HAUNTINGS BY THE LIVING AND THE DEAD
1896
In this same year (1896) I remember another curious incident.
I was staying in London during the season, and some girl friends were
very anxious that I should meet a lady whom they knew intimately and
wished me to know also. As so often happens under these circumstances,
we were not in the least degree interested in each other; but that has
nothing to do with my story.
The girls had asked various other friends, but this special lady was the
_raison d'être_ of the tea-party, and they begged me to come in good
time, because Mrs Halifax had several other engagements, and could not
pay them a long visit.
So I dressed hurriedly in order to keep the appointment, and went to the
house feeling rather bored by the whole arrangement, little dreaming
that it would be the occasion of such an interesting personal
experience. The lady turned out to be exceedingly prosperous and
extremely uninteresting, from my point of view. Probably she would have
given her ideas of me in much the same way! I realised that she had
brought a son and a daughter with her, but did _not_ know that another
young man (whose _face_ I have never seen) was also a son of hers. I
talked to the mother for the conventional quarter of an hour, and then
turned with relief to the other son whom she had mentioned, and with
whom I found several old friends in common.
Meanwhile the room was filling up with guests; amongst these late comers
I noticed the entrance of a man whose face did not impress me at all
favourably. He looked dissipated and conceited. I did not speak to this
man, but my strong impression about him is a factor in the story.
When the lady, _par excellence_, of the entertainment rose to leave the
room, followed by her son and daughter, I noticed that a second young
man was also in her train; but I had not seen him previously, for the
very good reason that he had been sitting behind my back all the
afternoon.
I did not see his face even now. My attention had been diverted from the
Halifax party as they rose to take leave, and I only noticed the _back_
of the second young man as they left the room, and was told later that
this was another son of Mrs Halifax, no other comment upon him being
made.
In those days I was able to do more work on the psychic plane than at
present, and often tried to help sad or wandering spirits by praying for
them when made conscious of their presence near me.
When I woke in the night--after this tea-party--therefore, and felt a
presence near me, it did not at first alarm me in any way.
When fully awake, however, I quickly realised that this was no poor,
sad, bewildered spirit, but a very malignant and revengeful one. I _did
not recognise the sex at the moment_. In fact, my consciousness was
entirely engrossed by realising that this was a question of my prayers
being needed by no spirit more urgently than by my own.
Something very malignant was in the room--something or someone far too
actively and insistently wrathful and malignant to listen to any prayers
or entreaties.
This conviction grew so strong upon me that I lighted my candle, and
getting out of bed, prayed for protection against the evil thing that
was present in my room.
I think I must have remained at least ten minutes on my knees, and I can
remember distinctly the feeling of alarm and hopelessness that came over
me when I realised how strong were the Powers of Darkness and how little
my prayers _seemed_ to avail me.
Shortly, however, faith returned, and with it the confidence of victory.
I returned to my bed quite calm and strong, and fell asleep knowing that
the malignant presence was no longer there to worry and torment me.
I have always found it as easy to communicate with incarnate spirits at
a distance as with discarnate ones, so on awaking in the morning, and
remembering my disagreeable experience, I asked a friend, "still in the
body," what was the meaning of it.
I had made up my mind that if it were in any way connected with the
visitors of the previous afternoon, it must be with the
dissipated-looking young man, for whom I had conceived an instinctive
aversion.
To my infinite surprise _his_ name was not given, but that of the
younger Halifax son. "It was Henry Halifax. It is a spirit which was
haunting him and came to you afterwards."
Now, as I had not even seen this young man, as already explained, I
could not bear to think of any false and fanciful accusation being made
against him; so remonstrated with my friend.
"Do be careful in giving me the name. Are you quite sure you mean Henry
Halifax? Are you not thinking of Mr Loseby?" (Mentioning the name that
had been given me of the other gentleman.)
"No; I mean Henry Halifax."
"But I did not even _see_ him," I urged.
"_No; but you were sitting with your back to him all afternoon. Don't
you know the back is more psychically sensitive than any other part of
the body?_"
Nothing was said about the malignant spirit beyond the fact that it was
someone "haunting" Henry Halifax.
The matter, once explained, I put it out of my head, having no special
curiosity as to the reason of the haunting, and supposing it might have
been some male acquaintance of his.
That morning I went down to my Wimbledon friend for a night. I arrived
in time for luncheon on Saturday morning, and after a pleasant walk on
the Common in the afternoon my friend suggested our coming home by a
certain florist's shop, as she wished to buy some plants for her
drawing-room.
