# Posthumous Humanity: A Study of Phantoms/Chapter 1

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CHAPTER I.
Let us open this chapter with the posthumous history of the Abbé Peytou, one of the most curious that could be cited, as well from the long duration of the manifestations as the variety of their forms; of which nearly the whole population of the locality were witnesses. It will suffice for me to record the following facts, for which I am indebted to the kindness of M. Augé, late schoolmaster at Sentenac (Ariège), the parish of the Abbé Peytou. Being unable to visit the spot in person, I begged M. Augé to interrogate the elders of the village as to what they had seen or heard of the matter.
Here is his letter:
Sentenac de Sérou, 8th May, 1879.
Sir—
You have asked me to relate, for subsequent scientific discussion, the facts connected with ghostly visitors which are generally admitted by the most intelligent persons of Sentenac, and the circumstances of which incontestably prove their genuineness. ​I shall narrate them exactly as they happened within the knowledge of perfectly credible witnesses.
I. When, some forty-five years ago, M. Peytou, curé of Sentonac, died, there was heard every evening, just after nightfall, the noise of somebody moving the chairs in the Presbytery, walking about, opening and shutting a snuff box and then making the sound of one taking a large pinch of snuff. All this, which lasted a long time, was of course immediately credited by the simpler and more timid among the villagers; others, who pretended to be shrewd common-sense fellows (esprits forts), were not in hurry to believe; they simply laughed at all who seemed or, rather, actually did believe that M. Peytou, the deceased curé, had returned. Two persons—M. Antoine Eycheinne, the mayor of the Commune, but who died about five years ago, and Baptiste Galy, who is still alive, the only two educated men in the neighbourhood and at the same time the most sceptical—wished to have personal proof whether all the alleged nocturnal disturbances in the Presbytery had any actual foundation in fact, or were but the effect of a weak fancy in persons easily frightened. One evening, each armed with a gun and a hatchet, resolved to pass the night in the housе, determining to know, in case they should hear any noise, whether it was made by the living or dead. They ensconced themselves in the kitchen, before a good fire, and began talking together about the simplicity of the villagers, and saying that, for their part, they could bear nothing, and would sleep comfortably upon the mattress they had taken the precaution to bring along. But suddenly, in the room just above them, they did hear noise, then the chairs moved, then some one walked about, descended the stairs, and came towards the kitchen. They arose, M. Eycheinne moved towards the kitchen door, holding his hatchet ready to strike whoever might enter, and M. Galy raised his gun to his shoulder.
The apparent walker, having come close to the kitchen door, took a pinch of snuff at least, the men on watch heard the identical sounds of a person who snuffs and then, instead of opening the kitchen door, the ghost passed into the drawing-room, where he seemed to be walking about. MM. Eycheinne and Galy, retaining their weapons, went out of the kitchen into the drawing-room and saw-absolutely nothing. They went upstairs and searched the rooms of the house from top to bottom, looking into every corner, hut found neither chairs nor any other things out of place. M. Eycheinne, who until now had been the most sceptical of all, then ​said to his companion: "My friend, no living person is making this disturbance, it is the dead; it is M. Peytou—it is his step and his way of taking snuff that we have heard. We can now sleep in peace."
II. Marie Calvet was the domestic of Monsieur Ferré, successor to M. Peytou, and a brave woman upon occasion—one who allowed nothing to disturb her, who believed nothing of the things they were gossiping about, and one who, to use the common phrase descriptive of a fearless person, would even sleep in a church. One evening, just at nightfall, the woman was occupied in the barn-passage cleaning her kitchen utensils. M. Ferré, her master, who had gone to visit the neighbouring curé, M. Desplas, had not yet returned. While the aforesaid Calvet was hard at work on her pots and pans, a curé passed before her without speaking a word. "Oh, you will not frighten me, master," she said, "I am not so stupid as to believe that Monsieur Peytou has come back!" Seeing that the priest who passed, and whom she took for her master, said nothing, Marie Calvet raised her head, turned it in his direction, and—saw nothing. Then she began to get scared, and quickly ran to tell the neighbours what had happened, and to beg Galy's wife to come and sleep with her.
