, and a very touching religious spirit—in short,
a fine example of that “ethico-deific verbiage” (if I may be allowed
the expression, which is an Americanism), which, both in prose and in
verse, is one of the most frequent and estimable products of mediumship.
But it was not until 1895 that Leopold, benefiting by the progress made
by the automatic phenomena in Hélène, multiplied and perfected his
processes of communication. The first step consisted in substituting,
in his dictations by spelling, the movements of the hand or of a single
finger for those of the whole table. This was the immediate result of a
suggestion of mine.
[Illustration: Fig. 3. Handwriting of Leopold. Fragments of two
letters, one in Alexandrine verse, the other in prose, entirely in the
hand of Leopold, automatically written by Mlle. Smith in spontaneous
hemisomnambulism.]
[Illustration: Fig. 4. Normal handwriting of Mlle. Smith.]
The second step in advance was the handwriting, which shows two
stages. In the first, Leopold gave Hélène the impression of a phrase
(verbo-visual hallucination), which she copied in pencil on a sheet
of paper, in her own handwriting. The second, which was only
accomplished five months later, and which consisted in writing directly
with Hélène’s hand, permitted the immediate establishment of three
curious facts. One is, that Leopold holds his pen in the usual manner,
the handle resting between the thumb and the index-finger, while
Hélène, in writing, always holds her pen-handle or pencil between the
index and middle fingers, a very rare habit with us. The next is that
Leopold has an entirely different handwriting from that of Hélène, a
calligraphy more regular, larger, more painstaking, and with marked
differences in the formation of the letters (see Figs. 3 and 4). The
third is that he uses the style of handwriting of the last century, and
puts an _o_ instead of an _a_ in the tenses of the verbs, _j’amois_,
for _j’amais_, etc. These three characteristics he has never departed
from during all the four years that I have been accumulating specimens
of his handwriting.
The following is a résumé of the seances at which these two innovations
took place.
April 21, 1895.—As I had just asked Leopold a question which he did not
like, Hélène, being in a state of hemisomnambulism, with a pencil and
some sheets of paper placed before her, in the hope of obtaining some
communication (not from Leopold), seemed about to plunge into a very
interesting perusal of one of the blank sheets; then, at my request,
which she with difficulty comprehended, she commenced to write rapidly
and nervously on another sheet, in her usual handwriting, a copy of the
imaginary text which Leopold was showing her (“in fluid letters,” as
he said afterwards at the seance) as follows: “_My thoughts are not thy
thoughts, and thy wishes are not mine, friend Flournoy—Leopold._” At
the final awakening Hélène recognized perfectly her own handwriting in
his phrase, but had no recollection of the occurrence.
September 22, 1895.—After different visions and some stanzas of Victor
Hugo, dictated by the table, Hélène appeared to suffer considerably in
her right arm, which she was holding at the wrist with her left hand,
when the table at which she was seated gave out the following, dictated
by Leopold: “I shall hold her hand,” meaning that it was he, Leopold,
who was causing Mlle. Smith to suffer pain by seizing her right hand.
As she seemed to feel very badly and began to weep, Leopold was asked
to desist; but he refused, and, still speaking through the table,
said, “Give her some paper,” then, “More light.” Writing material was
furnished her and the lamp brought in, which Hélène gazed at fixedly,
while Leopold continued to dictate (this time with the little finger
of her left hand), “Let her gaze on the lamp until she forgets the
pain in her arm.” She then seemed, in fact, to forget her pain, and to
find satisfaction in looking at the lamp; then she fastened her eyes
on the paper, and seemed to read something there which she endeavored
to copy in pencil. But here the right hand began a curious alternation
of contrary motions, expressing in a very clear manner a contest with
Leopold, who was trying to compel her to hold the pencil in a certain
way, which Hélène refused to do, with a great pretence of anger.
She persisted in holding it between the index and middle fingers, as
was her wont, while Leopold wanted her to hold it in the usual way,
between the thumb and the index-finger, and said: “I do not wish her
to ... she is holding the pencil very badly.” The right index-finger
then went through a very comical gymnastic performance, being seized
with a tremor, which caused her to place it on one side or the other
of the pencil, according to whether it was Leopold or Hélène who was
victorious; during this time she frequently raised her eyes, with a
look sometimes reproachful, sometimes supplicating, as if to gaze at
Leopold standing by her side endeavoring to force her to hold the
pencil in the manner he preferred. After a contest of nearly twenty
minutes, Hélène, vanquished and completely subdued by Leopold, seemed
to be absent, while her hand, holding the pencil in the manner she did
not like, wrote slowly the two following lines, followed by a rapid and
feverish signature of Leopold:
“Mes vers sont si mauvais que pour toi j’aurois dû
Laisser à tout jamais le poète têtu.—LEOPOLD.”
An allusion, which was of no importance, to a remark made by me at the
commencement of the seance on the verses of Victor Hugo and those of
Leopold frequently dictated by the table. The seance lasted some time
longer; on awakening, Hélène vaguely remembered having seen Leopold,
but knew nothing more concerning the handwriting scene.
It is a fact that while her other incarnations are always accomplished
passively and without any struggle, that of Leopold has the
peculiarity of regularly provoking more or less resistance on the
part of Hélène. “I do not make of her all that I wish ... she is
headstrong.... I do not know whether I shall succeed.... I do not
believe I can master her to-day....” replies he often when asked to
incarnate himself or write with her hand, and, indeed, his efforts
often fail. There exists between Hélène and her guide a curious
phenomenon of contrast and opposition, which only breaks out in the
higher and more recent forms of motor automatism, the handwriting,
the speech, or the complete incarnation, but from which the sensory
messages and simple raps on the table or of the finger are free.
It is very possible that the idea, very antipathetic to Hélène, of
the hypnotizer mastering his subjects in spite of themselves—of the
disincarnated Cagliostro using his medium as a simple tool—has been
subconsciously the origin of this constant note of revolt against
the total domination of Leopold, and of the intense suffering which
accompanied his first incarnations, and which has slowly diminished
through her becoming accustomed to the process, though it has never
been completely banished.