I had already met this florist's wife, a very "spooky" person, who had
been introduced by us to Mr Myers and the Society for Psychical
Research. She was a handsome, fresh-coloured, practical woman, with
nothing of the weird and pallid "ghost seer" about her comely face. But
she had had some wonderful experiences, and her children also; and these
had been already imparted to Mr Frederic Myers.
When the business part of our interview was concluded Mrs Levret turned
to me, and said: "Well, ma'am, I _am_ glad to see you again in these
parts. Have you had any curious experiences since I saw you last?"
Now Mrs Levret had so many curious experiences of her own, as to which
she was wont to be very voluble, that I had never before known her
express curiosity about those of anybody else.
This just flashed through my mind as I answered her:
"No; nothing particular, Mrs Levret. By-the-by, I had a rather
disagreeable experience last night, but it has been explained." And in a
few words I mentioned what has been already described at length.
From my words she must have gathered that I supposed the haunting spirit
to be that of a _man_, and that I did not attach much importance to it
any way.
As we left the shop my charming hostess, who was equally beloved by
those in her own class and those out of it, turned round, and said
pleasantly: "We must hurry home now, Mrs Levret, but do come up
to-morrow and see Miss Bates. She does not leave me till the evening,
and I know you will enjoy having a talk with her."
Mrs Levret promised to come, and appeared next morning, having first
ascertained that the sceptical husband of my hostess would not be upon
the premises. "He does laugh at me so, ma'am," she said apologetically.
So she was brought straight up to my bedroom next day, and we had an
interesting talk over her own strange adventures.
Suddenly she looked up, and said: "_À propos des bottes._"
"How about that young man, ma'am? What are you going to do about him?"
"What young man?" I said, honestly puzzled. "And what can I do about any
young man?"
The Halifax incident had so completely faded from my mind that I could
not for the moment imagine what she meant.
"The young man you told me about yesterday afternoon, ma'am," Mrs Levret
answered stoutly.
"But I can't do anything about him. What _should_ I do?"
Then she took up her parable in these words:
"Well, ma'am, I have been thinking a deal about that young man since
yesterday. It seemed to take a sort of hold upon me. It seems given to
me, ma'am, _that it is a young woman who is haunting him--a young woman
who is not in his own rank in life--someone whom he wronged_."
I was amazed by these words, and still more by the keen interest Mrs
Levret showed in the subject.
"But what can _I_ do in the matter, even if it be as you say?" was my
next question.
"Well, ma'am, they give me to understand that the young man must be made
to confess. He will never have any peace until he does. It seems to me
_you_ might get him to confess."
Now there could be no question of confession on the outer plane, as the
young man was a perfect stranger to me, and there was small chance of
our ever meeting again.
But I was aware that Mrs Levret was not speaking of the outer plane, so
I agreed to take pencil and paper, and see if I could bring the spirit
of Henry Halifax to me, and having done so, whether I could induce him
to tell me the truth.
He came, but for a long time would say neither YES nor NO. "_What
business is it of yours?_" was the constant reply to my questions. And I
am bound to say it appeared a very pertinent one, from the ordinary
point of view.
Clearly it _was_ no business of mine; but Mrs Levret was so much in
earnest, and had impressed me so strongly with what "_had been given to
her_," that I felt I must persevere, in the young fellow's own
interests.
So I explained that I had no wish to pry into his private affairs from
any mere unworthy curiosity, but that having myself felt the malignant
presence that was said to be haunting him, and being told that only
confession would remove it, I hoped he would consider the matter
seriously before obstinately closing the door of opportunity now open to
him. "Who could foretell when he might have another chance?"
A long pause succeeded these words. I felt that the angry, irritable
mood was passing over, and when my hand was next influenced to write,
the words that came were not the usual curt "_None of your business_,"
but an apology for his rude reception of my efforts to help him, and a
full confession, which entirely bore out Mrs Levret's impressions.
He told me that it was only too true that he had betrayed a young woman
in a different rank of life from his own. She had died in child-birth
_the preceding midsummer_, and had died cursing him for his perfidy.
Ever since (it was now late in June) he had been haunted by her
presence, seeing nothing, but always conscious of a malignant spirit
tempting him to his own destruction. The mental agony was so great that
he told me he did not think he could endure it much longer, and had
almost decided to put an end to his life (little realising, poor fellow,
that bad as this life might be, the next phase would be far worse for
him).
After trying to soothe and comfort him, without in any way minimising
the weight of his sin or attempting to lessen his remorse for it, it
struck me that it would be well to try and have a little talk with his
poor young victim. So saying good-bye, and promising to remember him in
future, I asked mentally for _her_ spirit to come, and then tried to
influence her in the direction of forgiveness. It was a hard struggle,
and no wonder.