III. Anne Maurette, wife of Raymond Ferrau, still living, went at daybreak to the mountain, with her donkey, for a load of wood. In passing the Presbytery garden, she saw a curé walking along the path, with a breviary in his hand. Just when she was about saying, "Good morning, M. le Curé, you are up early," the priest turned away and kept on reading his prayers. The woman, not wishing to interrupt him in his devotions, passed on without the least thought of a ghost having entered her head. Upon returning from the mountain with her wood, she met the curé of Sentenac before the church. "You rose early, sir," she said, "I thought you must be starting upon some journey when I saw you reading your prayer-book as I passed your garden." "No, my good woman," answered he; "I have been up but a short time; I have but just finished mass." "Then," replied she in a fright, "who was that priest who was reciting his breviary in your garden at daybreak, and who turned away just as I was about speaking to him? I was sure it was yourself, sir. I should have died of fright, if I had thought it was the curé who is no more. Heavens! I shall no more have the courage to pass there."
Here, sir, are three facts, which are not the products of a weak ​and terrified imagination. I doubt if science can explain them naturally. Are these ghosts? I cannot so affirm; but certainly there is something here which is not natural.
Yours faithfully,
J. Augé.
We regret that M. Augé did not feel constrained to push his investigations somewhat further. We would especially have liked to know, beyond doubt, what truth or untruth there was in certain manifestations of the Abbé Peytou's desire to say mass. The peasants, simple-minded and ignorant, inferred that he must be suffering because he had received pay for a certain number of masses which he had not had time to repeat before he was surprised by death. M. Augé admitted to me that he had not placed any weight upon what he had heard respecting this matter, believing the thing absolutely impossible according to all he had ever read in works on theology. He did not perceive that the reading of the breviary was not less extraordinary than the desire to say mass; furthermore, he was ignorant of the fact that the posthumous man, as we shall have frequent opportunity to notice, loves to return to the things which were familiar to him.
The following history is not less characteristic, and made no less noise than that of the Abbé Peytou.
About twenty years ago, M. X., aged some sixty years, living in a parish of the Canton of Oust (Ariège), died after a brief illness. As he had been a man of some mark in his country, this event caused a certain sensation. Immediately after his ​decease, his house became the scene of a crowd of nocturnal disturbances which I shall not relate here, as I shall have frequent occasion in the course of this chapter to revert to similar facts. This went on for several years. I shall cite only three facts, which I give as authentic, having them from the eye-witnesses themselves. The first witness was a gardener, whose story is as follows:
"On Easter-eve I was detained in a garden to finish some work I had not been able to do in the day. My task completed, as I was about to leave, I heard distinctly two or three times the sharp noise of scissors trimming a grape vine. At this noise I turned about and saw myself face to face with the deceased M. X."
"How was he dressed?" I asked.
"As in life, his hat on his head, his muffler round his neck, and with a pleasant smile on his face."
"Why did you not address him?"
"I was going to do so, then hesitated, and then getting to the garden gate, I left."
"Were you long in his presence?"
"Long enough to repeat an Ave Maria."
"Were you frightened?"
"No; I go about night and day, and have never seen anything. Yet upon reaching home I became scared by degrees."
The second fact occurred the same evening, in ​presence of the gravedigger of the village where M. X. lived and died. His story is the following:—
"On Easter-eve, having to dig a grave, and deceived by the bells of a neighbouring village which rang the réveillon at midnight, but which I mistook for the angelus, I went to the cemetery to do my work. Upon opening the gate I was surprised to see, standing near the great cross and not far from the tomb of M. X., a man. 'Hallo!' I said to myself, 'here is somebody who is up mighty early to attend to his religious duties;' and while I was trying to make out who it could be, I noticed that the individual advanced towards me, and I recognized him as M. X. I slammed the grating to at once, so as to put the thickness of the door between the personage and myself, and hurried home in a fright."
"How was he dressed?"
"As when alive, with his muffler and hat."
"Why did you not wait and speak to him?"
"I took good care not to do that!"
As his friends joked him about his tale, he replied invariably that they might believe or not for aught he cared; he told what he had seen, and had nothing more to say.
The third example happened under the eyes of a retired customs-officer. I quote literally his words. It should be noted that this thing happened on the same evening as the two others.
"On Easter-eve I was on guard, with another ​officer, near a property that had belonged to M. X. I saw a person, who passed and repassed near me, opening and shutting an entrance-gate. I said to myself that M. X.'s steward is very early to-day. Then looking closer, I saw it was M. X. himself. My first impulse was to arouse my comrade, so that he might also see this extraordinary apparition. However, I refrained."
"How was M. X. dressed?"
"As usual, with the hat and muffler he always wore when alive."