After the handwriting, in its turn came speech, which also was attained
by means of two stages. In a first attempt Leopold only succeeded
in giving Hélène his intonation and pronunciation after a seance in
which she suffered acutely in her mouth and in her neck, as though her
vocal organs were being manipulated or removed; she began to talk in
a natural tone, and was apparently wide awake and feeling well, but
spoke with a deep bass voice, and a strong, easily recognizable Italian
accent. It was not until a year later that Leopold was finally able to
speak himself by the mouth of Mlle. Smith, while she was completely
entranced, and who did not retain on awakening any memory of this
strange occurrence. Since then the complete control of the medium
by her guide is a frequent occurrence at the seances, and affords a
tableau very characteristic and always impressive.
Leopold succeeds in incarnating himself only by slow degrees and
progressive stages. Hélène then feels as though her arms had been
seized, or as if they were absent altogether; then she complains
of disagreeable sensations, which were formerly painful, in her
throat, the nape of her neck, and in her head; her eyelids droop;
her expression changes; her throat swells into a sort of double
chin, which gives her a likeness of some sort to the well-known
figure of Cagliostro. All at once she rises, then, turning slowly
towards the sitter whom Leopold is about to address, draws herself
up proudly, turns her back quickly, sometimes with her arms crossed
on her breast with a magisterial air, sometimes with one of them
hanging down while the other is pointed solemnly towards heaven, and
with her fingers makes a sort of masonic sign, which never varies.
Soon after a series of hiccoughs, sighs, and various noises indicate
the difficulty Leopold is experiencing in taking hold of the vocal
apparatus; the words come forth slowly but strong; the deep bass
voice of a man, slightly confused, with a pronunciation and accent
markedly foreign, certainly more like Italian than anything else.
Leopold is not always easily understood, especially when his voice
swells and thunders out a reply to some indiscreet question or to the
disrespectful remarks of some skeptical sitter. He speaks thickly,
pronounces _g_ like _j_, and all his _u’s_ like _ou_, accents the final
syllables, embellishes his vocabulary with obsolete words, or words
which do not fit the circumstances, such as _fiole_ for _bouteille_,
_omnibus_ for _tramways_, etc. He is pompous, grandiloquent, unctuous,
sometimes severe and terrible, sometimes also sentimental. He says
“thee” and “thou” to everybody, and appears to believe that he is
still grand-master of the secret societies, from the emphatic and
sonorous manner in which he pronounces the words “Brother” or “And
thou, my sister,” by which he addresses the sitters. Although he
generally addresses himself to one of them in particular, and holds
very little collective discourse, he is in touch with every one,
listens to everything that is said, and each one may have his turn in
conversation with him. Ordinarily he keeps his eyelids closed: he has,
nevertheless, been persuaded to open his eyes in order to permit the
taking of a photograph by a flash light. I regret that Mlle. Smith
would not consent to the publication of her photographs, either in her
normal state or in that of Leopold, in connection with the reproduction
of a portrait of Cagliostro.[11] The reader may assure himself that
when she incarnates her guide she really assumes a certain resemblance
of features to him, and there is something in her attitude which is
sometimes somewhat theatrical, but sometimes really majestic, which
corresponds well to the generally received idea of this personage,
whether he is regarded as a clever impostor or as a wonderful genius.
Speech is the apogee of the incarnations of Leopold; often interrupted
by fits of hiccoughs and spasms, it seems to be injurious to Hélène’s
organism, and there are some seances at which attempts to produce it
fail to succeed. Leopold, on these occasions, indicates his impotence
and the fatigue of the medium by his gestures, and is then reduced
to the necessity of expressing himself by digital dictations or
handwriting, or else to giving Hélène verbo-auditive hallucinations,
the content of which she repeats in her natural voice.
From the point of view of ease and mobility of the entire organism,
there is a notable difference between Leopold and the other
incarnations of Hélène: these last seem to be effected with much more
facility than in the case of that of her guide _par excellence_. In
the case of the Hindoo princess and that of Marie Antoinette, the
perfection of the play, the suppleness and freedom of movement, are
always admirable. It is true there is no question here, according to
the spiritistic doctrine and the subconscious ideas of Mlle. Smith, of
incarnations properly so called, since it is she herself who simply
returns to that which she formerly was, by a sort of reversion or
prenatal ecmnesia; she does not undergo, in consequence, any foreign
possession, and can in these rôles preserve her natural identity and
the entire disposition of her faculties. But still the occasional
incarnation of different personalities, such as those of deceased
parents or friends of the spectators, are often more easily and quickly
effected than that of Leopold. Hélène moves in these cases with more
vivacity and changes of attitude. In the rôle of Cagliostro, on the
other hand, with the exception of the grandiose and not very frequent
movements of the arms, once standing, she remains motionless, or only
with difficulty advancing a little way towards the person to whom she
addresses her discourse.
The content of the oral conversations of Leopold, as well as of his
other messages by the various sensory and motor processes, is too
varied for me to describe here: the numerous examples scattered through
this work only can give an idea of it.
III. LEOPOLD AND THE TRUE JOSEPH BALSAMO
It would naturally be supposed that Leopold would have given us,
by means of the psychological perfection of his partial or total
incarnations and by the content of his messages, such a living likeness
of Cagliostro that there would have been occasion to ask whether it
is not really the latter who actually “returns,” in the same way that
Dr. Hodgson and his colleagues ask themselves whether it is not
actually George Pelham who manifests himself through Mrs. Piper. Let
us suppose, for example, that Leopold possessed a handwriting, an
orthography, a style identical with that which is found here and there
in the manuscripts of Joseph Balsamo; that he spoke French, Italian,
or German, as that cosmopolitan adventurer did, and with all the same
peculiarities; that his conversations and messages were full of precise
allusions to actual events in his life, and also of unpublished but
verifiable facts, etc. In that case the difficult and delicate task
of proving that Mlle. Smith had no knowledge through normal methods
of these thousand exact features would still remain, and we should
not be forced to ask whether this _soi-disant_ authentic revenant is
simply a very well-gotten-up simulacrum, an admirable reconstruction,
a marvellous imitation, such as the subliminal faculties are only
too glad to produce for the diversion of psychologists and the
mystification of the simple.
