The cover of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain. A more extensive [transcriber’s note] can be found at the end of this book.

METAPSYCHICAL PHENOMENA

All rights reserved

METAPSYCHICAL
PHENOMENA
METHODS AND OBSERVATIONS

BY J. MAXWELL
Doctor of Medicine
Deputy-Attorney-General at the Court of Appeal, Bordeaux, France

WITH A PREFACE BY CHARLES RICHET
Member of the Academy of Medicine
Professor of Physiology in the Faculty of Medicine, Paris
AND AN INTRODUCTION BY SIR OLIVER LODGE

Also with a New Chapter containing
‘A COMPLEX CASE,’ BY PROFESSOR RICHET
AND AN ACCOUNT OF
‘SOME RECENTLY OBSERVED PHENOMENA’
BY THE TRANSLATOR L. I. FINCH

LONDON
DUCKWORTH and CO.
3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
1905

NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR

The Translator has to thank sincerely a literary friend, a well-known English clergyman, who has been kind enough to revise the translation, and suggest many improvements.

INTRODUCTION

Asked by my friends in France to introduce the author, Dr. Maxwell, to English readers, I willingly consented, for I have reason to know that he is an earnest and indefatigable student of the phenomena for the investigation of which the Society for Psychical Research was constituted; and not only an earnest student, but a sane and competent observer, with rather special qualifications for the task. A gentleman of independent means, trained and practising as a lawyer at Bordeaux, Deputy Attorney-General, in fact, at the Court of Appeal, he supplemented his legal training by going through a full six years’ medical curriculum, and graduated M.D. in order to pursue psycho-physiological studies with more freedom, and to be able to form a sounder and more instructed judgment on the strange phenomena which came under his notice. Moreover, he was fortunate in enlisting the services of one who appears to be singularly gifted in the supernormal direction, an educated and interested friend, who is anxious to preserve his anonymity, but is otherwise willing to give every assistance in his power towards the production and elucidation of the unusual things which occur in his presence and apparently through his agency.

In all this they have been powerfully assisted by Professor Charles Richet, the distinguished physiologist of Paris, whose name and fame are almost as well known in this country as in his own, and who gave the special evening lecture to the British Association on the occasion of its semi-international meeting at Dover in 1899.

In France it so happens that these problems have been attacked chiefly by biologists and medical men, whereas in this country they have attracted the attention chiefly, though not exclusively, of physicists and chemists among men of science. This gives a desirable diversity to the point of view, and adds to the value of the work of the French investigators. Another advantage they possess is that they have no arrière-pensée towards religion or the spiritual world. Frankly, I expect they would confess themselves materialists, and would disclaim all sympathy with the view of a number of enthusiasts in this country, who have sought to make these ill-understood facts the basis for a kind of religious cult in which faith is regarded as more important than knowledge, and who contemn the attitude of scientific men, even of those few who really seek to observe and understand the phenomena.

From Dr. Maxwell’s observations, so far, there arises no theory which he feels to be in the least satisfactory: the facts are recorded as observed, and though theoretical comments are sometimes attempted in the text, they are admittedly tentative and inadequate: we know nothing at present which will suffice to weld the whole together into a comprehensive and comprehensible scheme. But for the theoretical discussion of such phenomena the work of Mr. Myers on Human Personality is of course far more thorough and ambitious than the semi-popular treatment in the present book. And in the matter of history also, the English reader, familiar with the writings of Mr. Andrew Lang and Mr. Podmore, will not attribute much importance to the few historical remarks of the present writer. He claims consideration as an observer of exceptional ability and scrupulous fairness, and his work is regarded with the greatest interest by workers in this field throughout the world.

There is one thing which Dr. Maxwell does not do. He does not record his facts according to the standard set up by the Society for Psychical Research in this country: that is to say, he does not give a minute account of all the details, nor does he relate the precautions taken, nor seek to convince hostile critics that he has overlooked no possibility, and made no mistakes. Discouraged by previous attempts and failures in this direction, he has regarded the task as impossible, and has not attempted it. He has satisfied himself with three things:—

For the rest, he professes himself indifferent whether his assertions meet with credence or not. He has done his best to test the phenomena for himself, regarding them critically, and not at all in a spirit of credulity; and he has endangered his reputation by undertaking what he regards as a plain duty, that of setting down under his own name, for the world to accept or reject as it pleases, a statement of the experiences to which he has devoted so much time and attention, and of the actuality of which, though he in no way professes to understand them, he is profoundly convinced.

Equally convinced of their occurrence is Professor Richet, who has had an opportunity of observing many of them, and he too regards them from the same untheoretical and empirical point of view; but he has explained his own attitude in a Preface to the French edition, as Dr. Maxwell has explained his in ‘Preliminary Remarks,’—both of which are here translated—so there is no need to say more; beyond this:—

The particular series of occurrences detailed in these pages I myself have not witnessed. I may take an opportunity of seeing them before long; but though that will increase my experience, it will not increase my conviction that things like some of these can and do occur, and that any other patient explorer who had the same advantages and similar opportunity for observation, would undergo the same sort of experience, that is to say, would receive the same sensory impressions, however he might choose to interpret them.

That is what the scientific world has gradually to grow accustomed to. These things happen under certain conditions, in the same sense that more familiar things happen under ordinary conditions. What the conditions are that determine the happening is for future theory to say.

Dr. Maxwell is convinced that such things can happen without anything that can with any propriety whatever be called fraud; sometimes under conditions so favourable for observation as to preclude the possibility of deception of any kind. Some of them, as we know well, do also frequently happen under fraudulent and semi-fraudulent conditions; but those who take the easy line of assuming that hyper-ingenious fraud and extravagant self-deception are sufficient to account for the whole of the facts, will ultimately, I think, find themselves to have been deceived by their own a priori convictions. Nevertheless we may agree that at present the Territory under exploration is not yet a scientific State. We are in the pre-Newtonian, possibly the pre-Copernican, age of this nascent science; and it is our duty to accumulate facts and carefully record them, for a future Kepler to brood over.

What may be likened to the ‘Ptolemaic’ view of the phenomena seems on the whole to be favoured by the French observers, viz. that they all centre round living man, and represent an unexpected extension of human faculty, an extension, as it were, of the motor and sensory power of the body beyond its apparent boundary. That is undoubtedly the first adit to be explored, and it may turn out to lead us in the right direction; but it is premature even to guess what will be the ultimate outcome of this extra branch of psychological and physiological study. That sensory perception can extend to things out of contact with the body is familiar enough, though it has not been recognised for the senses of touch or taste. That motor activity should also extend into a region beyond the customary range of muscular action is, as yet, unrecognised by science. Nevertheless that is the appearance.

The phenomena which have most attracted the attention and maintained the interest of the French observers, have been just those which convey the above impression: that is to say, mechanical movements without contact, production of intelligent noises, and either visible, tangible, or luminous appearances which do not seem to be hallucinatory. These constantly-asserted, and in a sense well-known, and to some few people almost familiar, experiences, have with us been usually spoken of as ‘physical or psycho-physical phenomena.’ In France they have been called ‘psychical phenomena,’ but that name is evidently not satisfactory, since that should apply to purely mental experiences. To call them ‘occult phenomena’ is not distinctive, for everything is occult until it is explained; and the business of science is to contemplate the mixed mass of heterogeneous appearances, such as at one time formed all that was known of Chemistry, for instance, or Electricity, and evolve from them an ordered scheme of science.

To emphasise the fact that these occurrences are at present beyond the scheme of orthodox psychology or psycho-physiology, in somewhat the same way as the germ of what we now call Metaphysics was once placed after, or considered as extra to, the course of orthodox Natural Philosophy or Physics, Professor Richet has suggested that they be styled ‘meta-psychical phenomena,’ and that the nascent branch of science, which he and other pioneers are endeavouring to found, be called for the present ‘Metapsychics.’ Dr. Maxwell concurs in this comparatively novel term, and as there seems no serious objection to it, the English version of Dr. Maxwell’s record will appear under this title.

The book will be found for the most part eminently readable—rather an unusual circumstance for a record of this kind—and the scrupulous fairness with which the author has related everything he can think of which tells against the genuineness of the phenomena, is highly to be commended. Whatever may be thought of the evidence it is manifestly his earnest wish never to make it appear to others better than it appears to himself.

If critics attack the book, as they undoubtedly will, with the objection that though it may contain a mass of well-attested assertions by a competent and careful observer, yet his observations are set down without the necessary details on which an outside critic can judge how far the things really happened, and how far the observer was deceived—let it be remembered that this is admitted. Dr. Maxwell’s defence is, that to give such details as will satisfy a hostile critic who was not actually present is impossible—in that I am disposed to agree with him—he has therefore not attempted the task; and I admit, though I cannot commend, his discretion.

It may be said that the attempt to give every detail necessarily produces a dreary and overburdened narrative. So it does. Nevertheless I must urge—as both in accordance with my own judgment of what is fitting, and in loyalty to the high standard of evidence, and the more stringent rules of testimony, inaugurated by the wise founders of the Society for Psychical Research—that observers should always make an effort to record precisely every detail of the circumstances of some at least of these elusive and rare phenomena; so as to assist in enabling a fair judgment to be formed by people who are not too inexperienced in the conditions attending this class of observation, and at any rate to add to the clearness of their apprehension of the events recorded. The opportunities for research are not yet ended, however, and I may be allowed to express a hope that in the future something of this kind will yet be done, when the occasion is favourable, after a study of such a record as that of the Sidgwick-Hodgson-Davy experiments in the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, vol. iv. Our gratitude to Dr. Maxwell would thus be still further increased.

And now, finally, I must not be understood as making myself responsible for the contents of the book, nor for the interjected remarks, nor for the translation. The author and translator must bear their own responsibility. My share in the work is limited to expressing my confidence in the good faith of Dr. Maxwell—in his impartiality and competence,—and while congratulating him on the favourable opportunities for investigation which have fallen to his lot, to thank him, on behalf of English investigators, for the single-minded pertinacity and strenuous devotion with which he has pursued this difficult and still nebulous quest.

Oliver Lodge.

PREFACE

There are books in which the author says so clearly and in such precise terms what he has to say that any commentary weakens their import; and a preface becomes superfluous, sometimes even prejudicial.

Dr. Maxwell’s work belongs to this category. The author, who has long given himself up to psychology, has had the opportunity of seeing many interesting things. He has observed everything with minute care; and having well thought out the method of observation, the consequences, and the nature itself of the phenomena, he lays bare his facts and deducts therefrom a few simple ideas, fearlessly, honestly, sine ira nec studio, before a public which he hopes to find impartial.

To this same public I address the short introduction, with which my friend Dr. Maxwell kindly asked me to head this excellent work.

My advice to the reader may be summed up in a few words. He must take up this book without prejudice. He must fear neither that which is new, nor that which is unexpected. In other words, while preserving the most scrupulous respect for the science of to-day, he must be thoroughly convinced that this science, whatever measure of truth it may contain, is nevertheless terribly incomplete.

Those imprudent people who busy themselves with ‘occult’ sciences are accused of overthrowing Science, of destroying that bulwark which thousands of toilers, at the cost of an immense universal effort, have been occupied in constructing during the last three or four centuries.

This reproach seems to me rather unjust. No one is able to destroy a scientific fact.

An electric current decomposes water into one volume of oxygen and two of hydrogen. This is a fact which will be true in the eternal future, just as it has been true in the eternal past. Ideas may perhaps change on what it is expedient to call electric current, oxygen, hydrogen, etc. It may be discovered that hydrogen is composed of fifty different bodies, that oxygen is transformed into hydrogen, that the electric current is a ponderable force or a luminous emission. No matter what is going to be discovered, we shall never, in any case, prevent what we call to-day an electric current from transforming, under certain conditions of combined pressure and temperature, what we call water into two gases, each having different properties, gases which are emitted in volumetrical proportions of 2 to 1.

Therefore, there need be no fear, that the invasion of a new science into the old will upset acquired data, and contradict what has been established by savants.

Consequently psychical phenomena, however complicated, unforeseen, or appalling we may now and then imagine them to be, will not subvert any of those facts which form part of to-day’s classical sciences.

Astronomy and physiology, physics and mathematics, chemistry and zoology, need not be afraid. They are intangible, and nothing will injure the imposing assemblage of incontestable facts which constitute them.

But notions, hitherto unknown, may be introduced, which, without casting doubts upon pristine truths, may cause new ones to enter their domain, and change, or even upset, our established notions of things.

The facts may be unforeseen, but they will never be contradictory.

The history of sciences teaches us, that their bulwarks have never been overthrown by the inroad of a new science.

At one time no notion of tubercular infection existed. We now know that it is transmitted by microbes. This is a new notion, teeming with important conclusions, but it does not invalidate the clinical table of pulmonary phthisis drawn up by physicians of other days. The discovery of Hertzian waves has in nowise shaken Ampère’s laws. Newton’s and Fresnel’s optics have not been changed into a tissue of errors because Rœntgen rays and luminous vibrations are able to penetrate opaque bodies. It appears that radium can throw out unremittingly, without any appreciable chemical molecular phenomena, great quantities of calorific energy; nevertheless, we may be quite sure, that the law of conservation of energy and thermo-dynamic principles will remain as true now as ever.

Likewise, if the facts called ‘occult’ become established, as seems more and more probable, we need not feel anxious as to the fate of classical science. New and unknown facts, however strange they may be, will not do away with old established facts.

To take an example from Dr. Maxwell’s work, let us admit that the phenomenon of raps—that is to say, sonorous vibrations in wood or other substances—is a real phenomenon, and that, in certain cases, there are sounds which no mechanical force known to us can explain, would the science of physics be overthrown? It would be a new force thrown out on to wood, etc., exercising its power on matter, but the old forces would none the less preserve their activity, and it is even likely that the transmission of vibrations by means of this new force would be found to be in obedience to the same laws as those governing the transmission of other vibrations;—the temperature, the pressure, the density of air or wood would continue to exercise their usual influence. There would be nothing new, save the existence of a force until then unknown.

Now, is there any savant worthy of the name who can affirm, that there are no forces, hitherto unknown, at work in the world?

However impregnable Science may be when establishing facts, it is miserably subject to error when claiming to establish negations.

Here is a dilemma, which appears to me to be very conclusive in that respect:—Either we know all Nature’s forces, or we do not. Now the first alternative is so ridiculous, that it is really not worth while refuting it. Our senses are so limited, so imperfect, that the world slips away from them almost entirely. We may say it is owing to an accident, that the magnet’s colossal force was discovered, and if hazard had not placed iron beside the loadstone, we might have always remained ignorant of the attraction which loadstone exercises upon iron. Ten years ago no one suspected the existence of the Rœntgen rays. Before photography, no one knew that light reduces salts of silver. It is not twenty years since the Hertzian waves were discovered. The property displayed by amber when rubbed was, until two hundred years ago, all that was known of that immense force called electricity.

Question a savage—nay a fellah or a moujik—upon the forces of Nature! He will not know even the tenth part of such forces as elementary treatises on physics in 1905 will enumerate. It appears to me that the savants of to-day, in respect to the savants of the future, stand in the same inferiority as the moujiks to the professors of the college of France.

Who then dare be so rash as to say that the treatises on physics in 2005 will but repeat what is to be found in the treatises of 1905? The probability—the certainty, one might say—is that new scientific data will shortly spring up out of the darkness, and that most powerful and altogether unknown forces will be revealed. Our great-grandchildren will be amazed at the blindness of our savants, who tacitly profess the immobility of science.

If science has made such progress of late, it is precisely because our predecessors were not afraid to make bold hypotheses, to suppose new forces, demonstrating their reality by dint of patience and perseverance. Our strict duty is to do likewise. The savant should be a revolutionist, and fortunately the time is over when truth had to be sought in a master’s book—magister dixit—be he Aristotle or Plato. In politics we may be conservative or progressive; it is a question of temperament. But when the research of truth is concerned we must be resolutely and unreservedly revolutionary, and must consider classical theories—even those which appear to be the most solid—as temporary hypotheses, which we must incessantly check and incessantly strive to overthrow. The Chinese believed that science had been fixed by their ancestors’ sapience; this example contains food for meditation.

Moreover—and why not proclaim it loudly—all that science of which we are so proud, is only knowledge of appearances. The real nature of things baffles us. The innermost nature of laws governing matter, whether living or inert, is inaccessible to our intelligence. A stone tossed up into the air falls back again to the earth. Why? Newton says through attraction proportional to bulk and distance. But this law is only the statement of a fact; who understands that attractive vibration, which makes the stone fall? The fall of a stone is such a commonplace phenomenon, that it does not astonish us: but in reality no human intelligence has ever understood it. It is usual, common, accepted; but like all Nature’s phenomena without exception it is not understood. After fecundation an egg becomes an embryon; we describe as well as we can the phases of this phenomenon; but, in spite of the most minute descriptions, have we understood the evolution of that cellular protoplasm, which is transformed into a huge, living being? What prodigy is at work in these segmentations? Why do these granulations crowd together there? Why do they decay here to form again elsewhere?

We live in the midst of phenomena and have no adequate knowledge of any one of them. Even the simplest phenomenon is most mysterious. What does the combination of hydrogen with oxygen mean? Who has even once been thoroughly able to understand that word combination, annihilation of the properties of two bodies by the creation of a third body differing from the two first. How are we to understand that an atom is indivisible; it is constituted of a particle of matter, yet—even in thought—it cannot be divided!

Therefore it behoves the true savant to be very modest, yet very bold at the same time: very modest, for our science is a mere trifle—Ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία ὀλίγου τινος ἄξιά ἐστι, καί οὐδενός—very bold, for the vast regions of worlds unknown lie open before him.

Audacity and prudence: such are the two qualities, in no wise contradictory, of Dr. Maxwell’s book.

Whatever be the fate in store for his ideas—ideas based upon facts—we may rest assured that the facts, which he has well observed, will remain. I think I see here the lineaments of a new science—though only a crude sketch so far.

Who knows but that physiology and physics may find herein some precious elements of knowledge? Woe to the savants who think that the book of Nature is closed, and that we puny men have nothing more to learn.

Charles Richet.

CONTENTS

PAGE
INTRODUCTION BY SIR OLIVER LODGE,[v]
PREFACE BY PROFESSOR CHARLES RICHET,[xv]
PRELIMINARY REMARKS,[1]
CHAP.
I.METHOD:[23]
I.Material Conditions,[33]
II.Composition of the Circle,[42]
III.Methods of Operation,[48]
IV.The Personification,[64]
II.RAPS,[72]
III.PARAKINESIS AND TELEKINESIS:[93]
I.Parakinesis,[93]
II.Telekinesis,[98]
IV.LUMINOUS PHENOMENA,[129]
V.PSYCHO-SENSORY AND INTELLECTUAL PHENOMENA:[180]
I.Sensory Automatism,[181]
II.Crystal Gazing,[184]
III.Dreams, Telepathy,[205]
IV.Telæsthesia,[211]
V.A Complex Case by Professor Richet,[215]
VI.Motor Automatism,[235]
VII.Automatic Writing,[238]
VIII.Phonetic and Mixed Automatisms,[251]
IX.The Psychology of Automatism,[255]
VI.SOME RECENTLY OBSERVED PSYCHICAL PHENOMENA.By L. I. Finch,[268]
VII.FRAUD AND ERROR:[364]
I.Fraud,[364]
II.Error,[386]
CONCLUSION,[392]
APPENDICES,[398]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

I hesitated for a long time before deciding to publish the impressions which ten years of psychical research have left me. These impressions are so uncertain upon several points, that I wondered if it were worth while expressing in book form the few and sparse conclusions I am able to formulate. If, finally, I decide to publish my opinions, it is because it seems incumbent upon me to do so. I am not blind to the fact that my testimony is of very little importance; but however modest it may be, it seems to me that it is my duty to offer this testimony, such as it is, to those who have undertaken to submit to scientific discipline the study of those phenomena which are, in appearance at least, so rebellious to such discipline. It might have been more convenient and advantageous for myself had I continued my researches in peace and quiet. I do not try to proselytise, and it is really a matter of indifference to me, whether my contemporaries share or do not share my views. But the sight of a few brave men fighting the battle alone is by no means a matter of indifference to me. There is a certain cowardliness in believing their teachings, whilst allowing them to bear all the brunt of the fray for upholding opinions, which require so much courage to champion. To these brave spirits I dedicate my book.

I care naught for public opinion: not that I disdain it—on the contrary, I have the greatest respect for its judgment—but I am not addressing the public. The question I am studying is not ripe for the public; or the case may be the other way about.

I address those brave men of whom I have just spoken, to let them know I am of their mind, and that my observations confirm theirs on many points. I also address those who are seeking to establish the reality of the curious phenomena, treated of in this book. I have tried to fill a gap by showing them the best methods to adopt, in order to arrive at appreciable results,—such results being far less difficult to obtain than is commonly supposed.

A word about the method I have followed. I have purposely refrained from giving a purely scientific aspect to my book, though I might have done so had I chosen, for the usual scientific dressing is unsuitable to the subject in hand. It seemed preferable to relate what I have seen, leaving it to those for whom I write to believe me or not, as they think fit.

I might have accumulated not a little testimony and considerable external evidence, but to have done so would not have been the means of convincing a single extra reader. Those, whom my simple affirmation leaves sceptical, would not be convinced by reports signed by witnesses, whose sincerity and competence are frequently called into question. Neither did I wish to adopt the method followed by the Agnélas, Milan, and Carqueiranne experimenters, in giving a detailed report of all my sittings; this method too has its advantages and disadvantages. However exhaustive a report may be, it is difficult to indicate therein all the conditions of the experiment; oversights are inevitable. Moreover, it would be useless to say that every precaution had been taken against fraud, for in enumerating such precautions, the omission of a single one would suffice to expose oneself to most justifiable criticism. Probably that very precaution was elementary and had been taken, or was considered useless and put aside deliberately; nevertheless such circumstances would not escape criticism. We wish to convince by pointing out the exact conditions of the experiment; but those, whom we would most wish to convince, are the very persons least prepared to judge of the conditions in which psychical experiences are obtained. These are physicists and chemists; but living matter does not react like inorganic matter or chemical substances.

I do not seek to convince these savants; my book is unassuming and makes no pretence of having been written for them. If they in their turn should be tempted to try for those effects which I have obtained, the methods indicated will be easily accessible to them. It is in this way they can be indirectly convinced, though to convince them is not my present aim. Others are better qualified than I am to try their hand at this most desirable but, for the moment, most difficult task.

Difficult! Ay, and for a thousand reasons. First of all because it is the fashion of to-day to look upon these facts as unworthy of science. I acknowledge taking a delicate pleasure in comparing the different opinions which many young Savants (I beg the printer not to forget a very big capital S) bring to bear upon their contemporaries. Here is a man surrounded by deferential spectators: solemnly he hands a paper-knife to a sleeping hysterical subject, and gravely invites him to murder such or such an individual who is supposed to be where there is really only an empty chair. When the patient springs forward to carry out the suggestion, and strikes the chair with the paper-knife, the lookers-on behold a scientific fact, according to classical science. On the other hand, here is another man who, not a whit less solemnly, makes longitudinal passes upon his subject, puts him to sleep, and then tries to exteriorise the said subject’s sensibility; but the onlookers in this case are not recognised as witnessing a scientific fact! I have never been able to see wherein lies the difference between these two experimenters, the one experimenting with an hysterical subject more or less untrustworthy, the other examining a phenomenon which, if it be true, may be observed without the necessity of trusting oneself solely to the honesty of the individual asleep.

In fact there is a most intolerant clique among savants. Facts it seems are of no importance when pointed out by those who stand beyond the pale of official science. Unfortunately, psychical phenomena cannot be as easily and readily demonstrated as the X-rays or wireless telegraphy, incontestable facts which any one can prove to his entire satisfaction. Therefore young savants rejoice in making an onslaught on those who apply themselves to the study of these phenomena. It was the same thing in olden times when budding theologians made their débuts in the arena of theology against notorious arch-heretics, Arians, Manicheans, or gnostics. Nil novi sub sole.

......

I readily admit that many, who turn their attention to the curious phenomena of which I am going to speak, frequently lay themselves open to criticism. Sometimes they are not very strict concerning the conditions under which their experiments are conducted: they trust naïvely, and their conviction is quickly formed. I cannot too forcibly beg them to be on their guard against premature assertions: may they avoid justifying Montaigne’s saying, ‘L’imagination crée le cas.’ My remark is more particularly addressed to occult, theosophical, and spiritistic groups. The first-named follow an undesirable method. Their manner of reasoning is not likely to bring them many adepts, from among those who are given to thinking deeply. In ordinary logic, analogy and correspondence have not the same importance as deduction and induction. On the other hand it does not seem to me prudent to consider the esoteric interpretation of the Hebrew writings as being necessarily truth’s last word. I do not see why I should transfer a belief in their exoteric assertions to a belief in their talmudistic or kabbalistic commentaries. I can hardly believe that the Rabbis of the middle ages, or their predecessors, Esdras’ contemporaries, had a more correct notion of human nature than we have. Their errors in physics are not valid security for their accuracy in metaphysics. Truth cannot be usefully sought in the analysis of a very fine but very old book: all occult speculations upon secret hebraic exegeses seem to me but intellectual sport, to the results of which the words of Ecclesiastes might well be applied: Habel habalim vekol habel.

I may pass the same criticism upon theosophists. The curious mystical movement to which the teachings of Madame Blavatsky, Colonel Olcott, and Mrs. Besant have given birth in Europe and in America has not yet been arrested. Many cultured minds and refined intelligences have allowed themselves to be led away by the neo-buddhistic evangile; doubtless they find what they look for in the ‘Secret Doctrine’ or in ‘Isis Unveiled.’ Trahit sua quemque voluptas. I cannot help thinking that the Upanishads have no more a monopoly of truth than the Bible has, and that every philosophy ought to hold fast to the study of Nature if it wishes to live and progress. This is, moreover, the advice of a man whom theosophists and occultists alike respect—I mean Paracelsus—‘Man is here below to instruct himself in the light of Nature.’

That is what spiritists claim to do. Their philosophy, to use the term which they themselves employ to designate their doctrine, is founded, they say, upon fact and experience. It is not a revelation, contemporary with the splendour of Thebes or the pomp of Açoka’s court, which gives the foundation to their dogmas. It is an everyday revelation, a real, continuous, and permanent revelation. Their ideas concerning our origin and destiny, their certitude of immortality and the persistence of human individuality, are due to well-informed witnesses. These are no less than the spirits of the dead, who come to enlighten them and to tell them what is done in the hereafter.

I envy them their simple faith, but I do not altogether share it. I am persuaded that our individuality has an infinitely longer period given it for its evolution than one human existence. But it is not from spiritistic seances that I have derived my belief; no, my belief is of a philosophical kind, and is the result of pondering over what I know of life, of nature, and of the extremely slow development of the human species. It is true the knowledge I possess is limited, and my belief wavers; yet the probabilities seem to me favourable to the persistence of that mysterious centre of energy which we call individuality.

This opinion, however, has not been derived from spiritistic communications: I think these have an origin other than that given them by Allan Kardec’s disciples.

Naturally I am only speaking of my own personal experience; I do not permit myself to pronounce as erroneous those convictions based upon facts not seen by myself. Therefore I do not wish to say that spiritists are always the victims of delusion; I can only say that the messages, received by me and purporting to come from the other side of the grave, have seemed to me to emanate from a different source.

At the same time, to be exact and sincere I ought to add that, if my conviction has not been won, I have observed in one or two circumstances certain facts which have left me most perplexed.

Unfortunately for spiritism, an objection, which seems to me irrefutable, can be made to the spirits’ teaching. In all parts of Europe, the ‘spirits’ vouch for reincarnation. Often they indicate the moment they are going to reappear in a human body; and they relate still more readily the past avatars of their followers. On the contrary, in England the spirits assure us that there is no reincarnation. The contradiction is formal, positive, and irreconcilable. Those who are inclined to doubt the correctness of what I affirm have only to glance through and compare the writings of English and French spiritists; for example, those of Allan Kardec, Denys, Delanne, and those of Stainton-Moses. How are we to form an opinion worthy of acceptance? Who speak the truth? European spirits or Anglo-Saxon spirits? Probably spiritistic messages do not emanate from very well-informed witnesses. Such is the conclusion arrived at by Aksakoff, one of the cleverest and most enlightened of spiritists. He himself acknowledges that one is never certain of the identity of the communicating intelligence at a spiritistic sitting.

Although I do not share the views of occultists, theosophists, and spiritists, I can indeed say that their groups—at least those which I have frequented—are composed of people worthy, sincere, and convinced. Occultists and theosophists devote themselves perhaps more particularly to the development of those mysterious faculties which, according to them, exist in man, while spiritists are more inclined to call forth communications from their spirit friends, but the anxious care of one and all is the moral development of their groups.

Solicitude for the ethical culture of humanity is characteristic of these mystic groups. Occultism and theosophy draw their recruits more especially from intellectual centres; the circle of spiritism is much wider. The simplicity of its teachings and methods attracts those who shrink before the personal edification of a creed: for it is a painful undertaking and a heavy task for each individual to form his own philosophy. It is more convenient to accept indications which are already made, and to believe affirmations which are—in appearance—sincere and well informed. Long centuries of religious discipline have accustomed the human mind to certain acts of faith, and to shun all free discussion, as soon as there is any question of future destinies. It is difficult to shake off this atavism.

This is what makes the success of spiritism; it comes at its appointed time, and supplies a wide-felt need.

......

The psychological condition of society to-day is of an extremely perturbed nature, as slight reflection will suffice to show. Much has been said of the conflict between science and religion, but the truth has not yet been sounded. It is no ordinary conflict which is now taking place between science and revelation: it is a life-and-death struggle. And it is easy to foresee which side will succumb.

It even seems as though the final death-struggles of Christian dogma had already set in. What man, sincere and unbiased in his opinions, could repeat to-day the famous credo quia absurdum? Are we not insulting the Divinity—if He exists—when we refuse to make use of His most precious gifts? when we abstain from applying the full force of our intelligence and reason to the examination of our destiny and our duties to ourselves and to others?

This abdication is nevertheless demanded of us—by Roman Catholicism for example, which exacts unqualified adhesion to its dogmas, blind belief in its Church’s teachings, blind belief in the affirmations of its infallible pope. It seems to me inadmissible that the God of Roman Catholics should approve of such indifference.

It is obvious that I do not wish to write a history of ecclesiastical controversy. I have too much respect for others to allow myself to attack what are still widely accepted creeds. My duty is but to study the general aspect of revelation, and to draw therefrom such conclusions as are necessary to my acquirements.

It is an easy study. The most enlightened intellects stand aloof from revealed religions. I mean the majority, for there is still a small minority which remains faithful to dying creeds.

Even the less cultivated intelligences are beginning to feel the insufficiency of revelation. The Divinity’s incarnation and death, in order to redeem a race so unworthy of such a sacrifice, begins to astound them; they wonder at such solicitude for the inhabitants of one of the least important spheres in the universe. They are also surprised at the inexorable severity of a God who, before granting pardon to mankind, demands his only son’s death; a God who, for the petty trespasses of beings far removed from himself, demands an eternity of suffering as chastisement for such ephemeral insults. All this fails to satisfy those souls who are enamoured of truth and justice. These dogmas give man a cosmical importance which he does not possess, and imputes to God a susceptibility and cruelty altogether unworthy of the Supreme Being.

We could easily find other examples; but I do not think it necessary to bring them to bear upon my conclusion; a conclusion, moreover, which is admitted by the clergy themselves, who complain unceasingly of society’s growing indifference.

But is society really so indifferent? I do not think so. We find indifference among the richer and more cultured classes, where some give themselves up to pleasure, others to science, in reality each one seeking only that which will amuse or interest him or herself; but those who are without resources, those whom life molests and wearies, those who are afraid at the idea of death and annihilation, those who have need of some consolation, of some hope, those people are not indifferent. If these forsake the churches and temples, it is because they do not find therein what they are seeking. The spiritual nourishment offered them has lost its savour; they ask for something more substantial and less contestable.

Besides, even in the most highly cultured classes, this need begins to make itself felt. Such men as Myers, Sidgwick, Gurney, to speak only of the dead, took up the study of psychical phenomena with the desire of finding therein the proof of a future life. Myers died after having found—or thought he had found—the sought-for demonstration.

Professor Haeckel of Jéna drew up a philosophy for himself! His materialistic monism is the outward expression of his belief: but this is also ill-adapted to satisfy that longing, the extent and force of which I have just touched upon.

......

Now spiritism lays claim to satisfying these longings; and it does satisfy them, when only simple souls are concerned, simple souls who do not dream of life’s complexities. The phenomena of spiritistic seances—and these are real phenomena—are the miracles which come to confirm the spirits’ teachings. Why should they doubt?

Therefore the clients of spiritism are increasing in number with extraordinary rapidity. The extent to which this doctrine is spreading is one of the most curious things of the day. I believe we are beholding the dawn of a veritable religion; a religion without a ritual and without an organised clergy, and yet with assemblies and practices which make it a veritable cult. As for me, I take a great interest in these meetings; they give me the impression that I am assisting at the birth of a religious movement called to a great destiny.

Will my anticipations be realised? The future alone can tell. My opinion has been formed on impartial and disinterested observation. Notwithstanding the sympathy that I feel for those groups which have been kind enough to admit me into their midst, notwithstanding the friendship which binds me to many of their members, I have never wished to be of their propaganda, nor even to allow them to think that I shared their views. I have always plainly told them that I was by no means convinced of the constant intervention of spirits; I have not concealed from them that other and, as I thought, more probable explanations could be given to the phenomena they witnessed; perhaps they have appreciated my frankness. In any case, I am very grateful for the courtesy and kindliness with which they allowed me to observe the phenomena at their sittings, to listen to their mediums’ teachings, and to express my opinions, which are so unlike their own.

......

I am neither spiritist, nor theosophist, nor occultist. I do not believe in occult sciences, nor in the supernatural, nor in miracles. I believe we know as yet very little of the world we are living in, and that we still have everything to learn. The cleverest men in all epochs show an unconscious tendency to suppose that facts, which are incompatible with their ideas, are supernatural or false. More modest but also more cruel, our forefathers, the theologians and lawyers, burnt sorcerers and magicians without accusing them of fraud: to-day most of our savants, being more affirmative and less rigorous, accuse mediums and thaumaturgists of fraud, but without condemning them to the stake. In reality their state of mind is the same as that of the ancient exorcists; they have the same intolerance, and the different treatment meted out to their subjects is only due to the progressive improvement in manners and customs.

Even those savants who are the most interested in psychical research are afraid of confessing their curiosity. It requires the broad-mindedness of a Crookes or a Lodge, of a Duclaux or a Richet, of a Rochas or a Lombroso to dare to take a stand and openly show an interest in this field of research. Some day, however, these same suspicious researches will be their experimenters’ best claim to fame. The present attitude of official science towards medianic phenomena is to be regretted; its scientific ‘cant’ has grievous results. The history of the International Psychological Institute is instructive in this respect. What a pity that such learned, remarkable, and competent men, as Janet for example, should have shrunk from the epithet ‘psychic’! The need for a psychical institute existed, not a psychological one, of which there are already enough.

It is precisely the attitude of respectable scientific circles which appears to me a mistake, demanding rectification. I understand perfectly and excuse this attitude. For so many incorrect things have been affirmed, so many ridiculous practices have been recommended by the leaders of the occult movement, that official representatives of science must have felt indignant. Unfortunately no one except Richet has ventured to do for the phenomena vouched for by occultists and spiritists, what Charcot has done for the magnetisers’ allegations. No doubt, this other Charcot will come when the time is ripe.

The preparatory work will have been done, and he need only resume the experiments of Richet, Crookes, Lodge, Rochas, Ochorowicz, and many others.

I class myself with these experimenters. Many of them are my friends, and, if our manner of thinking be not quite the same, my ideas upon the method to be used are much the same as theirs. And thus I find myself quite naturally led to say what my ideas are.

