the Rev. Samuel, and upon learning that he had heard none of the direful
sounds his wife and children made up their minds that his death was
imminent; for a local superstition had it that in all such cases of
haunting the person undisturbed is marked for an early demise. But the
worthy clergyman continued hale and hearty, as did the ghost, whose
knockings, indeed, soon grew so terrifying that "few or none of the
family durst be alone." It was then resolved that, whatever the noises
portended, counsel and aid must be sought from the head of the
household. At first the Rev. Samuel listened in silence to his spouse's
recital; but as she proceeded he burst into a storm of wrath. A ghost?
Stuff and nonsense! Not a bit of it! Only some mischief-makers bent on
plaguing them. Possibly, and his choler rose higher, a trick played by
his daughters themselves, or by their lovers.
Now it was the turn of the Wesley girls to become angry, and we read
that they forthwith showed themselves exceedingly "desirous of its
continuance till he was convinced." Their desire was speedily granted.
The very next night paterfamilias had no sooner tumbled into bed than
there came nine resounding knocks "just by his bedside." In an instant
he was up and groping for a light. "You heard it, then?" we may imagine
Mrs. Wesley anxiously asking, and we may also imagine the robust
Anglo-Saxon of his response.
Another night and more knockings, followed by "a noise in the room over
our heads, as if several people were walking." This time, to quote
further from Mrs. Wesley's narrative as given in a letter to her absent
son Samuel, the tumult "was so outrageous that we thought the children
would be frightened; so your father and I rose, and went down in the
dark to light a candle. Just as we came to the bottom of the broad
stairs, having hold of each other, on my side there seemed as if
somebody had emptied a bag of money at my feet; and on his, as if all
the bottles under the stairs (which were many) had been dashed in a
thousand pieces. We passed through the hall into the kitchen, and got a
candle and went to see the children, whom we found asleep."
With this the Rev. Samuel seems to have come round to the family's way
of thinking; for in the morning he sent a messenger to the nearby
village of Haxey with the request that the vicar of Haxey, a certain Mr.
Hoole, would ride over and assist him in "conjuring" the evil spirit out
of his house. Burning with curiosity, Mr. Hoole made such good time to
Epworth that before noon he was at the rectory and eagerly listening to
an account of the marvels that had so alarmed the Wesleys.
In addition to the phenomena already set forth, he learned that while
the knocks were heard in all parts of the house, they were most frequent
in the children's room; that at prayers they almost invariably
interrupted the family's devotions, especially when Mr. Wesley began the
prayers for King George and the Prince of Wales, from which it was
inferred that the ghost was a Jacobite; that often a sound was heard
like the rocking of a cradle, and another sound like the gobbling of a
turkey, and yet another "something like a man, in a loose nightgown
trailing after him"; and that if one stamped his foot, "Old Jeffrey,"
as the younger children had named the ghost, would knock precisely as
many times as there had been stampings.
None of these major marvels was vouchsafed to Mr. Hoole; but he heard
knockings in plenty, and, after a night of terror, made haste back to
Haxey, having lost all desire to play the role of exorcist. His fears
may possibly have been increased by the violence of Mr. Wesley, who,
after vainly exhorting the ghost to speak out and tell his business,
flourished a pistol and threatened to discharge it in the direction
whence the knockings came. This was too much for peace-loving,
spook-fearing Mr. Hoole. "Sir," he protested, "you are convinced this is
something preternatural. If so, you cannot hurt it; but you give it
power to hurt you." The logic of Mr. Hoole's argument is hardly so
evident as his panic. Off he galloped, leaving the Rev. Samuel to lay
the ghost as best he could.
After his departure wonders grew apace. Thus far the manifestations had
been wholly auditory; now visual phenomena were added. One evening Mrs.
Wesley beheld something dart out from beneath a bed and quickly
disappear. Sister Emilia, who was present, reported to brother Samuel
that this something was "like a badger, only without any head that was
discernible." The same apparition came to confound the man servant,
Robert Brown, once in the badger form, and once in the form of a white
rabbit which "turned round before him several times." Robert was also
the witness of an even more peculiar performance by the elusive ghost.