This problem is not given to us. I regret it, but it is true,
nevertheless—to my mind, at least, for in these matters it is prudent
to speak only for one’s self—that there is no reason to suspect the
real presence of Joseph Balsamo behind the automatisms of Mlle. Smith.
That there are very curious analogies between what is known to us of
Cagliostro and certain characteristic traits of Leopold, I do not deny,
but they are precisely such as accord very well with the supposition of
the subliminal medley.
[Illustration: Fig. 5. Handwriting of Joseph Balsamo. Fragment of a
letter to his wife, reproduced in _L’Isographie des Hommes célèbres_.]
Let us consider first the handwriting. To facilitate the comparison, I
have reproduced here (see pp. 109 and 111) some fragments of letters
of Cagliostro and of Leopold and of Hélène. Let us suppose—which is,
perhaps, open to discussion—that the handwriting of Leopold, by its
regularity, its firmness, resembles that of Balsamo more than that of
Mlle. Smith; the degree of resemblance does not, I think, go beyond
that which might be expected considering the notorious fact that
handwriting reflects the psychological temperament and modifies itself
in accordance with the state of the personality.[12]
It is well known how the calligraphy of a hypnotized subject varies
according to the suggestion that he shall personate Napoleon, Harpagon,
a little girl, or an old man; there is nothing surprising in the fact
that the hypnoid secondary personality of Hélène, which imagines
itself to be the powerful and manly Count of Cagliostro, should be
accompanied by muscular tensions communicating to the handwriting
itself a little of that solidity and breadth which are found in the
autograph of Balsamo. To this, however, the analogy is limited. The
dissimilarities in the detail and the formation of the letters are
such that the only conclusion which they warrant is that Mlle. Smith,
or her subconsciousness, has never laid eyes on the manuscripts of
Cagliostro. They are, indeed, rare, but the facilities she might have
had, of which she has not thought of taking advantage, for consulting
in the Geneva public library the same volume from which I took Fig. 5,
would prove, at least, her good faith and her honesty, if it were in
the least necessary. The extravagant signature of Leopold with which
all his messages are subscribed (see Fig. 7) recalls in no wise that of
Alessandro di Cagliostro at the bottom of Fig. 5.
[Illustration: Fig. 6. Normal handwriting of Mlle. Smith.]
[Illustration: Fig. 7. Handwriting of Leopold. Fragment and signature
of one of his letters, written by Mlle. Smith, in spontaneous
hemisomnambulism.]
The archaic forms of orthography, _j’aurois_ for _j’aurais_, etc.,
which appear above the first autograph of Leopold (see p. 99), and
which occur again in the messages of Marie Antoinette, constitute
a very pretty hit, of which the ordinary self would probably never
dream by way of voluntary imitation, but by which the subconscious
imagination has seen fit to profit. It is undoubtedly a matter for
wonderment that Mlle. Smith, who has not gone very deep into literary
studies, should, nevertheless, have retained these orthographic
peculiarities of the eighteenth century; but we must not overlook
the fineness of choice, the refined sensibility, the consummate,
albeit instinctive, art which presides over the sorting and storing
away of the subconscious memories. By some natural affinity, the
idea of a personage of a certain epoch attracts and gathers into its
net everything that the subject can possibly learn or hear spoken
concerning the fashion of writing, of speaking, or acting, peculiar to
that epoch. I do not know whether Balsamo ever used the French language
and the orthography that Leopold employs. Even if he did, it would not
weaken the hypothesis of the subliminal imitation, but if, on the other
hand, it should be ascertained that he did not, the hypothesis would
be greatly strengthened thereby.
As for the speech, I am ignorant as to how, with what accent and what
peculiarities of pronunciation, Balsamo spoke the French tongue, and to
what degree, in consequence, his reconstruction by Hélène’s subliminal
fantasy correctly hits it. If this point could be cleared up, it would
probably be found to be just like that of the handwriting. Nothing
could be more natural than to ascribe to the _chevalier d’industrie_ of
Palermo a very masculine, deep-bass voice, and, it goes without saying,
as Italian as possible. It must be noted, too, that Mlle. Smith often
heard her father speak that language, which he knew very well, with
several of his friends; but that, on the other hand, she does not speak
it, and has never learned it. Leopold, however, does not know Italian,
and turns a deaf ear when any one addresses him in that language. The
intonation, the attitude, the whole physiognomy, in short, accord with
these remarks. As to the extremely varied content of the conversations
and messages of Leopold, we are not obliged to consider Balsamo as
their necessary author. When everything relating to Mlle. Smith and the
sitters, but which has nothing to do with the last century, has been
swept aside, together with the spiritistic dissertations in regard to
the “fluid” manner in which Leopold exists, perceives, and moves, the
three subjects or categories of communications still remain, which
merit a rapid examination.
In the first place, there are the answers of Leopold to the questions
put to him concerning his terrestrial life. These answers are
remarkably evasive or vague. Not a name, not a date, not a precise
fact does he furnish. We only learn that he has travelled extensively,
suffered greatly, studied deeply, done much good, and healed a great
many sick folk; but now he sees things too lofty to think any more
about historic details of the past, and it is with unconcealed disgust
or direct words of reproach for the idle curiosity of his carnal
questioners that he hastens to turn the conversation, like Socrates,
to moral subjects and those of a lofty philosophy, where he feels
evidently more at ease. When he is further pressed he becomes angry
sometimes, and sometimes ingenuously avows his ignorance, enveloping it
meanwhile in an air of profound mystery. “They are asking the secret of
my life, of my acts, of my thoughts. I cannot answer.” This does not
facilitate investigation of the question of identity.
In the second place come the consultations and medical prescriptions.