I believe in the reality of certain phenomena which I have been able to verify over and over again. I see no need to attribute these phenomena to any supernatural intervention. I am inclined to think that they are produced by some force existing within ourselves.

I believe also that these facts can be subjected to scientific observation. I say observation and not experimentation, because I do not think that it is yet possible to proceed on veritable experimental lines. In order to experiment one must understand the conditions necessary to produce a given result; now, in our case, we have a most imperfect knowledge of the required conditions, which are, nevertheless, necessary antecedents to the sought-for phenomena. We are in the position of the astronomer who can put his eye to the telescope and observe the firmament, but who cannot provoke the production of a single celestial phenomenon.

My position is therefore very simple. It is that of an impartial observer. The occult sciences and spiritism never aroused my curiosity, and I was more than thirty years of age, when my attention was drawn towards psychical phenomena. I did not even try to turn a table before I was thirty-five, considering such facts as unworthy of serious examination. It is only since 1892 that I have become interested in these researches.

I cannot remember to-day how I was led to take up the study; it was not abruptly. I am certain that no striking incident was ever responsible for a sudden changing of my mind. As far as my recollection goes, I think it was the chance perusal of some theosophical works, which made me curious to know the extent of a mystical movement, whose existence I had not even suspected. My discoveries astonished me, for I never thought that mysticism could find adherents at the end of the nineteenth century. The opening address pronounced by me at the Court of Appeal at Limoges in 1893 was upon this subject.

This address brought me many correspondents, and I was led to experiment myself. My first results were negative, and except a few interesting experiments made at Limoges with a lady of that town—a remarkable medium—and her husband, the phenomena which I observed were not of a nature to convince me. In 1895 I went to l’Agnélas, and took part in the experiments of MM. de Rochas, Dariex, Sabatier, de Gramont and de Watteville. The report of these experiments has been published in the Annales des Sciences Psychiques.

Surprised at these manifestations, I became filled with the desire to investigate further; and soon afterwards curiosity prompted me to take advantage of a leisure moment to resume the l’Agnélas experiments. In 1896 Eusapia Paladino was kind enough to spend a fortnight at my house at Choisy, near Bordeaux. MM. de Rochas, Watteville, Gramont, Brincard, and General Thomassin were present at all or some of these experiments. The Attorney-General, M. Lefranc, my friend and chief, was also present at one of our sittings. M. Béchade and a Bordeaux medium, Madame Agullana, were also my guests. The results of these sittings have been noted down by M. de Rochas in a small volume which has not been made public. More and more interested, and desirous of investigating still further what I had seen with Eusapia, I begged her to pay me another visit. She consented, and returned in 1897, giving me another fortnight, this time in my home at Bordeaux. The phenomena which my friends and I obtained on that occasion were as demonstrative as before.

Eusapia is not the only medium with whom I have experimented. Madame Agullana of Bordeaux, with her customary disinterestedness, has given me many sittings: the results I obtained with her are of a different order. I also brought twice to Bordeaux the young mediums of Agen, where a previous opportunity had been given me of observing them; at Agen their phenomena had won for their home the reputation of being haunted. Lastly, I have found some remarkable mediums at Bordeaux, among those who did me the honour of admitting me to their sittings. I also came across a large number of mediums manifesting automatic phenomena only; these, too, were interesting in their way, for they enabled me to note and understand the difference between so-called supernatural phenomena and phenomena which are but the expression of an activity, which, in appearance at least, is extraneous to the ordinary personality.

Finally, I have frequently come across fraud. This was instructive, and I observed the fraudulent with patience and interest. The tricks of voluntary fraud deserve to be known and studied, as one is then better able to frustrate and checkmate them. Involuntary fraud—far more common than voluntary fraud—is no less instructive, for it throws a vivid light upon the curious phenomena of automatic activity.

It is not always becoming to entertain one’s readers with personalities, but I think I ought to infringe a little upon decorum, in order to specify the state of mind in which I have pursued my observations. From the very beginning I was struck by a fact which seems beyond doubt. I saw that certain manifestations—to all appearances supernormal—could only be studied with the assistance of nervous and mental pathology. Therefore I went to school again, and for six years I studied assiduously clinical medicine at the University of Bordeaux. It is not within my present scope to write the panegyric of the masters to whose teachings I listened, their names would seem out of place in a book like this. But I may say that the interest which I took in my medical studies became more lively, as I understood their importance better and better. Doubtless the notions which I have acquired are most rudimentary, but however unpretentious they may be, they have enabled me to understand the mechanism of certain manifestations, and to bring a more precise judgment to bear upon their psychological value.

I am, therefore, an interested but impartial onlooker. It matters little to me if a table or a chair moves of its own accord; I have no particular desire to see them accomplish these movements. The only interest, which I find in this fact, is its truth. Its reality alone is of value to me, and I have applied myself to establish this without any possible error. My unique preoccupation has been to make sure of the reality of the phenomena which I observed. The pursuit of truth has been my sole concern.

True, I sought it in my own way; for I preferred to build my conviction upon a basis which would satisfy my intelligence and my reason, rather than impose a priori conditions which the experiment ought to satisfy in order to convince me. I am ignorant of most of these conditions, and I think that every one else is also. Consequently, I consider it imprudent to establish beforehand the conditions under which the experiments are to be made, in order to merit being recorded. It might just happen, that one of the conditions thus laid down rendered the experiment impracticable. Therefore I have observed rather than experimented.

My manner of proceeding has been productive of many happy results; for the curious phenomena which I have been able to observe are capricious; they shun those who would force them, and offer themselves to those who wait for them patiently. This behaviour, this spontaneity, is not the least astonishing feature in this line of observation.

I have always thought that there was nothing of a supernatural order in these phenomena. My conclusions have not changed; but let us understand the meaning of this expression. I do not mean to say that these phenomena are always in accordance with nature’s laws such as we understand them to-day. I am certain that we are in the presence of an unknown force; its manifestations do not seem to obey the same laws, as those governing other forces more familiar to us; but I have no doubt they obey some law, and perhaps the study of these phenomena will lead us to the conception of laws more comprehensive than those already known. Some future Newton will discover a more complete formula than ours.

My position, therefore, seems to me to be well defined. I have held myself aloof from those who denied upon bias, and also from those who asserted too rashly. I have remained within the margin of science. I have endeavoured to bring to bear upon my experiments methods of scientific observation. I wish to go in neither for occultism, nor for spiritism, nor for anything mysterious or supernatural. Many who know me imperfectly may think that I have given reins to my imagination, that I am an adept in theosophy, neo-martinism, or spiritism. Such is not the case. I seek, and I have found-very little; others have been more fortunate than I. Some day perhaps I shall have the same good luck. But I shall not touch upon what others have done, save as an accessory; I shall only speak of what I myself have seen and what I myself think. My book is the statement of a witness—it has no other signification.

One word in conclusion. A great number of my experiments have been made with people who wish to preserve their incognito. I have never been wanting in discretion when this was asked of me, and have never disclosed the names of those who placed their confidence in me, permitting me to experiment with them whilst desirous of remaining unknown. I have sometimes found very remarkable mediums among these anonymous experimenters. Some of my sittings with them have been truly admirable on account of the clear, distinct nature of the phenomena obtained. I beg these trusting friends to accept my heartfelt thanks.

May my book have the good fortune to contribute, however feebly, towards removing the prejudices which keep away so many likely experimenters from these studies and researches. These prejudices are manifold: there is the fear of ridicule, the religious scruple, the delusive dread of nervous or mental disease, the terror of an unknown world peopled with strange, mysterious beings. But time will dispel all this, and I believe that a day will come, when these facts—well studied, well observed—will change our conceptions of things in a way little dreamt of to-day. The sphere of ‘Psychical Science’ is unmeasurable. A few pioneers only are exploring therein to-day; when the land has been tilled and cultivated it will yield, I am sure, a wonderful crop—the harvest will surpass the dreams of imagination.

But let those who, thanks to a scientific education, are particularly well qualified to undertake these studies, cease to consider them unworthy of their attention. In holding themselves aloof they commit a mistake which they will bitterly regret some day. Allowing even that the first experimenter may be guilty of mistakes, there will always remain something out of the facts which they have observed. Mistakes are unavoidable in the début of a new science: the methods are uncertain, and the novelty of the phenomena makes their analysis difficult; time, labour in common, and experience will remedy these inevitable inconveniences.

It would be very easy to give examples of the delay which scientific prejudice has brought to bear upon scientific progress. This criticism has already been very frequently and wittily made. Even those men, whose discoveries have placed them at the head of the intellectual movement of their generation, are not altogether free from blame, yielding too often to the deplorable tendency of converting natural laws into dogmas. They commit the same fault they object to in theologians. Man has a wonderful aptitude for laying hold of his neighbours’ faults and remaining blind to his own, and probably it will be so for a long time to come. I would like to see science rid itself for good and all of this theological habit of mind.

Science has only to think about facts. There should be no distinction made between the various phenomena observed: it is not beseeming to adopt certain facts, and refuse analysis to others, excluding them on the ground, for example, that their examination belongs to religion. Every natural fact ought to be studied, and, if it be real, incorporated with the patrimony of knowledge. What matters its apparent contradiction with the laws of nature, such as we understand them to-day? These laws are not principles superior to our experience; they are but the expression of our experience: our knowledge is very limited and our experience is still young—it will grow, and its development will bring the inevitable consequence of a corresponding modification in our conception of nature. Therefore, let us not be too positive of the accuracy of present ideas, and arbitrarily reject everything which we think runs counter to them. Do not dogmatise; let our only care be the impartial search for truth. Nothing will better enable us to understand the surroundings in the midst of which we are evolving than facts, which are apparently irreconcilable with current ideas: these facts betoken that the ideas are erroneous or incomplete; their attentive observation will reveal a more general formula which will explain at one and the same time the new and the old. And thus from antithesis to synthesis, more and more universal, our scientific ideas will tend towards absolute truth.

Alas! how far away from this ideal do we seem to be to-day! Laboremus!

CHAPTER I
METHOD

A French proverb says, ‘we must have eggs to make an omelette’: in order to be able to study psychical phenomena we must have psychical phenomena. This seems an elementary proposition, and yet it is the very one we most readily overlook. I have already said why and wherefore.

Therefore, I deem it necessary to indicate at once the methods which have appeared to me to give the most favourable results. Those of my readers who may wish to verify the accuracy of my conclusions will, I am sure, have the opportunity of doing so, if they operate as I have done. First of all, I must warn them against caring for the world’s opinion. They must not be afraid of exposing themselves to ridicule. No doubt there is temptation to make a jest of the methods which I advise; but I strongly recommend them to think about the result, and not about the means used to obtain that result.

Psychical phenomena are of two orders: material and intellectual. The methods best suited to the study of the first are not, in my opinion, adapted to the study of the second. There is a distinction, therefore, to be made in the beginning between these two categories of facts.

Physical phenomena are the least frequently met with; they include:—

1. Knockings or ‘raps’ on furniture, walls, floors, or on the experimenters themselves.

2. Sundry noises other than raps.

3. Movements of objects without sufficient contact to explain the movement produced. There is here a distinction to be made between (a) movements produced without any contact whatever—telekinesis: e.g. the rising or sliding of a table or chair, the swaying of scales, etc., without their being touched; and (b) movements with contact, which is insufficient to explain them—parakinesis: e.g. the levitation of a table on which the experimenters lay their hands.

4. Apports: that is to say, the sudden appearance of objects—flowers, sweets, stones, etc.—which have not been brought by any of the assistants. This phenomenon—if it exists—supposes, in addition, the following:—

5. Penetrability, or the passage of matter through matter.

6. Visual phenomena, which are themselves subdivided into:—

7. Phenomena which leave permanent traces, such as imprints.

8. Alteration in the weight of material objects or of certain people: levitation.

9. Perceptible changes in the temperature: sensation of cold or heat; spontaneous combustion.

10. Cool breezes.

Such are the chief psychical phenomena of the material order, which have been pointed out by different experimenters. I have not verified all of them: raps, telekinetic, and a few luminous phenomena are all I have obtained in a thoroughly satisfactory manner.

Intellectual phenomena are those which imply the expression of a thought. I will class them in the following manner:—

1. Typtology: the table, upon which the experimenters lay their hands, leans to one side and recovers equilibrium by striking the ground.

2. Grammatology or spelt-out sentences. Various methods may be used. The principal are:—

3. Automatic writing: immediate, when the subject writes without the intermedium of an instrument; mediate, when he uses an instrument, such as a planchette, a wooden ball with handles fastened to it, a basket, a hat, a stand, etc. In this case, several people can combine their action by laying their hands all together upon the object to which the pencil is attached.

4. Direct writing: i.e. writing which appears on slates, paper, etc., whether in or out of sight of the experimenters. If the letters seem to be formed without the aid of a pencil we have precipitated writing.

5. Incarnation or ‘control’: the subject, when asleep, speaks in the name of some entity or order, which possesses him.

6. Direct voices: when words are heard, appearing to emanate from vocal organs other than those of the persons present; some experimenters are supposed to have conversed in this way with materialised forms.

7. Certain automatisms other than writing are observable: e.g. crystal- and mirror-gazing; audition in conch-formed shells; sundry hallucinations, telepathy and telesthesia: ‘the communication of impressions of any kind from one mind to another, independently of the recognised channels of sense’; perception at a distance of positive impressions. These phenomena bring in their train clairvoyance or voyance, and lucidity, expressions which are by no means identical. Lucidity designates more particularly the faculty which certain people have, in magnetic sleep or in somnambulism, of getting exact impressions in a supernormal manner; clairvoyants or voyants are those who see forms invisible to other people. Clairaudience denotes phenomena of the same kind in the auditory sphere.

I have paid scarcely any attention to these intellectual phenomena, with the exception of automatic writing, crystal-gazing, typtology, and ‘control.’ If I have taken greater interest in material than in intellectual phenomena, it is because they struck me as being more simple and easier to observe. This sentiment is not that of all experimenters, and my colleagues of the London Society for Psychical Research appear to be more affirmative in their conclusions, concerning survival after death and communication with the dead, than in their opinions on material phenomena. My personal experience has not led me to the same ideas.

Undoubtedly, experiments demonstrating the persistence of human personality after death would have an interest, in comparison with which all others would be blotted out. But the analysis of phenomena of this kind raises difficulties, which are much more complicated than is the simple observation of a physical fact. Intellectual phenomena always suppose some kind of motor automatism or other; of course, I am not speaking of manifestations where the will of the sensitive intervenes: this automatism is manifested by language, writing, or the less elevated motor phenomena, typtology for example; it may also be sensory and manifest itself in hallucinations of various kinds. To understand the infinite complication of intellectual phenomena it suffices to indicate the conditions under which they are observed. Before admitting that the cause of the apparent automatism is foreign to the sensitive, we must be able to eliminate with certitude the action of his personal or impersonal conscience. To what extent does the subliminal memory intervene?—a first difficulty which is scarcely solvable!

But supposing it to be solved, the problem still remains almost intact. If the knowledge of a positive fact, certainly unknown to the medium, appears in his automatic communications, we must not thereupon conclude that this knowledge is due to the intervention of a disincarnated spirit. Telepathy may be able to explain it. Telepathy is, as we know, the transmission of an idea, an impression, a psychical condition of some kind or other from one person to another. We are altogether ignorant of its laws, and nothing warrants the assertion, that if telepathy is a fact—as appears most probable—it is therefore necessary that any particular motive condition should exist in the agent. We may suppose with just as much reason, that the existence of a souvenir in one mind can be discovered and recognised by another, under conditions solely depending on the mental state of the percipient. This is, properly speaking, telesthesia. Now it is very difficult to prove that the fact, of which automatism marks the knowledge, is unknown to everybody. It is even impossible to prove it. But supposing this were done, there would always remain the possibility of attributing the communication to some being other than human: by admitting even the existence of spiritual or immaterial beings distinct from ourselves, nothing warrants us to affirm that such beings are our deceased relatives or friends and not some facetious Kobolds.

Prediction and precognition, of which I have had proof, raise just as complicated questions as the preceding ones. I confine myself to recording without trying to explain these facts.

Therefore, I have given my preferences to the study of physical phenomena, because in such I have not to consider the mental condition of the subject, nor have I any of those delicate analyses to make, the complexity of which I have just mentioned. I have to defend myself against only two enemies, the fraud of others and my own illusions. Now, I feel certain of never having been the victim of either. When, for example, in the refreshment-room of a railway-station, in a restaurant, in a tea-shop, I have observed, in broad daylight, a piece of furniture change place of its own accord, I have a right to think I am not in the presence of furniture especially arranged to produce such effects. When the unforeseen nature of the experiment excludes the hypothesis of preparation, when, by sight and touch, I make sure of the absence of contact between the experimenters and the article which is displaced, I have sufficient reasons for excluding the hypothesis of fraud. When I measure the distance between the objects before and after the displacement, I have also sufficient reason for excluding the hypothesis of the illusion of my senses. If this right be refused me, I should really like to know how any fact whatever can be observed. No one is more convinced than myself of the frailty of our impressions and the relativity of our perceptions; nevertheless, there must be some way of perceiving a phenomenon in order to submit it to impartial observation. Besides, the supposed reproach of illusion cannot be applied in a general sense; to admit its justice would be to do away with the very foundations of our sciences. It can only be applied to me as an individual, and I willingly admit that it is impossible for me to exculpate myself. In vain might I plead that I am persuaded of the regularity of my perceptions, in vain assert that I observe no tendency to illusion in myself, my testimony would remain none the less suspected.

Consequently, I have but one reply for those who mistrust my qualifications as an observer, and that is to invite them to take the trouble of experimenting on their own account, using the methods which I have adopted. If, a priori, they wish to lay down their own conditions, they run the risk of receiving no appreciable results. When they have obtained a few plain facts they will be able to vary the conditions of experimentation, and satisfy the legitimate exigencies of their own reason. That is what I did, and if I cannot solemnly affirm the reality of the phenomena which I have observed, I can at all events affirm my personal conviction of their existence. Maybe I am showing an exaggerated mistrust of myself by thus only affirming my subjective conviction, and in not venturing to affirm with a like energy the objective reality of the things I have seen. Yet I trust no one will blame me for my prudent reserve. What man can say he has never made a mistake?

Only those, who put themselves in the same conditions which enabled me to make my observations, have a right to criticise those observations.

To criticise without experience is unreasonable, and I recognise no competence in those judges whose decisions are made without preliminary information. For the rest, I have no wish to convert any one to my ideas, and am indifferent—respectfully indifferent, if you like—to the judgment which may be formed about me.

The methods recommended by diverse occult schools vary a great deal. Theosophists do not reveal to the profane the means they use to obtain supernormal facts. This discretion astonishes me, for the theosophical society is filled with a lively spirit of propagandism. It has its chief centre at Adyar, and lodges or branches everywhere. The theosophical reviews venture to discuss the most elevated problems of philosophy, and are not at all sparing of the most extraordinary revelations of esoteric teaching; but they are remarkably sparing of practical indications.

Theosophical phenomenonalism appears to derive inspiration from Hindu-Yogism. I do not know the rules of training to which Yogis submit themselves. The most severe abstinence seems to be recommended them. Adepts are generally initiated by their Gurus or masters, and I have not been fortunate enough to be the chela of an initiated.

The French occultists who are connected with Eliphas Levy by Papus (Dr. Encausse), Guaita, Haven, Barlet, Sédir, recommend the practice of magic. Descriptions of the necessary magical material will be found in treatises by Papus and Eliphas Levy. The results which the Magi relate having been obtained are so vague, that I have had no curiosity to put into practice the strange proceedings of magic ceremonial recommended by them. These have a serious inconvenience; namely, to strike the imagination of credulous folk, and to facilitate auto-suggestion, sensorial illusions, and hallucinations. To accomplish the rites, moreover, it is necessary to dispose of rooms arranged in a particular way, and to submit oneself to a severe diet for a certain time. This makes it a complicated matter. Well, I must admit I was ashamed to try these methods. I lacked the courage to don the cloak and the linen robe, to trace the circle, and with lighted lamp and sword in hand await visions about to appear in the smoke arising from the burning incense. I own I was perhaps wrong not to try what are apparently the less rational methods. Only caring for the result obtained, I certainly would not have hesitated to resort to white or even black magic, had I had any reason whatsoever to anticipate a positive result. In order to obtain an observable fact, I would not have hesitated laying myself open to ridicule. But the statements of experimenters of the occult school seemed to imply a poverty of practical results. If the magi of the present day had realised some operation easily accessible to observation, they would not have omitted acquainting us of the fact in one or other of their numerous reviews. Their silence struck me as significant.

Moreover, the very essence even of Hermetic doctrines, openly professed by occultists, is opposed to all such divulgence. The ancient doctrine exacted initiation. The Rosicrucians, if I am not mistaken, could only initiate an adept. Then again, they were allowed to use this privilege only upon attaining a certain age, and when convinced of having found a discreet and trustworthy pupil. All that publicity made to-day about Hermetic sciences is the actual negation of their first precepts. These indiscretions bring to my mind the words of one of my predecessors at the Bordeaux Court [successor of the ancient Parliament of Guyenne], the President Jean d’Espagnet, one of the three or four adepts who pass for having unriddled the great arcanum. ‘Facilia intellectu suspecta habeat,’ he says, speaking to the seeker, ‘maxime in mysticis nominibus et arcanis operationibus; in obscuris enim veritas delitescit; nec unquam dolosius quam quum aperte, nec verius quam quum obscure, scribunt philosophi.’

Then, again, I had a decisive reason for choosing spiritistic methods: they are not mysterious and they require no special subjective preparation. They are simple—in appearance, at least—and can be easily applied. Spiritists, and certain experimenters who have adopted their methods without sharing their theories, affirm having obtained surprising results. Therefore, I had nothing better to do than choose these same methods. Because of their simplicity, and the multiplicity of certified results, I considered it preferable to adopt the methods of spiritists. I will, therefore, indicate how I experiment when I am free to direct the sittings—which, unfortunately, is not always the case.

I shall divide my indications into three wide categories: 1. Material Conditions; 2. Composition of the Circle; 3. Methods of Operation.

I will add that these indications are not absolute.

I. MATERIAL CONDITIONS

Results are generally better, when operations are carried on in a room whose dimensions do not exceed 15 to 20 square yards in area, and 12 to 15 feet in height. Smaller rooms may be used, but then the heat is sometimes trying.

The temperature of the room is an important factor. Heat, although it may inconvenience the experimenters and the medium, appears to exercise a favourable influence on the emission of the force. On the contrary, cold is an element of non-success. Of course, I am speaking of the temperature of the room. I would advise operating in a temperature of from 20 to 25 degrees centigrade. It is decidedly necessary to avoid having cold hands and feet.

In winter the seance-room should be thoroughly warmed and the fire allowed to go out before the sitting, in case luminous phenomena should be forthcoming.

I fancied I saw an advantage, especially for movements without contact, in operating in an uncarpeted room. The carpet not only seems to be a bad element generally, it also hinders the gliding movements of the table, which are often only very slight.

As for exterior meteorological conditions, I have noticed that a dry cold favours the production of psychical phenomena: it is, I believe, the temperature optima. In any case, the dryness of the air is a very good condition. I have noticed that the phenomena were more easily obtained, when outside conditions favoured the production of numerous sparks under the wheels of electric trams. I have often noticed this coincidence between good sittings and the abundance of electric sparks above-mentioned. I believe that the hygrometrical state of the atmosphere is an important factor in the production of these sparks. Rain and wind are, on the contrary, causes of failure.

The lighting of the seance-room is one of the most important considerations in experimentation. Lamps and candles have the inconvenience of taking some time to light, and they do not allow of easy and rapid modification in the illumination of the room. Electric lighting is the best system, because, disposing of several lamps, it suffices to press a hand-lever in order to vary the quantity and quality of the light.

Much criticism has been passed on the particular kind of experiments I have undertaken to relate; one of the most frequently reiterated criticisms is the reproach of always operating in obscurity. Nothing can be more inexact. As far as I am concerned, I have never considered as convincing telekinetic and parakinetic experiments made in obscurity. Those movements without contact, which have brought about my conviction, were obtained in full light, and more often in broad daylight. Of course, it is evident that darkness is necessary for the observation of luminous phenomena. To insist upon proving, in broad daylight, the reality of the delicate phosphorescences which it has been given me to observe, is a glaring contradiction.

On the other hand, there is no doubt that darkness is particularly favourable to phenomena of a physical order. On several occasions I have had the opportunity of recognising this fact under conditions, which rendered the hypothesis of fraud extremely improbable. For example, I have frequently obtained raps in the light, the number and intensity of which increased when the light was extinguished. It is the same with movements of objects without contact; but, I repeat, obscurity is not necessary.

In a popular scientific review I once read a criticism of some experiments in which I took part—a criticism written by a medical man at Bruxelles, if my memory be correct. This doctor, a man of talent, imagined that our conclusions were founded upon experiments conducted solely in total obscurity. He committed an involuntary mistake.

Psychical phenomena can be obtained in broad daylight, and an endeavour should be made to obtain them in this way. There has been a general tendency to put out all lights in order to procure more marked phenomena. This is a wrong way of proceeding, if one seeks physical phenomena such as raps or movements without contact. We must avoid working without light, for the habit of only being able to emit the nervous force in obscurity is most easily acquired; and it is by no means easy to suppress acquired habits. Eusapia Paladino had the habit of demanding the gradual extinction of the light as her trance deepened. In 1897 I was able to get through her the same phenomena, with a certain amount of light and without the trance condition. I still remember her astonishment at obtaining, in her waking state, phenomena which, until then, she had obtained in the second state only. Sleep and darkness were the conditions this remarkable medium had become accustomed to, but they were not necessary. My first recommendation, then, is to operate with light, with as much light as possible.

I repeat, however, that sometimes the lessening of light is desirable—often the medium demands it—even its total extinction is sometimes necessary, as, for example, when sitting for luminous phenomena. It is therefore well to have a series of graduated electric lights more or less shaded. The simpler thing is to have a Pigeon lamp. These petroleum lamps do not give much light, but the graduation of the light is easily effected with them. Their great advantage is this, when the electricity is turned off, their feeble light—quite sufficient in certain cases—is capable of being gradually reduced until total obscurity is obtained.

Coloured lights are often useful: I have not tried blue; yellow, violet, and green are good; while red fatigues the eyes. For certain series of experiments, I arranged my light so as to obtain white, yellow, green, or red, according to wish: the first three give sufficient illumination; it is not at all the same with red.

I strongly recommend avoiding the concentration of the luminous source. To avoid that inconvenience, dull glass may be used, or the lamps and lantern-sides may be covered with transparent paper—the quantity of light is not sensibly diminished, and the sight is less tried.

The quality of the light employed did not seem to me to have any very noticeable influence on the phenomena, yet I think my best results have been obtained in the twilight hours, or in the afternoon between five and seven o’clock, when the hard light of day had been tempered by drawing the blinds together.

The most important question after that of illumination is the choice of apparatus. I do not hesitate to say that the table is the best thing to use. However, it must not be imagined this article is an indispensable tool. Movements without contact can be obtained just as well with chairs, baskets, hats, pieces of wood, linen, etc., but a table is more convenient.

I have obtained equally good results with round or rectangular tables; the latter have perhaps given me the finest experiences. Eusapia generally uses rectangular tables; at l’Agnélas the table we used weighed about 13 kilogrammes, at Choisy 6 or 7, at Bordeaux about 7 kg. 500 grs. When sitting for raps or movements without contact, I think it is better to use lighter tables; for psychical force is mensurable: some mediums incapable of moving a table weighing ten kilogrammes may be able to obtain the levitation of a lighter one.

Some of my recent results lead me to think, there might be an advantage in using tables made with a double top, a space of three or four inches separating the two shelves. I have not experimented sufficiently to be able to express an opinion on the advantages which, theoretically, the double top seems to hold out. My impression is that the table acts something like a condenser, in which case the purpose of a double top can be understood.

The legs of the table should be separated. One-legged tables should be discarded, and especially tripods, their supervision being so very difficult. When the legs are thin and apart, observation is untrammelled.

The colour of the table did not seem to me to exercise any influence over the phenomena. I have been equally successful with black, white, red, and brown tables. They may be polished or unpolished. I do not think it matters what kind of wood they are made of, though I have obtained my finest raps with an unpolished mahogany table.

I have noticed there is an advantage in covering the table with some white material of light texture, which should not fall beyond the edges of the table more than one or two inches, as it would otherwise interfere with the experimenters’ reciprocal supervision. I do not know why the presence of a cloth should be favourable to raps and movements; at all events, it makes fraudulent raps and communicated movements much more difficult.

It is well to curtain off one corner of the room in order to form a cabinet. If the room be narrow enough, it is more convenient to stretch the curtains at the end opposite the window—an arrangement I adopted at Choisy.

The dimensions of the cabinet ought not to exceed 3 feet 9 inches to 4 feet 6 inches in width, 2 feet in depth, and 6 feet in height. I think there is an advantage in partially closing in the top.

The curtains should be made of some material of light thin texture. It is a mistake to think they should be of a dark colour; I have obtained just as good results with plain white sheets as with dark curtains.

When studying movement of objects without contact, it is useful to place in the cabinet light articles which produce a noise when shaken. The common tambourine is very appropriate for this purpose, as are also accordions, toy-pianos, harmonicas, hand-bells, etc.

The experimenters ought to sit upon wooden chairs with cane seats. Upholstered chairs are not to be recommended.

An easy-chair should be placed in the cabinet for the medium, in case he should wish to sit there. Mediums often express this wish, when in a state of ‘trance’ or somnambulism. I give the name of ‘trance’ to the sleep or torpor which is generally noticed in the sensitive, when the phenomena attain their maximum intensity. I prefer the word ‘trance’ to any other expression, because the condition of the entranced medium does not seem to me to be identical with that of the somnambulist; and for the particular experiments with which I am dealing, it is of interest to use terms which do not lead to confusion.

It is extremely useful to have a registering apparatus, which will allow of making graphical descriptions of certain movements. Sir William Crookes used this with success. I have not had the opportunity of using any; for I had no such apparatus at hand when I experimented with Eusapia Paladino. Later on, in a series of promising experiments, the health of the medium with whom I was operating obliged me to cease work, before I was able to make use of my registers.

I must, however, warn experimenters against the premature use of any kind of apparatus whatever. One of the most curious features of psychical phenomena is their apparent independence. The phenomena direct us; they do not allow themselves to be easily led. Often they seem to obey some will other than that of the sitters; and it is this which forms the basis of spiritistic belief; but, though I have not been able to grasp its laws, my impression is that this spontaneousness is only apparent.

Sensitives, as a rule, exhibit great repugnance to mechanical tests. This repugnance is one of the difficulties which repel the best predisposed minds, and quickly leads them to the conclusion of dishonesty, an unwarranted conclusion sometimes. I have come across many mediums, who themselves offered me every help in their power when devising test conditions. It is true these mediums are private individuals of position and education, and are extremely anxious that their psychic powers might not be made public in any way; for they do not wish to expose themselves to the criticism and abuse which is so lavishly bestowed upon mediums. This is particularly the case with ladies.

Certainly, the attacks made on Eusapia Paladino by a badly informed press and public are not encouraging to the more highly gifted mediums. I owe it to Eusapia to say that, in my experiments with her, she has always submitted to the exigencies of the most severe test conditions. If she has sometimes given me suspicious phenomena, she did so only under especial psychological conditions.[1]

Though I have not employed any registering apparatus, I have used instruments of weight and measure—particularly a letter-balance—an article as convenient as it is easily employed. Each experimenter can and ought to vary the conditions of experimentation according to his wishes, within the limits which frequent experimentation will very quickly give him. The results obtained must be definite. To be satisfied with approximate results in such a matter would be absolute loss of time.

In concluding my remarks about the paraphernalia of the seance-room, I will give one more recommendation which may seem extraordinary, but which, I have reason to believe, is useful; this is that there should be no metal about the table: it is better to fasten it together with pegs rather than with nails. This is not an absolute condition, however, for I have obtained good results with nailed tables; yet my impression is that the absence of all metal is an element of success. Mediums are sometimes extremely sensitive to metals. Certain sensitives complain of their rings, which seem to make them feel uncomfortable, giving them, at times, a sensation of exaggerated heat. This brings to mind certain facts met with from time to time in our neurotic cliniques.

II. COMPOSITION OF THE CIRCLE

The most important thing in the organisation of a series of experiments is the choice of persons with whom we intend to operate. First of all, it must be remembered that without a medium no phenomena will be forthcoming. The presence of some one, gifted with the power of producing psychical phenomena, is perhaps the only necessary and indispensable condition of their realisation. Therefore, experimentation ought only to be seriously thought of when in possession of that rara avis.

What, then, is a medium? By what distinguishing features can he be recognised? It is very difficult to answer these questions.

I will give the name of ‘medium’ to any person capable of producing any of the phenomena previously mentioned. I adopt the word ‘medium,’ because it is consecrated by custom and has received the precise signification I mention. Some philosophers criticise this definition. Their criticisms are, I think, misplaced. In metaphysics it is easy to give definitions which, though elegant, are founded upon nothing. In physics—I use this word in its etymological and primitive sense—a being can only be defined by its properties. Definitions of this kind state a fact, which is all we can require of them; they serve one purpose, which is to avoid a long periphrase. Any other definition would lead to the supposition, that the veritable knowledge of the cause of the phenomena observed or of the properties recorded, was known; now, it seems to me impossible to affirm the real cause of the facts I have observed. I confine myself to stating them without forming any hypotheses.

A medium is, therefore, a person in presence of whom ‘psychical’ phenomena can be observed. I use this word ‘psychical’ with regret, because it implies a hypothesis.

As a rule it is necessary to experiment with mediums in order to discover them. Their gifts are often latent, and only reveal themselves if conditions favourable to their manifestation are supplied. This is not always the case, and there is generally a chance of coming across a medium when experimenting with persons in whose presence certain irregular abnormal noises are heard, certain movements of furniture are spontaneously produced. Such things are far from being as uncommon as one would think. This assertion may seem paradoxical, but such is not the case.

I have met with good mediums who were ignorant of the existence of their faculties; yet, when I questioned them, I discovered that they frequently heard little ‘raps’ upon the wood of their bed or upon their night-table, without attaching any importance to it. Others have often noticed the displacement of ordinary articles. Sometimes, but more rarely, the facts observed are so intense that the house appears to be haunted. We are often tempted to attribute to fraud the phenomena of haunting. I believe accounts of this nature are not all false, and I shall perhaps try and show this in a future work. We must not reason like one of my friends, a man of vast erudition and superior intelligence, who one day said to me: ‘A little girl from thirteen to sixteen years old is always to be found in haunted houses—as soon as the little girl is taken away the phenomena cease!’ Granted! Things generally happen thus; only the little girl may not be the voluntary cause of the phenomena: she may be the involuntary cause of them, a medium in activity, producing supernormal phenomena of the nature of those observed at spiritistic seances.

However, it must be admitted that it is very seldom we have the opportunity of experimenting with these, so to speak, ready-made mediums. As a rule we must try on patiently, until the longed-for phœnix has been discovered.

At the same time, I ought to point out that the chances of encountering a medium will be greater if we look for him among nervous people. It seems to me that a certain impressionability—or nervous instability—is a favourable condition for the effervescence of medianity. I use the term ‘nervous instability’ for want of a better, but I do not use it in an ill sense. Hysterical people do not always give clear, decided phenomena; my best experiments have been made with those who were not in any way hysterical.

Neurasthenics generally give no result whatever.