"When you recognized him, were you frightened?"
"I am an old customs-guard, and was not at all afraid; in proof of which I did not waken my comrade. At the same time, it must be confessed that for the rest of the night I was not quite as easy as usual."
Apparitions in human form, such as I have described, are rare. The most familiar manifestations of the posthumous personality seem to be noises occurring in a variety of ways, and sometimes degenerating into a racket very disturbing to the occupants of the house which it infests. Usually it is at night that these tumults occur. One hears, but sees nothing, not even the projectiles flung against the walls or upon the floor. Sometimes, however, these nocturnal uproars are ​attended with particular circumstances which enable us to identify their author.
Of such a nature is the story I am about to tell, and which I borrow from the learned translator of the works of Gorres, M. Charles Sainte-Foix:—
"The following incident occurred in my father's house, about the year 1812. One evening, at about ten o'clock, my mother was awakened by an unusual noise in the kitchen, separated by the dining-room from the chamber where she slept with my father. She awoke him with an account of her uneasiness, and begged him to go and see if the door which opened into the court had been well closed; for she thought it was the dog that had entered and made all the noise. My father, who was confident that he had fastened the door that evening, attributed the impressions of my mother to a dream or some illusion, and begged her to go to sleep again, as he proceeded to do himself. But after a few minutes my mother heard fresh noises, and again waked my father. Still she could not convince him, and, not being willing to believe except he himself heard, he sat up so as not to fall asleep again, and waited for the noise to recommence. He did not have to wait long, and ended by believing that his memory had played him a trick, and that he had really forgotten to close the outer door of the kitchen, that the watch-dog had entered there, and was knocking together the pots, saucepans, and all the other kitchen utensils; for that was the sort of noise they heard. He then rose, ​took a light, visited the kitchen, found everything in order and the door closed, so that after all he began to think that he had been deceived by his senses, and had been half asleep when he thought he had heard the noise. He went back to bed, leaving, however, his candle alight to see if the noise would be repeated. Scarcely had he lain down before a greater uproar than ever arose. Certain that this could not be in the kitchen, he visited all the other rooms in the house, from the cellar to the loft. The hubbub continued without intermission, but nothing was seen. He wakened the servants, who slept in an out-building, again with them searched the whole house, always hearing, but seeing nothing. The noise had changed in place and character; it had passed into the dining-room, where it seemed as if stones of twenty or thirty pounds weight were falling from a height of eight or ten feet upon a piece of furniture which stood against the wall. After eight or ten blows of this sort, a final crash, still more loud than the others, indicated a pause; then immediately afterwards it seemed as though some powerful hand was working an iron bar among paving-stones. Several neighbours, wakened by the noise, came to the house to know what it all meant, and help my father to make another search; for he thought so little of ghosts that not even the idea of them had come into his mind, and all his fear was that there were robbers. On the other hand, he said to himself that robbers had every ​interest in concealing themselves, and that it showed great stupidity on their part to manifest their presence in such a tumultuous manner. Then he thought that perhaps it might be rats. But how could rats make such a disturbance and such a variety of noises? All that threw him into great perplexity, and he did not know what to think. About three o'clock in the morning he sent away the neighbours and the servants, telling them to go back to bed, since he was sure that it was not robbers, which was the important point for him. The noise had lasted about four hours, and had been heard by seven or eight persons. It stopped at about four o'clock in the morning.
"At about seven o'clock a messenger came to announce to my father that one of his relatives, named F., had died during the night, between ten and eleven o'clock, and before dying had expressed a strong desire that my father would take the guardianship of the children whom he had left behind him. He had, in fact, often expressed this desire to my father during his sickness, without being able to overcome his opposition. In vain my father had urged the multiplicity of his engagements and the anxieties that they caused him. In vain he had named other persons better circumstanced than himself to undertake the trust that he wished to confide to him. He had been unable, despite all these excuses, to turn him aside from this idea, which he had carried away with him into the other life.