"Being grinding corn in the garrets, and happening to stop a little, the
handle of the mill was turn [_sic_] round with great swiftness." It is
interesting to note that Robert subsequently declared that "nothing
vexed him but that the mill was empty. If corn had been in it, Old
Jeffrey might have ground his heart out for him; he would never have
disturbed him." More annoying was a habit into which the ghost fell of
rattling latches, jingling warming pans and other metal utensils, and
brushing rudely against people in the dark. "Thrice," asserted the Rev.
Samuel, "I have been pushed by an invisible power, once against the
corner of my desk in the study, a second time against the door of the
matted chamber, a third time against the right side of the frame of my
study door."
On at least one occasion Old Jeffrey indulged in a pastime popular with
the spiritistic mediums of a later day. John Wesley tells us, on the
authority of sister Nancy, that one night, when she was playing cards
with some of the many other sisters, the bed on which she sat was
suddenly lifted from the ground. "She leapt down and said, 'Surely Old
Jeffrey would not run away with her.' However, they persuaded her to sit
down again, which she had scarce done when it was again lifted up
several times successively, a considerable height, upon which she left
her seat and would not be prevailed upon to sit there any more."
Clearly, the Wesley family were in a bad way. Entreaties, threats,
exorcism, had alike failed to banish the obstinate ghost. But though
they knew it not, relief was at hand. Whether repenting of his
misdoings, or desirous of seeking pastures new, Jeffrey, after a
visitation lasting nearly two months, took his departure almost as
unceremoniously as he had arrived, and left the unhappy Wesleys to
resume by slow degrees their wonted ways of life.
Such is the story unfolded by the Wesleys themselves in a series of
letters and memoranda, which, taken together, form, as was said, one of
the best authenticated narratives of haunting extant. But before
endeavoring to ascertain the source of the phenomena credited to the
soi-disant Jeffrey, another and fully as important inquiry must be made.
What, it is necessary to ask, did the Wesleys actually hear and see in
the course of the two months that they had their ghost with them? The
answer obviously must be sought through an analysis of the evidence for
the haunting. This chronologically falls into three divisions. The first
consists of letters addressed to young Samuel Wesley by his father,
mother, and two of his sisters, and written at the time of the
disturbances; the second, of letters written by Mrs. Wesley and four of
her daughters to John Wesley in the summer and autumn of 1726 (that is
to say, more than nine years after the haunting), of an account written
by the senior Samuel Wesley, and of statements by Hoole and Robert
Brown; the third, of an article contributed to "The Arminian Magazine"
in 1784 (nearly seventy years after the event) by John Wesley.
Now, the most cursory examination of the various documents shows
remarkable discrepancies between the earlier and later versions. Writing
to her son Samuel, when the ghost was still active, and she would not be
likely to minimize its doings, Mrs. Wesley thus describes the first
occurrences:
"On the first of December, our maid heard, at the door of the
dining-room, several dismal groans like a person in extremes, at the
point of death. We gave little heed to her relation and endeavored to
laugh her out of her fears. Some nights (two or three) after, several of
the family heard a strange knocking in divers places, usually three or
four knocks at a time, and then stayed a little. This continued every
night for a fortnight; sometimes it was in the garret, but most commonly
in the nursery, or green chamber."
Contrast with this the portion of John Wesley's "Arminian Magazine"
article referring to the same period:
"On the second of December, 1716, while Robert Brown, my father's
servant, was sitting with one of the maids, a little before ten at
night, in the dining-room which opened into the garden, they both heard
one knocking at the door. Robert rose and opened it, but could see
nobody. Quickly it knocked again and groaned.... He opened the door
again twice or thrice, the knocking being twice or thrice repeated; but
still seeing nothing, and being a little startled, they rose and went up
to bed. When Robert came to the top of the garret stairs, he saw a
handmill, which was at a little distance, whirled about very swiftly....