The nervous instability of which I speak is, therefore, neither hysteria, nor neurasthenia, nor any nervous affection whatsoever. It is a state of the nervous system such as appears in hypertension. A lively impressionability, a delicate susceptibility, a certain unequalness of temper, establish analogy between mediums and certain neurotic patients; but they are to be distinguished from the latter by the integrity of their sensibilities, of their reflex movements, and of their visual range. As a rule, they have a lively intelligence, are susceptible to attention, and do not lack energy; their artistic sentiments are relatively developed; they are confiding and unreserved with those who show them sympathy; are distrustful and irritable if not treated gently. They pass easily from sadness to joy, and experience an irresistible need of physical agitation: these two characteristics are just the ones which made me choose the expression of nervous instability.

I say instability, I do not say want of equilibrium. Many mediums whom I have known have an extremely well-balanced mind, from a mental and nervous point of view. My impression is that their nervous system is even superior to that of the average.

This will, no doubt, surprise many well-informed people. Medical men and psychologists, ill-disposed, as a rule, to the study of so-called occult phenomena, have the habit of looking upon all mediums as hysterics. It suffices to read the works of these savants to perceive they have never been in the presence of veritable mediums. M. Paul Janet, for example—in L’Automatisme Psychologique—propounds general theories which cannot be applied to every case. It is a pity such an eminent thinker should not have taken the trouble to make himself better acquainted with the facts. Perhaps he has acted like the celebrated Abbot Vertot.[2] According to M. Janet’s theories, all mediums are on the high road to psychological disintegration: the constituent parts of their personality are dissociated under the influence of the weakening of the normal, personal activity.

I am sure the individuals observed by M. Janet have been very carefully studied by him; but I regret that my learned colleague has not encountered a genuine medium. I share his opinion concerning most spiritistic mediums; I have only found two interesting ones among them; the hundred others which I have observed have only given me automatic phenomena, more or less conscious; nearly all were the puppets of their imagination. It is outside spiritistic circles that I have discovered the best mediums.

M. Janet’s criticisms are only erroneous because they are too sweeping. His conception of psychological disintegration is applicable to the greater number of cases; but it does not apply to all. It is a very different thing to study a crystal-vision, or an automatic writing revealing nothing beyond the tenor of the sensitive’s memory, or to observe a premonitory vision such as has been given me to do. The indication of a future event cannot be explained by Janet’s hypothesis. It reveals especial faculties that I can scarcely consider pathological, unless I consider them as such in the same way as one considers genius to be a sign of degeneration.

It is more reasonable to think that our nervous sensibility will become more and more refined. It is rash to believe that the present human type is the definite end of evolution. Our species is only one link in the series of beings; the causes, which have led up to the improvement of the human race, are still in activity, and it is logical to think there are some natures above as well as below the average. The latter represent ancestral types—a return to cast-off forms; the former are perhaps precursors, possessing faculties which are abnormal to-day, but which may become normal to-morrow.

I must pause, for I see I am forsaking the domain of facts for that of hypotheses; I hasten to return thither. I have pointed out the signs which permit us to suppose that a certain given person is a medium; although these signs are not certain, they seem to me probable. In reality, there is only one sure way of testing the faculties of a medium: that is to experiment with him.

It has been observed that certain people do not obtain phenomena when they operate alone, but obtain them, on the contrary, when with another person. I myself have not had occasion to remark this fact, but I have often noticed that the presence of certain people favoured the attainment of results, while the presence of others troubled or stopped it. I have no explanation to offer for this fact. Certainly credulity or incredulity has no influence whatever on the results of an experiment. I have seen people who were very little inclined to allow themselves to be convinced make excellent auxiliaries. At the same time, I have seen convinced spiritists make detestable co-operators.

It seems as if the faculty of giving forth this unknown force were unequally distributed, that it constitutes a physical property of the organism; that, in relation to it, some persons will be positive and others negative, some will emit and others absorb it.

Hence the importance of the choice of co-operators—of the composition of the circle. The number of experimenters is comparatively unimportant; in principle, the more numerous the circle the greater the force thrown out. But the presence of a large number of sitters is a bad condition for observation; it also enhances the difficulty of the realisation of, what spiritists call, the harmony of the circle. But I ought to say that the finest luminous phenomena, which I have seen, have been obtained when there were from fifteen to twenty people present. On the other hand, I have had the opportunity of experimenting several times alone with a non-professional medium, when I succeeded in seeing faces which I recognised. Unfortunately, this medium—the only one with whom I have obtained this phenomenon—wishes to retain his incognito.

I think the most favourable number is from four to eight. I would urge those who wish to try to experiment to compose their circle, as far as possible, of an equal number of each sex; it is preferable to alternate the masculine and feminine elements. These considerations lead us to the examination of methods of operation, properly speaking.

III. METHODS OF OPERATION

Before discussing in detail those methods which appear to me to be the surest, I think it well to make a few general recommendations. The first relates to the state of mind in which it is necessary to experiment. If interesting results are desired it is not advisable to laugh, joke, or mock at those practices—however ridiculous they may seem—with which I advise compliance. Act seriously, do not make light of experiments, the exact import of which we are so ignorant of. I think we should also avoid the other extreme, which we find in most spiritistic groups, and which impart to these seances all the solemnity of a religious service.

The foregoing might be considered a useless recommendation, which is not the case. Spiritists, whose experience in such matters is not to be disdained, insist on the necessity of harmony in the circle, which is, they say, an essential condition of success. My personal experience confirms their opinion on this point. I have often been present at sittings which promised well in the beginning, and became suddenly barren because of a futile discussion between the sitters. The harmony recommended by spiritists is a kind of equilibrium between the mental and emotional states of the sitters. Each sitter should be animated by the same spirit—I do not use this word in its spiritistic acceptation—and seek only the truth; for I take it for granted they will operate as I have done. This unity of views, this uniformity of desires, this harmony between brains and hearts ensures the synergy of the forces which each member of the circle develops.

For there is no doubt that some kind of force is emitted, and that if the medium throws off more than the other experimenters, an equilibrium between him and the other sitters is nevertheless fairly quickly established. The medium takes back from the latter the force he has expended. The result is that after a successful seance, the sitters are generally tired. I have noticed that certain persons give out this force more readily than others, and this perhaps explains a medium’s preference for certain experimenters as neighbours during the seance. We must not attribute this choice to the greater facility, which some people might offer for the execution of fraudulent phenomena. I have frequently been thus chosen, and I beg my readers to believe that I have a horror of fraud and imposture. I am also accustomed to experimenting; I feel no emotion whatever; I keep cool and observe with care. I am well acquainted with fraudulent methods, and I take good care not to be imposed upon.

I repeat, it is a mistake to attribute to fraudulent intentions the preference shown by the medium for such or such an experimenter. In reality, it seems as though the medium, possessing an organism much more sensitive than that of the majority, quickly recognises those persons who the more easily throw off the force which he requires to retrieve his losses. This more rapid emission may be the result of habit, or may even depend upon individual constitution. Eusapia quickly discerns people from whom she can easily draw the force she needs. In the course of my first experiments with this medium, I found out this vampirism to my cost. One evening, at the close of a sitting at l’Agnélas, she was raised from the floor and carried on to the table with her chair. I was not seated beside her, but, without releasing her neighbours’ hands, she caught hold of mine while the phenomenon was happening. I had a cramp in the stomach—I cannot better define my sensation—and was almost overcome by exhaustion.

This, for me, extraordinary incident astonished me greatly, and since then I have always carefully examined my sensations. This examination has the fault of being purely subjective, but certain objective realities have confirmed it. A special sensation accompanies the emission of this nervous force, and with custom the passage of the energy expended in a seance can be felt, just as the interruption of its flow can be discerned. I have questioned several experimenters about this, and their observations have often corroborated mine.

Therefore I think I may say that some kind of force is emitted by the sitters, which is elaborated by the medium; that the latter restores his losses at the expense of the experimenters, that certain people more readily than others furnish the medium with the force he requires; and that a certain sympathy of ideas, views, and sentiments between the experimenters is favourable to the emission of this force.

I have no decided opinion upon the nature and origin of this force. I think it is kindred to the energy which circulates in our nerves, and which provokes the contraction of our muscles. Further on I shall give the reasons which lead me to think so.

A second recommendation, no less important than the first, in my opinion, is to treat seriously, and note carefully all communications given through the table, through automatic writing or raps.

I now arrive at the examination of one of the most curious facts which so-called ‘psychical’ experiences reveal. To a certain extent the manifesting force appears to be intelligent. Nothing permits me to affirm or even to think, that the manifestations are due to an entity distinct from that of the sitters. It is not my province to discuss hypotheses: I confine myself to the relation of facts, and in the course of my recital, I will point out in detail the circumstances, which permit me to signalise the apparent individuality of the manifesting force. As in such matters I have always thought it better to preserve an expectant attitude, I have always been careful never to slight the communications received through the phenomena. I have imposed on myself the habit of treating these manifestations in the manner desired by them. Every time I acted otherwise, the results were indifferent.

Generally, the manifestations are attributed to a deceased person, known or unknown to the sitters. This is not absolute, for I have witnessed the table call itself the devil, or even pretend to be a man still alive. Automatic writing has been signed by a Mahatma; but, as a rule, it is the soul of a deceased person who claims to be manifesting. This usual attribution explains spiritistic belief. I have good reason for thinking, that the spirits of the dead have had nothing to do with my experiments; but as, in reality, I am ignorant of the cause of the phenomena which I have observed, I have politely accepted the explanation these have given of themselves. It is thus we address those whom we meet at table d’hôte, calling them by the name they give themselves without concerning ourselves as to who they really are.

Therefore, whatever the changeable personification of the phenomena may be, my advice is to accept it and to heed its observations. We must not suppose the ideas expressed are due to the operators’ unconscious movements; that may be true when the communications are obtained through automatic writing, through a table or articles with which the experimenters are in contact; but it is certainly not so when they are obtained by raps given without any contact whatsoever, as I have been able to prove many and many a time. As I confine myself to indicating the results of my personal experience, it is perhaps enough to say once more that the methods I recommend seem good to me. I have always noticed the unhappy consequences of my refusal to take into account the spontaneous advice of the personification.

The most frequently given advice concerns the placing of the experimenters.

However, at the beginning of the sitting, the experimenters may seat themselves as they please. I have already said it was generally necessary to place the medium’s chair against the curtains of the cabinet, and to alternate the sexes. The experimenters seated, the experiment begins. It is a good plan to choose a manager. Nothing is worse than the absence of direction. When every one wishes to direct the proceedings, confusion reigns in the circle, and results are bad. I have been present at seances where every one spoke at the same time, each one demanding a different phenomenon. As a rule, on such occasions nothing was received. Some one, therefore, ought to be appointed to conduct the experiment, especially to converse with the personification if it express a desire for conversation.

When the sitters wish to make a report of an experiment, it is indispensable to intrust one of the experimenters with the task of taking notes of the incidents as they occur. This experimenter ought to form one of the circle.

It must not be thought that the circle can be modified with impunity. My personal experience has shown me it is bad to frequently introduce strangers into the circle. It should be arranged that a series of at least six sittings will be held without modifying the group: that no new experimenter will be admitted: and that none of the original experimenters will miss even one seance. Then if at the end of six sittings nothing has been obtained, my advice is to change the circle, to eliminate certain elements, replacing them by others. It is preferable to change the sitters one by one, and to make a few experiments with the circle thus modified before making further changes.

If interesting results be forthcoming, and a desire be felt to show them to other people, the new sitters must be introduced one by one, and, I repeat, at intervals of three or four sittings. Otherwise there would be a risk of compromising the success of the experiments.

The personification sometimes asks for the addition to the circle of a certain person; it is then well to invite him to the sittings if circumstances allow of it.

I now return to the seance which, I suppose, has begun. The sitters put their hands on the table; it is not generally necessary to ‘form the chain,’ that is to say, to establish contact between the sitters by linking the little fingers. The hands in position, and the room well lighted up, we wait. Talking or singing may be indulged in. The emission of the voice, especially rythmical emission, is an excellent condition: it is a good thing to play some music, organ-playing is particularly effective. Why is the production of sonorous rythmical waves favourable to these phenomena? I have no explanation to offer for this fact, which I am not the only one to have observed.

At the end of a few minutes, the table often seems to be agitated. If we are experimenting with spiritists or with people accustomed to spiritistic proceedings, the table, raising itself, will be seen to strike the floor with one of its legs. I advise asking the table if it wishes to speak, and to arrange that two raps will mean ‘no,’ and three raps ‘yes.’ Of course any other numbers or signs will do equally well. The table, thus consulted, generally replies ‘yes.’ It can then be asked, if the sitters are well placed: if it indicates any other arrangement it is well to heed its advice.

We should then make known to the table what kind of results are desired, and point out, particularly, that movements with contact, failing to carry conviction, are undesirable. I have already said that the personification—it is thus I call the entity, whatever it may be, who claims to be manifesting—is generally very open to suggestion; and it suffices to indicate, at the beginning of the experiment, the objection that is made to movements with contact to be almost completely rid of them.

There is no need to point out the object of the above suggestion. From the special point of view of the observation of material facts, the movement of a table upon which the hand rests means nothing at all. I look upon these movements as loss of time; they are sufficiently explained by our own unconscious and involuntary muscular contractions. The phenomenon is only worthy of a serious man’s attention when it is produced without contact, or without sufficient contact; as, for example, when the table is completely raised from the ground, the sitters’ hands resting on top of the table all the time. It is better not to experiment than to lose one’s time in observing movements with contact, unless, of course, we are seeking to analyse the tenor of typtological messages.

I strongly recommend most carefully avoiding the production of automatic movements. I have excellent reasons for believing, that the agent which produces telekinetic phenomena only realises them, if it has accumulated sufficient force to have acquired a certain given tension. I have already pointed out the close connection—identity perhaps—between this agent and that which causes our muscles to contract; further on I shall indicate experiences which give weight to this impression; at present it suffices to mention it, to understand why I so earnestly recommend sitters to avoid yielding to more or less subconscious movements from the very outset. If, as I think, the energy which our nervous system elaborates is closely connected with that energy, whose effects are seen in telekinetic phenomena, it is probable that it will only produce these curious effects, in proportion as it is able to acquire a sufficient tension for its emission. My knowledge of physics is too rudimentary to allow me to draw precise comparisons between this force and electricity. Nevertheless, it has seemed to me to present some analogies with electricity, although the two are certainly not identical; but the analogies are, perhaps, sufficient to enable me by a comparison to make my meaning clearer.

An electrical conductor, charged with a given amount of electricity, will have an electrical density of σ; if the amount increases, this density will be σ´, and we will have σ´>σ; the tension in the first case will be T = 2πσ2, in the second T´ = 2πσ´2; T´ will be greater than T.

The conductor will remain charged, as long as the tension does not exceed the resistance which the surroundings offer to the emission of electricity; as soon as this resistance becomes inferior to the tension, there will be emission of electricity.

In the case of a medium, the charge of energy increases with time and relative immobility. If by making unconscious or voluntary movements, experimenters do not allow this energy to accumulate, it will never reach the tension necessary for exteriorisation. There are, however, some reservations to be made; for I have noticed, that when the tension is sufficient, simulated or executed movements determine the production of the motor phenomenon—just as if the execution of the movement appeared to liberate a quantity of energy superior to that which was utilised by the working of the muscle; the excess of force was then apparently employed in the realisation of the telekinetic movement.

I have noticed that, every time we allow voluntary or involuntary movements, telekinetic movements are difficult to obtain. One would think, that the energy which determines them can only accomplish them when it cannot find a normal outlet; it has a tendency to expend itself normally in ordinary muscular movements: this tendency is one of the most frequent causes of involuntary fraud, and the habitual occasion of voluntary fraud. We must see that this tendency be checked: this may call for some effort of attention at the beginning, but ‘habit is second nature.’

Things being thus regulated, we wait. A first seance is generally without apparent result, unless one has the good luck to meet with a medium straight away—which is not always the case. Those who seriously wish to understand these facts must have a great fund of indefatigable patience. I can guarantee them success sooner or later, but I cannot tell how many barren experiments may be made before that success comes. They must not grow weary; let them progressively modify the composition of the circle until the necessary element be met with. They will then be rewarded for their trouble. I strongly advise them to avoid professional mediums. Some of them are sincere, and I think that Eusapia Paladino is of that number. It is true that sometimes she produces suspicious phenomena, but it is puerile to conclude therefrom that she constantly cheats. The suspicious cases I have observed with Eusapia are interesting, if studied impartially. They show the rôle which the subliminal conscience—impersonal or bound to a second personality—plays in the phenomena, and give rise to attractive psychological problems.

Spiritistic mediums, whose number is legion, form another category with whom we should not experiment, except for purposes of especial research. Some of these mediums are trustworthy, and one of them, Madame Agullana of Bordeaux, has sometimes given me interesting sittings. The phenomena I have observed with this medium differ greatly from Eusapia’s; they are of an intellectual order, and raise a very complicated problem. Madame Agullana’s medianity must not be judged from seances with her groups. These seances have the religious character of nearly all truly spiritistic meetings. It is difficult there for an experimenter to observe at his ease; the curiosity of those who seek only the objective demonstration of a fact may appear impertinent and out of place at such meetings. The faithful have a right to look upon such people as intruders. Convinced of the truth of their doctrines, they ill brook the open discussion of them at meetings, where discussion is not wanted. They prefer the discourses of an entranced medium to the needless interference of the profane. Their meetings, nearly always consecrated to the acquiring of communications, have the serious defect of developing unconscious automatism in their medium. For me this is a conclusive reason.

Madame Agullana, at some seances where only a few experimentalists took part, gave proof of the possession of certain supernormal faculties, which I have not observed in the same degree of intensity at the usual sittings of her group. This medium is also entirely reliable, and of praiseworthy disinterestedness. She never receives any remuneration—an important consideration—for, mediums who take fees are more open to suspicion.

My most convincing results have been obtained with persons unacquainted with spiritism and ignorant of its practices. Once I discovered a medium most unexpectedly. He sat down with me at a table, invited to experiment for the first time in his life. He had scarcely seated himself when violent knockings resounded on the floor; this person, honourable, well-educated and intelligent, is one of the most remarkable sensitives I have met with. But as he fears ridicule, has no desire to be scoffed at in newspapers, and, moreover, dreads publicity of any kind, he does not wish his name to be mentioned. These are the results of the malevolent criticisms heaped upon experiments of this nature.

I am sure the number of mediums is much more considerable than we think; in a circle of from eight to ten people chosen under the condition I have mentioned, it is seldom we do not find a medium.

Of whatever sex, to whatever social status he may belong, the medium is a sensitive. This must never be forgotten; and we must never lose sight of the fact, that the phenomena will be clearer and better in proportion as the medium’s confidence and sympathy are won.

This statement will not surprise those who are familiar with hypnotic experimentation, for they know how easy it is to induce sleep in a person who lets himself go, and, on the contrary, how difficult it is in one who resists or who mistrusts the operator. I am persuaded that the impersonal strata of the consciousness play a rôle in psychical phenomena similar to what they play in the phenomena of hypnotism.

Therefore, I insist on the necessity for due regard being paid to the medium. I have had much practice, and in all mediums I have met with extreme sensitiveness. Those who have come under the refining influences of education, instruction, or rank, are the most sensitive—‘touchy’; but this sensitiveness ought not to be interpreted as a sign of degeneracy. Certain contemporary savants consider every deviation from the normal state as a blemish! Such a way of thinking implies a veritable a priori judgment, a begging of the question, which is detrimental to the true development of scientific thought. The normal man is only a mean term; there are individuals who are inferior to the mean, there are others who are superior to it. Nature knows not equality. She offers us, everywhere, inequalities, discrepancies, diversities. It is the illusory unity of our own personality, which leads us to unify and to codify natural phenomena and even humanity itself. It is one of the conditions of the organisation of our Sciences, that they become intelligible only on condition of adapting themselves to our particular form of understanding. Nothing authorises our supposing that this form of understanding has any metaphysical reality; it may only be a subjective condition of our perception.

It is by an analogous mental process, that we give reality to the intellectual or physical type of the average man. Degeneracy, which is often a sliding backwards, a relapse into inferior types, is a negative deviation from the average man: genius is a positive variation. In the same way, the nervous system of the imaginary average man is but an abstraction; in reality, the sensibility of the nervous system of the different human individualities varies immensely. A negative variation will give beings who are less sensitive, less delicate than those of the average type; a variation in the positive sense will give individuals of a more sensitive and more delicate type. To consider either as abnormal is only grammatically true: the former are infra-normal, the latter are supra-normal. The first have not reached the average level, the second have passed it.

Therefore, it is not astonishing that a more refined sensitivity of the nervous system should have a correspondingly greater emotivity: ‘touchiness’ in itself is a function of emotivity. This seems to me to explain a fact which appears certain—that the feelings of mediums are very easily hurt. A discontented, irritated medium is a bad instrument—as I have had occasion to prove with Eusapia and many other mediums.

I have always noticed that discontent and moral discomfort, as well as fatigue and physical discomfort in the medium brought about failure.

The advice I give is important to follow. Win the confidence and sympathy of the medium by your own sympathy, your own deference, your own loyalty. If you detect fraud, which seems voluntary to you, do not hesitate—after the sitting and at the first favourable opportunity—to tell him frankly your doubts and your impression. If you perceive an involuntary fraud, put the medium on guard against himself, always act toward him with sincerity, but at the same time with kindness and courtesy.

As already pointed out, fatigue and physical discomfort produce the same effects as moral discomfort. It is unwise therefore to experiment with a sick medium. The results would be bad from an experimental standpoint, and the medium’s health would suffer. Carefully avoid experimenting too frequently with the medium. Even three sittings a week are really more than is desirable. We may experiment three times a week when operating with a medium in good form, and when the experiments are not likely to last for more than two or three weeks. It would be bad to experiment so often or for a longer period with a young sensitive. Two sittings a week seem the safest number to me; while only one ought to be made if the medium follows a trying profession.

I have seen mediums become ill through experimenting too often. The abuse of experimentation rapidly brings on nervous breakdown, and may cause serious disorders, of which neurasthenia is the most frequent and the least serious. Therefore I have made it an invariable rule to experiment with non-professional mediums, only on condition that they bind themselves to experiment with no other than my own circle as long as our series of experiments lasts. I am as persuaded of the absolute innocuousness of experiments prudently conducted, as I am positive of the dangers of experimentation when frequent, prolonged, or conducted by incompetent persons. I have no fear of assuming the responsibility of the first, but for no consideration whatever would I endorse, even indirectly, the second, and I cannot too strongly recommend the same prudence to other experimenters.

A last recommendation remains to be made; experimentation with persons of doubtful morality must be avoided. I have no need to enlarge upon the many inconveniences to which such an imprudent collaboration may expose experimenters.

To sum up the indications I have just given in perhaps too complete a fashion, I will briefly recall to mind the conditions which have seemed the best to me: sufficient light first of all—the personification must not acquire the habit of operating in darkness, for the brighter the light, the more convincing the experiment; a small room; a light table with four legs, put together with wooden pegs rather than with nails; a cabinet of soft thin curtains; the experimenters not to exceed as a rule eight in number; the experimenters to agree to experiment seriously, without turning into ridicule the practices to which they submit themselves. It is a good plan to allow only one of their circle to direct the seance, to converse with the personification, to control the proceedings. They must try and keep up a spirit of good understanding, and refrain from reciprocally accusing each other of pushing the table—novices do this regularly. Discussion should be relegated to the end, and should never be provoked during the sitting. Finally, they should pay great attention to the susceptibility of the medium—whoever he may be.

The greatest patience will be required; the circle should be modified with prudence, and only after a certain number of sterile experiments.

IV. THE PERSONIFICATION

I think it will be useful to indicate what has seemed to me the best way of treating the personification—for this point is important.

I give the name of ‘personification’ to the manifesting intelligence, whatever this may be. As previously indicated, this intelligence, as a rule, claims to be the soul of a deceased person. This is not absolute, and the phenomena may personify God, the devil, angels, legendary personages, fairies, etc. I need not say how far I am from believing in the reality of the being thus manifesting, and I have, as I believe, excellent reasons for doubting. I have noticed that the rôle played by the personification varies with the composition of the circle. It will always be the spirit of a dead or living person with spiritists. But the rôles are more varied if the circle be composed of people who are not spiritists; it then sometimes happens that the communications claim to emanate from the sitters themselves. I am inclined to believe this is the real origin of the communications, and that a sort of collective consciousness is formed. I give my impression with the greatest reserve, for, I repeat, I have no decided opinion upon the subject; but the experiments I have made leave me that impression, in a general way. This forms part of an—as yet—undeciphered chapter on the psychology of crowds. I confess I have no explanation to give of the action which such a collective consciousness appears to have upon matter; but this difficulty seems to me less insurmountable than those attending the spirit hypothesis. If we attribute the phenomena to a being distinct from ourselves, having a will-power so much the more marked because it emanates from a spiritual being more enlightened than ourselves, I cannot understand the suggestibility of such a being. Now, I believe the personification is, as a rule, extremely suggestible. I say ‘as a rule,’ for there are occasions when it gives proof of remarkable obstinacy: this is the exception, and I ought to say that when the personification shows a decided will of its own, there is no struggling against it. It is absolutely necessary to follow the directions it gives, for, in such cases, there is a very good chance of obtaining happy results, while certainly nothing will be obtained by spurning those directions.

There are very few people among those unaccustomed to this kind of experimentation, who have the courage to treat the personification as it desires to be treated: this is a mistake. We must take a practical view of the proceedings; we must lay aside all pride and vanity. I am as well aware as any one of the comical aspect of a conversation between a grave experimenter and a being non-existent, and I had much difficulty in conquering the repugnance with which this manner of proceeding inspired me. I saw therein a kind of jugglery unworthy of a cultured intellect. Experience has clearly shown me I was wrong, without, however, demonstrating the reality of the being personified. Every time I looked upon the personification as something not to be reckoned with, I have had bad or indifferent sittings.

This does not mean, that the results have always been in proportion to the attention I have paid the personification. Far from it! The personification is generally lavish of promises—excellent things in their way, but it would be extremely naïve to put absolute faith in what it says: we must trust only in ourselves. I do not know if Socrates’ demon ever played him false: those of his species whom I have interviewed struck me as being of doubtful sincerity. It would be impossible to commit a greater imprudence than to put practical faith in the advice of the personification, however good it may seem to have always been.

My personal observations have generally brought me into connection with personifications possessing more imagination and good-will than respect for the truth. They have promised me marvellous demonstrations, which I am still expecting, particularly complete materialisations. Perhaps I am too hard to please, and ought to consider myself lucky to have seen what I have seen. But we are never content with our lot, and Horace’s time-honoured words are as true to-day as ever they were.[3]

If I strongly recommend people not to abandon the conduct of their life or business affairs to the personification, I recommend just as strongly treating the latter with the greatest possible attention. We can only form hypotheses about its essence; and the scepticism which my observations, taken as a whole, have instilled into me, may be ill-founded; therefore it is better to treat it with the same courtesy we show our fellow-experimenters. This attitude is prudent; it is also the most profitable one. In practice, I have the same regard for the personification as for the medium. I do not call it ‘dear spirit’ as spiritists do, but I find I do well to make it clearly understand what I am seeking; whatever in reality the personification may be, its co-operation seems to me to be indispensable. The resemblance between the reaction of the personification and that of the subliminal consciousness is so obvious, that I have no need to enlarge upon it.

In practice, the first manifestation of this—probably fictitious—being will consist in a knocking on the floor with the leg of the table. It is well to agree upon a code of signals. The simplest is two raps for ‘no,’ three for ‘yes,’ five for the alphabet.

At the beginning, it will be difficult to avoid these knockings. I have already said it is desirable to discourage them and to induce the personification to manifest itself otherwise. It would be well to accept the typtological code of signals above mentioned for the first conversations, but to abandon it as soon as it has been clearly explained to the personification, that movements with contact are unacceptable. I am, of course, speaking under the supposition that telekinetic or parakinetic movements are desired. If the personification, at the end of five or six seances of an hour each, does not begin to produce the desired phenomena, the circle must be modified in the manner already pointed out. These modifications ought to be patiently continued, until a medium has been met with. The personification might be asked to name the sitter who is to be replaced, and, if possible, to designate his substitute. Such a designation is often very useful. Once or twice I have seen the table name persons whom, at the moment of the experiment, no one in our midst had thought of—at least consciously. Various reasons prevented the given indications from being followed, and the experiments were discontinued.

Movements with contact can be eliminated by the process I have mentioned; their elimination, made with the consent of the personification, presents no inconvenience, unless it be done too abruptly.

I have already said that the personification is generally very open to suggestion. We must remember that this is a special kind of suggestibility. In hypnotism a commanding tone of voice gives greater force to the suggestion; it is not the same with the personification in question, which shows itself rebellious to all imperative orders. On the contrary, it readily yields to suggestions made with gentleness and persistence. As a rule, I give the object I have in view, and my reasons for setting aside all phenomena which can be explained by unconscious muscular action. I repeat, I treat the personification as a co-experimenter. It is seldom that, thus exhorted, it does not willingly consent to abstain from phenomena devoid of interest, and promise more demonstrative ones. I have already said too much faith must not be put in such promises; at least nine out of ten experiments will come to nothing, and will have to be worked out again on fresh lines.

But the experimenter’s patience will not always be tried in vain. Sooner or later he will meet with the indispensable medium; and his observations will then be similar to mine.

The first supernormal phenomena are raps and oscillations without contact. Sometimes the phenomenon, from the very outset, will manifest itself with intensity; this is the exception; generally the noises and movements, feeble in the beginning, will grow in intensity. As soon as raps without contact have been obtained, certain signals must be agreed upon. The simplest way, then, is to adopt the typtological code of signals, i.e. two raps for ‘no,’ three for ‘yes,’ five for the alphabet. The phenomena then become very interesting, for when the raps are given without contact, the hypothesis of involuntary movements becomes insufficient to explain them.

I have recently received very intelligent communications in this way. We must not grow tired of having the words repeated. It often happens that letters are left out, or that one letter is given instead of another. This happens particularly with neighbouring letters. In carefully noting down the letters a very clear sense will often be found. For example, the raps will give Martjn for Martin, Heoriette for Henriette, etc. We must not give up as soon as the word seems to become unintelligible. Wait until the sentence is finished, when it will sometimes suddenly clear itself. It sometimes happens that the letters are dictated backwards. When the sentence is incomprehensible, we must begin all over again. Even in experiments whose aim is to obtain material phenomena, we must not refuse to listen to demands for the alphabet, for the personification will then often advise on the manner of operating.

Very often the personification complains of too much light, and during several sittings insists upon darkness. We must politely resist it, and make it understand that psychical phenomena lose much of their value, as soon as they cease to be visible. I never hesitate telling the personification, that experiments of this kind are not convincing when conducted in obscurity, since the good faith of the operators is then open to suspicion, and, moreover, that phenomena can be obtained in full light. These reasons often prevail on the personification not to persist in asking for darkness.

In some cases, it is the personification itself who refuses to operate in darkness. It is with personifications of this class that I have obtained the finest results.

When the pseudo-entity asks one or other of the experimenters to leave the circle, it is prudent to yield obedience to its behest, unless, for various reasons, the required elimination be unacceptable. In that case, it is as well to explain these reasons to the personification, and then it rarely happens they are not accepted.

Such are the general rules which a fairly long experience has caused me to adopt, and I have always had reason to be glad of having followed them. In experiments conducted by me, I have never received obscene or absurd communications of which certain people complain. Reflecting, perhaps, my own state of mind, I have generally encountered personifications with scientific and serious tendencies.

I have just exposed in detail, and perhaps too minutely, the conclusions arrived at concerning the method of operation. I now come to the indication of the results which I have obtained, and the ascertainments I have been able to make.

I will examine in succession raps, movements without contact, luminous phenomena, and finally, intellectual phenomena.

[1] See Appendix [B].

[2] Vertot, an historian of the eighteenth century, failing to receive, when he was ready for them, the documents upon which he counted in order to write his Siege of Rhodes, finished his work for all that; and when the documents were handed to him, he contented himself with saying: ‘I am very sorry, but I have finished my siege.’ He preferred leaving his work imperfect to beginning it over again.

[3]

Qui fit, Mæcenas, ut nemo, quam sibi sortem
Seu ratio dederit, seu fors objecerit, illa
Contentus vivat, laudet diversa sequentes?
Satyr, I. lib. i. 1.

CHAPTER II
RAPS

I will not stop to consider movements with contact. From a physical point of view they have no serious signification whatever. They are so easily explained by the combined, unconscious, muscular movements of the experimenters, that it is really not worth while stopping to examine them. The messages obtained by their intermedium may present an internal or clinical interest, but in that case they belong to the category of intellectual phenomena, properly so-called.

The first physical phenomena, which deserves attention, is that of ‘raps.’ It is generally the one most frequently obtained. We must, however, point out that the faculties of mediums are not identical: some produce chiefly physical, others chiefly intellectual phenomena. The former also manifest diverse qualities: some of them obtain raps, others movements, others luminous phenomena. Still in a general way ‘raps’ have seemed to me to be one of the simplest phenomena of a material order.

If we work with a physical medium of even only average force, raps will be heard after the third or fourth seance. They will be heard much sooner if we have a powerful medium.

As a rule, raps seem to resound on the top of the table; but it is not always so. They are frequently heard on the ground, on the sitters, or on the furniture, walls, or ceiling. The raps I have heard—of course I am speaking only of genuine raps—have resounded near the medium, as a rule, either on the table, floor, walls, or furniture in close proximity to him.

The simplest way to obtain raps is to proceed as I have directed in section [ii.] chapter 1. The experimenters, seated around a table, lay their hands upon it palm downwards, with outstretched fingers. This method is not, however, to be strongly recommended, for raps are easily imitated: and we must never lose sight of that fact when appreciating an experiment; further on, I will enumerate the usual fraudulent processes. Still, even when the hands are resting upon the table, raps can be obtained of sufficient sonority to exclude the hypothesis of fraud, if not absolutely, at least with much probability.

I have received raps in full light. I have received them so frequently in vivid light, that sometimes I cannot help wondering, whether darkness facilitates their production to the same extent as it may other phenomena. It is, however, allowable to suppose, that the energy which produces them prefers accumulating force in spots that are sheltered from strong light, e.g. under the table, or under the floor, or in shaded corners of the room. What makes me suppose so is this, I have frequently noticed that the raps burst forth under the medium’s hand, when they appeared to be produced on the top of the table.

Contact of the hands is unnecessary when sitting for raps. I have procured them quite easily, with several mediums, without such contact.

When we have succeeded in obtaining raps with contact, one of the best ways of obtaining them without contact is to let the hands rest for a certain time on the table, then to raise them very slowly, palms downwards, and the fingers loosely extended. Under such conditions, it seldom happens that raps do not continue to be heard for at least a short time. I need not say that experimenters should not only avoid contact of their hands with the table, but even of any part of their body or clothing. The contact of clothing with the table is sufficient to produce raps, which have nothing of a supernormal nature. We must be careful, therefore, that ladies’ dresses especially do not come into contact with the table; in taking these necessary precautions, raps can be obtained under most satisfactory and convincing conditions.

With certain mediums the energy liberated is great enough to act at a distance. I once heard raps upon a table which was nearly six feet away from the medium. On that occasion we had had a very short seance, and had left the table. I was seated in an armchair, the medium was standing by, talking to me, when a shower of raps suddenly resounded upon the table we had just left. The experimenters are all personally known to me, and I am persuaded that they are above suspicion; but this circumstance is quite insufficient in itself to entail a favourable conclusion of the phenomenon, for I cannot too strongly put experimenters on their guard against blindly confiding in their neighbours. Serious experimenters should exclude all susceptibility amongst themselves, and agree beforehand that reciprocal verification and control will be freely exercised without any one taking offence. In the case I am speaking of, the table on which the raps were heard was about six feet away from the medium and myself; it was daylight, towards five o’clock on a summer’s afternoon; the table had never been touched by the medium or the experimenters before the seance; the raps were loud, and were heard for several minutes.