Leopold affects a lofty disdain for modern medicine and phenic acid.
He is as archaic in his therapeutics as in his orthography, and treats
all maladies after the ancient mode. Baths of pressed grape-skins for
rheumatism, an infusion of coltsfoot and juniper-berry in white wine
for inflammations of the chest, the bark of the horse-chestnut in red
wine and douches of salt water as tonics, tisanes of hops and other
flowers, camomile, oil of lavender, the leaves of the ash, etc.; all
these do not accord badly with what Balsamo might have prescribed a
century or more ago. The misfortune, from the evidential point of
view, is that Mlle. Smith’s mother is extremely well versed in all
the resources of popular medicine where old recipes are perpetuated.
She has had occasion to nurse many sick people in her life, knows the
virtues of different medicinal plants, and constantly employs, with a
sagacity which I have often admired, a number of those remedies spoken
of as “old-women’s,” which make the young doctors fresh from the clinic
smile, but to which they will more than once resort in secret after a
few years of medical experience.
Finally, there still remain the sentiments of Leopold for Hélène, which
he claims are only the continuation of those of Cagliostro for Marie
Antoinette. My ignorance of history does not permit me to pronounce
categorically on this point. That the Queen of France did have some
secret interviews with the famous “gold-maker,” due to simple curiosity
or to questions of material interest, there is no doubt, I believe; but
that his feelings for his sovereign were a curious combination of the
despairing passion of Cardinal Rohan for the queen, with the absolute
respect which Alexandre Dumas, _père_, ascribes to Joseph Balsamo
towards Lorenza Feliciani, appears to me less evident.
In short, if the revelations of Leopold have truly unveiled to us
shades of feeling of Count Cagliostro hitherto unsuspected, and
of which later documentary researches shall confirm the historic
correctness—why, so much the better, for that will finally establish a
trace of the supernormal in the mediumship of Hélène!
IV. LEOPOLD AND MLLE. SMITH
The connection between these two personalities is too complex for a
precise description. There is neither a mutual exclusion, as between
Mrs. Piper and Phinuit, who appear reciprocally to be ignorant of each
other and to be separated by the tightest of partitions; nor a simple
jointing, as in the case of Felida X., whose secondary state envelops
and overflows the whole primary state. This is more of a crossing
of lines, but of which the limits are vague and with difficulty
assignable. Leopold knows, foresees, and recalls very many things of
which the normal personality of Mlle. Smith knows absolutely nothing,
not only of those which she may simply have forgotten, but of those of
which she never had any consciousness. On the other hand, he is far
from possessing all the memories of Hélène; he is ignorant of a very
great part of her daily life; even some very notable incidents escape
him entirely, which explains his way of saying that, to his great
regret, he cannot remain constantly by her, being obliged to occupy
himself with other missions (concerning which he has never enlightened
us) which oblige him often to leave her for a time.
These two personalities are, therefore, not co-extensive; each one
passes beyond the other at certain points, without its being possible
for us to say which is, on the whole, the more extended. As to their
common domain, if it cannot be defined by one word with entire
certainty, it appears, nevertheless, to be chiefly constituted by its
connection with the innermost ranges of the being, both physiological
and psychological, as might be suspected from what I remarked above
concerning the real origin of Leopold. Physician of the soul and of the
body, director of conscience, and at the same time hygienic counsellor,
he does not always manifest himself immediately, but he is always
present when Hélène’s vital interests are involved. This will be made
clearer by two or three concrete examples, which will at the same
time illustrate some of the psychological processes by which Leopold
manifests himself to Hélène.
It must be admitted that there is a disagreement and opposition as
complete as possible (but how far does this “possible” go?) when
Hélène, in at least an apparently waking state, converses with her
guide, manifestly by a partial sensory or motor automatism; for
example, in the case cited on page 64, where Leopold, not sharing
the allochiria of Hélène, declared by the table that she was wrong,
so emphatically that she protested and became angry; also, when in
verbo-auditive hallucinations, or by automatic handwriting, he enters
into discussion with her, and she holds her own with him; or, again,
when the organism seems to be divided up between two different persons,
Leopold speaking by Hélène’s mouth, with his accent, and uttering his
own ideas to her, and she complaining, in writing, of pains in her head
and throat, without understanding their cause. Nevertheless, in these
cases of division of the consciousness, which appear to amount to its
cutting in two, it is doubtful whether this plurality is more than
apparent. I am not positive of having ever established with Hélène a
veritable simultaneity of different consciousnesses. At the very moment
at which Leopold writes by her hand, speaks by her mouth, dictates
to the table, upon observing her attentively I have always found her
absorbed, preoccupied, as though absent; but she instantaneously
recovers her presence of mind and the use of her waking faculties at
the end of the motor automatism. In short, that which from the outside
is taken for the coexistence of distinct simultaneous personalities
seems to me to be only an alternation, a rapid succession between the
state of Hélène-consciousness and the state of Leopold-consciousness;
and, in the case where the body seems to be jointly occupied by two
independent beings—the right side, for instance, being occupied by
Leopold, and the left by Hélène, or the Hindoo princess—the psychical
division has never seemed to me to be radical, but many indications
have combined to make me of the opinion that behind all was an
individuality perfectly self-conscious, and enjoying thoroughly, along
with the spectators, the comedy of the plural existences.
A single fundamental personality, putting the questions and giving
the answers, quarrelling with itself in its own interior—in a
word, enacting all the various rôles of Mlle. Smith—is a fitting
interpretation, which accords very well with the facts as I have
observed them in Hélène, and very much better than the theory of a
plurality of separate consciousnesses, of a psychological polyzoism,
so to speak. This last theory is doubtless more convenient for a clear
and superficial description of the facts, but I am not at all convinced
that it conforms to the actual condition of affairs.
It is a state of consciousness _sui generis_, which it is impossible
adequately to describe, and which can only be represented by the
analogy of those curious states, exceptional in the normal waking life,
but less rare in dreams, when one seems to change his identity and
become some one else.