​"The coincidence of this death with the noise that had been heard during the night impressed my mother, and made her think that perhaps it was not the mere effect of chance. She insisted then that my father should promise to accept the guardianship of the children of the dead man. My father, not sharing her fears, stubbornly maintained his opposition. However, to quiet her, and believing that he was really binding himself to nothing, he promised her that if the noise recommenced he would accept the responsibility which they wanted to put upon him. Thinking, meanwhile, that the noise was made by some men who had a grudge against him or intended to play him some tricks, he resolved to take all precautions for discovering their artifices. So he caused two strong men, reputed very brave, to sleep in his room, and he quietly waited in his bed. At midnight the uproar was renewed, but much stronger and more terrible than on the previous evening. My father rose, and told the two men who slept in his room to rise up also and help him search every corner of the house; but they were seized with such a terror that nothing could persuade them to get out of bed, and a cold sweat covered the whole of their bodies. My father then himself went, with all the servants, throughout the house without discovering anything. The noise did not last so long, but was much more violent than the first time. My father, upon returning to his room, yielded to ​the importunity of my mother, more to pacify her than because he believed that these noises resulted from any extra-natural causes; and nothing more of the kind was heard in the house. Three or four witnesses of this incident are still living, and can attest its truth. I have often heard the story told by my father, who never, however, believed that there was anything supernatural about it. Yet one thing had struck him, and gave him some uneasiness. The first night, at the moment when the noise was the loudest, he had called his dog, shouting out, "Here! here!" This dog was enormous, very strong, very savage, and this call of my father was usually enough to make him leap and bark. But this time, in place of bounding as usual, he crawled to my father's feet as though terrified. This circumstance made upon my father a very strong impression, and disconcerted him, without, however, changing his conviction."
Sometimes the posthumous personality is recognised by its footstep, when it is heard walking in a room. Examples of this sort are quite common. As, for instance: In the month of January, 1855, the proprietor of the old hot springs of Aulus died. Immediately, unusual noises were heard in this establishment. The watchman who slept there heard every night, as soon as the candle was extinguished, the noise that a man makes in handling papers or registers, although there was nothing of the kind in the room. Sometimes it was the steps ​of a person walking beside him, or mounting or descending the staircase. Another day he felt some one trying to raise his bed. On certain nights a frightful disturbance occurred on the ground floor. One would have said that blows from a hammer were being given simultaneously on all the metal baths. The watchman arose, went and visited the bathing closets in turn, but saw nothing. The noise stopped as soon as he opened the doors, but began again as soon as he left. Equally strange things happened sometimes by day. At a certain time, at about one o'clock, a despairing cry sounded from one end of the building, the watchmen ran thither, carefully examined the place whence the cry had come without meeting anything, and whilst he was making his search a similar cry was heard from the other end of the building. This occurred on several days in succession. Another time, some customs-officers returning from the mountain, and passing on a hill which was near the hot baths, heard a frightful noise, as though the buildings were going to fall.
The different watchmen who were successively employed at this establishment were witnesses of the same nocturnal manifestations. I knew them all, and can affirm that they were not men subject to timidity. One of them, who had served in a regiment of Zouaves, had received from his comrades, on account of his daring, the nickname of "the jackal." Another is now a tiger-hunter on ​the pampas of South America. Nevertheless, it often happened that they made friends come and sleep with them, so that they might not be alone in the building. It is superfluous to add that these also heard the same noises. Sometimes there were very curious variations in the phenomena. A woman who had come to sleep in a room adjacent to that of the watchman felt an invisible hand pull off her bedclothes. She rushed out of her room and would not return. At other times it was noises which were heard in the partitions. One night the long passage on the first floor re-echoed at about one o'clock in the morning with a strange and rushing noise, like that made by a locomotive running at full speed. This noise being repeated every night, the watchman, who then was the tiger-hunter of whom I have spoken, took his gun, waited for the invisible train, and fired at the moment when he thought he could feel it in front of him. He broke a branch off one of the acacias outside in the garden, but did not hit the invisible enemy, who began again more lively than ever. All who had heard the nocturnal footsteps, which were sometimes in the rooms, and sometimes on the passages or staircases, recognized the walk of the former proprietor of the establishment. One noticeable circumstance is that nothing of this kind was heard in another little bathing establishment, situated not more than three or four yards away from this one, but which belonged to another ​proprietor. These noises gradually diminished, but did not entirely cease until 1872, when the establishment was demolished to give place to the present baths. However, a certain Madame Rumeau, of St. Girons, who came every year to Aulus during the bathing season to take charge of the linen of the establishment, and lodged in the new buildings, has told me that, in 1877, she had several times heard at night, in the refreshment room, a great clashing of glasses and bottles. It seemed as though they were smashing in pieces, by clashing together or falling on the ground. She went to inspect the room, but found glasses and bottles all in order. This strange circumstance is often noticed in posthumous manifestations; I shall frequently have occasion to recur to it.