I have had several opportunities of observing facts of this kind. Once, when travelling, I came across a medium among my fellow-travellers. He has not given me permission to name him, but I may say he is an honourable, highly-educated gentleman, occupying an official position. He had no suspicion of his latent faculties before experimenting with me. I obtained with him loud raps in buffets and restaurants. It would suffice to observe these raps produced under the conditions this medium offered me, to be convinced of their genuineness. The unusual noise attracted the attention of persons present and greatly embarrassed us: the result surpassed our expectations, for the more we were confused by the noise of our raps, the louder they became; it was as though some one of a teasing turn of mind was amusing himself at our expense.

I have also heard, when in company with a medium, some very fine raps given on the floor in museums before the works of old masters, and especially before religious pictures. I particularly remember the intensity of certain raps I once heard when standing before a painting representing the burial of Christ,—the work of a celebrated artist. I also heard some fine raps in a house which is celebrated as having been the last home of a famous writer; in the room in which he died, the raps were so loud as to attract the suspicious attention of the guardian.

I have also heard formidable raps with the two young girls, fourteen and fifteen years of age, who were called the Agen mediums. I observed these mediums at their own home, and I also had them twice at Bordeaux, when on each occasion they remained for nearly a month. The raps produced by them are interesting, but they do not seem to me to be demonstrative. One of these girls obtained raps on the floor under her feet; I verified the apparent immobility of the foot while the raps were being produced. When the two girls were in bed, loud raps were heard near their feet, seemingly given on the wood of their bed. We were able to observe the apparent immobility of the children. Raps were also given on the blankets; we could feel the vibrations when laying our hands on the blankets; the raps appeared to be produced under our hands. I have heard diverse noises with these children in obscurity, but I draw no conclusion therefrom. I found out that they were not always sincere, and that they had a tendency to take advantage of the confidence and friendliness of the people, with whom they were staying. They have simulated some of their phenomena, especially raps in the ceiling. I have never been able to persuade these young girls to experiment at a table with sufficient conditions of light. They were accustomed to go to bed in order to procure their raps. It is true I have heard these raps in daylight, but I consider other conditions were unsatisfactory on these occasions. I regretted exceedingly that these mediums showed so little good-will, for even putting aside the greater part of the suspicious phenomena they produced, there were still some which seemed to be worthy of further examination.

I have touched upon my observation of these children because it is instructive, although it may be negative from my point of view. It shows the inconveniences of a bad method of development. I have noticed that psychical phenomena has a great tendency to repeat itself, to follow a certain routine: they tend to turn round the same axis. The children of whom I have just spoken had been allowed to acquire the habit of going to bed, in order to obtain the sonorous phenomena they appeared to produce. Therefore they were able to obtain them only under those conditions. They have never given me a ‘rap’ by means of a table, and yet, I am inclined to think that they, or at least that one of them, had the constitution necessary for the emission of psychic force.

My failure with the Agen mediums was not altogether devoid of interest, for I gained experience, and experience is only acquired with time, patience, and multiplicity of observations. It is useful to be able to compare good, doubtful, and bad seances.

Among my most doubtful experiences, whose recital may be as instructive as the foregoing, I will choose, for brief discussion, a recent series of seances which I held at Bordeaux. Some of the phenomena I observed seem to me difficult to explain by fraud, especially lights which floated about the seance-room; but the greater part of the motor phenomena was simulated. The personification had the habit of demanding total darkness, and as I was chiefly interested in luminous phenomena, I saw no inconvenience in putting out the lights. The personification, which made this request, was probably the personal consciousness of one of the sitters. As soon as the lights were extinguished, the raps became noticeably louder. Many of them were certainly the work of two of our number—I have not been able to analyse the mental state of these two young men: one of them, who is neurasthenic, acted perhaps unconsciously. Nevertheless, though I observed the whims of these two men with interest and attention, I noticed, at the same time, that raps were forthcoming in total obscurity when I made imperceptible movements, e.g. when I gently blew on the table, or when I pressed the hand of one of my neighbours whose sincerity I could vouch for. There was always this synchronism, which I have already pointed out, between the muscular movement and the rap. Without being able to affirm it absolutely, I think I may say that my co-experimenters were not aware of the slight movements I made with my feet, hand, finger, or breath. In these sittings, otherwise bearing a most suspicious character, there was, therefore, a residue of facts worthy of attentive analysis. I was unable to make this analysis, having shortly afterwards ceased to experiment with the group, which these young men frequented. In some respects I am sorry for it, as the observation of this parcel of truth, and even of the two fraudulent experimenters themselves, was interesting from various points of view.

I will now reconsider the experiments I first touched upon—viz. those conducted in full light—the only ones upon which I establish my opinion. I have indicated as fully as possible the conditions under which I have been able to observe raps. The raps most commonly heard are those given with contact on the table or floor, and then those which are given at some distance from the experimenters.

Sometimes, but more rarely, I have heard them on cloth, on the medium’s or sitters’ garments, etc. I have heard them on pieces of paper placed on the seance table, on books, on the walls, on tambourines, on small wooden articles, and particularly on a planchette which was used for automatic writing. I have also observed very curious raps with a writing-medium:—when he wrote automatically, raps resounded with extreme rapidity at the end of his pencil. I can affirm that the pencil did not strike the table, for several times I very carefully put my hand on the opposite end of the pencil, and I was then able to verify that the sound was produced at the point of the pencil, the pencil remaining all the time, steadily and firmly, on the paper—the raps resounded on the wood of the table, and not on the paper. In this case, of course, the medium held the pencil in his hand.

Consequently, raps may be given upon various articles, with or without contact, and even at a certain distance from the medium. I have observed some which burst forth as far as nine feet away from the medium. I have not obtained any at a greater distance than nine feet, and it is not often I have been able to observe them at that distance. One of the most curious cases I have observed is the following:—I was experimenting in a room where there was a screen. The table was about nine feet away from this article. Very clear, distinct raps resounded on the floor behind the screen. It was broad daylight, but the raps were given on the shaded side of the screen.

I have frequently heard raps in the seance-cabinet, the medium seated in front of the curtains as indicated in section [ii.] chapter 1. Thus placed, raps are easily obtained behind the medium: they may be given on the floor, the wall, or on the articles placed in the cabinet. They are also frequently given outside the curtains, on the medium’s chair, or on the floor under him. When raps are obtained, it is very easy to study them by varying, in many satisfactory ways, the conditions of the experiment. This is one of the phenomena whose reality has been the most clearly demonstrated to me.

The variety of form the raps may take is not less than the diversity of objects upon which they may be given, or the places in which they may be heard. The sound of the usual rap, on a table, reminds you of the tonality of an electric spark, while of course there are many variations.

In the first place, we must note that the tonality of raps differs according to the object upon which they resound. It is easy to recognise by the sound if the raps are given on wood, paper, or cloth. This is an interesting demonstration, because it indicates that the sound is produced by the vibrations of the material substance. The material molecules of the object struck are therefore put into movement; they are not, however, always disturbed in the same way, for the tonality of the raps given on the same object is susceptible of great variety. The raps, instead of being sharp and short, may be dull and resemble the muffled sound of impact with some soft body: they may resemble the slight noises made by a mouse, a fret-saw, or the scratching of a finger-nail on wood or cloth: they may affect the most diverse modalities. Their rhythm is as varied as their tonality.

One of the most curious facts revealed by the observation of raps, is their relation with what I call the personification. Each personified individuality manifests its presence by special raps. In a series of experiments which have now lasted for more than two years, I have had frequent opportunity of studying raps personifying diverse entities. One of these entities called itself ‘John,’ Eusapia’s control, who has retained a friendly feeling for me, it appears, ever since my first experiments with the Neapolitan medium. ‘John’ manifests by short, sharp raps, so very like the manipulation of the Morse telegraph, that my co-experimenters and I wondered whether we were not actually listening to the usual Morse signals. Unfortunately none of us knew how to recognise letters by rhythm as exercised telegraphists can. A group, of four individualities, who call themselves the ‘Fairies,’ manifest their presence by raps resembling high, clear notes. These personifications are particularly interesting, and, further on, I will have occasion of relating how one of them showed herself to me. The four fairies are fond of mingling in the conversation, approving or disapproving of the ideas expressed by the experimenters. They appear to take considerable interest in the experiments, and I have often noticed that it sufficed—when the raps delayed in making themselves heard—to turn the conversation upon psychical phenomena, their probable explanation, their conditions of realisation, etc., in order to receive approving or disapproving raps at once. Sometimes the raps imitate a burst of laughter—this coincides either with an amusing story related by one of the sitters, or with some mild teasing. Another entity personifies a man for whom I had the deepest affection: these raps are graver in character. This personality seems to have the clairvoyant perspicacity and the kindheartedness of the man I knew. His intervention manifested itself under very curious circumstances, but of too private a nature to be made public. I will cite another personification of more recent appearance. It gives itself out to be the astronomer, Chappe d’Auteroche, and has related most accurately the details of his life and death in California. As a biographical notice concerning this learned man appears in several dictionaries, notably in Larousse, it is impossible to affirm that the irruption of this personification is supernormal. The raps which announce his presence are dull-sounding, and are given with a certain amount of force. In conclusion, light precipitated raps, weak but abundant, are the signals of certain personifications which we might call mar-joys—troublesome guests, whose unwelcome intervention spoils the experience.

Let it not be forgotten, that if I point out the connection existing between the personifications and the raps, it does not follow that I accept the reality of those personifications. I am making a statement, and I fill in all the details, so that experimenters, tempted to resume my observations, may know exactly what I have observed. So far, the personifications have not convinced me of their identity. It is true I act somewhat indifferently the rôle of listener to their fatiguing and rambling conversations, and that I do all I can to bring them back to material phenomena, so much more important to me in that they are so much easier to verify. Were I, however, not to point out the rôle which the raps play in relation to the personification, I would be omitting one of their most significant features, and would not be giving their exact physiognomy.

They manifest themselves, then, as the expression of a will and activity distinct from those of the observers. Such is the appearance of the phenomenon. A curious fact is the result—not only do the raps reveal themselves as the productions of intelligent action, they also manifest intelligence in response to any particular rhythm or code which might be demanded.

Often the different raps reply to one another; and one of the most interesting experiences one can have is to hear these raps clear and resonant, or soft and muffled, sounding simultaneously on the floor, table, furniture, etc.

I have had exceptionally good opportunities of studying very closely this curious phenomenon of raps, and I think I have arrived at some conclusions. The first and most certain is their undoubtedly close connection with the muscular movements of the sitters. I may sum up my observations on this point in the three following propositions:—

The following are the facts upon which I build my conclusions:—

I. I have frequently found that when the raps were feeble or interspersed, an excellent way of producing them was to form a chain of the sitters’ hands round the table. One of the sitters, without breaking the chain—which he avoids doing by taking in the same hand his neighbours’ right and left hands—makes, with his freed hand, circular sweeps or passes a little distance above the circle formed by the sitters’ outstretched hands. Having done this, the experimenter draws his hand towards the centre of the circle to a variable height, and makes a slight, downward movement with his hand; then he abruptly arrests the movement at about five or six inches away from the table, when a rap invariably follows, corresponding with the sudden cessation of the movement. It is exceptional when this process does not give a rap as soon as there is a medium in the circle who is capable, in however feeble a degree, of producing raps.

The same experiment can be made without touching the table, i.e. by forming the chain above the table. One of the sitters then experiments as in the preceding case.

This is not the only observation I have made. I have noticed that with mediums of decided power, it was unnecessary to adopt any special method for the production of raps, as they were forthcoming as soon as any sort of movement with hands or feet was executed. With strong mediums, it often suffices to move the hand above the table, to shake the fingers, to gently press the foot upon the ground, in order to determine the production of a rap.

Needless to say with some mediums raps are forthcoming without the execution of any movement whatsoever: with patience nearly all physical mediums can obtain raps without movement. But it seems as though the execution of a movement acted in the nature of a determining cause: the accumulated energy then receives a sort of stimulus, the equilibrium is disturbed by the addition of the excess energy unemployed in the movement, and a kind of explosive discharge of neuric force occurs, causing the phenomenon of raps. This is, however, only a working hypothesis.

The synchronism between the raps and the movements made by the sitters is very interesting, as it reveals the connection which exists between the organism of the experimenters and the phenomena observed. Richet has already pointed this out. Eusapia Paladino, unconsciously perhaps, employs a process analogous to that which I described a little further back. This synchronism may give, as it has given, equivocal phenomena, and may also give rise to many false accusations of fraud. This is perhaps how Dr. Hodgson comes to attribute certain raps produced by Eusapia Paladino at Cambridge, to the latter striking the table with her head. Of course, I am unable to affirm the reality of the raps heard at Cambridge, seeing I was not present at the sitting of the Sidgwick group. I can but say, that the reading of the few extracts of the procès verbaux of these seances—most incomplete extracts—does not by any means indicate, whether the movement of the Italian medium’s head was the fraudulent physical cause of the rap, or whether this movement was but a synchronous phenomenon.

I cannot help thinking that the Cambridge experimenters were either ill-guided, or ill-favoured, for I have obtained raps with Eusapia Paladino in full light, I have obtained them with many other mediums, and it is a minimum phenomenon which they could have, and ought to have obtained, had they experimented in a proper manner.

I will discuss these seances more fully further on.[4] Therefore, even in the appreciation of fraud, we must not forget to take into consideration the curious synchronism I am pointing out.

There is another useful observation to make known: namely that raps produced by synchronous movements can be produced by the sitters themselves. In many cases, I have seen experimenters, non-mediums, obtain louder raps than the medium; the presence of a medium, however, is necessary, for, the persons of whom I speak obtain no raps whatever when alone. Here is a subject for study which has not yet been touched upon.

Sometimes, in order to obtain raps, it suffices to touch the medium, or to make a slight movement with the hand above the table, or simply to place the palm of the hand gently on the table; this is an excellent way to obtain clear, decided phenomena. The table must be moved away from the medium in such a way that contact is impossible. The observer puts himself beside the medium, takes both his hands in one of his own, and moves the other slowly over the table, or even keeps it quite still above the table. Nothing is more demonstrative than this experiment. Let us remember I am speaking of experiments made in broad daylight.

II. Secondly, I have verified that the intensity of the raps is not in proportion with the synchronous movement. I am unable to affirm the accuracy of this statement with the same confidence as with the preceding one; but I have observed the fact in a great many circumstances. Thus, e.g. a very slight movement of the finger will sometimes determine a rap, quite as loud as the rap determined by the abrupt lowering of the whole arm.

Again, a simple muscular contraction also will bring about the realisation of the phenomenon, without the execution of any apparent movement.

This observation is of special interest, if I am not mistaken, for it tends to make one suppose that the energy which serves to produce the raps is independent of the movement executed in space, but is connected with the cause of that movement, i.e. with the nervous influx. It would be well if experimenters, more competent than I am in physiology, were to study these observations carefully; I sincerely hope this will be done some day. Richet might well undertake these researches, for no one is more competent than he is to analyse the facts I am pointing out.

I think there is a close connection between psychical phenomena and the nervous system. What I have just said about the production of raps by the simple contraction of a muscle under a voluntary nervous influx is one of the reasons upon which I base my hypothesis.

There are others. I have often questioned mediums about their sensations when the raps were being produced. They all acknowledged to a feeling of fatigue—of depletion—after a good seance. This feeling is perceptible even to observers themselves. I have tried to analyse my own sensations when the raps are heard; I have not arrived at any positive result. I cannot say I have any decided physical sensation; but my negative observation is only of interest, if compared with the different observations I made, in connection with the production of movements without contact.

One of the mediums, with whom some of my best and clearest raps were obtained, tells me he experiences a feeling akin to cramp in the epigastric region when the raps are particularly loud. This medium is a clever and highly-educated man, one quite capable of analysing his own symptoms. It seems to him as though something emanated from his epigastrum.

III. Regarding my third proposition—the intensity of the raps is not appreciably affected by distance—I have found that raps could occur as far as three yards away from the medium. The raps given at this distance were as loud and clear as those given close to the medium. This fact would at first seem to imply a difference between the action of psychic force and that of gravitation, light, heat or electricity, all of which act with an energy in inverse proportion to the square of distances. However, such a conclusion would be premature, for secondary centres of accumulation of energy may be formed at a distance from the medium. The term ‘accumulation of energy’ is very vague and may be incorrect, but I dare not give a more precise one, and confine myself to simply stating, that the existence of such centres of accumulation and emission seems indicated, by the manner in which the phenomena are obtained.

I have never verified any serious physical effects at a greater distance than that of ten feet. I will add that if the phenomena are not more intense, they are at least more frequent in the immediate neighbourhood of the medium.

Such are the observations I have been able to make. It may quite naturally occur to my readers to think I have been the victim of illusion or fraud. This is not the case, however.

There is no illusion, simply because nothing permits me to suppose I am the victim of illusion. This assertion is insufficient, I admit: we are bad judges of ourselves. And now I ought to say, that if up to the present I have always clearly distinguished between real facts and subjective impressions, I present, nevertheless, two phenomena which may render my testimony suspect. The first is hypnagogic hallucination, the second coloured audition. The latter is not very decided; sound simply awakens in me the idea of colour, not the visual sensation of colour. My chromo-phonetic scale is A, white; I, black; É, grey; E, blue; on, green; er, air, œil, orange, etc.[5] This phenomenon was rather marked when I was a child; but, I repeat, the reading of vowels or diphthongs, or the audition of sounds has never awakened a complete sensation of colour; the idea only was evoked.

On the contrary, hypnagogic illusion is, with me, a decided phenomenon. The illusion is exclusively visual. I have carefully observed this interesting faculty on myself; it appears to me to have its origin in dream. It is a dream begun before sleep has taken complete possession of one. The hallucination disappears as soon as somnolence ceases. It is with extreme difficulty that I am able to retain—even for a second—a hypnagogic picture, when I regain complete consciousness; in spite of all my efforts, the picture fades away or changes form as soon as I fix my attention upon it. I have seldom been able to maintain the illusory impression.

We must not conclude, that I am incompetent to distinguish a real phenomenon from a false one, because of the existence in myself of these two subjective phenomena. I have indicated the results of my self-observation in order to be thoroughly sincere and complete, for I have the keenest desire to be an accurate witness. I do not think, however, that the observations I have been able to make upon myself are really of a nature to cast suspicion upon my faculties of observation. Quite the contrary, I should say; because my personal experience enables me to recognise hypnagogic hallucinations, and, further on, I will point out some phenomena which seem to me to be closely connected with these hallucinations; but as for raps, they have quite a different character, and their objectivity appears quite certain to me.

I will add that every one present can and does hear them. Let me recall to mind what I said about the raps I heard in railway refreshment rooms, restaurants, and other public places. All who were in the same room showed, by their demeanour, that they too heard the raps. This circumstance suffices to exclude the hypothesis of hallucination. I propose registering these raps in a phonograph; this will be the experimentum crucis as far as their objectivity is concerned.

I have no manner of doubt whatsoever upon the authenticity of raps, a phenomenon I have heard so frequently, and under such diverse and excellent conditions. I have also taken care to study the different ways of simulating raps,—and these are indeed manifold.

The simplest and most perfect method is to gently glide—an imperceptible movement—the finger-tips along the table. The results are better when the finger is dry, when the natural grease has been previously removed by turpentine or benzine: resin is good, but leaves traces. Under these conditions, slight but clear raps may be obtained. The movement of the finger is so slow, that, unless forewarned, no one can discover it; but, with attentive observation, a slight vibration of the finger may be perceived when the raps burst forth. They can also be simulated with the finger-nails, but this process is easy to unmask.

The trickster finds greater security in darkness, where he has resources other than those just mentioned. In obscurity he can easily imitate the raps which resound on the floor; e.g. he can produce dull raps by skilfully striking his foot against the legs of the table or on the floor; he can simulate the sharp, quick raps by allowing his boot to glide slowly along the feet of the table or chair.

Raps are also very easily simulated by a gentle rubbing of clothing or linen, especially shirt-cuffs. We should beware of this, for raps can thus be produced by slow unconscious movements, and the good faith of the experimenters may be involuntarily taken by surprise.

There is yet another way of obtaining fraudulent raps; this is by leaning more or less heavily on the table. When the top of the table is thin, or when the table is badly put together, or the parts have too much play, the variations of the pressure of the hand determine noises which greatly resemble raps.

Lastly, I have sometimes observed raps produced in a way which should be made known. Some people, by leaning the foot in a certain way, and by contracting the muscles of the leg, can imitate raps on the ground. This fact has been indicated especially in connection with the sinews of the musculus peronaeus longus. I observed a medical student, an incorrigible cheat and neurotic, who obtained sounds very similar to authentic raps by leaning his elbow on the table, and making certain movements with his shoulder. There are also some people who can make their joints crack at will.

But force of habit soon teaches how to ferret out fraud, when working in daylight or with good artificial light. Besides, the tonality of authentic raps is characteristic, and the method of simulation indicated at the beginning of these remarks, i.e. finger-gliding, is the only one able to reproduce some of the raps with even a fair amount of exactness.

It does not seem to me to be possible to simulate raps on the table, when they are produced without contact. It is easy to localise them, and auscultation of the table enables us even to perceive the vibrations of the wood. Precautions, easily taken, enable us to make sure of the absence of contact and communication between the experimenters and the table.

To sum up, I am certain—as far as it is reasonably possible to be certain of anything in such a matter—that knockings of variable rhythm and tonality are heard in the presence of certain persons—knockings or ‘raps’ which cannot be explained by any known process. They are heard at diverse distances; they often seem to obey the expressed wishes of the sitters, and to manifest a certain independent intelligence. On the other hand, their production appears to be intimately connected with the nerve-energy of the medium and the sitters.

I think I am able to express the foregoing conclusions with certainty and confidence.

[4] See Appendix [B].

[5] This scale is applicable to the French pronunciation of the vowels in question.

CHAPTER III
PARAKINESIS AND TELEKINESIS

I. PARAKINESIS

I apply the term parakinesis to the production of those movements where the contact observed is insufficient to account for them. I thus more especially designate the complete levitation of a table upon which the sitters are leaning their hands; also the displacement of heavy pieces of furniture which are but lightly touched by the medium alone, or with other experimenters. Levitation is the raising of an object from the ground without that object resting on, or being in any contact whatsoever with, any normal support.

I have frequently observed this phenomenon with Eusapia Paladino under satisfactory conditions of light and other tests. She has given me several unimpeachable examples of parakinetic levitation, and, I repeat, in full light. A detailed report will be found in the accounts of seances at l’Agnélas, published in 1896 in the Annales des Sciences Psychiques.

These accounts, however, give only the physiognomy of the regular seances. We sometimes improvised experiments in the afternoon with striking results; and I remember having observed under these conditions a very interesting levitation. It was, I think, at about five o’clock in the afternoon; at all events it was broad daylight in the drawing-room at l’Agnélas. We were standing around the table; Eusapia took my hand and held it in her left, resting her hand on the right-hand corner of the table. The table was raised to the level of our foreheads; that is to say, the top of the table was raised to a height of about five feet from the floor.

Experiences like this are very convincing. It was utterly impossible for Eusapia, given the conditions of the experiment, to have lifted the table by normal means. One has but to consider, that she touched only the corner of the table to realise what a heavy weight she would have had to raise had she done so by muscular effort. Moreover, she had no hold whatsoever of the table. And, given the conditions under which the phenomenon occurred, she could not have had recourse to any of the means suggested by her critics, such as straps or hooks of some kind.

In ordinary seances, the table used to be raised to a lesser height; perhaps because we were seated, and could not therefore accompany it very far. As a rule, the levitation was preceded by oscillations; the table raised itself first on one side, then on the other, and finally left the ground. Very often Eusapia, holding her neighbours’ hands, would abandon all contact with the table, and make several passes above it, when the table would rise, apparently of its own accord.

I have only obtained parakinetic levitation under really good conditions with Eusapia. I have observed more decided movements without contact with other mediums, but they have not given me levitations properly so-called. I have once or twice obtained defective levitations with a non-professional medium. The table drew near to her of its own accord, and raised itself while touching her dress. This fact occurred in the light, but the conditions under which I observed it were imperfect. I may say the same thing of some levitations I obtained at Bordeaux with rather an interesting professional medium; these levitations took place in total obscurity, which rendered good conditions of control impossible; besides no one held the medium’s hands and feet, as had been done with Eusapia.

In a series of experiments which gave me some results worthy of careful examination, I obtained the levitation of the table under slightly better conditions. But some of the sitters cheated so barefacedly, that I do not consider I ought to take any serious notice of the parakinetic movements I witnessed there; although I have the impression that everything was not simulated which happened in this group. The unsatisfactory conditions under which I made this series of experiments led me to discontinue them.

I consider that the levitation of the table, even with the contact of the hands, is a difficult phenomenon to obtain under good conditions of observation. Up to the present, Eusapia Paladino is, I repeat, the only medium with whom I have been able to verify the phenomenon in a satisfactory manner.

Her method is similar to the one I indicated and recommended to my readers. Phenomena are often forthcoming when she raises her hand above the table. Although I do not consider myself authorised to affirm the reality of the effect this method appears to exercise upon the phenomenon of levitation, I indicate it because the positive results, which similar practices have given me in telekinetic experiments, lead me to think it may also answer for parakinetic experiments. Let me briefly explain this method. When the experimenters have their hands on the table, and the latter begins to sway about from side to side as if it were trying to raise itself, one of the sitters puts his hand above the table, palm downwards, and approaches it to within two or three centimetres of the top. Then he raises it very gently; while doing this, the levitation sometimes takes place as though the hand drew the table after it.

I recommend experimenting with as much light as possible. We must not forget that nothing is easier to simulate than a parakinetic levitation. Force of habit will soon teach us how to recognise fraudulent phenomena of this kind, but it is nevertheless important to know beforehand the principal systems of cheating. With the reader’s permission I will indicate them.

The position, which the experimenters are obliged to assume around the table when they are seated, has the consequence of almost completely hiding their feet. As soon as the lights are lowered, it is nearly impossible to exercise that mutual control which it is indispensable should be exercised. Now, when the hands rest a little forcibly on the table, it is very easy, especially with a light table, to glide the point of a shoe under one of the legs of the table and to raise it above the ground. This manœuvre is all the easier, as the swaying of the table from side to side permits one to effect the movement, without much fear of detection. Needless to say that hooks attached to the wrist, or specially contrived bracelets, also permit of raising and holding the table in the air. But it is easy to protect oneself against fraud of this nature. Let every one stand up and join hands in the centre of the table; the kind of fraud I indicate will then be impossible. I myself have often obtained fine levitations in this way, but unfortunately in obscurity.

I will point out still another fraudulent process practised at times by professional mediums. It consists in the following manœuvre. The medium places himself at the narrow end of a table,—in preference a rectangular one—he promotes various oscillations, and when he has succeeded in raising the end opposite to him, he spreads out his legs in such a way as to exercise a strong hold over the feet of the table, between which he is sitting. Once this pressure is exercised, there is nothing more for the medium to do, in order to obtain a levitation, than to lean his hands heavily on the table. It is easy to understand how the table, maintained in position by the trickster’s knees, executes a rotatory movement around an axis the points of which are fixed by the pressure of the knees; consequently the table, becoming parallel with the ground, appears to be abnormally levitated. This simulation can be successfully realised, even when some one is seated on a chair on top of the table; under the pretence of offering a better condition of control, the medium takes the hands of the person on the table, and finds in him the point of support required to promote the rotation of the table around its axis. We should keep this kind of fraud before the mind’s eye when seeking to obtain levitations, especially if operating in obscurity, for then this trick is most easy of execution.

Once again, I cannot too strongly warn experimenters against dark seances: they are absolutely worthless when paranormal phenomena are required. These ought to be obtained in full light; under such conditions the levitation of the table is a verifiable phenomenon.

II. TELEKINESIS

I will now relate my observations upon telekinesis, that is to say, movements without contact. Telekinesis corresponds with l’extériorisation de la motricité, discovered by Colonel de Rochas. It is a phenomenon which I have taken particular pains to verify. I have had exceptionally good experiences in this phase of manifestation.

I verified telekinetic phenomena with Eusapia Paladino first of all. When operating with this medium, the seance-table was often elevated without contact. As a rule, Eusapia formed the chain of hands around the table without touching it; at the end of a few seconds, she would make some passes over the table with her right hand, retaining her hold of her right-hand neighbour’s hand at the same time: the table would then leave the floor, and remain suspended in the air for several seconds. It fell to the ground heavily as a rule. This experiment was made several times in my presence under satisfactory conditions of light.

It was not only the table which moved with Eusapia: the curtains of the cabinet were often thrown over the table, as if a strong wind had blown them out. This phenomenon was particularly noticeable at l’Agnélas, where we experimented in front of the curtains of one of the drawing-room windows. These curtains were made of heavy silk material, and nothing was more curious than to see them swell out and suddenly stretch over us. The manner in which they were thrown over our heads was peculiar; it was as though they had been blown out. Without an adapted instrument of some kind, I do not think it was possible for the medium to produce this phenomenon fraudulently with her hand. I obtained the same characteristic movements of curtains with another medium.

With Eusapia, the sitters’ chairs were frequently displaced, shaken, raised, and even carried on to the table. I cannot conceive how Eusapia could have obtained such results normally, considering the strict test conditions exacted at l’Agnélas. We had been courteously acquainted with the results of the Cambridge seances, and our attention had been very specially drawn to the fraudulent practices of this medium. One of us held her feet and her waist, while the mission of two others, seated on either side of her, was to observe her hands. It is relatively easy to know if we hold a right or left hand: it suffices to carefully note the position of the thumb, which ought always to be turned towards the observer if the hand be directed palm upwards, and which ought to be turned towards the medium if the hand be directed palm downwards. It is unnecessary to hold the medium’s hand tightly in order to be aware of its position: an ordinary contact, intelligently superintended, is quite enough; it is of course necessary to make sure of the simultaneous contact of thumb and fingers. Now, in a certain number of cases, the check upon the medium was good, when the chair of one of the sitters was carried on to the table. It is also to be noted, that Eusapia would have been forced to lean forward in a very marked manner, in order to seize her neighbour’s chair and carry it on to the table; the inclination of her body would have been easily perceived, especially as the chair was first of all drawn away from under the experimenter and then raised on to the table, manœuvres which occupied some time.

Other phenomena of the same kind were, however, produced in a more conclusive manner. I remember having seen the lid of a trunk, which was placed behind the experimenters and to the left of Eusapia, open and shut of its own accord.

Lastly, I obtained with this medium a very convincing phenomenon, which M. de Gramont had already verified at l’Agnélas after my departure. This is the movement at a distance of the scale of a letter-balance. I made the experiment at Bordeaux in the presence of a few intelligent and educated persons. We operated in a light which was strong enough to enable us to read the faintly marked divisions on the scale. This object had just been purchased by me, and I had drawn it from its wrappings just prior to the experiment. Before our eyes Eusapia repeatedly made the scale go down by raising and lowering her hands, palms downwards. Eusapia’s hands were from three to five inches away from the letter-balance; she performed the movements described without abandoning her neighbour’s hands. We obtained the lowering of the plate of the balance several times, each time varying the position of the medium’s hands, placing them in front of the apparatus in such a manner as to form a triangle of which the plate was the apex, and bringing the medium’s hands together so that the angle at the apex became very acute. This was done in order to obviate the possibility of the medium producing the effect by means of a hair or thread between her fingers. I must point out, however, that a hair or thread would have been visible.

By turning her hands round, that is to say by directing them palms upwards, Eusapia raised the plate of the letter-balance to its full extent when it was weighed down by a pocket-book. By measuring the oscillations of the index-needle, we were able to ascertain that the force employed was at least one ounce superior in weight to that of the pocket-book.

The facts I verified with Eusapia, I was able to prove again through other mediums, non-professional. On two occasions, I obtained fine telekinetic phenomena in a public restaurant. I was in the company of a good sensitive, a highly intelligent man, but one who knew little or nothing of spiritism. The first time I was breakfasting with him; we were seated at a fairly large table, near which was a small round one; the cloth which was covering our table touched the small one. We first heard several fine raps, and then the small table drew gradually nearer till it touched the big one. There had been a displacement of eleven inches. It was broad daylight, and the conditions under which I observed this fact completely exclude—at least in my opinion—the hypothesis of fraud. Another time we were lunching together. I was seated at the left-hand side of the medium, and we were alone at our table. Two chairs were facing us, while a third one was on the medium’s right, facing another table. The chair to the right of the medium approached the table, and then retreated at our request. The chair facing me reproduced the same movements. The light was so bright that I was able to observe the hands and feet of the medium with the greatest ease.

These plain, decided, easily observable, and well-observed facts are among the most convincing I have received. The medium’s position, the bright light, the full liberty of verification which was permitted me, rendered these observations extremely convincing to me. The measuring of the distances between the table and the object in movement excludes the hypothesis of hallucination on my part. I therefore consider that all possibility of fraud or hallucination was out of the question.

Previous to the movements, I had established contact with the chair in front of me, by means of one of those wooden holders to which newspapers are attached in restaurants and buffets. The chair in approaching us pushed the newspapers towards us, and we were thus enabled to watch the horizontal progression of the chair. The distance travelled by the chair was from seven to eight inches. The objects moved in a jerky, irregular manner.

I have been able to observe telekinetic table movements on many occasions, and always in broad daylight. Perhaps the most curious movement I have seen is the following: A lady and gentleman once did me the honour of inviting me to witness certain phenomena which they were often able to obtain when experimenting together; these phenomena consisted in slight displacements of a table. They reproduced these movements without contact in my presence. I then begged them to form a chain with me around the table, always without touching it of course. This table, a light tripod, the top of which measured eleven inches by twenty-one inches, was in contact with the dress of my hostess. After having executed several diverse gliding movements—approaching or retreating at request—the table began to raise itself and to strike the floor with one of its feet. We spelt out the alphabet, and received a typtological communication. During this performance, the table was in contact with the dress only. The dress did not hide the feet of the table, the contact was simply lateral, and the table could be seen in entirety. It was daylight, and it would have been easy to detect the slightest movement of the dress. Moreover, the table raised one of its feet which was not in contact with the dress. I did not try—because I did not wish—to remove the contact of the dress, for I had often observed this bulging out of women mediums’ dresses: as soon as the garment comes near the table and contact is established, the movement is produced. I have often checked the position of the medium’s feet, while the phenomenon was happening, and I have been able to verify that the slight contact was with the dress only, and not with the feet. This curious fact has already been observed by Richet and others, in connection with Eusapia Paladino. I will add that I have often obtained movements without any contact whatsoever, even that of garments.

Another medium has enabled me to verify telekinetic movements of curtains. They were less violent than with Eusapia, but more decided, and enabled me to make some observations which are not altogether lacking in interest. I was once experimenting with the medium in question, in subdued light, contrary to my usual custom. It was in the daytime, but we had closed the shutters of the window and drawn the curtains together, in order to form a kind of cabinet. We were trying to obtain luminous phenomena, which, however, were not forthcoming. The medium had his back turned towards the curtains. I noticed that the curtains stirred now and then. I drew the attention of an experimenter to this, and at first we attributed the movement to a slight draught. We drew the curtains together completely, and then observed that only the curtain close to the medium stirred. It was light enough to see the hands and feet of our medium, and we were able to convince ourselves, that the movements were not normally produced by him. We then noticed that the movements of the curtain corresponded with our movements. The experiment was repeated with success twenty times. We varied the movements and were able to observe, that the maximum disturbance of the curtain occurred, when the medium rubbed the head of one of the experimenters.

The curtain was not blown out over the table as with Eusapia. The movements simply consisted of a species of undulatory trepidation, whose amplitude did not surpass five or six inches: it was like the sinuous undulations of a rope, when shaken at one of its extremities.

Such are the principal facts which I have been able to observe. I will not have much to say concerning the method of operation, for I have already sufficiently indicated how I proceed habitually. I have, nevertheless, two important remarks to make.