Hélène has more than once told me of having had the impression of
_becoming_ or _being_ momentarily Leopold. This happens most frequently
at night, or upon awakening in the morning. She has first a fugitive
vision of her protector; then it seems that little by little he is
submerged in her; she feels him overcoming and penetrating her entire
organism, as if he really became her or she him. These mixed states
are extremely interesting to the psychologist; unhappily, because they
generally take place in a condition of consecutive amnesia, or because
the mediums do not know how, or do not wish, to give a complete account
of them, it is very rare that detailed descriptions are obtained.
Between the two extremes of complete duality and complete unity
numerous intermediate states are to be observed; or, at least, since
the consciousness of another cannot be directly penetrated, these mixed
states may be inferred from the consequences which spring from them.
It has happened, for example, that, believing they were dealing with
Leopold alone, thoroughly incarnated and duly substituted for the
personality of Mlle. Smith, the sitters have allowed to escape them on
that account some ill-timed pleasantry, some indiscreet question or too
free criticisms, all innocent enough and without evil intention, but
still of a nature to wound Hélène if she had heard them, and from which
the authors would certainly have abstained in her presence in a waking
state.
Leopold has not stood upon ceremony in putting down these imprudent
babblers, and the incident, generally, has had no further consequences.
But sometimes the words and bearing of Mlle. Smith for days or weeks
afterwards show that she was aware of the imprudent remarks, which
proves that the consciousness of Leopold and her own are not separated
by an impenetrable barrier, but that osmotic changes are effected from
the one to the other. It is ordinarily pointed and irritating remarks
which cause the trouble, which goes to prove that it is the feelings
of self-love or personal susceptibility that form in each one of us
the inmost fortifications of the social self, and are the last to be
destroyed by somnambulism, or that they constitute the fundamental
substratum, the common base by which Leopold and Mlle. Smith form a
whole and mingle themselves in the same individuality.
The psychological process of this transmission is varied from another
cause. Sometimes it appears that the consecutive amnesia of the trance
has been broken as to the most piquant details, and that Hélène clearly
remembers that which has been said, in the presence of Leopold,
disagreeable to herself. Sometimes it is Leopold himself who repeats to
her the unpleasant expressions which have been used, with commentaries
calculated to lessen their effect and to excuse the culprits: for
it is an interesting trait of his character that he undertakes with
Hélène the defence of those same persons whom he reprimands and blames,
a contradiction not at all surprising when it is psychologically
interpreted, considering the habitual conflict of emotional motives or
tendencies, the warfare which opposite points of view is incessantly
carrying on in our inmost being. Sometimes, again, it is in a dream
that the junction is effected between the somnambulistic consciousness
of Leopold and the normal consciousness of Hélène.
Apropos of the last case, here is an example containing nothing
disagreeable, in which Hélène remembered in her waking state a
nocturnal dream, which was itself a repetition or echo, in natural
sleep, of a somnambulistic scene of the previous evening.
In a seance at which I assisted, shortly after my recovery from an
attack of congestion of the lungs, Hélène, completely entranced,
has a vision of Leopold-Cagliostro, who, in the rôle of sympathetic
physician, comes to hold a consultation with me. After some
preliminaries she kneels down by my chair, and, looking alternately at
my chest and at the fictitious doctor standing between us, she holds a
long conversation with him, in which she explains the condition of my
lungs, which she sees in imagination, and the treatment which Leopold
prescribes, somewhat as follows:
“ ... It is the lungs ... it is darker ... it is one side which has
been affected.... You say that it is a severe inflammation—and can that
be healed?... Tell me, what must be done.... Oh, where have I seen any
of these plants?... I don’t know what they are called ... those ... I
don’t understand very well ... those synantherous?... Oh, what a queer
name.... Where are they to be found?... You say it belongs to the
family of ... then it has another name? Tell me what it is ... some
_tissulages_ [sic].... Then you think this plant is good for him?...
Ah! but explain this to me ... the fresh leaves or the dried flowers?
Three times a day, a large handful in a pint ... and then honey and
milk.... I will tell him that he must drink three cups a day....”
etc. Then followed very detailed directions as to treatment, various
infusions, blisters, etc. The whole scene lasted more than an hour,
followed by complete amnesia, and nothing was said to Hélène about
it, as it was half-past six in the evening, and she was in haste to
return home. The next day she wrote me a seven-page letter in which
she described a very striking dream she had had during the night.
“... I fell asleep about two o’clock in the morning and awaked at about
five. Was it a vision? Was it a dream I had? I don’t really know what
to consider it and dare not say; but this I do know, I saw my dear
friend Leopold, who spoke to me a long time about you, and I think I
saw you also. I asked him what he thought of your state of health....
He replied that in his opinion it was far from re-established. That the
pain you feel in the right side came from an inflammation of the lung
which has been seriously affected.... You will doubtless laugh when
I tell you that he also described the remedies you ought to take....
One of them is a simple plant, which is called, as nearly as I can
remember, Tissulage or Tussilache, but has also another name, which I
cannot recollect, but the first name will doubtless suffice, since he
says you are familiar with the plant ...” etc.
What I have said concerning Leopold is also applicable to the other
personifications of Mlle. Smith. The normal consciousness of Hélène
mingles and fuses itself in every way with the somnambulistic
consciousness of Simandini, of Marie Antoinette, or some other
incarnation, as we shall soon see. I pass now to the examination of
some detailed examples, destined to throw light upon the rôle which
Leopold plays in Hélène’s existence.
Let us begin by listening to Leopold himself. Among his numerous
messages, the following letter, written in his fine handwriting by the
hand of Mlle. Smith—in response to a note in which I had begged him
(as a spiritual being and distinct from her) to aid me in my “psychic
researches”—contains information for which I had not asked, but which
was none the less interesting. It must not be forgotten that it is the
disincarnate adorer of Marie Antoinette who is writing:
“FRIEND,—I am pleased and touched by the mark of confidence you have
deigned to accord me. The spiritual guide of Mademoiselle [Smith],
whom the Supreme Being in his infinite goodness has permitted me
to find again with ease, I do all I can to appear to her on every
occasion when I deem it necessary; but my body, or, if you prefer,
the matter of little solidity of which I am composed, does not
always afford me the facility of showing myself to her in a positive
human manner. [He, in fact, appeared to her often under the form of
elementary visual hallucinations, a luminous trail, whitish column,
vaporous streamer, etc.]