In certain cases, along with the footsteps of a person can be heard the rustling of a dress. The manifestations that then occur are attributed to a female.
About 1830, Madame X., a lady of somewhat advanced years, died in her country house, in the vicinity of Bastide-de-Sérou (Ariège).
Some nocturnal manifestations, and even some by day, then occurred, either in her bedchamber or in the other rooms of the house. When the family received a guest, and he was given the room of Madame X. to sleep in, as soon as he was in bed and had put out his light, he heard some one walking in the room which he occupied, ​or moving the furniture. Sometimes the mysterious personage approached the bed and tried to pull off the clothes. The sleeper would have to hold the sheets with all his strength, not to be entirely uncovered. The rustling of a silk dress accompanied each of the movements of the nightly visitor; so, therefore, the cause of these strange events was soon ascribed by every one in the house to Madame X. At other times the glasses and plates in the dining-room were disturbed, knocked together, fell on the floor, and apparently smashed with loud noise. They would run to see what was the cause of this disturbance, and to gather up the fragments. The noise would instantly stop, glasses and china were all found in their usual places, and there were no fragments on the floor. These scenes occurred sometimes by day as well as by night, and even in the absence of the occupants of the house. Not far from the dwelling was a farm. One fair-day, the farmer, wishing to drive his cattle to the town, rose very early to feed them, and then took them to the drinking-trough, which was just alongside the residence of Madame X. The family having left the previous evening, and no one being in the house, it might be expected that nothing unusual would have happened during this night. Nevertheless, at the moment when the cattle were drinking, so terrifying a disturbance went on inside the house that the poor animals, mad with fear, were scattered, and the farmer lost all the morning ​catching them and bringing them back. The family of Madame X., thinking that the soul of the defunct was in pain, neglected neither masses nor prayers to bring her out of purgatory. All to no purpose; the posthumous manifestations of Madame X. continued for several years.
Not knowing what to do to meet the difficulty, they hit upon the following expedient. One night, before bed-time, they placed paper, pen, and ink on a table in the room where the nocturnal noises were heard most frequently, and at the top of the paper they wrote some lines, begging the ghost to indicate its wishes, so that they might be satisfied. The next morning they perceived that the paper, ink, and pen had been placed, intact, under the table on the floor. But on this same table was a dictionary, which had been opened during the night, and on one of the pages they remarked three little red spots of the size of a grain of corn that had been crushed, and that resembled drops of blood. The noises ceased soon after this singular adventure, and, what is remarkable, they were resumed some years later; but this time they were much weaker, and did not last long. I have all these details, which I have greatly condensed, from the family of Madame X.
Sometimes the individuality of the posthumous being discloses itself by tastes and customs which were familiar to the person when alive. About thirty-five years ago there lived at St. Girons a ​young man of robust complexion and military tastes. He was fond of fencing, and often indulged in this exercise; in his room was a collection of foils, gloves masks, &c. Having become insane, they shut him up in the insane hospital of St. Lizier, where he soon after died. This hospital is about five miles from St. Girons. The room that the young man occupied before his sickness was situated upon the first floor. Immediately under him lived a tailor and his family. The day of the young man's death, at about eleven o'clock in the evening, the family were already in bed when they heard the street door open, and some one quickly run upstairs. "Hullo!" said the tenant, "one would swear that those are the footsteps of the lunatic; can it possibly be he?" At the same time the unknown entered the room on the first floor, and immediately after they heard the measured stamp of a man fencing. These blows were more hasty than those usually made, and this noise was immediately followed by a clash of foils and masks, which seemed to detach themselves from the wall, knock together, and fall on the ground. The tailor got up, lit his candle, and ascended to the chamber overhead. The noise stopped as soon as he opened the door; nothing had fallen on the floor, but everything was in its place. Our good man went back to bed, and the noise began again; silence returned only at about one o'clock in the morning. The following days, the same things were repeated at the same hour and under identical circumstances. Tired of making ​useless visits to the room where the disturbances occurred, the tailor at last accustomed himself to it and did not trouble himself any more. These noises were still going on when he left the house. He was satisfied, as well as his wife and children, that the nocturnal visitor was none other than the young deceased, for all were unanimous in declaring that they recognized his hasty steps every time that he mounted or descended the stairs; so much so that they were accustomed to say when they heard him arrive in the evening at his usual hour, "Té, té, etchoou qué tournash!—here comes the madman again." It was the tailor himself who gave me these details.