The first is, that the presentation of the palm of the hand towards the object, which we wish to displace, often brings about the movement. I proceed in the manner I have indicated for a parakinetic levitation, but instead of presenting the palm of the hand to the top of the table and then drawing it slowly away, I direct it towards the side of the table, and I act as though I wished to attract or repulse the table. I have noticed that this practice gives good results.

The second remark I wish to make is, that when desirous of obtaining movements without contact, it is helpful to form the chain around the table by holding each other’s hands. Still, I do not think this precaution is indispensable, for I have obtained telekinetic movements without its aid. It seems to me, however, that it is a method to be recommended, especially in the beginning of the seance.

I have just said that the chain of hands is not indispensable. And, as an example, I remember having once verified some telekinetic movements which interested me very much. I was conversing with a private medium: by the way, all the telekinetic phenomena of which I have been speaking, save those obtained with Eusapia Paladino, have been obtained with private mediums. In the course of our conversation we pronounced the name of a personification, whose irruption in our midst had been as sudden as unexpected. This personification behaves like a cautious and well-advised experimenter, and conducts himself as, I think, I would, if I co-operated on the other side in the experiments I am speaking about. Hardly had I pronounced this personification’s name than the table began to glide gently across the floor. We questioned it, and according to our request, it approached or retreated from the medium. The movements of the table alternated with raps. I content myself with merely stating this curious fact, without allowing myself to draw any conclusions therefrom; it appears to me to offer a striking example of that apparent spontaneity, which psychical phenomena sometimes present.

From the account I have just given of some of my experiments in parakinesis and telekinesis, we may deduct the following propositions: they resume, fairly exactly, the points of fact I have been able to ascertain:—

I. There is a certain correlation between the movements of the medium or assistants and the movements of the objects used in experimentation.

II. Certain peculiar sensations accompany the emission of the force employed.

III. That force has a probable connection with the organism of the assistants.

I. Nothing is easier to verify than the correlation existing between the movements of the medium or sitters, and those of the object with which we are experimenting. I may say, that almost without exception, the movements of the operators are, in a way, reflected by the table. I have already pointed out, that movements of attraction or repulsion attracted or repulsed the table. I have remarked this peculiarity on several occasions. When, in a seance, the presence of a certain force manifesting itself in raps and oscillations without contact is established, it often suffices for one of the sitters to direct his hand towards the table to bring about its immediate displacement. By proceeding in the manner indicated further back, I have noticed that complete levitations could be obtained; but it is then necessary for the sitters to put their hands on the table, while one of their number puts one of his hands in the centre of the table, and palm downwards slowly raises his hand. Levitations without contact can certainly be obtained by the same method, by simply forming a chain of hands around the table without touching it; but the results are less difficult to obtain when the hands are laid on the table.

Levitation seems to me more difficult to realise than gliding movements. I have frequently obtained the latter without contact, by directing the palm of my hand towards the table, and trying to draw it after me as though an elastic thread united the table to my hand. Under these conditions the table seems to obey a kind of attraction.

I think I have some observations to make on this subject, but I cannot formulate them with much certitude, and I only point them out in order to provoke—if that be possible—the examination of these facts by persons more competent than I am. First of all, it is not always the medium who obtains the best results in the manœuvre I indicate. I have seen some experimenters obtain more marked movements than the sensitive himself. This is not generally the case, but the fact does not appear to me to be rare. It is rather disconcerting, because those persons, who in a seance manifest a force relatively greater than the medium’s, cannot obtain any supernormal fact when alone; the presence of a medium is necessary for the energy of their action to be manifested. I wonder if this be not due to the medium’s inexperience. I never observed this peculiarity in seances with Eusapia, although the sitters could, in her presence, produce certain phenomena themselves. I have only noticed it with the non-professional mediums, who kindly consented to allow me to experiment with them. Nearly all of them had no notion whatever of psychical experimentation; most of them were altogether ignorant of the practices of spiritism; and many were frightened by their first phenomena. These mediums have not the tranquillity and presence of mind of myself and friends, whom a long experience has freed from all kinds of bias. Perhaps, therefore, they do not operate under such good conditions as we do, or as more experienced mediums would. Whatever may be the reason, I note the fact observed.

A second interesting observation I have to make is the unequalness of the radiations or emanations which appear to issue from the back or palm of the hand. The action of the palm is decidedly more energetic than that of the back; as an example, I will recall to mind the experiment with the letter-balance. To lower it, Eusapia lightly moved her hand from top to bottom, palm downwards; to obtain the contrary movement, she turned her hand in the opposite direction. There are certain obscure peculiarities to elucidate in this curious unequalness. It is desirable to study it, for it is one of the rare points where experimentation is really possible, in the studies of the kind I am setting forth. It is to be noted, and this is I think a very important consideration, that the innervation of the palm of the hand is much more abundant than that of the back.

In what concerns movements without contact, I have not noticed any unequalness of action between the two hands: the left hand appears to act quite as well as the right.

In the third place I have verified a correlation, between the intensity of the muscular effort and the abnormal movement. This is an interesting observation, for I have not observed it when studying the phenomenon of raps. As an example, I will cite an experiment which I have often made. When the liberated energy is insufficient to provoke movements, and the existence of a certain quantity of force has, nevertheless, been ascertained, if the manœuvre of attraction does not succeed, we can sometimes provoke the movement by shaking the hand about at a certain distance above the table. This rapid movement of the hand and arm appears to me to develop a maximum of telenergy.

Again, rubbing the feet on the floor, rubbing the hands, the back, the arms, in fact any quick or slightly violent movement appears to liberate this force. These manœuvres often bring about the realisation of the desired phenomenon. It is evident that such manœuvres must be employed with discernment; some of them might hamper observation: e.g. rubbing the feet on the floor if telekinetic movements of the table be desired, for this would render it difficult, if not impossible, to check the position of the medium’s feet.

The breath appears to exercise a great influence; things happen as though in blowing on the object, the sitters emitted a quantity of energy, comparable to that which they emit, in quickly moving their limbs. This is a strange peculiarity, one which is apparently very difficult to explain.

A more thorough analysis of the facts permits us to think, that the liberation of the energy employed depends upon the contraction of the muscles and not upon the executed movement. The fact which reveals this peculiarity is easily observed. When the chain round the table is formed, a movement without contact can be procured by tightly squeezing one another’s hands, or by resting the feet very firmly on the floor: the former is by far the better process. The limbs have executed an insignificant movement, and we may say that the muscular contraction is about the only physiological phenomenon visible to observers; it is nevertheless sufficient.

These ascertainments all tend to show that the agent, which is the determining cause of movements without contact, has some connection with our organism and probably with our nervous system.

Other reasons also tend to prove this. Thus it is that the number of experimenters influence the phenomena to a certain degree. The levitation of a table is easier to obtain with five or six persons than with one or two. It is very difficult to arrive at any precise conclusion on this point, for the observations I have read are contradictory. In so far as my personal experience is concerned, I have the impression that, within certain limits, the quantity of force liberated varies in direct proportion with the number of experimenters. Nevertheless, a certain number should not be surpassed if we wish to experiment under good conditions. But I think that the diminution of results may have other causes than the diminution or increase of the number of sitters. I believe that if we could assemble a number of homogeneous elements, we would obtain excellent results. This would explain the so-called miracles, which are said to have occurred in certain primitive congregations, where beliefs were strong and convictions profound. This unity of belief and ideas, and the material and moral regimen, to which every member of the community submitted, determined that harmony which is a fundamental condition for the production of good phenomena. It is in this way that historical and contemporary ‘miracles’ may be explained. But in the present state of society it is very difficult to unite six or eight persons having identical ideas and submitting themselves to an identical discipline; and I have always thought that the harmony of a circle was more important than the number of its members.

I have just pointed out in detail certain purely physical processes for provoking the production of paranormal phenomena. They give good results when the force is feeble; but as soon as the force is abundant, the simple manifestation of the will is sometimes sufficient to decide the character of the movement; e.g. the table will move in the direction asked for by the sitters. Things then happen as though the force was handled by an intelligence distinct from that of the experimenters. I hasten to say, that this seems only an appearance to me, and that I have observed certain similarities between these personifications and secondary personalities of somnambulism. But I would not be giving an exact physiognomy of the facts observed, did I not lay stress upon this curious trait of their character.

In this apparent union between the indirect will of the sitters and the phenomena there is a problem, the solution of which escapes me so far completely. I feel that there is nothing of a supernatural order in this union; I also feel, that the spirit hypothesis is altogether inadequate to explain it; but I am unable to formulate any explanation. This is one of those points of fact which I confine myself to pointing out.

The attentive observation of the relation, existing between the phenomena and the will of the sitters, permits of the demonstration of other facts. Firstly, the bad effect of discord between the sitters. It often happens that one of them expresses a desire to obtain a certain given phenomenon; if the requested phenomenon be not immediately forthcoming, the same experimenter will demand a different one. Sometimes, several of the sitters ask for several contradictory things at the same time. The confusion which reigns in collectivity is generally manifested in the phenomena, which, in their turn, become vague and confused.

Still, things do not altogether happen as though the phenomena were directed by a will, which was only an echo of the will of the experimenters. The phenomena often manifest great independence, and refuse decidedly to yield to the desires of the experimenters. By admitting even Janet’s hypothesis on the secondary personalities of mediums, stretching it from cases of somnambulism to cases of telekinesis, a fact which is very curious from a purely psychological point of view is to be met with occasionally: the secondary personality sometimes manifests itself at the same time as the normal personality, and a conflict between them is the result. I have seen this with Eusapia, when, for example, she wanted to drink, and the table violently opposed itself to her wishes.

To sum up my observations upon the first of my conclusions: There is a close and positive connection between the movements effectuated by the medium or the sitters, and the displacement of articles of experimentation; there is a relation between these displacements and the muscular contractions of the experimenters; a probable relation, whose precise nature I am unable to state, exists between the will of the experimenters and paranormal movements.

II. Certain peculiar sensations accompany the emission of the force employed. I hesitated before deciding to formulate this conclusion, because, notwithstanding the great number of observations I have made, I am only able to present this proposition with much reserve. The sensations I am going to describe are purely subjective, and may consequently give rise to all sorts of error and illusion. Some of these sensations may be explained by fatigue or prolonged immobility. In spite of these causes for error, which are, I acknowledge, very numerous and very real, it seems to me, that the impartial analysis of the facts observed tends towards showing that illusion, error, fatigue, and immobility do not explain them all.

I will put aside visual, auditory, olfactory, tactile, gustatory sensations; these are, moreover, very rarely observed. I will limit myself to examining certain ill-defined sensations, which appear to depend upon the general sensitiveness, and not upon the sensory organs properly speaking. From the observations I have made, I am inclined to discern five principal sensations:—

(a) The first is very frequently mentioned by experimenters. It is an impression of coolness, or even of cold, which they generally feel over the hands. I have not been able to settle with certitude, if this sensation be purely subjective, or if an element of real objectivity be blended with it. It is at times so marked, that I have some difficulty in believing that it is altogether imaginary. Though it often precedes the production of a motor phenomenon, it more frequently happens, that the sitters feel it without any paranormal fact being forthcoming.

This peculiar sensation is similar to what is felt in seances with Eusapia Paladino, when approaching one’s hand to the scar on her head. What she calls the soffio freddo is very decidedly felt: it is as though a current of air were escaping through the scar. The reality of this sensation with the Neapolitan medium makes me think, that the cool breeze mentioned in other seances may have some objectivity. It is to be noted, that I have observed this phenomenon with mediums, who had no familiarity whatever with spiritistic seances.

Sometimes, the sensation of coolness or of cold extends to the whole body. Mediums are more likely to feel this than other experimenters. This sensation can bring on veritable shivering, in which case it often coincides with a phenomenon.

(b) A tingling sensation may seem to be solely due to immobility, or to other ordinary causes, such as prolonged contact of the fingers with the table. I recognise that this explanation is true nine times out of ten; but in certain cases it has appeared insufficient to me: either it was felt too soon after the debut of the sitting to be due to fatigue, immobility, or to prolonged contact, or its coincidence with certain well-observed phenomena was too frequent to be fortuitous. Therefore it appears to me probable, that there is some connection between this tingling sensation and the emission of the force utilised.

What is the precise nature of this tingling sensation? I have carefully questioned those who felt it—and nearly all experimenters feel it sooner or later—and compared their impressions with mine. All the descriptions tally: it is the sensation of a slight pricking, having its seat in the palm of the hand and its maximum intensity on the mounts at the finger-tips. Some persons compare it to the sensation one feels, when lightly touching a mass of pin-points or a stiff brush: others say it seems to them, as though their hands were pierced by small holes, through which something was escaping. The latter sensation is rarer than the former. This tingling sensation has no resemblance whatever with the tingling of a benumbed limb.

The experimenters feel these impressions at the beginning of the sitting; they do not always indicate a good seance, but I have noticed that if phenomena are going to be received at all, these sensations are generally perceived beforehand, although, as I say, they can also be felt when phenomena are not forthcoming.

(c) The sensation of a current passing through the body is less easy to describe. It is of a less precise nature than the preceding one. The majority of persons I have questioned, compare it to the sensation which is produced on them by the passage of an electric current. To me this assimilation has generally appeared approximative. I have sometimes felt this sensation, and can only compare it to a very slight shiver, a kind of feeble vibration, running through the back and arms, especially perceptible to me in my right arm. This sensation, as I feel it, is not continuous; it takes the form of waves rapidly succeeding each other. It is feeble, and, as a rule, I can only perceive it by paying great attention to it; in a few rare cases I have felt it very distinctly.

I think that in a great number of cases this sensation is purely subjective, but—as with cool breezes—it does not always seem to be so. It generally accompanies the production of phenomena relatively feeble and continuous, such as raps and gliding movements. I have not always felt it when strong phenomena were forthcoming; but then I was not always in contact with the medium, and often, though I did not feel anything, the medium mentioned having other curious sensations, which I shall speak of presently. Besides, the chain must be formed in order to perceive this sensation of a current with all the accompanying features I have just described; but it is not necessary for the medium to be in the circle. This sensation can also be felt by simply leaning the hands on the table without joining them. This case bears an analogy to the preceding one, if we suppose that the table, serving as a condenser for the emitted energy, suffices in itself to establish a sort of indirect contact with the experimenters. And things seem to happen as though this were really the case.

If that be so, we can at once understand the relation, which appears to exist between the mediate or immediate contact of the observers’ hands and the sensation of a ‘current.’ There is something here which is very obscure and very delicate to analyse, but which, if the fact be real, appears to me to indicate the circulation of some thing or other. It is probable that what circulates is precisely the energy used for the production of the abnormal facts I am relating. True, this is only a hypothesis, and I again beg my readers’ pardon for having allowed myself to be drawn into the field of conjecture. I hasten to return to facts.

If the sensation of the ‘passage of the current’ be feeble, it is not so with its abrupt interruption. When, for some cause or other—a slight discussion between the operators, the medium’s emotion, a sudden breaking of the chain—the sensation of the passage of the current is interrupted, the interruption is easily felt. It may even cause a sensation of sudden indisposition, if the interruption coincide with the phenomenon in course of production. This is a curious fact, and one easily observable. The sensation of the breaking of the current is distinctly felt; and it is this which makes me think, that the feeble impression of the passage of the current is not altogether imaginary.

The sensitiveness of different experimenters varies very much. Some are most susceptible to these influences, others are not at all so, or only very slightly. I remember having recently assisted at a seance with one of my friends, a man well known in the fencing world. My friend, although he is still young, had an attack of apoplexy some years ago. He recovered, and has only retained a very slight hemiparesis of the right side. Medically, he comes under the category of hemiplegics. He appears to be extremely sensitive to the impression I call ‘the passage of the current.’ He compares it to the sensation, which the passage of an electric current produces upon him. He assured me that his right arm was affected by it and benumbed. He told me that he experienced a similar effect when passing near powerful dynamos; he could not, for example, stay long in the gallery of machines at the French Exhibition in 1900, because of the generators of electricity which were installed therein. He had a disagreeable sensation in the right arm; the uneasiness extended from the arm to the neck, and he was obliged to leave the neighbourhood of these electrical machines. In the course of the seance—a very uninteresting one, by the way—he declared that he felt an identical sensation, and he was even compelled to leave the circle. I relate this observation, for the person who made it is an intelligent man, and quite capable of correctly analysing his own sensations. It is needless to add that he was cool and self-possessed, and observed everything free from bias, one way or another.

The medium’s sensations are generally much more accentuated than those of the sitters. Sensitives say, they distinctly feel the passage and the interruption of the current; I think it is a question of degree: their sensations differ from the sensations of other experimenters only in degree. There is, nevertheless, a category of sensations, which is almost exclusively felt by the medium when a fairly strong movement is forthcoming: this is the sensation of a sudden emission of force. One of the most intelligent mediums I have come across describes it, as a sensation of cramp in the epigastric region; it seems to him at times as though he were on the verge of fainting. I have indicated a similar sensation, which I myself once felt during a levitation obtained with Eusapia Paladino. I felt the same thing on other occasions, but not with the same intensity. I remember, for example, an experiment made under the following conditions: We were holding a seance on a winter’s evening; the light on this occasion, though feeble, was sufficient. We had covered the table with a woollen cloth which fell over our knees, and protected us slightly from the cold. Upon the seance table we had placed a smaller one upside down. We touched the edge of the smaller table. Having noticed that the small table appeared to be trying to raise itself on one side, I endeavoured to increase the amplitude of the movement by violently contracting the muscles of my arms and legs. While I made this intense effort, we saw the little table slowly lean forward, and turn itself over without coming into any contact whatever with ourselves. When the phenomenon was accomplished, I felt suddenly very tired. It is possible, that the cause of this fatigue was simply the violent effort I had made to contract my muscles; still, I point out this observation—which others of the same order appear to confirm—because the correlation between the effort, and the sudden sensation of fatigue is less regular than the connection between that sensation and the phenomenon. Whatever may be the intensity of the effort, the fatigue is felt with less abruptness and in a lesser degree, when the phenomenon is not realised. I may add, that this sensation only appears to me to accompany telekinetic and certain luminous phenomena. It does not, as a rule, accompany raps or automatic manifestations; the fatigue determined by these phenomena makes itself felt progressively and more tardily. I will return to this however.

(d) The experimenters, and particularly the medium, sometimes speak of a sensation, which they compare to that which is felt, by coming into contact with a spider’s web. This appears to be rarer than the above-mentioned sensations, and, so far, I have not noticed that it was manifested with certain phenomena rather than with others.

This sensation of spider’s web is felt about the hands, the face, and at times the back and loins.

I cannot give any other indication upon this curious sensation.

(e) I have already said a few words about the sudden sensation of fatigue, which is felt when an important phenomenon occurs. I have carefully examined the state of the assistants before and after the seances, and I have invariably noticed that most of the experimenters were tired after a successful seance. This fatigue appears to be in fairly exact proportion to the results obtained. I speak of parakinetic and telekinetic results; for it must be noted that the fatigue determined by these abnormal movements is not identical—at least in the case of the medium—with the fatigue which other phenomena appear to occasion.

Movements without contact entail a lassitude, comparable to that ensuing after a long walk or prolonged physical exercise.

III. The last observation leads me to the examination of my third proposition. This is, that the force employed in the production of para or telekinetic phenomena has, probably, a connection with the organism of the experimenters. The analysis I have just made allows one to surmise the very serious reasons, which lead me to formulate this conclusion so precisely. The first of these reasons is the correlation, existing between the movements and muscular contractions of the sitters and the paranormal movements. I have pointed out that this connection appears, in reality, to reside in the muscular contraction rather than in the free movements of the limbs: this is a first ascertainment. There is yet another, that provoked paranormal phenomena are, apparently, approximatively proportional to the movement executed by the experimenter and the effort he makes.

These two first points appear to me to be acquired, and the correlation observed between the muscular effort and the paranormal movement, indicates reciprocal dependence between these two phenomena. We may go further, and try to discover whether the relation indicated resides in the fact, itself, of muscular contraction, or in the physiological fact which provokes it—that is to say, the nervous discharge. Observation tends to show, that it is with the nervous influx that the relation pointed out appears to be made manifest. In support of this opinion I will indicate:—

Telekinetic movements are more difficult to simulate than levitations of the table with contact. By operating in daylight, as I have done, and with non-professional mediums, there is every kind of guarantee. Besides, it is very difficult for even a professional medium to trick telekinetic phenomena in full light; he must be a terribly bad observer, who lets himself be taken in under test conditions of light. The slightest link between the medium and the object in movement is easily perceptible, and it is very easy to make sure, that no such link exists. I recommend experimenters to force themselves to direct the phenomena towards movements without contact. I do not advise them even to begin with levitations with contact, for it is a manifestation which is easily simulated; and I advise persons who are not accustomed to seances, and who are not familiar with fraudulent processes, to seek for telekinetic phenomena only. They are longer in coming, and more difficult to obtain; but their demonstration will make it well worth while taking pains to realise them, and spending time to wait for them. When we work in good light, when we can pass our hands in every direction round the article of experimentation, when we operate with articles not belonging to the medium, which have not been in his possession or handled by him, the hypothesis of fraud is inadmissible. I do not speak of the honourability and good faith of the medium: these are important elements of appreciation. But my principle is not to let these considerations have any weight, when judging of a paranormal fact. For, if the observation is to have any serious value, every one ought to be able to verify the conditions, under which that observation is made.

To sum up, the observations, I have so often made with diverse mediums, have thoroughly convinced me of the reality of movements without contact. I believe I have verified a connection between them and the organism of the experimenters. There is a synergy between their movements and their muscular contractions and the forthcoming paranormal movements. I have already spoken of this coincidence in the chapter on ‘Raps.’

There is this difference, however, to be borne in mind, I have noticed that, within a certain radius, the intensity of the raps is independent of the proximity of the medium. The raps heard at a distance of ten feet appeared to me to be as loud as those which resounded near him or under his hands. I think it is not quite the same with movements without contact. I believe I have noticed, that distance exercises a certain influence over the latter. I have not seen any movements without contact at a greater distance than that of three feet from the medium, save, perhaps, the movements of the curtains of the cabinet. I have observed that the action appeared to reach its maximum at irregular distances. For example, I have obtained glidings of the table by slowly drawing the hand backwards: the movements occurred, when my fingers were about ten or twelve inches away from the table, and not when they were closer to it. Many circumstances may intervene to modify the action of distance, e.g. the possible accumulation of force at the end of a given time.

I have often observed, that the intentional direction of a movement executed by an observer influenced the movement of the table. I have not been able to ascertain whether the determination of the direction of the paranormal movement was due to the direction of the movement of the experimenter’s hand, or to the manifestation of his will. I have been prevented from solving this problem by the fact, that when the energy is sufficient, the movements will occur in the direction desired by the assistants. The movements seem to be produced by an intelligent being.

I have already pointed out this curious aspect of things, when analysing the phenomenon of raps. Telekinetic movements present themselves to observation in the same manner. They claim, as the raps do, to be the manifestations of personifications. I related an observation I was once able to make under some interesting circumstances; out of seance hours, in broad daylight, in the course of a conversation relative to a certain personification, the table near which we were seated glided of its own accord across the floor, when I pronounced the name taken by the personification. A conversation ensued with the latter, by means of the movements of the table without contact. I also related the typtological conversation without contact which I had with the same personification.

These personages who call themselves the authors of telekinetic phenomena present the same characteristics, as those who claim to be responsible for the phenomenon of raps. I have nothing in particular to say on this point at present.

The observation of the facts resumed in this chapter reveals another circumstance which deserves pointing out. This is the apparent conductibility of certain bodies for the force employed. I gave some examples: table-linen, wood, dresses, etc. I related having often seen women-mediums’ dresses bulge out and approach the table, when the phenomenon was being produced; the sensitive’s feet remained visible, and, in view of the conditions under which I have been able to test this phenomenon, I consider as absurd the idea that an artificial hand or foot was introduced, as imagined by Dr. Hodgson to explain away this fact with Eusapia. I have frequently obtained movements without the contact of the medium’s dress, but I have certainly noticed that this contact facilitates the realisation of the movement.

Darkness favours it also; there is no doubt about this. Of course I am putting aside the greater facilities obscurity offers for the execution of fraudulent phenomena; and though, in this book, I have only taken into account phenomena observed in full light, I have often experimented in obscurity; and it appears to me certain, that total darkness is one of the conditions for the maximum development of the liberated energy.

The action of light is interesting to note. I have already stated that the dynamic agency of psychical phenomena appeared to me to be analogous with the nervous influx, and that the table seemed to play the rôle of condenser. In that hypothesis, light would act like certain rays of cathodic origin, which discharge the electricised condensers placed in their vicinity. The study of the influence of light upon telekinetic phenomena will certainly enable us to learn their cause. The little we already know permits us to suspect that the telenergic force ought to have some rapport with light and electricity, at least in that which concerns the amplitude of vibrations.

The study of this rapport can only be taken up by an experienced physicist. It will require delicate methods and special instruments, and I earnestly hope it will soon be seriously undertaken.

As for those who confine themselves, as I do, to simply seeking whether the facts be real or not, they should avoid working in obscurity. Light may hamper the production of telekinetic movements, but it will not prevent it. Experimenters should accustom themselves to holding their seances in the daytime, or in a light which is sufficient to permit of reading small print. Above all things, it is necessary to be personally convinced of the reality of the facts; and this conviction is not so easily acquired, when the experiment is made in obscurity.

It is difficult to imagine to what a pitch audacity of certain tricksters will carry them. I once attended a series of experiments, which interested me greatly from that point of view. The group included three young men, one of whom is a most remarkable medium. The other two, intelligent and well-educated young fellows, appeared to me to have some medianic faculties, but I withhold my judgment, because they tried so hard to cheat, that it would not be prudent to seriously notice those facts, where fraud did not strike me as coming into play; for it was always possible. These young men had nothing to gain by cheating; in any case, I have not yet understood what aim they wished to attain. The levitations of the table were splendid—in obscurity—and all the furniture in the seance-room was more or less jostled about and displaced. This was all very fine; it was all very well done; and novices were easily taken in. The ‘spirits’ caressed or struck the sitters, and I have seen sincere but inexperienced persons convinced of the reality of facts, for which the legerdemain of one of the young men present was alone responsible.

One of these youths, a medical student, presents symptoms of nervous troubles, and will become a hysteric if he is not one already. Notwithstanding my reproaches and exhortations, he could not stop himself from cheating; and I have the impression that fraud is, in his case, almost impulsive. I did not think I was authorised to examine him from a medical point of view, but I observed him carefully. He has manufactured spirit photographs very cleverly; they were wonderfully well done, and only a professional eye would detect the trick. He proceeded by double exposure.

With this group, as soon as the room was lighted up, the phenomena, which were so violent in obscurity, ceased almost entirely. This circumstance alone was suspicious; for the action of light is not such as to constitute an insurmountable obstacle to the production of telekinetic movements. Whenever phenomena are intense in obscurity, we ought to be able to obtain weaker ones of the same kind in light. This is a rule without an exception, as far as my experience goes.

Needless to add that the table, under the normal impetus which the young men gave it, insisted upon total darkness. Now, in truly good seances, on the contrary, I have always seen the table ask for light, if purely motor phenomena were desired. Naturally, it is otherwise with luminous phenomena, of which I am now going to speak.

CHAPTER IV
LUMINOUS PHENOMENA

The curious glimmering lights, which I am going to describe in this chapter, can only be obtained in total obscurity. They are generally feeble, and appear to be at the limit of visibility.

I will begin by describing a rather curious phenomenon, which is easily observable. I am not quite sure of its objective reality; nevertheless, I will point it out, and give my reasons for doing so.

Certain hand-movements are necessary to bring it into evidence; we must proceed in the following manner:—

1. Face the light.

2. Put a dark object with a mat surface between yourself and the light. Do not place the object so as to screen the light from the operators, simply place it between the experimenters and the light. An arm-chair covered with dark velvet will suit; place it so that its back is turned to the light.

3. Open the hands, put them against the dark background, palms turned towards the chest. Join the hands at the finger-tips; withdraw the hands very slowly, always keeping the fingers stretched out.

4. Place behind you the person with whom the experiment is to be made, his head on a level with the operator’s head, that is, in the centre of the plane occupied by the hands.

Under these conditions, when the fingers are drawn apart, seven or eight out of ten persons will see a sort of grey mist uniting the tips of the fingers. The person with whom we are experimenting must not be told what he is expected to see; the experiment would be vitiated by introducing therein a suggestive or imaginative element.

Three-fourths of those with whom I have experimented perceived a slight mist, passing from the tip of one finger to another or corresponding finger on the other hand. I myself perceive this mist very plainly: to me it resembles cigarette smoke; it has the same greyish colour, the same appearance, but much more tenuity. The majority of people see it in this way; but I have met with some, who fancied it a different colour. Those who see the effluvium as coloured are generally gifted with psychic faculties. I have not been able to come to any positive conclusions on this point; but I have some reasons for believing that the coloured perception of what I call, for want of a better term, ‘digital effluvium,’ indicates a highly psychical temperament. A young doctor, who has remarkable medianic powers, sees it as red. I also found two persons who saw it as yellow. I have many reasons for thinking that one of these two is a medium; but he refuses to experiment, and declares a priori that psychical phenomena are—to use his own familiar expression—all ‘humbug.’ The other person is an eminent magistrate. I have found some people to whom the digital effluvium appears as blue. On the whole, from the experiments I have made I reckon that out of 300 people of both sexes, 240 to 250 perceive the effluvium; 2 to 3 out of 100 see it as blue. I have found two who saw it as yellow; and one who saw it as red.

I did not remark that the colour of the effluvium was different from one hand to the other; but in reality I did not question much on the subject, as I was most anxious to avoid anything like suggestion. I have never therefore made inquiries upon the possible difference of coloration in the two hands; but I think it would have been pointed out to me, had it been perceived.

Generally the effluvium appears to unite the tips of the fingers of each hand. But it is not always so. Often two or three digital effluvia converge into one of the fingers of the opposite hand, instead of uniting the corresponding fingers.

I noticed that the meteorological conditions and variations of temperature had a decided influence upon the visibility of the effluvia. When the seance-room is very cold, or when the weather is damp or rainy, the effluvia are scarcely perceptible. They appear to reach a maximum intensity in summer, when the temperature is high, and especially when the air is sultry. When the weather is threatening and stormy, the effluvium is thick and clearly visible to me; when the storm has burst, and the atmosphere has cleared, its intensity diminishes.

It often varies according to the individual. Some people give forth an effluvium, which is more visible than that of others. I have not been able to seize any relation between the appearance of the effluvium and the sex, age, and temperament of the various persons with whom I have experimented; on the contrary, a relation seems to exist between the state of health or fatigue and the emission of this mist; it is rarely visible, when the person who emits it is tired or ill.

Such are the principal remarks, which observation of this curious phenomenon has allowed me to make. I have summed them up carefully, but I ought to say, that to me the reality of this appearance does not seem to be demonstrated. After all it may only be due to an effect of contrast. The conditions under which it is observed with the greatest convenience are those, where the hands stand out clearly on a dark background. In drawing the hands away one from the other, the image of the fingers persists perhaps on the retina, and gives rise, maybe, to an illusion; but this explanation is not always sufficient.

There is an optima distance for the realisation of this effluvium. As a rule the effluvium appears denser when the fingers are fairly close together; as they move away the density diminishes; it becomes thinner and more attenuated. But if the hands cease to move, the effluvium disappears. This is the case as long as the tips of the fingers are not more than 2 to 3 centimetres away. If the movement of withdrawal ceases when the finger-tips are within 10 to 15 centimetres proximity, the effluvium remains visible for a longer time. This is what generally happens, but the facts have not always the same regularity. There is, in psychical phenomena, the same diversity and variability, which are observed in other biological phenomena.

I have said that the effluvium persists longer and is best seen when the finger-tips of each hand are within 10 centimetres proximity. Under these conditions, the movement of separation being suspended, the slight mist, which I described, persists several seconds. Sometimes the effluvium is clearly visible, when the fingers are 25 to 30 centimetres apart.

I am inclined to think, that this effluvium is not altogether an imaginary phenomenon. It seems to me to exclude, at least, the hypothesis of the persistence of the retinal image; for the false image does not last so long as the effluvium, under the conditions mentioned by me.

There is yet another explanation. This is that the eye automatically prolongs the clear impression of the fingers on the dark background separating them. This would be analogous to the expansion by irradiation of clear images upon a dark background.

Other reasons, however, make me discard this hypothesis. In the first place, why do some people see the supposed false image vividly coloured and not white? Secondly, if the phenomenon is of retinal origin, why—instead of being thinner, as is the case—does not the image reproduce the form of the finger? Why is it a blue-grey colour and not black, as should be the complimentary image of a finger which appears to be white?

Why is not the phenomenon produced with certain objects coloured in white? In vain might we experiment with them as with the hands; they would never leave effluvium between them. There is an exception, however: if we hold cotton or wood in the hands, we will often perceive this appearance of effluvium. It is not obtained, as far as I have been able to judge, with metal objects. From this, it may be inferred, though I do not affirm it, as my experiments are not sufficiently conclusive—that wood and cotton conduct the effluvium as well as flesh. This seems to me very probable with cotton; by holding a crumpled handkerchief in the hand, and presenting it to the background as I have recommended doing with the fingers, we will notice a slight mist round the cotton, which seems to soften off the outlines.

Finally, another more serious reason for considering these effluvia as probably objective, is the frequent absence of parallelism between the effluvia of corresponding fingers. I have often observed distinct divergencies, and it sometimes struck me as though the will might be able to influence the direction of the effluvia to a certain extent. It often happens that all the experimenters see the effluvia under the same aspect. The phenomenon can show great variability in appearance, the middle finger of one hand, for example, becoming connected with two, three, or four fingers of the opposite one.

As the aspect of this effluvium usually appears the same to the observers, there is room to presume that its existence and direction are not illusory phenomena. In the contrary case, we would have to suppose collective hallucination, or a most improbable transmission of impression, which my personal observations do not dispose me to admit.

The phenomenon, which I have called ‘visibility of the digital effluvium’ for the sake of convenience, is very easy to observe. I make great reserves on its objectivity, although I think its reality is more probable than its non-existence. It is most desirable that competent experimenters should verify these observations, which I only present as uncertain.

I would have no doubt whatever of the phenomenon, if the accounts of the persons with whom I experimented had always concorded as to the direction taken by the effluvia; but it was not so. Though there is a good proportion of corroboration, I have often observed contradictions in the descriptions which were given me.

Although the digital effluvium does not yet appear to me to be demonstrated, I think it will be interesting to point out the analogies it presents with phenomena already mentioned by diverse experimenters, notably by Reichenbach and de Rochas. These two experimenters operated under very different conditions to mine. The one placed his sensitive in profound obscurity and left him there for a time; then he made him look at living beings, flowers, magnets, ends of cords, and metal wires, opposite ends of which were in the sun; his sensitives generally saw—especially with human hands, crystals, and magnetic poles—a kind of flame or luminous mist surrounding them, or issuing from them. Rochas has chiefly experimented with sensitives plunged in deep sleep; every one has read of his experiments,—the blue and red coloration which his sensitives gave to the gleams of light which are emitted by magnetic poles, and the right and left sides of the body. My conditions of experimentation were very different from those under which Reichenbach and Rochas worked. I took the first comer and operated in broad daylight. But my observations tend to confirm theirs, at least in what concerns the radiation of something at the finger-tips.

Another interesting observation remains to be made. I have shown that very probably linen, and perhaps wood also, were easily impregnated with that substance of which the effluvium is constituted. This fact may be compared with those I pointed out, when dealing with telekinetic movements: particularly the approach of a small table which touched the cloth of the table at which I was breakfasting; the approach of the chair which was touched by a wooden newspaper-holder lying on the table; and lastly, the curious bulging out of mediums’ dresses, which grazed the feet of the table in some cases of telekinesis. Without forming any premature hypothesis, it is allowable to look upon the digital effluvium as having some connection with the force, which is the determining cause of movements without contact.