When he was in bed, he heard as it were the gobbling of a turkey cock
close to the bedside; and soon after, the sound of one stumbling over
his shoes and boots; but there were none there, he had left them
below.... The next evening, between five and six o'clock, my sister
Molly, then about twenty years of age, sitting in the dining-room
reading, heard as if it were the door that led into the hall open, and a
person walking in, that seemed to have on a silk nightgown, rustling and
trailing along. It seemed to walk round her, then to the door, then
round again; but she could see nothing."
As a matter of fact, the contemporary records are silent respecting the
extraordinary happenings that overshadow all else in the records of 1726
and 1784. In the former, for example, we find no reference to the
affair of the mill handle, the levitation of the bed, the rude bumpings
given to Mr. Wesley. There is much talk of knockings and groanings, of
sounds like footsteps, rustling silks, falling coals, breaking bottles,
and moving latches; allusion is made to the badger like and rabbit like
apparition; and there is mention of a peculiar dancing of father's
"trencher" without "anybody's stirring the table"; but the sum total
makes very tame reading compared with the material to be found in the
accounts written in after years and commonly utilized--as it has been
utilized here--to form the narrative of the haunting. Not only this, but
a rigorous division of the contemporary evidence into first hand and
second hand still further eliminates the element of the marvelous.
Admitting as evidence only the fact set forth as having been observed by
the relators themselves, the haunting is reduced to a matter of knocks,
groans, tinglings, squeaks, creakings, crashings, and footsteps.
We are, therefore, justified in believing that in this case, like so
many others of its kind, the fallibility of human memory has played an
overwhelming part in exaggerating the experiences actually undergone;
that, in fine, nothing occurred in the rectory at Epworth, between
December 1, 1716, and January 31, 1717, that may not be attributed to
human agency.
Who, then, was the agent? Knowing what we do of Wesley's previous
relations with the villagers, the first impulse is to place the
responsibility at their door. But for this there is no real warrant.
Years had elapsed since the culminating catastrophe of the burning of
the rectory, and in the interim matters had been put on an amicable
basis. Moreover, the evidence as to the haunting itself goes to show
that the phenomena could not possibly have been produced by a person, or
persons, operating from outdoors; but must, on the contrary, have been
the work of some one intimately acquainted with the arrangements of the
house and enjoying the full confidence of its master.
Thus our inquiry narrows to the inmates of the rectory. Of these, Mr.
and Mrs. Wesley, may at once be left out of consideration, as also may
the servants, all accounts agreeing that from the outset they were
genuinely alarmed. There remain only the Wesley girls, and our effort
must be to discover which of them was the culprit.
At first blush this seems an impossible task; but let us scan the
evidence carefully. We find, to begin with, that only four of the seven
sisters are represented in the correspondence relating to the haunting.
Two of the others, Kezziah and Martha, were mere children and not of
letter-writing age, and their silence in the matter is thus
satisfactorily accounted for. But that the third, Mehetabel, should
likewise be silent is distinctly puzzling. Not only was she quite able
to give an account of her experiences (she was at least between eighteen
and nineteen years of age), but it is known that she had a veritable
passion for pen and ink, a passion which in after years won her no mean
reputation as a poetess. And, more than this, she seems to have enjoyed
a far greater share of Jeffrey's attentions than did any other member of
the family. "My sister Hetty, I find," remarks the observing Samuel,
"was more particularly troubled." And Emilia declares, almost in the
language of complaint, that "it was never near me, except two or three
times, and never followed me as it did my sister Hetty."
Manifestly, it may be worth while to inquire into the history and
characteristics of this young woman. Her biographer, Dr. Adam Clarke,
informs us that "from her childhood she was gay and sprightly; full of
mirth, good humor, and keen wit. She indulged this disposition so much
that it was said to have given great uneasiness to her parents; because
she was in consequence often betrayed into inadvertencies which, though
of small moment in themselves, showed that her mind was not under proper
discipline; and that fancy, not reason, often dictated that line of
conduct which she thought proper to pursue."