In the following example, the posthumous personality is not so clearly revealed as in the preceding ones, but it is easy to follow its traces back to its origin.
"Near a village of Landes, a woman lost her mother. She lived, like most of the country-people, in a ground-floor apartment (rez-de-chaussée) which communicated with a cellar. After the death of her mother, she heard at night some one walking and rummaging in the cellar. Being alone in the house, with the outer door locked, she at first supposed that it was rats which caused the noise. Convinced, after numerous fruitless searches, that rats could not make such a noise, she went to tell her story to the curé, an experienced man, who was familiar with the habits of the poor people of the country; instead of ​making her pay for masses, as is the usual custom in Catholic countries, he advised her to search carefully every nook and cranny in the cellar, and take out anything she might find hidden there. The woman, having followed this advice, found a small sum of money cunningly hidden in one of the most out-of-the way places. She took possession of this sum and heard no more of the noises. It was the hiding-place where the old woman used to deposit her little savings, and hence the personality of the nocturnal visitant can but be identified with her posthumous individuality."
In many cases, the post-sepulchral manifestations present no feature that very exactly indicates their author. Nevertheless, one can hardly be deceived in this study, for these events are always preceded by the death of some person in the house. This class generally consists of nocturnal disturbances of various descriptions. About fifteen years ago, a peasant, living in a hamlet in the Canton d'Oust (Ariège), hung himself in a state of melancholy. His house immediately became the theatre of nightly scenes of the most tumultuous and inexplicable character.
"The chairs were heard to move, the crockery to fall and smash with a loud noise, blows of a hammer or club to strike the partitions, and the furniture on every side, &c., &c. In the wood-shed it seemed as though the faggots were in insurrection: they knocked together, or flung themselves ​against the walls with extraordinary force, and made a terrible racket. If any one entered the wood-shed or the dining-room, where the glasses seemed to be clashing and the crockery breaking, he was confronted with another phenomenon not less marvellous: the most absolute silence instantly succeeded, after the most fearful noise; everything was in its usual place; nothing had been injured. We have seen the same phenomenon occurring invariably under analogous circumstances, and it may be assumed in principle that it is one of the laws of posthumous manifestations. When the occupants of the house were in bed, an invisible hand pulled at their coverings, and each time they were obliged to hold on to them very strongly not to be forced to remain entirely uncovered. All these prodigies ceased as soon as a candle was brought. The posthumous personality seems to dread light; to borrow an expression from medicine, it is a 'photophobe.' Later on, I will give an explanation of this fact.
"One evening, at dusk, a woman in the house held in her hand a pair of scissors attached to a chain. The candle not being yet lighted, she felt some one pulling at this chain, notwithstanding that she was alone in the room. She called for help; a light was brought, and immediately the scissors fell. When the light was removed the disturbance began again, but again stopped when the candle was brought back. The experiment was repeated ​several times, and invariably with the same result. These scenes lasted for several years, and were witnessed by all the people of the neighbourhood. The rumour having reached St. Girons, some of the notabilities of this town, among them magistrates and physicians, resolved to visit the spot, to satisfy themselves as to the authenticity of these facts. The project was not carried out, but the recollection of what I have related still lingers in the memory of all the inhabitants of the canton."
The tendency to pull the clothing off the bed and uncover the sleeper is a feature as common as the nocturnal disturbances, and one in which the action of the posthumous personality is indicated most unequivocally. Usually, these two kinds of manifestations go together, as we have seen in the previous examples. Nevertheless, there are cases where the mysterious visitor omits the hubbub, and is satisfied with pulling at the blankets or lifting the bed. This mode of procedure is still less agreeable to sleepers than the banging of partitions, and it often happens that they are obliged to desert the house if they would get any rest. I might cite several examples of this kind. Here is one told me by the very person who was the object of the adventure.