The effluvium is visible under other conditions, which are worth noting. It can be seen, when passes are made over a person or an object. The appearance is again similar to smoke; it is a bluish-grey mist, which seems to form prolongations of the fingers.

The effluvium is not a luminous phenomenon. I have described it in order to be complete, and not to omit a fact which is interesting for more than one reason. It can, moreover, be seen by certain subjects in the dark. Here is an interesting experiment, which I have sometimes realised, but which presents certain difficulties.

One of the mediums, with whom I experimented, appeared to have an exceptional acuteness of vision in reference to the effluvium. He saw it escape from the hands of the sitters, and spread itself over the seance-table. Desirous of finding out what the medium would see in total darkness, I put out all the lights, and invited the medium to touch my hand if he saw it. The experiment did not succeed every time, but the proportion of success was superior to probabilities; but as the medium might have been able to guide himself by the sense of hearing, I thought of testing him by touching the table. The sensitive quickly recognised the finger-tips, claiming to perceive a kind of milky phosphorescence at the spot where my finger was. To make doubly sure I tested him still further by tracing letters on the table with the tip of my forefinger, taking the precaution to avoid all sound. The medium read nearly all the letters drawn. I then traced some words; he read them off also. I was able to make him read words of five letters; he was not able to read longer words, he recognised the last letters, but declared that the first were blotted out. Nearly all the words of three or four letters were read correctly, and the errors were often significant: e.g. the word ‘foi’ became ‘loi.’ Now, in a running hand-writing, it suffices to suppress the lower part of the ‘f’ for the letter thus amputated to take the aspect of an ‘l.’ I cannot say if the sensitive really saw what he claimed to see, or if he were guided by the sound of my finger. I am obliged to trust to his sincerity on this point; but I have reason to believe that this medium is sincere and honourable. He is a man of education, and is not a professional medium; he follows a liberal profession, and does not wish his name to be mentioned. I have much esteem for him. On the other hand, his senses would need to have been extraordinarily developed, to have enabled him to recognise the movement of my finger from the very slight sound it may have made. No sound was perceptible to myself. I wrote on a small varnished table of blackwood, on which my finger glided easily and silently. Again, the errors made now and then—by reading ‘loi’ for ‘foi,’ etc., seem to prove that the sense of sight and not sound was in operation.

Sometimes it happens, that it is no longer the effluvium which is perceived, but the whole hand itself becomes phosphorescent. Rays come and go like gleams on the back of the hands, or on the fingers, and sometimes, but very rarely, on the face or body of the sitters. These phosphorescences and the digital effluvia appear to me to belong to the same order of phenomena. Frequently, they are but fleeting gleams seen at the finger-tips, when the hands are resting on the table. Though I and others who have experimented with me, have often verified this appearance, I have some doubts upon its reality. In obscurity, the eye tires quickly, and phosphenes soon appear; still, I have nearly always observed, that these glimmering lights were perceived by other persons in the same spot I saw them in.

I have rarely observed those glimmering lights, some people see, on the garments and faces of sitters.

I have not yet been able to verify, in a positive manner, the phosphorescence of the hands in ordinary seances; though observers in whom I have the greatest confidence, have assured me that they had remarked it. We must not lose sight of the fact that the eyes tire quickly; when the obscurity is not complete, the white hands are vaguely perceived on the dark background, the eyes, growing tired, accentuate the contrast between the two shades, and the palest has a tendency to appear slightly luminous.

Sometimes, but very seldom, I have observed sparks which seemed to coincide with raps. This phenomena appears to have an objective reality. I was not the only one to notice these sparks; others saw them also; their apparition at the moment the raps were heard was constant. These circumstances permitted us to think, that the phenomenon ought to have an objective substratum of some kind.

However, I have observed luminous phenomena which were decidedly objective. At Choisy, we obtained them under special conditions, which Rochas has indicated, and which are rather significative. These lights, which were very brilliant, looked like large phosphorescent drops gliding about on Eusapia’s bodice, after having floated for some time in the air. This phenomenon did not appear to me to be very convincing, because during the sitting, a strong odour of phosphorus permeated the room. When Eusapia had left, I returned to the room, where I found MM. de Gramont and de Watteville, who were as inquisitive as I was. We searched but found nothing on the floor.

Our suspicions had been aroused by the phosphorescent odour, which was diffused in the room. Since then, I have noticed it in seances, where fraud seemed to be impossible. This odour is characteristic; it is more like the odour of ozone than that of phosphorus. It is like the odour perceptible in the vicinity of static electrical machines when in activity.

These flitting lights can be easily imitated. A prudent experimenter ought never to lose sight of the fact, that it is possible to employ diverse substances in order to produce phosphorescent effects. The use of phosphorescent oil, for example, will give fictitious luminous phenomena. I remember a seance at which the medical student, of whom I have already spoken, was present. I noticed that one of his finger-tips shone for a moment. I afterwards learnt, that this young man had a phial of phosphorescent oil in one of his pockets. On another occasion, long narrow lights were, from time to time, seen on his body. I think these were produced by matches or straws dipped in the luminous liquid. Phosphorescent preparations, as a rule, have the advantage of only becoming very luminous, when they are shaken about in the air; for the lights, which are given forth by the phosphorus they contain, are only produced when there are phenomena of oxydation.

Objects coated over with sulphide of calcium, strontium, or baryum, become luminous in obscurity, when they have been previously exposed to light. This is the principle of luminous dials, match-boxes and candle-sticks. There are also other substances which permit of simulating luminous phenomena.

I was once present at some seances, which were very curious from the point of view of the luminous phenomena which I observed. These seances were of the series of which I have already spoken. The two young tricksters, some of whose misdeeds I have related, were present, and as one of them is an excellent chemist, it is possible that the superb phenomena I observed were not altogether authentic. I confess, I do not see how fraud was committed; but, given the conditions under which I experimented, I think I ought to abstain from expressing a favourable opinion upon the reality of the facts observed. I will describe them succinctly, indicating the phenomena which could have been simulated, and those which did not appear to be so.

The medium is a young man of twenty-four years of age, of good family, and fairly well-educated. He has been well brought up, and his manners are good. He is a commercial clerk. He is a tall, strong, well-built young man, apparently in robust health. He is intelligent, but does not strike me as having a very strong will. He is easily influenced by his comrades, and was particularly so by the medical student whose irrepressible tendency to cheating I have already spoken about. The student had a great ascendency over the medium, and, in spite of my advice, induced him to experiment too frequently, almost daily. It was easy to foresee the result: the imprudent student and medium both presented visible nervous troubles at the end of a few weeks. The seances were held in the evening with a round table which had a double top; they began in the light, but, in obedience to the behests of the table, total obscurity was speedily obtained. I have always thought that obscurity was asked for by one of the two tricksters, who was then able to give himself up to his heart’s delight, and do as he pleased with his confiding group. They had invited some of their friends—students or doctors—and I was extremely sorry for these new-comers, in that they should have been present at such suspicious seances.

To be quite exact, I ought to say that, though I was convinced these young men frauded, I was not always able to bring it home to them. I generally seated myself beside the most turbulent of the two young men, and the hand which I held never once left mine. But the other hand and the other trickster had more liberty, and some of my co-experimenters verified fraud.

Moreover, I suspected fraud, because of the appearance of the phenomena, which were of an extremely rough character. The table, raised from the floor, was at times thrown against the observers with so much force, that they have occasionally been seriously hurt. This never happens with true phenomena. The thin top of the table was broken; a ‘phenomenon’ which was caused by exaggerated pressure or violent blows destined to imitate loud raps. Real raps never break a table; its feet are sometimes demolished, when the levitated table falls abruptly, but this is the only damage I have ever observed at serious seances.

Notwithstanding the more than suspicious conditions under which we operated, I am not sure that all the phenomena were simulated. In these seances, there seems to have been a mixture of much that was false with a little that was true. A longer observation would have permitted me to come to a more definite conclusion, but the seances were discontinued.

Of the phenomena, the authenticity of which appeared probable to me, I will mention raps. Many of them were obtained in the light and without apparent contact; they had all the aspect of the authentic raps I have so frequently observed. But owing to insufficient control, I do not feel able to affirm their reality.

As for luminous phenomena, I cannot help wondering how some of them could have been simulated. In order to give a precise physiognomy of the conditions under which they were observed, I will briefly relate one of the most curious seances of the series.

There were about a dozen persons present. Five or six sat down to the table, and raps were obtained, now on the table, now on the floor. Obscurity was asked for and gradually given. The phenomena increased in intensity as the darkness deepened. When we could no longer see, the usual levitations, violent knocking, and displacement of furniture had their own way. The seance was discontinued for a few minutes, and resumed towards eleven o’clock. The table requested that the medium might be placed in the cabinet, which was in a corner of the room, and made of white curtains. The medium was placed as requested. The table then asked the experimenters to withdraw from the vicinity of the cabinet; when giving these directions, the table appeared to strike the floor of its own accord. It told us to seat ourselves at a distance of 6 feet from the cabinet, and then asked us to sing. We droned out the air, ‘Frère Jacques, dormez-vous?’ At the end of ten or fifteen minutes, milky-looking phosphorescent lights were seen on the curtains of the cabinet; then luminous hands appeared. One very luminous hand rose rapidly outside the curtains and seized a bell, which had been hooked on to a nail at about 7 feet 6 inches above the floor. This hand was visible to every one.

Then the milky-lights were again seen, larger and more brilliant than before. One of these lights, the outlines of which were very indistinct, floated about the room, and withdrew to about 9 feet from the cabinet, along the wall opposite the one near which the experimenters were grouped. This light appeared to be 4 feet above the ground; it was about 3 feet high by 10 inches broad, and appeared to float in the air. It remained visible for several seconds.

Afterwards, other lights were seen near the curtains; finally, one extremely brilliant light appeared above the curtains near the ceiling. This light was about 1 foot 6 inches high by 1 foot 2 inches wide. The outlines of this luminosity were more clearly defined than those of the light which floated about the room.

These phenomena were clearly visible to every one. Some of the experimenters thought they could see shadowy forms in these lights. As for me, I could distinguish no human appearance therein. The first light I described gave me the impression of a luminous pillar; the second, whose outlines were better defined, awakened no idea of any definite form. We ceased experimenting shortly after this seance.

Were they genuine, these phenomena? I am not sure, but I cannot help wondering how they could have been simulated! There are some distinctions to be made between these appearances, of which I have only described the principal. The luminous hand, which unhooked the bell, was well defined: it was very distinct and one mass of light. I quite understand that suspicion might fall on the medium; he might have covered his own hand with some phosphorescent substance, and, thanks to his height, unhooked the bell himself. Let us try to find out what substance he could have used. We must, I think, put aside the idea of phosphorescent oil. This would have left traces on the medium’s hands and clothes, on the curtains of the cabinet, on the bell, on the wall where the bell was hung. Now there was nothing of the sort. The medium’s hands and garments bore no trace whatsoever of oil. Besides, the light which is given forth by preparations which have phosphorus as their basis, has neither the duration, nor the uniformity of the lights I observed.

Is it a preparation with a basis of sulphides of the calcium class? Sulphides, in order to be phosphorescent, ought to be in a dry state. They are usually reduced to a powder, and this powder is pasted on to the substance we wish to render luminous. The appearance of a hand might be given by a glove done over with sulphide of strontium or calcium. But I need not say how difficult it would be to put on this glove. True, the glove could be stuffed with horsehair, dipped in paste and sprinkled over with sulphide in the desired position. The phenomenon which I observed, could then be explained in the following manner: The medium might have moved the luminous glove about with one hand, and unhooked the bell with the other. This is possible, and yet it does not appear to me to explain what I saw.

In any case, this explanation ceases to be satisfactory, when we consider the case of the floating lights. I know of no system which allows of imitating the immaterial, fugitive, diaphanous appearance of these curious lights. My chemical knowledge, it is true, is very rudimentary; and one of the young men I speak of is a clever chemist; it may be he knows of a more perfect process than those just mentioned. Nevertheless, it seems to me that a piece of cloth done over with some luminous preparation or other, would not have the aspect of the light which I saw floating about the room. I think it is very difficult to reproduce these vague, ill-defined lights, which are more like a luminous cloud than a phosphorescent material object.

The outlines of the last appearance I described were well defined, and in its upper part reminded one of the folds of material. Some of my co-experimenters thought they recognised a masculine, bearded head therein, covered with a turban or burnoose. If we had been in the presence of an artificial phenomenon, the luminous object should have presented the same aspect to every observer. It was not so in reality; for some of us could distinguish no recognisable form in the luminosity. I know that the imagination can be the cause of much visual illusion. It makes us complete imperfect images, and see faces and forms in plays of light and shade which only faintly recall these forms and faces. I have not observed the curious phenomena which I describe, under conditions sufficiently precise to enable me to affirm their objectivity, and I can only repeat what I said just now, that their reality appeared probable to me, in spite of the frauds of which I knew, and those which I suspected; in spite of my intellect’s prejudice, I was favourably impressed.

I will add that the luminosity, which floated about the room, moved about up and down, and lasted for several seconds. That part of the room where it floated about was blocked up with the table, chairs and other furniture, which had been taken there from the recess adjoining the seance-room. All the experimenters were grouped together in one part of the room. None of them left their seats during the production of these phenomena. Had the medium left the cabinet and manœuvred the light we perceived, he would have knocked against the scattered furniture. We kept the strictest silence, when luminous phenomena were being produced, and we would certainly have heard the medium moving about, had he left the cabinet. Now, we heard no noise whatsoever; neither of the footsteps he would have been obliged to make, nor of the furniture which he would have knocked against, unless he be able to see remarkably well in the dark.

Such are the observations I have to present upon this curious seance. One of my friends, an eminent savant, well acquainted with this kind of phenomena, had, like myself, the impression that those I have depicted were real.

Moreover, in other seances this medium gave us similar luminosities. I will even point out that one of the suspected sitters—the medical student—the clever chemist—having been eliminated, and the experiments taking place at the house of one of my medical friends, we observed globular lights on the curtains of the cabinet behind which the medium was sitting. These lights were much smaller than those I have just described—they were as large as a walnut—but were easily observable.

I hope to be able to resume my experiments with this medium; for to me he seems to be one of the most powerful I have ever seen. It is really a pity he should have fallen into the hands of imprudent and ignorant young men; they have abused his force, worn him out, and made him ill. Judiciously handled, he might have become extraordinary. It remains to be seen, if the bad conditions under which he has been developed have not had the effect of destroying the rare faculty he possessed. I will return to these considerations later on.

The lights produced by this young man were the most brilliant I have ever seen. Their colour has been well compared to the light of the nebula by one of my co-experimenters, a distinguished amateur astronomer. This experimenter had a good spectroscope, but he has never been able to succeed in analysing, spectroscopically, the lights we have seen. They were too unsteady and fugitive.

I now come to some visual phenomena, which have not the same luminous feature as those I have been speaking about, but which present another very curious feature: they give representations of objects or of human forms.

I have not seen any phosphorescent human forms such as certain observers affirm to have seen. I have said that the Bordeaux medium, in presence of whom I had seen such fine luminous phenomena, had also given us a luminous hand. At Choisy in 1896, I saw the same thing with Eusapia. There was enough light in the room to see Eusapia’s hands. Under these conditions—the hands of the medium being not only held by her right- and left-hand neighbours, but visible all the time on the table—we perceived at about 1 foot 9 inches above Eusapia’s head a slightly phosphorescent hand, which shook about in the opening between the two curtains. This appearance was very distinct, and was perceived by all those whose positions allowed them to see it.

This was not the first time I had seen the form of a hand. In 1895, at l’Agnélas, I saw a hand and bare forearm, which showed itself in profile above M. Sabatier, seated in front of me, and touched him on the forehead. At the same moment, M. Sabatier mentioned having been touched on the head. My perception was clear and decided; I was positive of having seen this hand and forearm. I remember that my co-experimenters—two of them at least—hesitated to admit my observation, because I had been the only one to see it. In 1895, I was not so accustomed to seances as I became later on, and I was inclined to listen with deference to my friends’ remarks, but I was so positive of the reality of my observation, that it was inserted in the report. Subsequent experience has multiplied observations of this order: they recall to mind the round head seen at Carqueiranne. The hand and forearm which I saw at l’Agnélas were black and opaque. They were projected on to the clear background of the room where we experimented; we were seated in such a way that only I could see them.

I did not see anything quite like this in 1896; for, it will be remembered that the hand we saw at Choisy was slightly phosphorescent, and presented quite a different appearance to the dark, solid-looking arm and hand which I saw at l’Agnélas. I remember one day at Choisy, when M. de Gramont was in the cabinet behind Eusapia, the latter told us to blow hard. At the same moment, M. de Gramont saw the shape of a pair of bellows.

At Bordeaux, in 1897, we again saw black, opaque forms under excellent conditions. A few extracts from the reports of these seances will be found in the Appendix. I refer my readers to this for the detail of the material conditions under which we operated. I will simply indicate here that the room, in which we held our seances, is lighted up by a very large bay-window. The persian shutters were closed for the seances; but the gas-light, from the kitchen premises, was reflected through the persians on to the window-panes, and cast a faint light in the seance-room. In consequence of this reflection on the panes, the window formed a kind of clear background, upon which the silhouettes of certain black forms could be seen by at least half of the experimenters.

We all saw these forms, or rather the form; for it was always the same form which was shown, the profile of a long bearded face with a strongly arched nose. This appearance is said to be the head of ‘John,’ Eusapia’s habitual personification. It is an extraordinary phenomenon; and the first idea which presents itself to the mind is that of a collective hallucination. But then it remains to be asked, why it was manifested under the very special conditions I have indicated. Moreover, the care with which we observed this curious phenomenon, and—it seems to me superfluous to add—the calm with which we experimented, render the hypothesis of hallucination a most unlikely one.

The hypothesis of fraud is still less admissible. The head we perceived was of natural size, and measured about 1 foot 6 inches from the forehead to the extremity of the beard. If the phenomenon is to be attributed to fraud, we must explain how Eusapia hid the necessary mask on her person; we must also explain how she could have drawn it out unknown to us, and further, how she manœuvred it. Eusapia did not go into trance at our Bordeaux seances. She sometimes saw the profile in question, and manifested her satisfaction at being able to look on, for the first time I think, at the phenomena which was produced through her. The light from the window was sufficient to enable us to see Eusapia’s hands. I have no need to say that her hands were carefully held by her right and left controllers. If this profile had been concealed on her person, it would have been absolutely impossible for her to manœuvre it. The profile we observed appeared to form itself at the top of the cabinet, at a height of about 3 feet 9 inches above Eusapia’s head; it descended slowly and placed itself just above and in front of her; at the end of a few seconds it disappeared only to reappear later on under the same conditions. We always carefully assured ourselves of the relative immobility of the medium’s hands and arms; and the strange phenomenon I relate is one of the most irreproachable I have ever verified, so utterly incompatible is the hypothesis of fraud with the conditions under which we observed it.

Two or three times a slightly luminous phenomenon was noticed. It was formed on the curtain, near which my friend M. de Pontaud and I were sitting; it was a whitish, milky-looking spot, visible to every one, at least to those whose positions allowed them to perceive it conveniently. This luminosity appeared to shrink up quickly, and disappeared on a level with our heads.

Evidently I have no explanation to offer. The apparition of these human forms raises a problem, which is far more complicated than the problem of raps and movements without contact, and I think the study of this problem cannot be profitably undertaken at present. Nothing authorises me to consider these curious phenomena as demonstrating the exactness of the spirit hypothesis; I think their cause lies elsewhere than in the intervention of the spirit of a deceased person; but I am not yet able to formulate any rational opinion on this subject. However, I will point out the close connection, which appears to me to exist between the production of these forms, and the production of raps and movements without contact. These relations tend to persuade me, that all these phenomena belong to the same order, and depend upon the same agent, and the same cause. Before, however, analysing summarily the observations on which I base this opinion, I ought to describe a series of experiments, which have given me most curious results. These experiments were made with a medium, a man of deep intelligence and refined nature, of whose medianity I have already spoken, pages [74], [79], [81]-[2], [101]-[3]. I obtained with him: (a) raps, faint at first, but very clear and well verified, with and without contact; (b) movements without contact of feeble amplitude, but very well observed; (c) faint luminous phenomena; (d) finally, the production of diverse forms. The first two categories of facts have already been dealt with, I will now describe the last two. They confirm, to a certain extent, the experiments already related in this chapter.

The first time luminous phenomena were seen, we were holding a seance in a small room, but were not using a table. The medium perceived several lights and even faces on the wall in front of him. These lights and faces were not visible to me. Sometimes I thought I saw lights, but extremely faint ones, and at the limit of visibility; I think these lights were subjective. And yet, I have often asked the medium where he saw the light, to describe its shape, and the direction it took if it moved about, and I have remarked that the indications given by the medium concorded with my own observations; but, curiously enough—and it is my duty as a witness to point this out—I could often see these lights, just as well when my eyes were closed, as when they were open. This circumstance seems to me conclusive, and makes me think these lights were subjective. In reality, I do not think that the light emitted by the gleams I saw was of such a nature, that its rays could penetrate through closed eyelids. This interior visibility should exist in every case; now this is not so, and I have only observed it with this particular medium, though I had once or twice suspected it in a former series of experiments.

On the other hand, I cannot consider these visions as hallucinations, unless I also admit that this entoptic hallucination is collective. But then, why are not these illusions met with in other seances? Why is the manifestation of lights or forms accompanied by abundant raps without contact? These raps immediately precede the apparition of the forms, and behave as though they were signals destined to draw the attention of the observers. This is a coincidence which is not fortuitous, for it is almost constant.

The first time that a more or less definite form was observed with this medium, no seance was being held. The medium saw on the wall the apparition of one of his ‘personifications,’ and the word curtain traced in luminous letters. The sensitive could not interpret the meaning of this word, for he had never been present at any spiritistic seance. I told him to continue observing, for I thought I understood the meaning of this message. I immediately arranged, as well as I could, a kind of cabinet in a corner of the room with the help of some black curtains. We darkened the room and sat down before a table, the medium having his back turned to the cabinet. In a short time we heard raps on the table, the medium’s chair, the floor, and on the wall inside the cabinet. The medium, interested, turned half round towards the cabinet, when all at once, after the production of some very faint, flitting lights, I perceived the beautiful face of a woman, pale, the eyes up-raised as though in prayer. The eyes and hair were black; the hair was parted in the centre and dressed in the style of fifty or sixty years ago. The face was draped in a white veil which also covered the head, forming a kind of frame for the face. The physiognomy was of the sweetest, and of rare beauty. The apparition appeared to be slightly luminous, of a whitish, milky hue. It showed itself to the left of the medium, but high above him, near the ceiling. It remained visible for a very short time. Prudently interrogated, the medium gave me the exact description of the face I had just perceived. The details concorded in every way. Inquiry as to who it was elicited the information, given in raps, that it was the face of one of the group of four fairies of whom I spoke on page [81].

It is not often I have had such a clear vision. I have, indeed, very rarely obtained this curious phenomenon: still, I have observed it distinctly three times with this medium. The second time, the faces seemed to be only partially materialised; I only saw portions of faces unknown to me: the medium recognised one of these faces. The third time, the medium saw the apparitions plainly, and described them, but I saw only faint lights; suddenly, however, I saw a face, the forehead, eyes, and nose, reproducing the traits of a very dear friend I had recently lost. The medium saw the whole face. He did not know my friend when he was alive, but he has had curious and strange posthumous apparitions of him under conditions which it would be interesting to relate, but, unfortunately, I am not authorised to do so completely.

It is not only the forms of human beings which I have seen with this medium, but also those of animals, more or less strange. I cannot help thinking that these are due to imagination. But the curious fact is, that there is concordance between the medium’s visions and the appearances perceived by the sitters.

Finally, under the same conditions, I once saw a copper lantern, of well-defined shape, and in a particular position. This vision was also seen by the medium in the same way. Here, again, I cannot form any satisfactory explanation. I am inclined to think, that I am the victim of hallucination, though the circumstances do not favour that hypothesis. The vision of the lantern is analogous to that of the pair of bellows seen by M. de Gramont with Eusapia. I refer my readers to what I said further back concerning the concordance between the raps and the apparitions; this simultaneousness existed with the apparitions of animal-like forms and material objects, as well as with those of human faces. This is a fact which is of a nature to set aside the hypothesis of pure illusion. But then!

I have mentioned these strange experiences in order to be complete and sincere. I do not conceal the fact, that it costs me much to relate this, because I do not find herein the conditions of precision, which my experiments in telekinesis, for example, appeared to present. I will add that I do not try to obtain these phenomena of more or less complete materialisations. I suffer them: for the facts do not proceed altogether according to the liking of the experimenter. I cannot say that these apparitions leave me indifferent; on the contrary, they interest me immensely; but I have the impression of being in the presence of a fact, which is too complicated to be usefully observed. It is not the same with raps and telekinesis: and I put forth all my efforts in order to restrict my studies and researches to these phenomena; for I have the feeling that we may be able to arrive at discovering the conditions of their production. I imagine—perhaps wrongly—that, henceforth, we can submit them to scientific discipline; I think that the study of raps and telekinetic phenomena is the necessary preliminary to the study of other, less comprehensible, facts. Therefore, I have devoted myself almost exclusively to their observation; nevertheless, I did not think I was able to dispense with relating everything I had seen. I am entirely ignorant of the signification of these diverse appearances; I may have made a mistake, though I do not think so, but it seems to me I have not the right to make a choice in my experiments, to withhold the one and relate the other. It behoves those who read me to put themselves in the same conditions under which I was placed, and observe in their turn. I confine myself to relating what I have seen. I will add that certain facts have appeared to me more certain than others, but my rôle of witness ends there.

The ascertainments I have made in what concerns luminous phenomena, permit me to give some useful indications. The first concern the methods of operation; the others are conclusions which I have drawn from my own experiences.

When seeking for simple, luminous phenomena, it is advisable to proceed as I have done for parakinetic and telekinetic phenomena. The sitters group themselves around a table, leaning their hands on it, or form a chain round the table without touching it. Needless to say, the obscurity ought to be as complete as possible. Under these conditions, lights can be obtained; and it is in this way, I observed the woman’s face I have described.

The very fine lights which I saw with the young Bordeaux medium (pages [141] and following) were obtained in another manner, which seems to me better still. It is, moreover, the method adopted by professional mediums, perhaps because it favours the execution of fraudulent even more than genuine phenomena. This method consists in placing the medium in the cabinet and forming the chain, either round the table or in a half-circle, in which latter case the chain is not closed.

I have noticed that music and singing in common have a favourable influence on the production of the phenomena. This circumstance is, however, another cause for suspicion, because the noise of music and singing can drown that made by the medium in moving about.

Although I cannot consider the reality of the luminous phenomena observed by me as being so well established as that of certain other phenomena, I will none the less give the result of the ascertainments I think I have made thereon. I indicate them with every reserve; but the analogy they present with the ascertainments I made relative to raps and movements without contact, appeared to me useful to point out. It is one of the reasons which made me believe in their probability first of all; it is also the indication of the presumable existence of some general law governing all these phenomena, however different in appearance they may be.

The most important observations I have to make are, as before, the synchronism between the muscular action and the phenomenon; the tendency to personification; the physical fatigue experienced by all the experimenters after a successful seance.

The reasons why I conclude in the existence of this synchronism, are based upon a great number of observations made with Eusapia and other mediums. It seemed to me, in my experiments with Eusapia Paladino, that this latter preferred the breath to any other movement for the production of lights. This conclusion is uncertain, because I have not had occasion to examine many luminous phenomena with the Neapolitan medium.

My observations were more precise with the Bordeaux medium. Rubbing the hands together, rubbing the feet on the floor, breathing hard, squeezing hands tightly when the chain is formed; all this provoked the apparition of the curious luminosities I have spoken about. True, these were also produced spontaneously; but the movements executed appeared to me to have an action upon their manifestation.

Here again, the relation with the muscular contraction rather than with the movement itself seemed to me to exist, but I could not verify this point with the same certitude as with raps and movements without contact.

At all events, all reserves made for fraud, which I recognise possible though improbable, chanting or singing in common has appeared to me to have a favourable influence on the phenomena. I have had occasion of verifying this effect of intoned words; I am unable to give its explanation, although we may suspect what it is likely to be. I will simply recall to mind the rôle which intoning or singing plays in religious ceremonies and in magical operations: the words ‘incantations,’ ‘enchantments,’ are very significative, from that point of view. The erudite will remember the magic songs of the 11th eclogue of Theocritus, and of the 8th of Virgil. The Hindoo magicians intone their mentrams. Nothing is more widespread than this belief in the supernatural virtue of singing, of the cadenced and modulated word. As the supernormal facts which I relate appear to me to have been known from the earliest times—however ill-interpreted they may have been—I am inclined to believe, that the superstitions relative to the magical power of song are not without a foundation of truth. This appears most improbable, and no one is more astonished than myself, to find myself admitting this possibility. I admit it nevertheless. I am inclined to think, that the greater part of popular beliefs have some foundation; the particle of truth which they contain is often very feeble, because ignorance, fear, imagination mask it under accessory and unreasonable beliefs, which smother it. There would be many interesting analogies to point out on this subject, if I had not systematically forbidden myself all manner of theoretical commentary. All the same, I will remark that the most worthy spiritists recommend singing or music during seances. I will cease, for I can only repeat here the considerations which I have already presented concerning the relation between the nervous energy, whatever it may be, and luminous phenomena; the connection appears to be very close indeed.

The physiognomical aspect of these phenomena is similar to that of sonorous and motor phenomena: It tends to personification, and it is probable, that imperfect luminous forms are but rude outlines of a real form. That form is not always human, although it appears to be so as a rule. I have given examples, where the appearance was that of an animal or of an object. I have never been able to converse with the form itself, when it was human; but I have experimented with mediums who thought they conversed with the forms. These all claim to be the spirits of deceased persons. What renders this unanimity particularly interesting is that one of the mediums, with whom I have observed the finest phenomena of human appearances, is by no means a spiritist.

Is he a victim of hallucination? It is possible; but then how are we to explain the fragment of truth which exists in his hallucination? I am well aware that impersonal memory is an inexhaustible source of knowledge, quite unknown to the normal personality; but there are cases, where the hypothesis of hypermnesia is scarcely acceptable. Here is an example. The medium, of whom I spoke a little while ago, has several times had the impression that a deceased person unknown to him, but known to me, entered his bedroom. The apparition was preceded by a noise of approaching footsteps, the door appeared to open, and the form entered. The form sat down at the foot of the bed, caressed the medium’s arm, and took his hand. The sensitive was alarmed at these visions, which he looks upon as hallucinations, and does his best to rid himself of. At the end of three or four visits the form ceased to show itself, to my great regret, for I had therein the occasion of making an observation of the highest interest. Unfortunately, I had not sufficient influence over this remarkable sensitive, to induce him to lend a hand to the development of this phenomenon. The person reputed to appear had a very characteristic walk, and it would be sufficient for me to describe it, for those who knew the man to recognise him at once; the vision had the same characteristic walk. Again, my friend wore whiskers. But the vision wore a full short beard, a detail which the doctor who attended him in his last illness verified; my friend did not shave towards the end of his life. I was not aware of this.

The medium, living in the same town, could have known the man; but if, contrary to his assertions, he had known him, how could he have seen him wearing a beard such as he never used to wear? Interesting detail! since the apparition, purporting to be my friend, wore a beard just as my friend had worn, not in his lifetime, but at the time of his death.

Further, the apparition appeared to manifest a desire to speak. It tried to reassure the alarmed medium; but the latter always got up and turned on the light, before the phantom had time to speak. Now at that moment, an event was brewing, of which I would have been thankful to have been warned. The incident occurred, and the apparition was not seen again. This is an ensemble of facts of a nature to arouse attention. I have not been able to submit the case to thorough analysis, and I give it with reserve. It is the nearest approach to classical spiritism, which I have personally met with, but to me it does not seem to be convincing under the conditions in which I observed it; for the incident I refer to could easily have been foreseen by the medium.

Other personifications manifested themselves to this medium, but their character of apparent identity is less certain. One of them, with curious energy, insists that he is the person he claims to be: namely, Chappe d’Auteroche, a savant of the last century. His name appears in Larousse’s Dictionary. The personification gave his name correctly, as well as the date of his death and where he died. He gave a Christian name which is not in Larousse, Adhémar instead of Jean, which the Dictionary gives. It would be interesting to know, if this name Adhémar is mentioned in other dictionaries. I will add that the apparition expresses itself in old French, but with a Norman accent. The medium hears it say ‘moué’ for ‘moi,’ ‘étoué’ for ‘était,’ etc. Now Chappe was born at Mauriac in Auvergne; therefore I cannot explain why his apparition should have a Norman accent. So far, however, I have not carefully analysed this personification.

I would like to have been able to experiment, more than I have been able to do, with the sensitive through whose medianity I have observed these curious facts. Perhaps the publication of this book will interest him, and induce him to give himself up to an attentive examination.[6]

It must not be concluded from what I have just related, that the intervention of my friend and of Chappe d’Auteroche appears to me to be real. Nothing in my experience authorises me to entertain this opinion. I relate these facts, because the emergence of these two personifications occurred at seances where I was present, and because they are closely associated with phenomena directly observed by me. I think we can draw a conclusion from these phenomena: it will be noticed that in the manner in which these visions are produced, there are certain features, which recall to mind the symbolisation and dramatisation of dreams. This indication is only temporary; I have not enough elements of appreciation to be able to formulate it with any degree of certitude, but I point out this feature to experimenters, who, more favoured than I, may have opportunities for observing analogous phenomena with more convenience and for a greater length of time.

I will terminate these remarks by the recital of another fact of the same order, which I witnessed at Madame Agullana’s. It occurred during an afternoon seance at her house. The medium, and two or three persons whom I did not know, were seated round a small table. One of the visitors was a small landed proprietor near Bordeaux. This visitor came for the first time; he was accompanied by a rural constable, whom I knew. All at once Madame Agullana said to the newcomer, ‘I see some one, who says he is your uncle; he wears a cap; his face is red; he has a long beard; he has sandy-coloured hair; he smokes a short pipe; he seems to have something the matter with his right arm, it is bent across his chest.’ ... She also gave other details. The visitor did not speak, a fact of which I took pains to assure myself.

When the details were all given, the visitor said that if the apparition claiming to be his uncle, was really his uncle, would he kindly say how he was addressed in his family. The table dictated typtologically, ‘Touton L. P.’ The stranger then said that Madame Agullana had given him the exact description of a second cousin[7] who had been dead for some months, and who, because of his inveterate habit of smoking, was nicknamed ‘Touton-la-Pipe.’

I have seen several sincere, trustworthy people receive facts of the same kind through Madame Agullana. There is notably the history of the discovery of a lost debenture, which is curious and interesting; I was able to follow the different phases of this discovery. The indication appeared to emanate from the deceased husband of the owner of the debenture. Notwithstanding the interest which these observations presented, I cannot analyse them seriously, for they are insufficiently proved. The character of the medium has always seemed to me irreproachable, and her good faith above all suspicion; but the circumstances do not permit of an exact judgment. Neither do I consider myself authorised to affirm that the personality of ‘Touton-la-Pipe’ was quite unknown to the medium. The discovery of the debenture is perhaps only a coincidence. I have, however, related these facts to indicate the possibility of an order of research of a particularly suggestive nature. Some of the more influential members of the English Society for Psychical Research, Myers, Lodge, Hodgson, Hyslop, have entered upon these studies under excellent conditions of observation, and consider that they have been in communication with their deceased friends. I have not had the same chances, and my own experiences tend to make me adopt a different way of thinking. It is very possible that my colleagues are right, and I am wrong.