The poor young woman had trusted him, had been deceived, and finally
launched into another sphere without any preparation for it. What wonder
that she haunted the man who had wronged her so terribly, through pure
selfishness, and that any love she had ever borne him had long since
turned to deadly hate!
It needed both time and patience to rouse even mere passive feelings
towards him. I spoke of his deep remorse and misery. At first she only
answered that she was very glad to hear it, because it showed she had
succeeded in making her presence felt.
By degrees, however, a more womanly view of the subject seemed to come
to her. After all, he was the father of her child; the poor little
baby that had mercifully followed its mother into the Great Unseen.
She had loved him once, by her own showing. I made the most of this
point, and very slowly, very grudgingly, she gave me the promise I
asked for--_i.e._ that she would at least cease this revengeful
haunting, even if she could not yet feel more kindly towards the one
who had injured her so deeply.
Having extracted this promise I felt that no more could be done for the
time being, and Mrs Levret, who had been sitting in unwonted silence
during both interviews, then took her leave.
I have given this case and its treatment very much _in extenso_, not
only because it may be helpful to others dealing with erring and
revengeful spirits, but because on my return to London _every
important point in this true narrative was amply corroborated_.
It took some time and a good deal of tact before the case was complete.
First, I learned that Henry Halifax was by no means a _persona grata_ in
the house where I first met him, and that my young friends there had
only been allowed to ask him under some protest, and because the rest
of his family were to be present.
Asked _why_ this should be the case, their answers were naturally vague:
they only knew he was not very welcome.
Of course, I did not pursue the matter with these young people. They
told me, however, that he was very much changed of late, and seemed so
often moody, unhappy, and discontented.
"I am sure _we_ should be happy enough if we had such a luxurious home
and all that money," said one of them naïvely.
Now I happened to know rather intimately at that time another friend of
the Halifax family; a woman considerably older than the young girls
mentioned, and as she had some little knowledge of psychic possibilities
I determined to lay the whole story before her, trusting to her honour
to keep it to herself, and not to allow any prejudice against Henry
Halifax to arise in her mind should she know nothing of the
circumstances.
She had known the family from her childhood, and I knew, therefore,
would not be influenced by the word of an outsider under these
circumstances. But I discovered that the confession of Henry Halifax,
the spirit, was no illusion on my part, but _the absolute truth_.
Young, handsome, rich, with all the world before him (he was only
twenty-four at the time), this lady had been greatly puzzled by his
intense depression of the last few months, and told me that he was
constantly speaking of suicide. It was supposed to be a purely physical
condition by his parents and others. She, however, knew an intimate man
friend of his. By one of those not uncommon mistakes, whereby each one
supposes the other to be in the confidence of a mutual acquaintance, she
had discovered that the real trouble was mental rather than physical,
and that the death of the young woman of lower social position, in
child-birth, "_last midsummer_" was an actual fact!
Needless to say how great was her astonishment to find that the whole
story had been made known to me through such a curious train of
circumstances--first, my experience of the malignant spirit; secondly,
my happening to go to Wimbledon next day and mention the circumstances
to the wife of the florist there; thirdly, _her_ strong and, as it
proved, quite accurate impressions upon the subject; and fourthly, my
two interviews:--first, with the betrayer, and then with the betrayed on
the psychic plane.
Some few months later I was asked by the lady just mentioned if I should
object to meeting Henry Halifax at dinner next evening.
"Not at all," was my answer. In fact, I felt it might be part of some
psychic plan that I should do so. Evidently this was not the case, for
at the last moment a telegram came to his hostess to say he was
unexpectedly prevented from returning to town.
So we have never met at all! But I trust the confession may have been as
efficacious as Mrs Levret was told that it would be. Anyway, I can
testify that the gentleman in question is now happily married, and,
therefore, presumably no longer haunted by the revengeful spirit, who
has long since, let us trust, found happiness and peace in a higher
world than this.
* * * * *
Speaking of haunting by the so-called dead reminds me of haunting by the
so-called living.
In this same year (1896) I was staying in Cambridge for the first time
in my life.
Oxford I have known since girlhood, but this was my first visit to the
Sister University; needless to say, however, that I have met many men
who have graduated there. Not knowing the town of Cambridge myself, I
had never made it a subject of discussion, and ten years ago I was not
even aware that such a street as Trumpington Street existed, difficult
as it may be for Cambridge people to credit this statement.
In any case, most emphatically, I did _not_ know that a very old friend
of mine, who became later in life a judge, had ever lived in this
street.