“That which I seek above all to inculcate in her is a consoling and
true philosophy, which is necessary to her by reason of the profound,
unhappy impressions, which even now still remain to her, of the whole
drama of her past life. I have often sown bitterness in her heart
[when she was Marie Antoinette], desiring only her welfare. Also,
laying aside everything superfluous, I penetrate into the most hidden
recesses of her soul, and with an extreme care and incessant activity
I seek to implant there those truths which I trust will aid her in
attaining the lofty summit of the ladder of perfection.
“Abandoned by my parents from my cradle, I have, indeed, known sorrow
early in life. Like all, I have had many weaknesses, which I have
expiated, and God knows that I bow to His will!
“Moral suffering has been my principal lot. I have been full of
bitterness, of envy, of hatred, of jealousy. Jealousy, my brother!
what a poison, what a corruption of the soul!
“Nevertheless, one ray has shone brightly into my life, and that ray
so pure, so full of everything that might pour balm on my wounded
soul, has given me a glimpse of heaven!
“Herald of eternal felicity! Ray without spot! God deemed best to take
it before me! But to-day it is given back to me! May His holy name be
blessed!
“Friend, in what manner shall I reply to you? I am ignorant myself,
not knowing what it will please God to reveal to you, but through her
whom you call Mademoiselle [Smith], God willing, perhaps we shall be
able to satisfy you.
“Thy friend,
“LEOPOLD.”
We can see, under the flowing details of the spiritistic ideas and his
rôle as the repentant Cagliostro, that the dominant characteristic
of Leopold is his deep platonic attachment for Mlle. Smith, and an
ardent moral solicitude for her and her advance towards perfection.
This corresponds perfectly with the character of the numerous messages
which he addresses to her in the course of her daily existence, as may
be seen from the following specimen. He is referring to a case where,
after having warned her on two occasions during the day by auditive
hallucinations that he would manifest himself in the evening, he gives
her, in fact, by automatic writing in his own hand, the encouragement
she was actually in need of under the circumstances in which she found
herself.
One morning, at her desk, Hélène heard an unknown voice, stronger and
nearer to her than is usual with Leopold, say to her: “_Until this
evening_”; a little later the same voice, which she now recognized as
that of Leopold, but of a quality rougher and nearer to her than was
his habit, said to her: “_You understand me well, until this evening._”
In the evening, having returned home, she was excited at supper, left
the table in haste towards the end of the meal, and shut herself up in
her room with the idea that she would learn something; but, presently,
the instinctive agitation of her hand indicated to her that she should
take her pencil, and having done so, she obtained in the beautiful
calligraphy of Leopold the following epistle. (She says that she
remained wide awake and self-conscious while writing it, and it is the
only occasion of a similar character when she had knowledge of the
content.)
“MY BELOVED FRIEND,—Why do you vex yourself, torment yourself so? Why
are you indignant, because, as you advance in life, you are obliged to
acknowledge that all things are not as you had wished and hoped they
might be? Is not the route we follow on this earth always and for all
of us strewn with rocks? is it not an endless chain of deceptions, of
miseries? Do me the kindness, my dear sister, I beg of you, to tell me
that from this time forth you will cease from endeavoring to probe too
deeply the human heart. In what will such discoveries aid you? What
remains to you of these things, except tears and regrets? And then
this God of love, of justice, and of life—is not He the one to read
our hearts? It is for Him, not for thee, to see into them.
“Would you change the hearts? Would you give them that which they have
not, a live, ardent soul, never departing from what is right, just,
and true? Be calm, then, in the face of all these little troubles. Be
worthy, and, above all, always good! In thee I have found again that
heart and that soul, both of which will always be for me all my life,
all my joy, and my only dream here below.
“Believe me: be calm: reflect: that is my wish.
“Thy friend,
“LEOPOLD.”
I have chosen this example for the sake of its brevity. Hélène has
received a number of communications of the same kind, sometimes in
verse, in which the moral and religious note is often still more
accentuated. In the greater part we meet with, as in the next to the
last phrase of the foregoing letter, an allusion to the presumed
affection of Cagliostro for Marie Antoinette. It is to be noticed that
there is nothing in these excellent admonitions that a high and serious
soul like that of Mlle. Smith could not have drawn from its own depths
in a moment of contemplation and meditation.
Is it a benefit or an injury to the moral and truly religious life to
formulate itself thus clearly in verbal hallucinations rather than
to remain in the confused but more personal state of experienced
aspirations and strongly expressed emotions? Do these inspirations
gain or lose in inward authority and subjective power by assuming this
exterior garb and this aspect of objectivity? This is a delicate
question, probably not susceptible of a uniform solution.
In the following incident, which I relate as an example among many
other similar ones, it is no longer, properly speaking, the moral and
religious sentiments personified in Leopold, but rather the instinct
of reserve and of defence peculiar to the weaker sex, the sense of the
proprieties, the self-respect, tinctured with a shade of exaggeration
almost amounting to prudery.
In a visit to Mlle. Smith, during which I inquired whether she had
received any recent communications from Leopold, she told me she had
only seen him two or three times in the last few days, and had been
struck by his “restless and unhappy” air, instead of the air “so
pleasant, so sweet, so admirable,” which he generally has. As she did
not know to what to attribute this change of countenance, I advised her
to take her pencil and to wrap herself in meditation, with the hope of
obtaining some automatic message.