Finally, the third statement which my observations permit me to make, is that the production of forms and luminous phenomena is accompanied with much fatigue on the part of the observers. I have already frequently pointed out this circumstance. On the occasion of the production of the facts described in the present chapter, I noticed certain peculiarities, which I will point out to the attention of experimenters. Fatigue is not felt in an equal degree by all the sitters. Some seem to feel none at all; and, as a rule, these latter are not good auxiliaries. It looks as though some persons were not capable of emitting the force employed. Others, on the contrary, emit it with great facility and tire quickly. I have not been able to study the relation which may exist, between the temperament of these two kinds of sitters and the production of the phenomena; but I have the impression, that this relation ought to exist; it appears to me in a function of the organism rather than in a rapport with the mental condition or moods. This makes one think of the belief professed by spiritists concerning incredulity. In several spiritistic groups failure is attributed to the presence of incredulous sitters; I am persuaded, that the beliefs of experimenters have nothing at all to do with the production of the phenomena observed, though it is certainly necessary to experiment seriously and without bias. I touched upon the results of my observations in that respect, when speaking about the harmony of the circle. The influence of bias would be explained, if the apparent consciousness of the personification could be considered as composed of the elementary consciousness of the sitters. This hypothesis does not appear to me to be demonstrated; but some of my experiments have made me think of its possibility, and I consider it ought to be submitted to examination. Things seem to happen, as though the nervous influx of the sitters created a field of force around the experimenters, and more especially the medium: Each experimenter would then act as a dynamogenic element, and would enter, for a variable part, into the production of the liberated energy. This energy would act beyond the apparent limits of the body, under conditions analogous to those governing its intracorporal action; that is to say, it would remain, to a certain extent, in connection with the superior or inferior nervous centres, conscious or unconscious. In this case we could understand, how the energy appears to depend, to a certain extent, upon the will of the sitters or the medium. We can even explain that it should appear to manifest an independent will, if its production were due to the activity of the nervous centres, the action of which is independent of ordinary consciousness. In that hypothesis, none of the sitters would recognise the trace of their normal personality in the evolution of the phenomena; and this is what generally happens. Sometimes, however, the medium or one of the sitters has the feeling, more or less precise, that a phenomenon is about to take place. Eusapia Paladino often announces what is coming. In this case the nervous energy, employed to realise the phenomenon, would be in connection with the conscious nervous centres of the medium only; and she would appear to the sitters to be subjected to an extraneous personal will. Eusapia attributes it to ‘John,’ who seems to have the characteristics of a secondary personality. Such appears to me to be the genesis of the personification, in the greater number of cases observed by me. There are others, however, where this explication is less satisfactory.

I do not hide from myself how difficult it is to admit the hypothesis I have just formulated. We are ill-prepared to consider the psychic force as identical, at least in its essence, with that which circulates in our nerves; and we are no better prepared to believe, that this force may be able to serve as a vehicle to a part of our personal or subliminal consciousness, or to think that it can preserve any connection with our psychic centres, when it acts beyond the limits of the body. Nevertheless, it looks as though it were really so, in the greater number of cases.

These data suffice to render comprehensible the possible mechanism of raps and movements without contact. It is not even necessary to suppose that the nervous force acts beyond the limits of the body, if we admit that the experimenters create around them a sort of magnetic field. The nervous force would reach a maximum of potentiality in the experimenters or in the medium; the objects placed within the field would have a different potentiality; according to the conditions, we would have phenomena of attraction or repulsion.

In this way we could understand motor phenomena. Raps are less easily explained, unless we consider them as facts analogous to electrical discharges. The rap would then be equivalent to the noise of a spark; it would be invisible, though in some cases it might be perceived.

Lights and forms raise problems much more difficult of solution. They may be susceptible of the following explanation: we will suppose that particles of a very attenuated substance, e.g. the ether or any other kind of rarefied matter, existed capable of being acted upon by nerve force; they would become charged, and dispersed, according to the lines of force, and these lines would be determined by the action of nerve centres, and would take form corresponding to those particular centres. They would have a certain plasticity, if I may thus express myself, and this plasticity would be in connection with those centres, possessing preponderating physiological activity.

If this connection existed with the superior ideative centres, we would have intelligible, definite forms, such as faces of human beings, heads of animals, and objects; should connection with the inferior centres be established, undefined forms only would be obtained.

Their luminosity would depend upon the state of condensation of this rarefied matter of which they are constituted. Those subject to lesser condensation would be the most luminous; and it might happen, that a form of greater density would be surrounded by a luminous atmosphere of lesser density.

One could, in this way, explain the relative independence of the forms, and phosphorescent nature of the pictures.

These are the hypotheses which might be made. I indicate them with much reserve, simply to show the theoretical route towards which my experience tends to direct me. I set them forth summarily, without discussing them in detail. I do not conceal from myself the fact that my ideas are far from being definite, and that the hypotheses I timidly express would fare badly under rigorous analysis. I have found no better, and I have the impression that they ought to contain a particle of truth.

I beg to be excused for having again infringed upon the rule I imposed on myself, for having presented purely theoretical considerations, which I am the first to acknowledge as premature. I have not seen the curious facts I relate without trying to penetrate into their cause, nor have I been able to resist the desire to make known, not what is a definite opinion, but what is for me a hypothesis worth examining.

Besides the phenomena described in this and preceding chapters, I have observed others which might be compared with them, for they seem to me to have a certain connection with them. I refer to tactile sensations such as touch, contact, and stamped impressions, etc. I will briefly describe them.

I. It is only with Eusapia Paladino, that I have felt tactile sensations in a positive manner. With this medium certain sitters, and especially those seated next to her, have the feeling of being touched on the back, on the arms, and hands, on the head and body. The phenomenon is usually produced under the following conditions. Eusapia’s hands being or appearing to be held by her neighbours, the latter see the curtains come near them, and then feel themselves touched. The touch is sometimes given without any movement of the curtains. The sensation of the touch varies: it is now that of a finger which is thrust into the thigh, now of a large hand resting on the back, now fingers pinching you, or seizing you on the head, the neck, chin, etc. Numerous examples of these contacts will be found in the report of the l’Agnélas experiments (Annales des Sciences Psychiques, 1896).

In our seances at Choisy 1896, the same phenomenon was often reproduced. In that series we were careful to have as much light as possible; we arranged a system of different coloured lights. One of the lights which gave us the best results was that of a lantern, the glass sides of which were replaced by parchment. It gave a softened yellowish light. From the private account of these seances I take the following extracts. Seance of the 8th October:—

‘Eusapia’s hands are still held and seen on the table. The Colonel then feels several touches, and a large hand rubs him through the curtains, on the top of his head.’ ... A more curious phenomenon happened before that; but only one of the medium’s hands was visible.

‘At the medium’s request the lamp is turned in such a way as to lessen the light, which, however, is still sufficient to enable us to distinguish faces and hands by their whiteness. MM. de Rochas and de Gramont change places; Eusapia’s hands are seen and held by General Thomassin on the left and M. de Gramont on the right. Eusapia frees her left hand for a moment, brings a part of the curtain on to the table, and glides her hand underneath it, in order to shelter it from the light; the General regains possession of the hand—under the curtain—and does not abandon it any more. The other hand, held by M. de Gramont, remains visible to every one. Almost instantly, General Thomassin feels on his thigh—and through the curtains, which bulge out in consequence—slight contacts; then the sensation of a pinch; afterwards, he distinguishes the contact of a woman’s small hand, followed by the contact of a man’s large hand. After that, he is struck with force on the shoulders and head by a large hand, outside the curtains. Every one hears the sound of the blows, and sees the hand; but every one sees the hand in a different fashion. M. de Rochas hardly sees it at all; General Thomassin sees it as greyish green; M. Watteville and M. Gramont see it as grey; M. Maxwell as greyish yellow. Eusapia determines different movements of the fluidic hand by mimicking them with her right hand, which is held by M. Gramont in sight of every one.’

This observation is interesting, but at first glance it appears very suspicious, because of the care taken by the medium to hide her hand under the curtain. General Thomassin held her hand well; I do not doubt but that it was Eusapia’s hand he held; but let us accept for a moment the hypothesis of an artificial hand, which Eusapia had adroitly given to the General to hold. This is Dr. Hodgson’s explanation. In that case, how would the hand, which touched General Thomassin, have been able to move over his back and head and strike him without any movement of the left arm being perceived? It is to be noted that the light was sufficient, and that the hand which gave the touches was seen by nearly all the observers. That hand was outside the curtains. I remember another seance held in the afternoon, in the course of which touches were lavished on all the experimenters, even on those who were furthest away from the medium.

In the three series of experiments, 1895, 1896, and 1897, made with Eusapia, I have had occasion of repeatedly verifying the phenomenon of touch. It appeared certain to me in a great number of cases. But it is a suspicious phenomenon, because of the extreme facility with which it can be simulated.

I remember a series of fraudulent experiments, in the course of which several touches were given. The first touches, through the curtains, made me think of the contacts obtained with Eusapia; but obscurity reigned complete, and I have reason to believe that the medium’s left-hand neighbour touched me with a stick. I was also touched on the knee, but it was by a very natural hand, which belonged to one of the experimenters, a man of inferior intellect. Inexperienced people are easily deceived by these contacts; however, the marked difference which exists between the falsidical and the veridical is quickly perceived, when we have become accustomed to these phenomena. I do not advise experimenters to put themselves under the conditions in which these facts are observed, as they are very unfavourable for the examination of the phenomenon. These conditions, as far as I have been able to judge, are:—(1) the formation of a chain around a table, the medium being seated with his back to the curtains of the cabinet; (2) an extremely feeble light, or none at all. It is only with Eusapia that I have obtained touches with light, and even then the light was of the weakest.

These touches, besides having the inconvenience of carrying little conviction with them, because of the conditions under which they are obtained, have also the disadvantage of impressioning persons who are easily moved and frightened. I have seen very courageous people affected by these touches. Therefore we must not try to obtain them, until we are already familiarised with the observation of physical phenomena.

It is to be noted, that the phenomenon of attouchement presents the characteristics pointed out in those I have already examined. In the first place, we note the correlation which exists between the movements of the medium and the contact. I gave an example just now, when relating the phenomena of which General Thomassin was the object. The movements of the right hand which touched him were mimicked by Eusapia’s right hand, which was visible, held by M. de Gramont, and seen by every one.

Here is another example, taken from my notes, in which synchronous movements were executed by one of the experimenters:—

‘John’ (the secondary personality) ‘then asks M. Rochas, who holds Eusapia’s left hand in his right hand, to put his left hand on Eusapia’s neck, the fingers stretched out as though in the act of magnetising; he then tells him to lower his fingers. M. Rochas executes the movement several times, and each time M. Maxwell, who holds the medium’s right hand, feels synchronous touches on his right shoulder, which is, at the very least, eighteen inches away from the medium.’ This fact may be compared with those I indicated when dealing with raps and motor or luminous phenomena. We see how constant the relation is between the medium’s movements and the phenomenon. This is a first general ascertainment. If I might venture to use the expression, I would say that we are in the presence of one of the first laws governing the production of these paranormal phenomena. I have not sufficiently observed the phenomenon of touch to be able to say, that the relation indicated exists between the muscular contraction and the phenomenon, rather than between the phenomenon and the movement executed; but some facts, far too few, it is true, tend to make me think it is so.

Finally, the experimenters, and especially the medium, are very fatigued after the production of the phenomenon of touch.

The influence of light seems to be very unfavourable. I have not had occasion of observing touches in full light, as I have so often done with raps and movements without contact. Almost total obscurity was necessary with Eusapia. This circumstance brings the phenomenon of attouchement into conjunction with that of materialisation. This is interesting, for if the touches are due to the condensation of some matter, as materialised forms appear to be, there is room to think that the two phenomena are closely connected, and that it is the same substance which, in becoming condensed, produces them both. This is what I have observed, notably at l’Agnélas, when I saw a hand and arm touch M. Sabatier’s head, at the moment the latter mentioned having been touched on the head.

We see how much a calm and impartial examination of the facts reveals common conditions for their production, and similarities between some among them.

II. Stamped impressions or imprints bring us into the presence of a category of phenomena of the same order. Pressure appears to be exercised upon a material substance instead of upon the sitters. If that substance be soft enough, the impression of the form which has exercised the pressure may be left upon it. I have only twice observed this phenomenon, and that was with Eusapia. It was at Choisy in 1896. The first time, we obtained the impression of the mounts of the fingers in lamp-black. The conditions of observation were not good. The second time, the impression was marked in clay. I take the following extract from our report:—

‘The dish containing the plastic clay is put in the centre of the table. Almost immediately the dish, which weighs nearly four lbs., is lifted up and placed in equilibrium on the left arm of M. de Rochas, whose left hand continues to hold Eusapia’s right hand. M. de Rochas feels three distinct, successive pressures of the dish resting on his arm; then a friendly pressure on the back of his arm apprises him, that the phenomenon is accomplished. We carry the dish away at once, and in the daylight we see finger-prints in the clay; the prints look as though the fingers had been enveloped in some material of fine texture, the woof being distinctly visible in the clay.’ I did not observe this fact with enough precision to be able to retain it as a demonstrated fact. I point it out, nevertheless, because it permits one to preserve the material trace of the phenomenon. Other observers have obtained better imprints with Eusapia. I have seen some which represent a distorted likeness of the medium’s face. I think this phenomenon ought to be observed with care, if one has the occasion to meet with mediums capable of producing it. I will point out the following fact to the attention of possible observers: the almost constant presence of a kind of woof, as if the object which made the impression was covered with thin gauze. This circumstance is at first sight suspicious; but here, again, as always when we are in presence of these unfamiliar manifestations, we must not be in too great a hurry to conclude in fraud, and say that the medium put a wet piece of gauze over face and hands, in order to avoid soiling the loam and bearing tell-tale traces of cheating. But I recognise that this is the explanation which ought to present itself before any other; and we must not put it to one side, unless we have sufficient reasons for doing so. At the same time, we must not jump to the conclusion of fraud solely because of this gauzy appearance. There is something interesting in the presence of this gauze. The faces I have seen were all framed in a sort of milky-looking veil. Personally, I have rarely seen faces free of this. I have not observed it around material objects nor around animals’ heads. Neither do I observe it in hypnagogic illusions. I will point out the following observation of MM. Brincard and Béchade on the subject:—

‘M. de Rochas feels himself touched on the face as though by a beard, and sees standing out in relief, against the part of the room best lighted up by the window, a long black lock of wavy hair. MM. Brincard and Béchade have the sensation that their heads are enveloped in transparent black gauze, which seems to fall on to their shoulders; it disappears before they have time to seize it.’

I did not notice these traces of tissue, with the undoubtedly fraudulent impressions which have been shown me or done in my presence. I am going to give an example, to show how an attentive examination can reveal fraud.

At a seance, I was one day shown the impression in some plastic substance of a small death’s head; a young man presented it to me as an authentic impression. This appeared abnormal to me, for a death’s head is not a common thing in serious seances, and for my part I have never seen a repugnant or painful phenomenon. An attentive examination revealed to me traces of the finger-tips, which had held the object while it was being pressed on the plastic substance.

At another seance at which I was present, one of the experimenters prepared some plates of cement. He placed them himself upon the top of a wardrobe. At the end of the seance finger-prints were found in the cement. These prints had been made while the experimenter was placing the plate on the wardrobe, and, of course, normally made by him. In these two cases, the impressions were distinct and bore no traces of woof. Therefore, such traces are not necessarily indications of fraud, since tricksters do not always use material to preserve themselves from stains, when they make the fraudulent impression.

As for photographs, I have never obtained any paranormal ones. It is true I have given no attention to this order of experimentation. I will say nothing about it therefore, since I have no personal fact of interest to relate thereon. The existence of paranormal photography is affirmed by sincere and honourable men, and their experiments deserve to be resumed. The method of operating is simple. The medium is photographed in daylight, when in a state of trance; photography by magnesium light is not to be recommended for many reasons, chiefly because it renders fraud particularly easy of execution. Never use any but your own plates, never let them out of your possession for an instant, change the plates yourself, expose and develop them yourself.

I remember one of my friends, a superior military officer, once showed me some extraordinary photographs, on which we saw abnormal forms beside the medium. I told my friend he had been imposed upon. Too honest himself to admit he could be the victim of disloyal trickery, the officer put no faith in my criticisms, and assured me that the photographs had been taken by himself with his own camera, and declared he had not lost sight of the apparatus for a second. His affirmations did not modify my opinion. Later on, when carefully discussing the conditions of the experiment, the officer acknowledged that he had interrupted the seance for lunch, and had left his camera at the medium’s house in the meanwhile.—The latter had taken advantage of his absence either to change the plates and substitute exposed ones, or to make a fraudulent exposure on my friend’s plates.

The author of this fraud was, moreover, obliged to acknowledge the imposture. I wonder what motive this young man could have had in cheating! I believe he acted out of pure childishness—having a tendency to hysteria.

In photography there are several ways of defrauding; the most usual is by double exposure. A shrewd use of sulphite of quinine permits of certain curious operations, it appears. I have not verified this.

[6] See Chapter [vi.], ‘Recent Phenomena, etc.’

[7] In France, a male cousin once removed is sometimes called ‘oncle à la mode de Bretagne.’

CHAPTER V
PSYCHO-SENSORY AND INTELLECTUAL PHENOMENA

Under this somewhat vague title I am bringing certain facts together, which differ greatly from those I have been examining. In reality, the facts so far related by me refer to material manifestations, and it was merely as an accessory, that I pointed out the intelligent character some of these manifestations presented. I will now describe the means best adapted for obtaining not physical but intellectual phenomena, properly so-called; that is to say, phenomena which are interesting solely because of the ideas expressed, or because of the signification of the images produced, and not at all because of the conditions under which they are obtained.

I have studied this category of phenomena with less interest than sonorous, motor or luminous phenomena, where observation is relatively simple. Intellectual phenomena can only be studied indirectly, and in order to verify them, we are generally obliged to trust to the statement of a third person. I think these are bad conditions of observation. This reserve made, I will divide these phenomena into two wide categories:—

1. Sensory automatism.

2. Motor automatism.

I. SENSORY AUTOMATISM

I thus designate phenomena produced by the spontaneous activity of our senses, and which do not appear to be due to exterior excitation. They border on hallucination. They are observed in the different sensory spheres. I will only examine olfactory, auditory, and visual sensations; tactile impressions were studied in the last chapter. As for gustatory sensations, they are very rare and without interest.

(a) Olfactory sensations.—These consist of a special odour. I have never observed any in the seances at which I have been present. In one series, however, the medium associated the odour of Jasmine with the manifestation of certain personifications. To me this sensation seemed to be purely subjective; it was constant.

An odour of ozone is often perceived after luminous phenomena have been obtained, a fact which ought to be borne in mind. It may be compared with the odour of ozone, perceived in the vicinity of powerful static machines, which give off electricity at very high potentiality. Here is an analogy which is, perhaps, not altogether fortuitous; these facts, however, are unintelligible.

(b) Auditory sensations.—I do not speak of sonorous phenomena. I now enter directly into the study of intellectual phenomena, that is to say, phenomena having a signification more or less precise and intelligible.

Auditory phenomena may be divided into two categories: provoked automatisms, and spontaneous automatisms or clairaudience. The first may be considered as hallucinations induced by diverse methods. The simplest method consists in the use of certain shells, horns, trumpets, or, in a word, any object capable of augmenting and allowing the perception of those external or internal sounds, which are not usually perceptible to the hearing. This is what is observed particularly with some sea-shells. When we apply them to the ear, we hear a murmur or a slight rumbling sound. This sensation is common to every one, and children are accustomed to play at ‘listening to the sound of the sea in the sea-shells.’

Some people do not hear this sound, or rather, when they listen, it quickly disappears and makes way for words and phrases. I know a subject with whom this faculty exists, but circumstances, unfortunately, have prevented me from studying him carefully. I point out, to the attention of observers, the interest which this automatism presents; the rapidity of communication is very great; in this way there is a greater output than with automatic writing, and it is less tiring for the sensitive. The only precaution to observe is to take down all he says in shorthand. We must accustom him to repeat, instantly, everything he hears, because words heard in this way are speedily forgotten—as in dream—but amnesia is not the sole point of resemblance between this automatism and dream. It has much analogy with visual automatism, but it has an interesting advantage over the latter. Visual images are those which offer the highest degree of symbolism; they are vague, wanting in precision, and require interpretation. Auditory hallucinations, on the contrary, have greater precision. Perhaps this is due to language, the usual manner in which auditory images are revealed. On the other hand, they are not so rich, and contain less detail than visual images do.

The meaning of auditory messages is seldom very clear; but there are cases where it is wonderfully so. Such are the chief features of provoked auditory phenomena. I have given too little attention to this phase of manifestation, to be able to enter into a more complete analysis of it.

Clairaudience is more frequent; perhaps this is due to the negligence of experimenters, who do not think of using the methods of induction I have just described.

I have rarely observed the existence of isolated auditory hallucinations; I have always observed them associated with visual hallucinations; therefore I will study them after these last, when examining mixed phenomena.

(c) Visual sensations.—Observable, visual phenomena are very numerous, and have already been the object of exhaustive studies. I will again divide these into provoked and spontaneous phenomena. Of course, I am speaking of hallucinations experienced by sensitives out of seance hours. In this part of my analysis, I am replacing the word medium by the word sensitive, which seems to me to define more correctly the distinguishing features, of those persons who have the faculties I am going to describe. This word conveys the correct idea, that the facts observed belong to the sphere of sensibility.

One of the oldest known methods of inducing visual hallucination is the use of a crystal ball. I have no need to recall to mind the practices of former fortune-tellers, nor the history of John Dee, nor the numerous recitals handed down to us by ancient chroniclers, novelists, etc. The crystal ball and the black mirror are the best methods; but the ordinary mirror, a glass of water, a decanter, a shoemaker’s wooden ball, the finger-nail, the watch-glass, any polished surface, in fact, may serve to induce hallucination; but I only recommend the first methods—they are certainly the best; a glass of water, a decanter, a syphon of seltzer-water, the thumb-nail, polished surfaces, etc., may serve to induce hallucination, but these last methods only succeed with very highly sensitive subjects.

I have carefully studied crystal-gazing, and though I have remarked individual differences in each sensitive, I think I may say that, as far as working methods are concerned, I have come to the following conclusions:—

The material of which the object is composed is not a matter of indifference. Balls of rock-crystal have given me the best results. I have seen people, incapable of receiving visions with ordinary glass, obtain them in a tiny ball of natural crystal. Objects in rock-crystal have the inconvenience of being very expensive.

Ordinary glass gives good results, but care should be taken that the ball contains no air bubbles or other defects. They must be as homogeneous as possible.

The ball may be spherical or egg-shaped. I think the elliptical form is, perhaps, the best; reflections are more easily avoided with this shape.

The size is a matter of indifference; personally, I prefer rather large balls. I have, nevertheless, obtained just as good results with balls of only one centimetre in diameter as with balls of six or seven centimetres in diameter.

The crystal may be white, blue, violet, yellow, green; it may be opalescent or transparent; but, I think, the best results are obtained with white transparent balls; blue or amethyst coloured crystals are also very good, and tire the eyes less than others.[8]

When looking into the ball, it should be sheltered from reflection, as it should offer a uniform tint, without any brilliant points. To obtain this result, it may be enveloped in a piece of dark foulard or velvet, or held in the hollow of the hand, or even at the fingertips, provided the conditions mentioned above have been observed. The object ought to be placed within the range of normal vision; the gaze should not be directed on to the surface of the crystal, but in the crystal itself. The knack of gazing inside the crystal is speedily acquired.

Mirrors also give very good results. They can be made like ordinary mirrors, or black like the famous mirrors of Bhatta, which are made of a special composition. Sensitives say that the mirror should not reflect anything: it should present a uniform tint, e.g. that of the sky, blue or grey, but without the mixture of these colours as would be the case with a cloudy sky; in a room the ceiling may be reflected, if it be monochrome.

Under these conditions of operation I have sometimes observed results so extraordinary, as to confound the imagination. They appeared to me to tend towards demonstrating Kant’s idea of the relativity and contingency of time and space. It is very difficult to admit, that these two ordinates of our perceptions are exactly what they seem to be, unless we push the theory of coincidence to the absurd. But this would be shutting the door on all discussion, and on all intelligent examination of a fact apparently abnormal.

My observations have been made with different persons, and a great many have been pointed out to me. Sensitives, possessing the faculty of seeing in the crystal, are not rare. The analysis of the facts I have observed, or of which I hold first-hand reports, allows me to class these ‘hallucinations’(?) under six categories of increasing interest:—

A. Imagination—images, ordinary hallucination.

B. Forgotten souvenirs, recalled to memory in the form of visions.

C. Passed events, of which the sensitive affirms to have always been ignorant.

D. Present events, certainly unknown to the sensitive.

E. Future events.

F. Facts of doubtful interpretation.

This grouping shows the curious gradation observed in these visions. First of all, disorderly and illogical activity as in dreams; then, more orderly activity: knowledge of forgotten facts, knowledge of past events unknown to the sensitive, knowledge of present events unknown to the sensitive, apparent prescience. I will give some examples.

A. Imagination—images are by far the most frequent. This phenomenon is analogous to ordinary visual hallucination, and seems to me to present the characteristic features of dream. This is hardly the place to discuss the state of consciousness during dream; for the form I am giving my recital would not bear any long psychological analyses. I will simply confine myself to resuming the conclusions of the detailed analysis, which I made in a work dealing with this subject.

The consciousness which works habitually in us, that which is manifested in our everyday life, is the personal consciousness. It is around this that are grouped the souvenirs accessible to our normal personality, to that part of ourselves which we call ‘I.’ This personal consciousness asserts itself in the highest acts of the psychic life, in the comparison of images one with another, in abstraction, judgment, and the voluntary selection of acts, which appear to us equally possible. This selection is the expression of our voluntary activity, personally conscious; it is determined by the comparison of acts between themselves, by the examination of their probable advantageous or disadvantageous consequences, by the appreciation of their morality or immorality, according to the social laws of the day, etc. Personal consciousness is the foundation of all our intelligent life; practically, it alone appears to exist, and its disappearance seems to us to annihilate our own personality.

In reality, such is not the case. With certain invalids, complete or partial modifications of the personal consciousness may be observed. Sometimes the notion of personality disappears. There are patients who suddenly forget everything, even to their own name. All their antecedent life is effaced, and they appear to return to the state they were in at birth. They have to learn again how to speak, to eat, and to dress themselves. Sometimes the amnesia is not so complete. I have been able to observe a patient, who had forgotten everything which had any connection whatever with his own personality. He was absolutely ignorant of all he had ever done, did not remember where he was born, who his parents were, or what his name was. He was thirty years of age.

Organic memory and memories organised apart from the personality subsisted. He could read, write, draw, and displayed a certain amount of musical talent. Amnesia, with him, was limited to all facts connected with his antecedent personality; it presented the type of systematised losses of memory. This is what is called in medical phraseology amnésie de dépersonnalisation.

In a lesser degree, amnesia only affects limited periods of life. Epileptics and hysterics often present the phenomenon of ecmnesia, a term chosen by the eminent professor of clinical medicine at the university of Bordeaux, M. Pitres, who was the first to point out this phenomenon with hysterical subjects. The patient forgets a part of his life, believes he is ten, fifteen, thirty years younger than he really is, and behaves as though he were at the age he thinks he is. The souvenirs of his ulterior life cease to be accessible to his conscious personality, which finds itself brought back exclusively to the elements which constituted it, at the time the ecmnesia carries him to. Every idea, foreign to that diminished personality, remains unintelligible to him. In order to make him understand, we must speak to him only of what he knew at the epoch to which he has been brought back.

Besides these disappearances or amoindrissements de la personnalité of the personal consciousness, which may be permanent or transitory, we also observe qualitative without quantitative alterations of the personal consciousness. These are changes or variations of personality, which have been well studied in hysterical subjects, but which also exist in other invalids, notably epileptics and victims of certain poisons.[9]

To sum up, the personal consciousness is susceptible of total or partial disappearance, or of being replaced by another consciousness which can be absolutely foreign to the normal personal consciousness, or preserve more or less close relationship with it, e.g. the patient who undergoes a change of personality may retain all the souvenirs of the normal personality A and those of the new personality B. But in an almost absolute manner the normal personality A is ignorant of all which concerns B. This is the type of periodical amnesia.

The clinical study of diseases of personality permits observation of the above facts. I ought to say that, in practice, they do not present the simplicity of the schéma which I have just given. Curious problems arise from the nature itself of amnesia, its degree, its mechanism, problems impossible to treat here.

But the facts I have summarily exposed already reveal an important truth, which curable, transitory amnesia clearly demonstrates: this is, that souvenirs can exist in a latent state in the general consciousness, and be inaccessible to the personal consciousness. Let us suppose that A forgets the ten previous years of his life—the result of a fall or nervous crisis. This amnesia will perhaps last for six months, during which period he will believe himself to have returned to the age of fifteen, when he is really twenty-five. All the events of his life between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five will have entirely disappeared from his memory for six months; then they will, more or less abruptly, reappear. Their temporary disappearance clearly shows that these souvenirs have been preserved somewhere, and that they were not really lost. We cannot affirm that they were accessible to the general and impersonal consciousness in every case; but nevertheless we can affirm it for hysteria, according to the observations of Pitres, Janet, and others; and, according to Régis, for certain poisons. The facts studied by these savants show, that souvenirs inaccessible to the normal personality were known to the general consciousness. For example, an amnesic patient can recover all his souvenirs when he is put to sleep; this is what Régis has demonstrated even in certain cases of amnesia from blood-poisoning. Janet, on his side, has established that these souvenirs, forgotten by the personal consciousness, can be evoked by certain automatisms (notably automatic writing), and are therefore at the disposition of the impersonal consciousness, that is to say, of that general consciousness of which personal consciousness seems to be only a part.

This fact, which the study of nervous pathology has demonstrated, is certainly general. The troubles of hysteria and other nervous diseases only exaggerate a normal phenomenon. Our personality does not burden itself with all the souvenirs, which our general consciousness appears to possess: the greater part of the things we have seen, learned, heard, etc., are forgotten; but this forgetfulness is probably relative, and only extends to the personal consciousness. It is also variable, and, according to circumstances, the souvenirs accumulated in the general consciousness are at one time more accessible to the personal consciousness, and less so at another time. If the personal memory be over-excited, exalté, we have hypermnesia. The facts which spring up in the personal consciousness have been so completely forgotten by it that they sometimes appear to be new; souvenirs present themselves to the consciousness without being identified by it, and we commit errors on the localisation of the mnesic image in time and space; this is what we call paramnesia.

The variations of the personal consciousness relative to memory, whose rôle in the constitution of the personality of the self is preponderant, are therefore translated clinically by amnesiæ, hypermnesiæ, paramnesiæ; but the variations pointed out are not limited to memory, they extend to other operations of the mind. I indicated just now, that the personal consciousness was only a facet of that more general consciousness existing in us, a consciousness where all antecedent experiences are piled up, where all our sensations are registered, be our personal consciousness aware or unaware of them. This general consciousness is in itself impersonal, at least in relation to our normal personality. This latter is only one of the currents which circulate in that consciousness, its preponderance, as Myers has indicated, is probably only a consequence of its greater practical utility in daily life, and not an indication of its absolute superiority; but there is one thing to point out, this is that we are accustomed to connect with that personal consciousness all the operations of our usual intelligence. Our reasonings, volitions, judgments, whatever they may be, are grouped around our conscious personality, or rather are founded upon its apparent activity. The consequence is, that every time the sentiment of personality in the consciousness varies, our reasonings, volitions, and judgments will vary in the same proportion. Thoughts which come to us will cease to be chosen by us, and will apparently come of their own accord; their associations will escape all logic, their succession will be rapid and incoherent for our personality, which will look on at their evolution powerless to direct it. The weakening of the sentiment of personal participation, in the acts of the psychical life, is then translated by the diminution of our faculty to choose the images evoked in the consciousness, by the diminution of our power of control over their evolution, by the helplessness in which we are, not only to judge them according to the rules of reason, but also to reject the most illogical interpretations, which offer themselves to us or impose themselves upon us. In a word, the weakening of the will, of the judgment, is associated with that of the personal consciousness.

We also observe a corresponding attenuation in the faculty of abstraction. Ideas are accompanied by their pictured or motor representations. Sometimes they are only expressed by pictures, and are presented in a symbolical form, or are dramatised; e.g. the idea of the death of a relative will not be expressed with precision, as is sometimes the case in verbal or written hallucinations, but by a picture representing the relation in a coffin, or depicting his burial.

Such are the psychological expressions of the weakening of the personal element in the consciousness.

We must not conclude, therefrom, that the impersonal consciousness is incapable of intelligent operation. No such thing; and events prove that the impersonal or subliminal consciousness is capable of accomplishing, with great perfection, the most complicated intellectual acts, without the personal consciousness being aware of it. In these cases, when the result of the operation is transmitted to the personal consciousness, this latter perceives it under the symbolical or dramatical form I pointed out.

Observation shows, that all the features I have just described as being met with in cases where participation of the personal consciousness with our mental or physical activity is diminished, are to be found in hallucination and in dreams.[10]

I beg to be excused for this digression; it was indispensable in order to develop, in a comprehensive manner, the analogies which are presented between dreams and hallucinations provoked by crystal-gazing, and the transcendental character which these visions can present, without being, however, supernatural. These considerations set forth, I arrive at the recital of some facts I have observed.

The way in which imagination-images or hallucinations are induced, with most of the sensitives I have examined, is nearly always the same. I will describe it, pointing out at the same time that the formation of the hallucinatory image is the same in nearly every case, be the visual impression imaginary, or be it the expression of a true fact, past, present, or future.

I have shown how to hold the crystal, and how to look at it. The sensitive, having fixed his eyes on the crystal for a few seconds or minutes—the time varies according to individuals—sees an opalescent, milky tint come over the crystal. I know a sensitive,—an intelligent and well-educated lady—who compares this impression, to that produced on the eye by rising mists and fleeting clouds. For her, the milky tint in the crystal is in movement. It breaks away like a cloud or mist, to disclose the hallucinatory image completely formed. To another sensitive, the cloud appears first of all immobile, and then becomes condensed into grey forms, which gradually become coloured and mobile. This sensitive enters so completely into the hallucination, that, as a rule, he thinks he is transported to the landscape he is gazing at; he has not only a hallucination of sight, but a hallucination of all the senses. Most people see the image in the crystal, but believe they see it life-size. The dimension of the crystal has no influence on the apparent dimension of the image;—at least, this is what I have nearly always remarked.

What I say of the mode of induction of the image in the crystal can be applied to any other mode of induction—mirror, glass of water, decanter, etc.

The cause of the vision is sometimes an association of ideas or images, which is easy to trace. Here is an example: I was once in a spiritistic group, and among those present were several sensitives presenting subconscious or paraconscious automatisms, with the features of ordinary somnambulism. I begged one young girl, of about fifteen or sixteen years old, to look into a white crystal ball of four centimetres in diameter. Almost without transition she saw goldfish in the ball. Every one knows the spherical bowls in which goldfish are put; as it happened, there was a bowl of this kind in the room. The idea of a transparent bowl was naturally associated with that of goldfish; this subconscious association provoked the visual image of the fish. Facts of this kind are the simplest; their psychological mechanism is easy to penetrate; the associations of images are almost logical, and their dreamlike character is scarcely marked. In the above case, the impossibility of placing the fish in a crystal ball is not perceived by the consciousness, which suffers the succession of images empirically associated; the globe of water containing the fish resembled in its form and aspect the transparent glass ball; therefore, the latter evoked the image of the former, and the fish which it contained. This association is very intelligible.