This information is the more interesting, in the present connection,
since it contrasts strongly with the unqualified commendation Dr. Clarke
accords the other sisters. From the same authority we learn that as a
child Miss Mehetabel was so precocious that at the age of eight she
could read the Greek Testament in the original; that she was from her
earliest youth emotional and sentimental; that despite her intellectual
tastes and attainments she gave her hand to an illiterate journeyman
plumber and glazier; and that when the fruit of this union lay dying by
her side she insisted on dictating to her husband a poem afterward
published under the moving caption of "A Mother's Address to Her Dying
Infant." Another of her poems, by the way, is significantly entitled,
"The Lucid Interval."
There can, then, be little question that Hetty Wesley was precisely the
type of girl to derive amusement by working on the superstitious fears
of those about her. We find, too, in the evidence itself certain
fugitive references directly pointing to her as the creator of Old
Jeffrey. It seems that she had a practice of sitting up and moving about
the house long after all the other inmates, except her father, had
retired for the night. The ghost was especially noisy and malevolent
when in her vicinity, knocking boisterously on the bed in which she
slept, and even knocking under her feet. And what is most suggestive,
two witnesses, her father and her sister Susannah, testify that on some
occasions the noises failed to wake her, but caused her "to tremble
exceedingly in her sleep." It must, indeed, have been a difficult matter
to restrain laughter at the spectacle of the night-gowned, night-capped,
much bewildered parson, candle in one hand and pistol in the other,
peering under and about the bed in quest of the invisible ghost.
To be sure, it is impossible to adduce positive proof that Hetty Wesley
and Old Jeffrey were one and the same. But the evidence supports this
view of the case as it supports no other, and, taken in conjunction with
the facts of her earlier and later life, leaves little doubt that had
the Rev. Samuel paid closer attention to the comings and goings of this
particular daughter the ghost that so sorely tried him would have taken
its flight much sooner than it did. Her motive for the deception must be
left to conjecture. In all probability it was only the desire to amaze
and terrorize, a desire as was said before, not infrequently operative
along similar lines in the case of young people of a lively disposition
and morbid imagination.
IV
THE VISIONS OF EMANUEL SWEDENBORG
In mid April of the memorable year 1745, two men, hastening through a
busy London thoroughfare, paused for a moment to follow with their eyes
a third, whom they had greeted but who had passed without so much as a
glance in their direction. The face of one betrayed chagrin; but the
other smiled amusedly.
"You must not mind, dear fellow," said he; "that is only Swedenborg's
way, as you will discover when you know him better. His feet are on the
earth; but for the moment his mind is in the clouds, pondering some
solution to the wonderful problems he has set himself, marvelous man
that he is."
"Yet," objected the other, "he seems such a thorough man of the world,
so finely dressed, so courtly as a rule in speech and manner."
"He is a man of the world, a true cosmopolitan," was the quick response.
"I warrant few are so widely and so favorably known. He is as much at
home in London, Paris, Berlin, Dresden, Amsterdam, or Copenhagen as in
his native city of Stockholm. Kings and Queens, grand dames and gallant
wits, statesmen and soldiers, scientists and philosophers, find pleasure
in his society. He can meet all on their own ground, and to all he has
something fresh and interesting to say. But he is nevertheless, and
above everything else, a dreamer."
"A dreamer?"
"Aye. They tell me that he will not rest content until he has found the
seat of the soul in man. Up through mathematics, mechanics, mineralogy,
astronomy, chemistry, even physiology, has he gone, mastering every
science in turn, until he is now perhaps the most learned man in Europe.
But his learning satisfies him not a whit, since the soul still eludes
him,--and eludes him, mark you, despite month upon month of toil in the
dissecting room. If the study of anatomy fail him, I know not where he
will next turn. For my part, I fancy he need not look beyond the
stomach. The wonder is that his own stomach has not given him the clue
ere this; for, metaphysician though he be, he enjoys the good things of
earth. Let me tell you a story--"
Thus, chatting and laughing, the friends continued on their way, every
step taking them farther from the unwitting subject of their words. He,
for his part, absorbed in thought, pressed steadily forward to his
destination, a quiet inn in a sequestered quarter of the city. The
familiar sounds of eighteenth-century London--the bawling of apprentices
shouting their masters' wares, the crying of fishwives, the quarreling
of drunkards, the barking of curs, the bellowing of cattle on their way
to market and slaughter house--broke unheeded about him.