In about a minute her expression indicated that she was being taken
possession of; her eyes were fixed on the paper, upon which her left
hand rested, the thumb and little finger being agitated and continually
tapping (about once a second), the right hand having tried to take the
pencil between the index and middle finger (the manner of Hélène),
ended by seizing it between the thumb and the index finger, and traced
slowly in the handwriting of Leopold:
“Yes, I am restless | pained, even in anguish. | Believest thou,
friend, that it is with satisfaction | that I see you every day
accepting the attentions, the flatteries; | I do not call them
insincere, but of little worth, and little praiseworthy | on the part
of those from whom they come.” |
This text was written at six separate times (marked by the vertical
bars), separated by brief moments of full wakefulness, when the
tappings of the left hand ceased, and when Hélène, repeating in a loud
voice what she was about to write, is very much astonished, does not
know to what Leopold alludes, then at my request takes her pencil to
obtain an explanation, and falls asleep again during the following
fragment. At the end of this bit, as she persists in saying that she
is ignorant of what he refers to, I proceed to question Leopold, who
replies that for several days Hélène has permitted herself to be
courted by a M. V. (perfectly honorably), who often found himself on
the same street-car with her, had made a place for her beside him the
last few mornings, and had paid her some compliments on her appearance.
These revelations excited the laughter and protestations of Hélène, who
commenced to deny that it could have come from Leopold, and accused
me of having suggested it to her little finger; but the right hand
took the pencil and traced these words in the handwriting and with the
signature of Leopold: “I only say what I think, and I desire that you
refuse henceforth all the flowers that he may offer you.—Leopold.”
This time Hélène remembered the incident, and recollected that
yesterday morning he had offered her a rose which he was wearing as a
boutonnière.
Eight days later I paid another visit to Hélène, and after an effort
to secure some handwriting, which was not successful, but resulted
in a Martian vision (see Martian text No. 14), she had a visual
hallucination of Leopold, and losing consciousness of the actual
environment and of my presence also, as well as that of her mother,
she flung herself into a running conversation with him in regard to
the incident of eight days previously: “Leopold ... Leopold ... don’t
come near me [repulsing him]. You are too severe, Leopold!... Will
you come on Sunday? I am going to be at M. Flournoy’s next Sunday.
You will be there ... but take good care that you do not.... No, it
is not kind of you always to disclose secrets.... What must he have
thought?... You seem to make a mountain out of a mole-hill.... And
who would think of refusing a flower? You don’t understand at all....
Why, then? It was a very simple thing to accept it, a matter of no
importance whatever ... to refuse it would have been impolite.... You
pretend to read the heart.... Why give importance to a thing that
amounts to nothing?... It is only a simple act of friendship, a little
token of sympathy ... to make me write such things on paper before
everybody! not nice of you!” In this somnambulistic dialogue, in which
we can divine Leopold’s replies, Hélène took for the moment the accent
of Marie Antoinette (see below, in the “Royal cycle”). To awaken her,
Leopold, who had possession of Hélène’s arms, made some passes over
her forehead, then pressed the frontal and suborbital nerves of the
left side, and made me a sign to do the same with those of the right.
The seance of the next day but one, at my house, passed without any
allusion by Leopold to the incident of the street-car, evidently on
account of the presence of certain sitters to whom he did not wish to
reveal Hélène’s secrets. But, three days after, in a new visit, during
which she told me of having had a waking discussion concerning the
future life (without telling me with whom), she again wrote, in the
hand of Leopold: “It is not in such society as this that you ought so
seriously to discuss the immortality of the soul.” She then confessed
that it was again on the street-car, and with M. V., that she had
held that conversation while a funeral procession was passing. There
was never anything that might have been of a compromising character
in the exchange of courtesies and the occasional conversations of
Mlle. Smith with her neighbor of the street-car. The trouble that it
caused poor Leopold was very characteristic of him, and well indicated
the severe and jealous censor who formerly had worried the N. group;
there can be heard again the echo of that voice, “which has absolutely
nothing to do with the conscience” (see pp. 27 and 82), and which
has hitherto prevented Hélène from accepting any of the suitors whom
she has encountered in the course of her journey through life. This
austere and rigorous mentor, always wide awake, and taking offence at
the least freedom which Mlle. Smith allows herself in the exchange of
trifling courtesies, represents, in fact, a very common psychological
attribute; it is not every well-bred feminine soul that carries stored
in one of its recesses, where it manifests its presence by scruples
more or less vaguely felt, certain hesitations or apprehensions,
inhibiting feelings or tendencies of a shade of intensity varying
according to the age and the temperament.
It is not my part to describe this delicate phenomenon. It suffices
me to remark that here, as in the ethico-religious messages, the
personality of Leopold has in no way aided the essential content of
those inward experiences of which Mlle. Smith is perfectly capable by
herself; the form only of their manifestation has gained in picturesque
and dramatic expression in the _mise-en-scène_ of the automatic
handwritings and of the somnambulistic dialogue. It seems as though the
suggestive approach of my presence and my questions had been necessary
to excite these phenomena; it is, however, very probable, to judge
from other examples, that my influence only hastened the explosion
of Leopold in formulated reproaches, and that his latent discontent,
hitherto noticed in the “restless and suffering air” of his fugitive
visual apparitions, would have terminated, after a period of incubation
more or less prolonged, in breaking out into spontaneous admonitions,
auditive or written.
It can be divined that in this rôle of vigilant guardian, of an
almost excessive zealousness for the honor or the dignity of Mlle.
Smith, Leopold is again, to my mind, only a product of psychological
duplication. He represents a certain grouping of inward desires and
secret instincts, which the hypnoid predisposition, encouraged by
spiritism, has brought into a peculiar prominence and given an aspect
of foreign personality; in the same way, in the phantasmagoria of the
dream, certain after-thoughts, almost unperceived while awake, rise to
the first plane and become transformed into contradictory fictitious
personages, whose cutting reproaches astonish us sometimes on awakening
by their disturbing truthfulness.