Having been a sailor in youth, he had gone up to Cambridge comparatively
late; this was shortly before my acquaintance with him began.
Not knowing Cambridge at all, the question of where he lived there had
never entered into our conversations together. Probably I took it for
granted that he was living in his college (Peterhouse). The strong
feeling of friendship between us had become a warmer sentiment on his
side, and this led later, and inevitably, to a thorough break in our
pleasant relations with each other.
Long years passed, during which I neither saw nor heard of my friend.
I knew that he had married, and had had a somewhat successful career as
a barrister in London, and that was all I knew about him.
After staying for a week or two with friends in the neighbourhood of
Cambridge in 1896, I had taken rooms for a month _in_ Cambridge,
inviting one of these friends to stay with me as my guest.
We came upon these special rooms in a curious way. Having worked through
a list of those suggested to us by a friend, none of which quite suited,
I heard, by the merest chance, that possibly I might find what I wanted
in Trumpington Street, at the house of a very respectable Cambridge
tradesman. We went there, but only to find that the rooms vacant could
not be ready for me at the time specified, as some old customers were
coming to them for three or four days.
"But I want them for a _month_," I expostulated.
The landlady was firm; she could not disappoint these people after
promising to take them in.
In spite of my disappointment, I admired her so much for this strict
sense of honour that I determined to look at the rooms in case of
requiring any at a future date.
We went upstairs. The rooms were exactly what I required, and very clean
and well furnished, so it ended by my agreeing to take them for a week
later, although at a considerable inconvenience.
It was in this casual way that I entered the house about the middle of
May 1896. My friend was not able to join me until the morning after my
arrival, so I spent the first evening alone, and retired to bed rather
early. I slept well enough during the earlier part of the night, but
awoke about two A.M., having had a tiresome, worrying dream about the
very man I have mentioned, who had certainly not been in my thoughts for
many months, or possibly years.
Even when fully awake, his influence was still in the room with me, and
falling asleep again, there he was once more in my dream, twitting me
with my want of appreciation of him in the past, and suggesting what a
much more successful career I might have had through marrying him. This
sort of thing went on for the rest of the night. Either I woke up with a
disagreeable start, still feeling the man's influence in the room, or
sank into a troubled sleep, to be once more at the mercy of his
reproaches!
When morning came I was only too thankful to get up, and when my friend
arrived on her bicycle about noon, and asked me how I had slept in the
strange house, I was forced to confess that my night had been much
troubled by dreams about an old friend, of whom she had never heard,
by-the-by.
"Oh, well, we all dream about old friends sometimes," she said, "but I'm
afraid in this case your dreams were not pleasant; you look tired out!
Anyway, it is a mercy that it was not F----'s!"
And so with a joke the matter dropped.
But the following night the trouble was renewed. Even then I did not in
any way connect it with the room in which I was sleeping, and I said
nothing next day to my friend on the subject.
But the _third_ night matters had gone beyond a joke. The influence was
stronger than ever, the gibes and reproaches more accentuated, and, in
addition to these, there was on my side the exasperation engendered by
three sleepless nights.
Instead of feeling depressed--as on the two previous occasions--the
"worm turned" at last!
I spoke out loud in my vexation, as though the man himself were there
listening to me.
"Well," I said, "I have no unkindly feeling towards _you_ of any kind.
If you have nothing better to do than to come worrying me and keeping me
awake in this way, it just shows how wise I was _not_ to marry you! You
have nothing to do with my life now. And YOU CAN GO."
"Standing up" in this way to the ghost of the living had a most
excellent effect, upon my mind at anyrate. I felt intensely relieved,
and soon fell into a long and dreamless sleep.
This last experience first suggested the idea that this old friend _must
have some special connection with that house_. In the morning I
confessed to my friend that my second night had been as disturbed as the
first, and the last the worst of all, adding: "That man is simply
haunting the place. I am determined to try and find out if he ever
lodged here."
This was by no means easy, as it turned out. His College career was
already buried in the snows of some twenty-five years. Moreover, when I
questioned the young daughter of our landlady as to how long her parents
had lived in the house, she said at once: "Just seventeen years, ma'am.
Father and mother came here the year I was born."
This did not help me much. I asked who had rented the house previously.
Referring this question to her mother, she told me it had been taken
from some people who had left Cambridge, and "_Mother thought they were
both dead now_."
This was a second _cul-de-sac_ for me!
But I was determined to go on with my investigations, simply grounded
upon the strong conviction that such repeated experiences _must_ have
some foundation in fact.