He was, as the gossip had put it, in the clouds, intent on the riddles
his learning had rendered only the more complex, riddles having to do
with the nature of the universe and with man's place in the universe.
Nor did he rouse himself from his meditations until the door of the inn
had closed behind him and he found himself in its common room. Then he
became the Emanuel Swedenborg of benignity, geniality, and courtesy, the
Swedenborg whom all men loved.
"I am going to my room," said he to the innkeeper, in charming, broken
English, "and I wish to be served there. I find I am very hungry; so see
that you spare not."
While he is standing at the window, waiting for his dinner, and gazing
abstractedly into the ill-paved, muddy street illumined by a transitory
gleam of April sunshine, let us try to gain a closer view of him than
that afforded by the brief account of his unrecognized acquaintance. The
attempt will be worth while; for at this very moment he has, all
unconsciously, reached the great crisis of his life, and is about to
leave behind him the achievements of his earlier years, setting himself
instead to tasks of a very different nature. We see him, then, a man
nearing the age of sixty, of rather more than average height, smooth
shaven, bewigged, bespectacled, and scrupulously dressed according to
the fashion of the day. Time in its passing has dealt gently with him.
There is no stoop to his shoulders, no tremor in the fingers that play
restlessly on the window-pane. Not a wrinkle mars the placid features.
Well may he feel at peace with the world. His whole career has been a
steady progress, his record that of one who has attempted many things
and failed in few. Before he was twenty-one his learning had gained for
him a doctorate in philosophy. Then, enthusiastic, open-minded, and
open-eyed, he had hurried abroad, to pursue in England, Holland, France,
and Germany his chosen studies of mathematics, mechanics, and astronomy.
Returning to Sweden to assume the duties of assessor of mines, he
speedily proved that he was no mere theorizer, his inventive genius
enabling the warlike Charles XII. to transport overland galleys and
sloops for the siege of Frederikshald, sea passage being barred by
hostile fleets. Ennobled for this feat, he plunged with ardor into the
complicated problems of statecraft, problems rendered the more difficult
by the economic distress in which Charles's wars had involved his
Kingdom. Here again he attained distinction.
Yet always the problems of science and philosophy claimed his chief
devotion. From the study of stars and minerals he passed to the
contemplation of other marvels of nature as revealed in man himself. And
now behold him turned chemist, anatomist, physiologist, and
psychologist, and repeating in these fields of research his former
triumphs. Still, indomitable man, he refused to stop. He would press
on, far beyond the confines of what his generation held to be the
knowable. "The end of the senses," to quote his own words, "is that God
may be seen." He would peer into the innermost recesses of man's being,
to discern the soul of man, mayhap to discern God himself.
But, if he were scientist and metaphysician, he was also human, and that
pleasant April afternoon the humanity in him bulked large when he
finally turned from the window and took his seat at the bountifully
heaped table. He was, as he had told the innkeeper, very hungry, and he
ate with a zest that abundantly confirmed his statement. How pleasant
the odors from this dish and that--how agreeable the flavor of
everything! Surely he had never enjoyed meal more, and surely he was no
longer "in the clouds"; but was instead recalling pleasant reminiscences
of his doings in one and another of the gay capitals of Europe! There
would be not a little to bring a twinkle of delight to his beaming eyes,
not a little to soften his scholastic lips into a gentle smile. And so,
in solitary state, he ate and drank, with nothing to warn him of the
impending and momentous change that was to shape anew his career and
his view-point.
Conceive his astonishment, therefore, when, his dinner still unfinished,
he felt a strange languor creeping over him and a mysterious obscurity
dimming his eyes. Conceive, further, his horror at sight of the floor
about him covered with frogs and toads and snakes and creeping things.
And picture, finally, his amazement when, the darkness that enveloped
him suddenly clearing, he beheld a man sitting in the far corner of the
room and eying him, as it seemed, reproachfully, even disdainfully.