"It was a woman of sober character and fair education. She had brought up the son of a rich landed-proprietor who lived in a château in the ​vicinity of Foix. The child, having lost his mother at an early age, conceived a son's affection for his governess. Having attained his majority, he left the paternal home and went to settle in Africa. In 1873, this woman, being in bed one night, thought she heard something unusual in her room. It seemed like a sort of stifled moaning, repeated at intervals. The next day a telegram announced the death of the young man. From that time forth, posthumous manifestations of a strongly marked character occurred in the same room. Nightly, at the same hour, the governess heard some one open the door of her room, although she had herself locked it, walk round the apartment, stop before the bed, draw the curtains, and tug at the bed-clothing. There would then be a struggle between her and the invisible one. The poor woman was obliged, in order not to be entirely uncovered, to roll herself in the bed-clothing. A sort of plaintive moaning was heard. At the end of an hour or two the chamber door would again open, and there would be total silence. The governess unhesitatingly attributed the cause of all these prodigies to the posthumous personality of the young man whom she had reared; for, beside the coincidence of his death and the manifestations which immediately occurred, she recognized his manner of walking in the footsteps which she heard every night in her room. Wearied at last with these unfortunate scenes, she fell sick, and was obliged ​to leave the château, after having endured the thing for six months."
I have said that if the posthumous man frequently manifests himself by a variety of noises, his appearances in human form are rare; still one sometimes sees them immediately after the decease of certain persons. I have collected several examples of this kind; among them the following, the authenticity of which I can guarantee. I have it from Madame D., of St. Gaudens. Here is her story:
"I was still young girl, and slept with my elder sister. One evening we had just retired to bed, and blown out the light. The smouldering fire on the hearth still feebly lighted the room. Upon turning my eyes towards the fireplace I ​perceived, to my amazement, a priest seated before the fire and warming himself. He had the corpulence, the features, and the general appearance of one of our uncles who lived in the neighbourhood where he was an archbishop. I at once called my sister's attention. She looked in that direction, and saw the same apparition. She also recognized our uncle. An indescribable terror seized us both, and we cried Help!' with all our might. My father, who slept in an adjoining room, awakened by these desperate cries, jumped out of bed, and ran in with a candle in his hand. The phantom had disappeared; we saw no one in the room. The next morning a letter was received informing us that our uncle had died the previous evening."
The posthumous apparitions can show themselves immediately after death, whatever may be the distance that separates the defunct from the place where he manifests himself. In other words, these phantoms move with marvellous rapidity, comparable almost to that of electricity or light. I shall presently explain this phenomenon.
​I have stated above that a young man appeared in the neighbourhood of Foix the very evening of his death, although he died in Africa. Others, who lived in America, have shown themselves in Europe at the moment when they expired, and had consequently crossed the Atlantic in a few seconds. Of numerous examples that I might cite, I will give only the following, taken from the work of M. de Mirville, Des Esprits et de leurs Manifestations diverses. I quote verbatim:
"M. Bonnetty, responsible editor of the Annales de Philosophie Religieuse, tells us that one evening, before sleeping, he saw the image of one of his friends, then in America, open his bed curtains and inform him that he had that instant died. The sad news is subsequently confirmed, and indicates that very moment as having been the last. But this image wore a waistcoat whose very extraordinary pattern had much struck M. Bonnetty; he made subsequent inquiries, and begged that they would send him a drawing of this waistcoat pattern. They did so, and it was identically that of the apparition."
Sometimes apparitions come during sleep. If it is objected that these are ordinary dreams, I shall answer that, whilst according the utmost possible agency to dreams and hallucinations, it is difficult not to believe in the reality of an apparition when you see before you a person whom you recognize at once by his height, features, and dress, who tells ​you that he has just expired, and when on the next day, or at some later date, a letter confirms the vision.
I went to Spain, towards the end of 1868, a little after the Pronunciamento which put an end to the reign of Isabella. I knew the country was in a state of ebullition, and I wished to study upon the spot the consequences of the revolution which had just been completed. I was not long in perceiving that the Spanish nation, kneaded for fourteen centuries in the mould of the most rigid and absolute Catholicism that ever was seen, and moreover fundamentally monarchical, was not yet ripe for liberty, that it would fatalistically return to its old idols; and I did not shrink from imparting my forecast to the readers of the Revus Contemporaine, in an essay which appeared in the month of June of the following year.
On the twelfth of January of the same year I was at Barcelona, and one night in my sleep I distinctly saw before me the face of a young person who was sincerely attached to me, and whom, before leaving for Spain, I had left in Paris, dying from a chest complaint. My first movement, as soon as I perceived her, was to approach and bid her welcome. As I came closer, I saw her recede, and I recognized in her face the characteristic lividity of a corpse. I awoke with a start, and, while I had constantly been in the habit of regarding as dreams all apparitions of this kind of which I had heard, nevertheless I did not hesitate to say to the hotel-servant, when he entered ​the room the next morning: "To-morrow evening you will receive for me a letter from Paris in a mourning envelope." The letter arrived on the day and at the hour indicated. It announced that which I already knew—that I had lost my poor friend on the night of the twelfth of January.