The girl saw I looked disappointed. "Did you want to know about anyone
who lived here long ago?" she ventured timidly.
"Yes; I wanted to find out whether an old friend of mine ever lodged
here; he belonged to Peterhouse," was my answer.
"Ah, then, I am sure he would not have lodged here," said the girl
confidently. "None of the Peterhouse gentlemen come here. It is always
the Pembroke men who come to this house."
It seemed fated that I should hear no more about my living ghost.
A few days later, however, the luck turned.
I was told quite casually that Mr Pound, the well-known Cambridge
chemist, had occupied our house years before, and I determined to verify
this some day. As Mr Pound combined the post office with his drugs, one
often went into the shop, but hitherto I had only seen his assistants.
Going in one day with my friend for some stamps, Mr Pound himself handed
them to me.
Here was my chance! I must confess that I hesitated to ask such an
apparently absurd question on such slender grounds. In any case, was it
likely that he would remember the names of all the undergraduates in
the University who might have lodged with him twenty or thirty years
before? I whispered to my friend: "Shall I ask him?" but she did not
hear, so even this small encouragement was denied me. I was actually
turning to leave the shop, when resolution at length took the reins, and
I found myself asking:
"Is it true, Mr Pound, that you lived many years ago at No. --
Trumpington Street?"
"Quite true," was the ready answer. "I went there in the year
fifty-five." (I quote this from memory, but it was in the fifties
certainly.)
"I wanted to ask a question about a gentleman who may have lodged with
you a good deal later than that--about seventy, I should think." And I
mentioned the name of my friend.
Mr Pound's brow cleared at once, and he looked up with a beaming smile.
"Mr Forbes," he said--"why, of course, I remember him well. He lodged
with me over eighteen months." Then turning to his assistant, he told
him to go into the parlour and bring out the large photograph album.
There was my friend, sure enough, with his big dog--the very photograph
I had of him, given me in the early days of our acquaintance.
Mr Pound was full of reminiscences. My friend had evidently been a prime
favourite with him, and it was some minutes before I could squeeze in my
crucial question. It seemed almost impossible to expect him to remember
the exact rooms occupied by Mr Forbes, considering there were two or
three "sets" of rooms in the house, in addition to several bedrooms
which were let separately.
But even here Mr Pound's memory proved invaluable. "Which room he slept
in? Why, of course, I remember distinctly. He had the large front
sitting-room and the bedroom at the back of it; over our living-room in
those days."
So I was living in Mr Forbes' sitting-room, and sleeping in the bedroom,
he had occupied for more than eighteen months.
My Cambridgeshire friend was, fortunately, present as a witness that no
word of mine had indicated this fact before Mr Pound corroborated my
intuitive impression. She said afterwards, laughingly, that Mr Myers
would certainly think I had got up a special ghost story for him the
moment I set foot in Cambridge.
However this may be, both he and Professor Sidgwick were greatly
interested in it, for, as they explained, there were fifty accounts of
haunting by the dead to one such example of haunting by the living.
Of course, such a case presents innumerable difficulties; still the
salient fact remains, that after a lapse of nearly thirty years I traced
the rooms occupied by an old friend, in a city I had never before
entered, and that this knowledge did not come to me by chance, but _as
the result of a series of investigations, started by me solely on
account of the experiences that came to me in a house and in a room of
which I had absolutely no previous knowledge_. Those interested in these
subjects will naturally ask: "_Do you suppose that the spirit of Mr
Forbes came to you at the moment of your remarks to him and his to you?
If so, was he conscious of any such experience?_"
I can answer this last question decidedly, and in the negative; for four
years later, circumstances brought me once more within the orbit of Mr
Forbes' life. He was then living in the north of England, and he and his
wife and I have discussed the question more than once.
We can only suppose that the impression of his presence did in some way
cling to the surroundings; that my sleeping there, even in complete
ignorance of his tenancy, enabled me, as a "sensitive," to pick up this
special influence from many others presumably present; and that the
memories of the past galvanised the impression into some sort of
temporary astral existence. The entity to whom I seemed to be speaking
was doubtless _not_ the Judge Forbes of later life, but some distorted
image of his earlier days of disappointed and often reproachful
affection.
When Mr Myers suggested that I should get Mr Pound to sign a paper
mentioning that he had told me that Mr Forbes had occupied these special
rooms twenty-seven years previously, the latter did so readily, only
remarking that he had naturally concluded that I _knew_ my friend had
lodged with him.
"Pound will 'smell a rat' if I go," said Mr Myers.
So I went myself, and thus the story was made evidentially complete.