A final example will show us Leopold, in his rôle of watcher over the
health of Mlle. Smith and adviser of precautions which she ought to
take. He is not troubled about her general health; when she had _la
grippe_, for instance, or when she is simply worn out with fatigue,
he scarcely shows himself. His attention is concentrated upon certain
special physiological functions, of the normal exercise of which he
takes care to be assured. He does not otherwise seem to exercise a
positive action upon them, and cannot modify them in any way; his
office seems to be confined to knowing beforehand their exact course,
and to see that Hélène is not guilty of any imprudence which may impede
them.
Leopold here shows a knowledge and prevision of the most intimate
phenomena of the organism which has been observed in the case of
secondary personalities, and which confers upon them, in that respect
at least, an unquestionable advantage over the ordinary personality.
In the case of Mlle. Smith, the indications of her guide are always of
a prohibitive nature, calculated to prevent her from talking part in
spiritistic reunions at a time at which she believes herself able to do
so with impunity, but which he, endowed with a more refined cœnæsthetic
sensibility, thinks she ought not to undertake. He has for several
years formally laid his ban upon every kind of mediumistic exercises at
certain very regular periods.
He has also on numerous occasions compelled her by various messages,
categorical auditive hallucinations, diverse impulses, contractures
of the arms, forcing her to write, etc., to modify her plans and
to abandon seances already arranged. This is a very clear form of
teleological automatism.
As a specimen of this spontaneous and hygienic intervention of Leopold
in the life of Hélène, I have selected the letter given below, because
it combines several interesting traits. It well depicts the energy with
which Mlle. Smith is compelled to obey her guide.
The passage from the auditive to the graphic form of automatism is
also to be noticed in it. Apropos of this, in the page of this letter
reproduced in Fig. 8 (see p. 137), it is made clear that the transition
of the hand of Hélène to that of Leopold is accomplished brusquely and
in a decided manner. The handwriting is not metamorphosed gradually,
slowly, but continues to be that of Mlle. Smith, becoming more and more
agitated, it is true, and rendered almost illegible by the shocks to
the arm of which Leopold takes hold up to the moment when, suddenly and
by a bound, it becomes the well-formed calligraphy of Cagliostro.
“_January 29_, 6.15 A.M.
“MONSIEUR,—I awoke about ten minutes ago, and heard the voice of
Leopold telling me in a very imperious manner, ‘Get up out of your
bed, and quickly, very quickly, write to your dear friend, M.
Flournoy, that you will not hold a seance to-morrow, and that you will
not be able to go to his house for two weeks, and that you will not
hold any seance within that period.’ I have executed his order, having
felt myself forced, compelled in spite of myself, to obey. I was so
comfortable in bed and so vexed at being obliged to write you such a
message; but I feel myself forced to do what he bids me.
“At this moment I am looking at my watch; it is 6.25 o’clock. I feel
a very strong shock in my right arm—I might better speak of it as an
electric disturbance—and which I perceive has made me write crooked. I
hear also at this instant the voice of Leopold. I have much difficulty
in writing what he tells me: ‘6.42½. Say to him this: _I am, sir,
always your very devoted servant, in body and mind, healthy and not
unbalanced._’
“I stopped for some moments after writing these words, which I saw
very well, after having written them, were in the handwriting of
Leopold. Immediately afterwards, a second disturbance, similar to
the first, gave me a fresh shock, this time from my feet to my head.
It all passed so quickly that I am disturbed and confused by it. It
is true that I am not yet quite well. Is this the reason why Leopold
prevents my going to Florissant to-morrow? I do not know, but,
nevertheless, am anxious to follow his advice....”
Mlle. Smith always submits obediently to the commands of her guide,
since, whenever she has transgressed them, through forgetfulness or
neglect, she has had cause to repent it.
It is clear that in this rôle of special physician of Mlle. Smith,
always _au courant_ of her state of health, Leopold could easily be
interpreted as personifying those vague impressions which spring forth
continually from the depths of our physical being, informing us as to
what is passing there.
A neuralgic toothache is felt in a dream hours before it makes itself
felt in our waking consciousness, while some maladies are often thus
foreshadowed several days before they actually declare themselves. All
literature is full of anecdotes of this kind; and the psychiatrists
have observed that in the form of circular alienation, where phases of
melancholic depression and maniacal excitation alternately succeed one
another more or less regularly with intervals of normal equilibrium,
it is frequently in sleep that the first symptoms of the change of
humor can be detected which has already begun in the depths of the
individuality, but will only break forth on the outside a little
later. But all the hypnoid states are connected, and it is not at all
surprising that, in the case of a subject inclined to automatism,
these confused presentiments should arise with the appearance of a
foreign personality which is only a degree higher than the process of
dramatization already so brilliantly at work in our ordinary dreams.
[Illustration: Fig. 8. A page from a letter of Mlle. Smith, showing
the spontaneous irruption of the personality and the handwriting of
Leopold during the waking state of Hélène.]
It will be useless to lengthen or further multiply examples of the
intervention of Leopold in the life of Mlle. Smith. Those which
I have given show him under his essential aspects, and suffice to
justify Hélène’s confidence in a guide who has never deceived her, who
has always given her the best counsel, delivered discourses of the
highest ethical tone, and manifested the most touching solicitude for
her physical and moral health. It is easy to understand that nothing
can shake her faith in the real, objective existence of this precious
counsellor.
It is really vexatious that the phenomena of dreams should be so little
observed or so badly understood (I do not say by psychologists, but
by the general public, which prides itself on its psychology), since
the dream is the prototype of spiritistic messages, and holds the key
to the explanation of mediumistic phenomena. If it is regrettable to
see such noble, sympathetic, pure, and in all respects remarkable
personalities as Leopold reduced to the rank of a dream creation,
it must be remembered, however, that dreams are not always, as idle
folk think, things to be despised or of no value in themselves: the
majority are insignificant and deserve only the oblivion to which they
are promptly consigned. A very large number are bad and sometimes even
worse than reality; but there are others of a better sort, and “dream”
is often a synonym for “ideal.”
To sum up, Leopold certainly expresses in his central nucleus a very
honorable and attractive side of the character of Mlle. Smith, and
in taking him as her “guide” she only follows inspirations which are
probably among the best of her nature.