The following fact is no less significant. It was related to me by my friend Victor Pilhes. These are the circumstances of its occurrence:
"Victor Pilhes had just been nominated Representative for Ariège in the legislature of 1849, when the manifestation of the thirteenth of June took place. Intelligence was brought that the French army was marching on Rome to overthrow the Roman Republic. The constitution being thus openly violated, some energetic men resolved to de- fend it. But France, emasculated by the governments which had succeeded since the eighteenth Brumaire, hastened {{lang|la|ruere in servitutem—to plunge into serfdom, as Tacitus hath it. Instead of following those who defended her rights and interests, she handed them over to the mercies of the soldiery and police. Having come together without arms, they were easily dispersed or arrested. However, a small group of eight representatives of the people, amongst them the President of the Mountain, Deville and Victor Pilhes, was in the court of the Conservatoire, under the guard of troopers. At this moment they saw a company of chasseurs à pied coming in search of them. They had still a chance of escape, ​owing to the indescribable tumult in the inclosure, when Deville cried out:
"I was a captain at Waterloo, and I did not fly; to-day I defend the Right and the Law, and I will not desert my post, come what may."
Electrified by these noble and patriotic words, the other representatives followed his example, and desirous of standing to their posts to the very end permitted themselves to be conducted to the Conciergerie. Betrayed after five months impeachment, they were brought before the High Court at Versailles and condemned to death. A decree of the Provisional Government having abolished this punishment for political offences, the sentence had to be commuted to one of perpetual detention in a state prison. About 1854 they were in the fortress of Belle Isle, where Deville had a stroke of paralysis. After sundry delays, he obtained his liberty and returned to Tarbes, to his family. Some months after his departure, Victor Pilhes, who, in the meanwhile, had been transferred to St. Pélagie, saw during his sleep Deville appear to him, saying:
"You are one of the men whom I have best loved during my life. I have come to bid you a last fare-well; I am dying."
Our prisoner immediately awoke; but, although this vision was to him but an ordinary dream, he could sleep no more. When he left his cell, he related his dream to his comrades, who attached no importance to it. Their attention was not attracted ​until the next morning, when they received a letter from Tarbes announcing the death of Deville.
The first time that Victor Pilhes told me this story, I, like himself, saw nothing more in it than an ordinary dream, followed by a curious coincidence. Such is no longer the case; since, some hundreds of analogous facts have come to my notice.
I close here the list of posthumous manifestations attributed to the human personality, reserving to myself, however, the right to return to the subject in one of the following chapters, to complete it in certain respects. I could easily double or even treble it, with merely the documents which have been furnished to me; but I fancy that enough has been said to attract the attention of thoughtful persons. Still, I shall refer any who yet entertain doubts to the many works written upon this topic, of some of which the authors are learned physicians or eminent legal functionaries.
* ↑ Not so rare, perhaps, as our author supposes; but since he makes out his case upon such as he cites, it is useless to weary the reader with an embarras de richesses.
* ↑ Here the author betrays his want of personal experience in the séance-room. Animated forms of the deceased are now seen often under perfect test-conditions, and some will "materislise" themselves before one's very eyes. While there have been numerous cases of fraudulent imitations of this astounding phenomenon—sometimes even by real mediums—still there have been genuine materialisations by the score. In the year 1874, I devoted about three mouths to the investigation of this subject, at the Eddy homestead, in the village of Chittanden, Vt., and published my observations in a work entitled "People from the Other World." I saw as many as seventeen of these materialisations in a single evening, and nearly five hundred during the whole visit. I was enabled to touch, talk with, and even weigh and measure them. After the lapse of twelve yours I see no reason to change my opinion as to the genuineness of the phenomena of William Eddy, though my views as to the psychical character of the forms have been altered by a study of Asiatic psychological science. The curious reader will find great abundance of proofs of materialisations in the works of Owen, Sargent, Crookes, Wallace, Stainton Moses, and other trustworthy writers.
* ↑ Rather, let us say, thought. Time and space exist only for us living; and, while it is a little premature to discuss the question of extra-corporeal mental dynamics, it may be said, as from the Asiatic standing-point, that the telepathic action in cases like those in point is instantaneous. However geographically far apart in the body, mind talks with mind, as two persons speak with each other across a table or even from "mouth to ear."