Here is another example borrowed from experiments I made with a remarkable sensitive—the one with whom the hallucination becomes generalised. This person, looking in the crystal, perceived a railway-station, and saw portmanteaux in the luggage-room. He then plunged right into the dream, and imagined he was going to take away his own portmanteau; he entered the luggage-room, took his trunk and opened it. It contained a particularly horrible dead body, which leaped out of the portmanteau, and bitterly complained of being disturbed. It threw itself upon the sensitive, who immediately fled, pursued by the dead body. After a desperate chase, the sensitive darted into a road which crossed a park. This park, in reality, is situated at more than six hundred miles from the railway-station, where he believed he saw the portmanteaux: this distance had disappeared in the vision. The dead body took a corresponding road; the two roads met on a hill, where the persecutor made a dead set at the sensitive; the latter fell, and the dead body stopped and bent down to strike him. The visionary gave him a kick in the stomach, and stretched him full length on the ground. The hallucination then ceased abruptly, and the sensitive found himself back in his room, in front of the crystal. The vision was so intense, that he was still upset with fright, and breathless from running.

This hallucination is of a dreamlike character, and reminds one of certain kinds of delirium. I have often questioned the sensitive carefully, in order to try to reconstitute the psychological elements of his hallucinations, and for this particular hallucination, as I have related it, I will indicate the result of my inquiry:—

1. The sensitive has often seen dead bodies. He is not afraid of them; he feels no repugnance even when touching them.

2. He has travelled a great deal, but has no souvenir of any connection whatever between his portmanteau and dead bodies, except the associations which stories of the nature of the Gouffé affair may evoke.[11]

3. The chase occurred at a spot known to the sensitive, who had, as it happened, gone, one day, to that very spot on a walking expedition with one of his friends, under some conditions recalling those of the hallucination, notably the choice of different roads; the two roads corresponded and met as in the vision.

4. He did not fall, and has no conscious souvenir, which can explain his struggle with the dead body.

This curious hallucination shows us an admixture of true images and fantastic images, these latter, however, composed of real elements. The duration of this hallucination, so full of events, was very short. This is another feature observed in dreams. We see here the trace of queer associations, some explicable, others not so. The idea of a railway-station awakens that of portmanteaux; that of the dead body is already abnormal, but comprehensible, the sensitive being sufficiently acquainted with contemporary criminal literature to know of the Gouffé affair. The leap of the dead body out of the valise, the flight of the sensitive, and the pursuit of the dead body after him, are abnormal associations. The first is difficult to explain; the flight and pursuit are more easily explained. The first of these ideas naturally suggests the second. The idea of pursuit awakens the idea of running; this, in its turn, awakens the idea of the place where the sensitive has really run a race; and, notwithstanding its illogism, that association is accepted, though the railway-station, where the scene begins, be more than six hundred miles from the park where the chase takes place.

All these associations bear the characteristic stamp of dreams.

B. Visions of past and forgotten facts present a different appearance. The following is an example:—The sensitive, in the course of conversation, was asked to sing one of Delmet’s songs. He could not remember two lines of one of the verses, and was obliged to pass them over. I had the curiosity to improvise an experiment, and I begged the sensitive to look into a crystal. The forgotten lines were read by him in the crystal. Facts of this nature—and they are very numerous in technical literature—can be explained by the action of the impersonal or subliminal consciousness. The souvenir forgotten by the personal consciousness exists in the general consciousness, which has need of scenic effects in order to transmit its message to the personal consciousness; hence we have sensorial, automatic, visual activity, and the reading of the forgotten words, which appear printed in the crystal. I will not dwell upon facts of this kind; they are so well known.

C. The third category of visions comprises the perception of past events, which the medium affirms never to have known. It is evident that these facts can, in the greater number of cases, come under the preceding category, and be but forgotten souvenirs. But I have reason to think it is not always so, and that a certain number of cases exists, in which knowledge of the past appears to be acquired in a supernormal manner. This is only an impression, which I draw from the reality of certain premonitory facts observed by me.

As an example of the facts I am describing at present, I will cite the following:—

A sensitive one day looked into the crystal; he suddenly saw the words ‘Salon de 1885,’ and a series of pictures, announced by their titles, passed before his eyes. The pictures, thus seen by him, had really been exhibited in the salon of 1885. In 1885 the sensitive was too young, to have had any personal knowledge of the salon of that year; but nothing is easier than to read descriptions of past salons, or to procure reproductions of the pictures exhibited there. The sensitive, whose good faith is above suspicion, affirms having no conscious souvenir of a like reading. He believes he has never seen or read anything concerning the salon of 1885, but he confines himself to affirming the non-existence of a conscious souvenir. It is, nevertheless, possible, as he acknowledges, that he may have glanced over a former catalogue or criticism without remembering it.

Facts of this kind are never convincing, for it is very difficult to know exactly, if the sensitive has ever had knowledge of the fact, which emerges in the vision. I cite the above case, as an example only, without pronouncing an opinion on its signification.

D. I have had no occasion of observing induced hallucinations representing a scene actually happening; at least, I have never been able to verify any in a satisfactory manner.

E. The cases of premonition I have obtained are, on the contrary, relatively numerous. I have, personally, observed some of them, and have obtained first-hand accounts of others. Here are my most interesting cases:—

I had given a crystal to Monsieur X., a friend of mine, who is much interested in psychical researches. Madame X. has the faculty of seeing in the crystal, but I have never had the opportunity of interrogating her upon her visions. The fact, which her husband related to me, concerns a woman who is cashier in a large restaurant at Bordeaux. Monsieur X., who sometimes lunches at this restaurant, one day showed the crystal to the cashier; the latter looked into it and saw therein a small dog. She did not recognise the dog, and the vision appeared to have no interest.

Shortly afterwards, Monsieur X. was again lunching in the same restaurant. The cashier called him up to her, and told him she was much astonished, because she had just received the present of a small dog, exactly like the one she had seen in the crystal.

Another lady sometimes sees visions in a mirror; these visions are formed on the glass of a wardrobe, which is placed facing a window, thus partly satisfying the conditions indicated further back. The recital, which was given me of these visions by her friends, was confirmed by the lady herself.

She saw a man seated on the footpath of a certain street, the man was wounded, in a particular manner, on the forehead; a piece of skin was torn away and lay over the eye. Among other details about his costume was a sack, which the man had rolled round his neck; on the sack the letters V. L. were printed. The lady, in her vision, saw herself speak to the wounded man, take him to the hospital and have his wound dressed.

She went out on the morning of the next day, met the wounded man at the spot she had seen him the day before, and her vision came true to the letter, even to the detail of the sack around the neck, and the letters which were printed upon it.

Another time this lady perceived, always under the same conditions, that is in the glass of the wardrobe, one of her friends, who is married to a government officer abroad, where he is consul of a sister-power. This lady, in the vision, appeared to be walking up the street Tourny at Bordeaux, just where it opens out into the square Gambetta. The details of the costume were noted by the observer:—a light cloak, and a blouse made of Scotch plaid with gold trimming about the neck. Two or three days afterwards, the percipient happened to be in a tram. As the tram arrived at the junction of the street Tourny and the square Gambetta, she perceived her friend, exactly as the vision had represented her.

Here is another and last example, still more significative than the preceding, for the vision was related to me eight days before the event took place, and I myself had related it to several persons before its realisation. A sensitive perceived in a crystal the following scene:—A large steamer, flying a flag of three horizontal bands, black, white, and red, and bearing the name Leutschland, navigating in mid-ocean; the boat was surrounded by smoke; a great number of sailors, passengers and men in uniform rushed to the upper-deck, and the sensitive saw the vessel founder.

Eight days afterwards, the newspapers announced the accident to the Deutschland, whose boiler had burst, obliging the boat to stand to. This vision is very curious, and as the details were given me before the accident, I will analyse it with care.

In the first place, one thing strikes us:—The premonition was not exactly fulfilled. The Deutschland met with an accident, it is true; from the nature of that accident, it must have been surrounded with vapour; the crew and passengers would probably have rushed to the upper-deck; but happily, this magnificent vessel did not founder. On the other hand, the sensitive read L instead of D; but this detail is of no importance, the foreign word being probably badly deciphered. Lastly, one thing worthy of noting is the complete absence of personal interest in this vision, for the sensitive has no connection whatever with Germany, and was ignorant, at least consciously, of the existence of this boat, though he might certainly have seen illustrations of it. Evidently, we must not attach too much importance to this premonition, but the same sensitive has given me many other curious examples of the same kind; and these cases, compared with others I myself have observed, or with those of which I have received first-hand accounts, render the hypothesis of coincidence very improbable, but do not exclude it in an absolute manner. Such as they are, I think these facts are sufficiently interesting, for systematic observation of the visual phenomena I point out to be undertaken by competent persons, with true sensitives, and not with hysterical subjects, who seldom, if ever, give good observations.

The facts of premonition which I have observed or controlled, and of which I have just given a few examples, cannot, I think, be reasonably regarded as coincidences. I have already said that this hypothesis, without being inadmissible, is insufficient. Think of the immense proportion of probabilities, which accumulate in favour of the reality of a fact, as soon as the details themselves accumulate. The visions relative to the foreign friend, and to the wounded man, are instructive from this point of view, given the great number of circumstances seen beforehand:—exact locality, exact details of the wound, the costume, etc. It is a pity these facts were not observed under good conditions. That of the Deutschland is much less demonstrative, because of the inaccuracy in the foreseen issue.

If we compare these facts with those which have been already registered by the Society for Psychical Research, we will come to a conclusion, which confirms the simple impression that my own observations have given birth to in my mind. What is the cause of these premonitions? What signification have they with respect to the reality of time? Why do these visions come to people, who often have no interest whatever in knowing of them? These are all so many questions I am putting, without being able to indicate their solution. We must observe, with the greatest care, the facts which are presented, accumulate them in as great a number as possible, and, before considering their causes, be, first of all, doubly sure of their reality.

I have indicated, further back, the analogy of the greater part of these visions with dreams. I will point out finally another resemblance which is, perhaps, not the least interesting. This is, that these visions are often quickly forgotten. We must make the sensitives we observe write down their visions immediately; for, in the greater number of cases, a rapid amnesia mixes up the details and causes them to disappear. These visions, therefore, react upon the memory in the manner of dreams.

F. Certain visions are of a doubtful character. Here are some examples:—Several times a sensitive sees, in the crystal, a long procession of personages clothed in white enter a sort of crypt, which looks like the entrance to a tunnel. The vision presents no incoherence, but appears to have no signification, either as a souvenir evoked unconsciously or as a subconscious symbolical image admitting of interpretation.

And now, I am going to relate a vision, which, doubtless, will particularly interest occultists. I was operating with a sensitive, who was ignorant, I think, of their theories and those of spiritists; who had no notion whatever about larvæ, and the forms given to such in the literature of occult sciences. Now the sensitive, of whom I speak, twice saw the vision of a tree standing out detached from the others in a forest. The earth appeared white, the tree itself was white, and appeared to be covered with white pears hanging from its branches. In his vision the sensitive drew near, and perceived that the pears were in reality white beasts of hideous appearance; they were like heads without bodies, terminating in long tails. These beings were suspended to the branches by their tails. This vision seems to me to be purely imaginary, but I have related it because the curious forms described concord, I believe, with the aspect given to larvæ by occult writers. I cannot positively affirm the sensitive’s absolute ignorance of mystic literature, but I have serious reasons to admit it. Must we simply see herein a morphological association between the different forms of larvæ, of tears embroidered on funereal garb and pears! This explanation would be possible, if the sensitive knew the signification of the word larvæ, and the form lent to these fabulous beings.

I must now cut short the recital of these observations, and confine myself to resuming the conclusion to which I have come:—This is, that sensorial automatisms and especially visual hallucinations have the same characteristic features we note in dreams, the same weakening of the power of control of the will and judgment over the selection of images, over their coherence, their likelihood, and the same rapid amnesia. These are characteristic features, which we observe in every case, where the sentiment of personality is impaired. This is just as noticeable in purely imaginary hallucinations, as in hallucinations which appear to have a real foundation. This fact seems to me of great importance, for it permits us to think, that one of the conditions of the transcendental perception of facts past, present or even future is the disappearance of the voluntary and personal activity of the consciousness. Less fit to act actively, it would be more inclined to be passively impressed by influences, which are at present indeterminable; the transmission to the normal consciousness of the impressions perceived by the impersonal consciousness appears to take place in the same way as in a dream, that is to say by dramatisation,—by a scene which expresses the idea in a concrete and symbolical manner.

There is therefore a rapprochement between these sensory automatisms and dreams and telepathy. Several premonitory dreams have been related to me by people of absolute good faith; I will give two, which were told me by magistrates. The first concerns a man holding a high rank in the magistracy. He had sold, at an advantageous price, the wood on a property he possessed in the neighbouring country, but the bargain was not definitely settled, and was to be concluded in an interview arranged for between the owner and the purchaser. On the eve of the day when the magistrate should have gone to the country, his wife dreamt that she was present at the woodman’s visit. In her dream, the latter offered a price, which was inferior to the price originally agreed upon, and covered his treachery with all sorts of periphrases, trying to prove that the bargain remained excellent for the owner. Finally he turned towards Madame X., who was present at the interview, and said to her, ‘This is fair speaking, is it not, Madame?’ Madame X. related the dream to her husband, telling him also that she thought the bargain would not come off. Her dream was fulfilled literally, and the phrase heard in her dream was uttered by the woodman. I received this account from the magistrate himself, an eminent man and one of the most brilliant intellects I have known.

The second dream is, perhaps, still more curious; it was told me by one of my colleagues, a calm, positive man with not the slightest tendency whatever to mysticism, employing his leisure hours in hunting rather than with metaphysics. He is, moreover, an experienced magistrate, and occupies a distinguished position at a court in the centre of France. At the time he had the dream I am going to relate, he was juge d’instruction in a small town, where there are some important factories. He was closely connected with a large manufacturer, and was accustomed to go and see him nearly every day. He knew the staff of the factory, and notably an overseer, a native of Flanders; this man, after many years of faithful service, wished to return to his birthplace and left his employer, remaining, however, on the best of terms with him.

Some months afterwards my colleague dreamt, he had taken his usual promenade and paid his visit to his friend. In his dream, he saw the overseer and manifested his surprise at seeing him; the overseer replied, ‘Yes, sir, it is I. I could not find any work in my own country, and i’ faith, I came back here.’ My colleague attached no importance to this dream; on the morrow he went, as usual, to see his friend, and in the factory found the overseer whom he had seen in his dream. He exchanged the same conversation he had held with him in his dream.

Facts of this kind are very numerous. Perhaps they are only simple coincidences, but, as with sensory automatisms already described, I cannot help thinking, that coincidence does not explain everything. The concording details are often so numerous, that the probabilities in an extremely large proportion are against pure hazard. Richet, however, has carefully studied the Calculus of Probabilities, and I will not go into the question. I simply give my impression, persuaded as I am that those who study these facts impartially will come to the conclusion, that hazard does not explain everything.

The two dreams which I have taken as examples offer us cases of telepathy, that is to say, the impression perceived in a way which the ordinary senses do not explain. Telepathy has been carefully studied by Myers, Gurney, Podmore, Sidgwick, Ermacora, and discussion on this question can only be pursued, if the work of these savants has been studied. Telepathy appears to me to be established in a definitive manner, but I have no personal example to cite. However, a very great number of cases have been related to me, by persons who have received telepathic impressions. I know of many people who have had veridical hallucinations, either during sleep or when awake. The following are some examples borrowed from my circle of friends or relations:—

One of my great-uncles had married a coloured woman at Martinique. This lady, though highly respectable, was the victim of tenacious prejudice on the part of the white creole families on the island, and my uncle’s marriage aroused the displeasure of his family. He left Saint-Pierre, and came to Bordeaux. His wife’s mind suddenly gave way; she had dangerous attacks of fury, but the union between my great-uncle and his wife was so close, and their reciprocal affection so profound, that my relation would not consent to a separation and have her cared for in an asylum. He fell a victim to his devotion; his wife killed him in an attack of high fever. One of my great-aunts, the dead man’s sister, living at Paris, was awakened in the middle of the night by her brother’s voice calling her. This hallucination coincided with the death of my great-uncle.

An intimate friend of my mother’s, a creole living at Bordeaux, had been present at the embarkation of a family belonging to Martinique, that was returning to Saint-Pierre. Some time afterwards she had a dream in which she saw a steamer founder; the stern of the vessel rose above the waves, and she was able to read the name of the boat; it was the one on which her friends had embarked. The vessel was lost and not a life saved.

Here is another interesting fact, in which (1) a sentiment of anxiety, the cause unknown to the conscious personality, corresponds with the serious illness of a near relation; (2) the telepathic, premonitory hallucination of a telephonic call preceded the real call by two hours. This fact was communicated to me by one of my friends.

‘Here is the exact account of the fact I mentioned to you.

‘On the evening of the 17th October 1901 I went to bed feeling greatly disturbed; I could not define the cause of my mental anguish, for I was in perfect health. This trouble persisted, and my sleep was haunted by painful nightmare.

‘At half-past four I suddenly awoke, having distinctly heard the sound of my telephone bell. I ran to the apparatus, and answered the ring. The night operator replied that he had not rung me up, and that nothing unusual was happening. I had therefore been labouring under a hallucination, provoked by a particular haunting impression.

‘At seven o’clock in the morning, the telephone again sounded, and I was put into communication with my brother-in-law residing at Biarritz. He told me that my sister, Madame V., had, in the night, been struck with congestion of the brain, and was in a critical state.’

All these facts may be considered as coincidences; their attentive study, their thorough analysis, and their careful, thoughtful comparison can alone make us suspect, that hazard has nothing whatever to do with their production.

I may compare these cases of telepathy to facts of exteriorisation of sensibility, and of vision at a distance. I have given very little study to these facts, for they do not enter into the habitual plan of my researches; I have sometimes observed them, but under conditions which do not satisfy me. My observations, however incomplete they may be, tend, nevertheless, to make me think, that the phenomenon described by de Rochas, under the name of extériorisation de la sensibilité, is real. I have met with two sensitives, who presented the phenomenon in a fairly clear manner in a waking state. I was led to make the following experiment with one of these sensitives. As soon as she entered the seance-room and had taken off her cloak, I took hold of the garment and pinched the lining. The sensitive mentioned feeling a certain sensation, rather feeble however, in the part of her body which had been covered by the garment in the place I had pinched it. The first time I tried this experiment, the sensitive had not been warned, and was surprised at the sensation she felt. Needless to say, I took precautions to make sure, this lady did not see what I was doing. I have observed, that this particular sensibility disappears very rapidly; at the end of forty or fifty seconds it has ceased to exist.

I have asked a lady friend of this sensitive’s to try the same experiment with her more private garments, especially with the corsets. Sensibility should then be greater.

I think that the observation of this fact, which I point out with much reserve, not having submitted it to serious study, is easier than is supposed, by employing the method I indicate, that is to say, by pinching or pricking garments which the sensitive has just thrown off.

I have had occasion also of verifying this phenomenon, under the technical conditions indicated by Colonel de Rochas. Very few sensitives present it in a marked manner, and it has seemed to me necessary to push the artificial sleep rather deeply. This expression may seem somewhat antiquated, to those who have frequented our learned neurological cliniques; but I cannot help thinking, that a real difference exists between the different phases of somnambulism, if they be observed. I speak of a difference of degree. It seems to me that, once the subject is put to sleep, the repeated action of the passes determines a particular state, pointed out by ancient magnetisers and exposed in detail by de Rochas, in which the subject appears to lose the notion of his personality, and be in close dependence upon his ‘magnetiser.’ I have experimented very little in this order of research, and I can permit myself only to give indications; I am unable to affirm a personal conviction. The few experiments I have made, however, tend to make me think that de Rochas is quite right in speaking of superficial and profound states. I am not convinced that the passage from the one to the other takes place with the regularity that my eminent friend has observed, but the fact pointed out by him is, I think, true in a general way. I am going to support my opinion with an example.

I have already spoken of Madame Agullana. Those who have only been present at her ordinary seances can have no idea of the curious faculties, she sometimes presents. An experienced manipulator can obtain with her—on condition of operating quietly and in the presence of very few people—phenomena which are very interesting, in the sphere of what is called animal magnetism. I was at her home one evening with Monsieur B. We were expecting a tutor, a medium of whom I had heard marvellous things. This tutor did not turn up; but, while waiting for him, I put Madame Agullana to sleep; I wished to show Monsieur B., who had no experience of this kind, the effects of profound sleep. I prolonged my passes, made longitudinally from the forehead to the epigastrium, for more than twenty-five minutes. From time to time, every seven or eight minutes, I asked Madame Agullana what was her name. She told me her name. At last the moment came when she could not remember her name, and appeared to have lost consciousness of her personality. I made a few more passes, and remarked to Monsieur B. that, when Madame A. appeared to have cutaneous anæsthesia, she seemed to perceive pricks at a distance of two or three centimetres from the skin. The passes were continued for about another quarter of an hour; at that moment Madame A. appeared to present two peculiarities:—

1. Her sensitiveness appeared to be localised behind her, at about three feet from, and twenty-one inches above the level of her head. She winced, when—care being taken that she did not see—the air was pinched at the spot indicated.

2. Only the persons en rapport with her—in the sense given to this word by de Rochas—could make an impression upon her; contacts and pinching by other people were not perceived by her. I did not observe these two peculiarities under conditions sufficiently precise to warrant me affirming, that my observation was good; but I indicate them, for to me they appeared probable.

Then, phenomena were forthcoming. Madame Agullana said she was in the street, outside of the house. I asked her to go and see what one of my friends, Monsieur Béchade, was doing—a man whom she knew well. It was twenty minutes past ten o’clock. To our great surprise, she told us that she saw ‘Monsieur Béchade half-undressed, walking bare-footed on stones.’ This did not seem to us to have any sense. I saw my friend the next day, and, although he is well acquainted with spiritistic phenomena, he seemed to be astonished at my recital, and said to me, word for word: ‘I was not feeling very well yesterday evening; one of my friends who lives with me advised me to try Kneipp’s method, and urged me so strongly, that, in order to satisfy him, I tried last night for the first time to walk barefooted on cold stone. I was, in reality, half-undressed when I made the first attempt; it was then twenty minutes past ten o’clock; I walked about for some time on the first steps of the staircase, which is built of stone.’

Perhaps this also is a coincidence, but this fact, which was witnessed by several people, presents very strange coincidences all the same. The hour, the costume, the unusual operation, are circumstances of too special a nature for mere hazard to suffice to explain them, it seems to me. I cite this case because it came under my personal observation, and because it shows a variety of telepathic phenomena; it is what the ancient magnetisers called lucidity, clairvoyance or, more exactly, vision at a distance. It appears to me to be a development of the facts pointed out by de Rochas; it looks as though the entire sensibility was exteriorised to variable distances. This is telæsthesia, a phenomenon in the sensitivo-sensorial domain, analogous to motor telekinesis.

Experimenters, who might be desirous of verifying these facts, should not forget, (1) it is necessary to have a sensitive who has often been magnetised—I do not say hypnotised; (2) sleep must be pushed very deeply—passes must be continued for more than half an hour after somnambulism sets in. The time is reduced with sensitives who are well developed.

It would be easy to multiply examples of this kind, particularly those of well-observed telepathic cases. The publications of the London Society for Psychical Research, Flammarion’s book, L’Inconnu et les problèmes psychiques, the Annales des Sciences psychiques, contain a great number of them. This symbolism will always be met with,—this dramatic element, which I have indicated as the ordinary way by which the general consciousness transmits its information to the personal consciousness. The assimilation which I make between sensory automatisms and dreams, crystal vision and telepathy, appears to me to find support in these facts. These phenomena are of the same order and, in all probability, have their seat in the same strata of the consciousness.

I will not try to fathom the cause; once again I must repeat what I have so often said already,—the question is still so little known, that we are not able to enter profitably upon the study of the apparent cause of the psychical facts examined in this present chapter. We must multiply observations and verify the undeniable existence of the facts, before attempting to interpret them.

I give here, both as an example of careful observation and as an illustration of the chief features of the phenomena of which I have just been speaking, the following account which Professor Charles Richet has kindly sent me.

A COMPLEX CASE OF PSYCHICAL PHENOMENA.
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES RICHET.

April, 1903.

‘Dear Dr. Maxwell,—The following is a brief account of the strange, bewildering facts, of which I promised you the narration.

‘I. In the beginning of October 1900 I was at Carqueiranne, when I received a letter from Madame X. Madame X. had left Paris on the 1st of October for Fontainebleau, with the intention of spending a month near the forest. In her letter to me she related, that on the arrival of the train at the station of Melun, she had a notion that some one entered her carriage and sat down opposite to her. This “vision” spoke to her, saying he had known me very well, that he used to call me “Carlos,” and that I called him “Tony”; he told her, that he knew Fontainebleau very well and would accompany her in her walks in the forest.

‘After that letter I received others from Madame X., giving me numerous details concerning this vision which called itself “Tony,” a vision which was repeated several times during Madame X.’s visit at Fontainebleau. These details were particularly remarkable and abundant between the 20th and the 28th October. I will briefly enumerate them, after which I will enter upon a discussion and appreciation of the chief details.

‘“Tony” showed me a tree to-day on which were engraved the letters A. B. and a date 1880, or 1883—the last figure was indistinct; underneath the letters A. B. was the name “Lucie.” ... “Tony” seems to have had to do with machinery of some kind. He had hoped to construct a machine, which would have been of great use to mankind. He seems to say it was he who discovered the telephone,—or, at least, that he was on the right track.... I hear him say, “I know Madeleine well.” He says he adored his father. He speaks about Léon, Sarah, and Marguerite, but especially about Lucie. His wife’s name was Lucie.... There were Jews in his family; he also talks about Louise.... He worked with telegraphy and electric wires.... He knew you remarkably well; he called you “Carlos,” and you called him “Tony”; of this I am sure, for he speaks of it so often. He says he collaborated with you in some work. He says that when he was dead, you went into his death-chamber and kissed him on the forehead.... He had not been previously ill,—a feeling of suffocation in the chest and that was all. [Quelque chose l’a étouffé à la poitrine, et ce fut tout.] He was only 30 or 32 years old when he died.... I do not think he was married, that is to say, in the legal sense of the word; but he was very much attached to Lucie, by whom he had a daughter, who was about three years old when he died. This child seems to be still alive, but very few people know about it. He adored Lucie, who seems to have been very charming, for Antoine shows me her portrait,—a medallion or locket which he used to wear—in which she seems to have beautiful dark eyes and hair. He lived for about four or five years with Lucie; but Lucie had previously been married to a Jew [un gros juif], whom she did not care for. I think Antoine lived a long time with Lucie at Fontainebleau; they were sadly happy there [tristement heureux]. The house they stayed at is no longer inhabited. It was a red and white cottage, quite close to the forest, which was just behind it.... The house stood alone; a tramway passes by there to-day.... “Tony” also speaks about his father. His father loved his own fireside; he once lost a lot of money when Antoine was grown up; but Antoine did not take much notice of this, for he did not trouble himself about money matters. The house in which “Tony” and his father lived together, is one which they seem to have always inhabited. “Tony” seems to have always known this house. The furniture is old; the rooms look as though they had been occupied for a very long time. He speaks of the Faubourg Montmartre; does that mean he used to live there?... Antoine also had to do with engines of war. I think he was wounded during the war [the Commune], because I hear the noise of cannon—and your father dressed his wound....

‘Antoine was a free-mason. He admired Claude Bernard. His political opinions were of a socialistic tendency. He did not care for the society of women. He was temperate, and did not drink wine; he was no epicure.... He has been to Geneva.... He has hunted with you.... He used to like reading Titus Livy.... He cared naught for the world’s opinion, taking his conscience for his sole guide.... He often saw Philippe. He also mentions Yvonne, Josephine, Georges, James, Clotilde, and André.... He speaks about a pseudonym; he has written some things under a nom-de-plume.... Antoine had beautiful dark eyes, large and most expressive, full of resolution, but, at the same time, soft, dreamy-looking eyes. He had a frank, hearty laugh, and this merry sound was often heard [Il riait souvent de ce bon rire]. He had a habit of putting his hands behind his head, and stretching himself out on a sofa, laughing merrily.... He has very long, thin fingers, which seem to be clever at mechanical work; indeed he seems to have been clever at everything, and to do all things well.... A short time before he died—a Wednesday,—you and he were at a banquet together, and drank each other’s health. “Tony” then told you, that he had not been feeling well, and that he was in great need of a holiday.... Antoine told me again to-day, that he loved Lucie dearly; “and,” he said, “I still watch over her, even now; tell her no evil will ever befall her.” [Rien de mauvais ne lui arrivera.]

‘II. The preceding are the most important of the data concerning my friend Antoine B., given me in Madame X.’s letters during the month of October 1900. I repeat Madame X. was at Fontainebleau, and I at Carqueiranne. Therefore, I could not have given her any hints by my words, and I am particularly anxious to point out a fact, of which I am absolutely certain, which is, that I had never pronounced the name of my friend Antoine B. in the presence of Madame X.; I am positive that no word of mine could have afforded the smallest clue to Madame X. of my acquaintance with Antoine B.

‘I may also add that, though to-day four years after these visions occurred, Madame X. has become one of my friends, at that moment, October 1900, our acquaintanceship dated from a few months only; and, at Madame X.’s own request, in order to avoid hints and suggestions, I abstained from ever speaking with her on anything save vague, general topics. Madame X., at this time, lived a secluded, retired life in a convent, seldom going out and receiving no visitors. She was, moreover, almost an entire stranger to Paris, having arrived there only a short time before I made her acquaintance. If Madame X. spoke of any one of my deceased friends to-day, it would be impossible for me to affirm positively that I had never pronounced that name in her presence; but, thanks to the great care I took at that moment to avoid all manner of confidences whatsoever, continually seconded in my efforts by Madame X. herself, I can certify that the name of Antoine B. had not been pronounced up to the month of October 1900.

‘Therefore my stupefaction was indeed great, when I discovered in Madame X.’s letters so many precise and correct data, though mixed up with occasional errors. And when I speak of precise and correct data, I do not mean data, traces of which may have been left in printed matter. I speak of private, unpublished facts, facts known only to me or to his wife. Notwithstanding this, however, I was blind to the truth. And I sought to explain away these phenomena of lucidity, by an apparently rational explanation.

‘Here is the fable I invented, for I think it may be useful to acquaint the reader with my hesitations, and the manner in which I tried to explain these facts. First of all, I supposed that Fontainebleau was a mistake, since, as far as I knew, Antoine B. did not go to Fontainebleau in 1883. At the same time, I thought I remembered he had been a pupil at the School of Artillery at Fontainebleau in 1874. But, I asked myself, why should Madame X. speak about Antoine B., whose name I was and am certain never to have pronounced in her presence? I found, or rather I thought I had found, the explanation. In the month of September 1900, Antoine B.’s daughter Madeleine, the wife of Jacques S., died, and one or two newspapers mentioned this sad and premature death. Now, I supposed that Madame X. had unconsciously glanced over one of these newspapers, that Antoine B.’s name had appeared therein with his biography more or less fully traced, our relations mentioned [he had been director with me of the Revue Scientifique,] and reference made to his term at the School of Application at Fontainebleau. That was my fable.

‘It is true there were several other facts awaiting explanation; but I did not let them hinder me,—so dazed are we by the fear of meeting with the truth just where it really is, when we find ourselves in the presence of facts, with which force of habit has not yet rendered us familiar.

‘I will not dwell upon the absurdity of this manner of thinking; I will simply repeat, that my first thought was that this vision of Antoine was simply the souvenir of some sub-conscious reading, with here and there a few gleams of lucidity, already very important in themselves, but not exceeding in precision or in importance other proofs of lucidity, of which Madame X. had already given me numerous and decisive examples.

‘Well! I was altogether wrong! It was a conversation which I had with Antoine B.’s widow, [she was now Madame L., having married a second time] which showed me my mistake.

‘During the summer vacation in 1901, she was staying at my house at Carqueiranne, and one day I happened to speak about Madame X.’s visions concerning Antoine. As soon as I began, Madame B. became agitated; the recital wrought upon her feelings considerably. When I had finished, she furnished me with the two following fundamental facts, facts which entirely destroyed the point of view I had first of all adopted: 1. “Antoine was never a pupil at the School of Application at Fontainebleau”; 2. “In 1883 he and I were at Fontainebleau together.”

‘Consequently the scaffolding I had erected in order to explain Madame X.’s visions entirely collapsed. The connection between Antoine and Fontainebleau—connection discovered by Madame X.—could not have been provoked by the souvenir of the reading of any newspaper, and the hypothesis—a very improbable one moreover—of a sub-conscious souvenir, of the unconscious reading of a hypothetical newspaper, had therefore no raison d’être. So that the knowledge of a connection between Antoine and Fontainebleau could not have been due to any printed matter—since, naturally, no newspaper had mentioned this private detail in Antoine’s life—or to any suggestion I might have given inadvertently—since I was ignorant of the fact.

‘Three other hypotheses remain:—that of chance, and this is so absurd, that it is useless even to mention it; that of collusion between Madame X. and Madame B., a hypothesis which is as absurd as the preceding one, even if it were possible, for neither of these two ladies had or have ever seen one another; lastly, there is the hypothesis of an extraordinary lucidity, on the nature of which I will not dwell, in order to avoid theorising, but which I must, perforce, be content with simply pointing out.

‘There is not the slightest trace left of Antoine B.’s visit to Fontainebleau in 1883. At Barbizon, where he stayed with his wife from the 15th May to 20th June 1883, he lived in a rustic inn, which has been demolished to make way for a tram-line. No writing, no letter, no souvenir of any kind whatever could have furnished a clue to this private detail in Antoine B.’s life.

‘III. I will now confront the reality, such as it was in June 1883, with what Madame X. wrote me in October 1900.

‘1. In order to go to Fontainebleau, or rather to Barbizon, M. and Mme. B. left the train at Melun. It is impossible to say, whether the initials of A. B. and the name of Lucie are engraved on a tree in the forest.

‘2. “There is much resemblance between Antoine, as he was, and the physical portrait drawn of him by Madame X., especially the soft, caressing expression of the eyes. In politics he held advanced opinions for his time, and, had he lived, he would, in all probability, have been a socialist to-day; at least his opinions would have been very favourable to socialistic doctrines. The sentence, Nous étions tristement heureux, is characteristically true; for at Barbizon, in spite of our long walks and our reveries in the forest, he was already very weak and in the grip of the illness which, soon afterwards, carried him off so rapidly.” [The above was written and handed to me by Madame B. in October 1901.]

‘3. Lucie is not Madame B.’s name. Her name is Marie. But Antoine often said to her, “What a pity you are not called Lucie!” It was his favourite name.

‘4. It is quite true that, alone among all my friends, Antoine called me “Carlos,” and that I, on my side, called him “Tony.” This is a fact known only to me. It is also perfectly correct—and I am not aware of having related this fact to any person whomsoever—that, when Antoine died, stricken to death in a few hours by a disease of the heart, I went into his death-chamber and kissed him on the brow.

‘5. All the details relative to the construction of machines, electric wires, invention of the telephone, [before Gr. Bell’s invention had been made known], collaboration with me in a scientific work, all these details are correct.

‘6. The house in which he stayed at Fontainebleau stood by itself, with its back to the forest; a tramway passes there to-day, the house having been pulled down to make room for it.

‘7. His daughter (who died in September 1900, at about the time when Madame X. says she first heard a voice call me “Carlos”) was called Madeleine. His sister’s name was Louise. Louise married M. H. of Jewish origin. [There are Jews in his family.]

‘8. He was thirty-two years old when he died, and his death was almost instantaneous. It would be impossible to describe his death more correctly than Madame X. does in the words: Quelque chose l’a étouffé à la poitrine, et ce fut tout. In fact, towards eleven o’clock in the night he was seized by a thoracic oppression, which made such rapid progress, that he expired at four o’clock in the early morning.

‘9. He was not wounded during the Commune; but once when, as a reserve artillery officer, he was assisting at gun-firing at Grenoble he lost the hearing of the left ear, an affliction which saddened him very much. Probably I knew this, but, if so, I had completely forgotten it. It was Madame B., who related this detail to me in October 1901, a detail absolutely unknown to every one, for Antoine never spoke of it.

‘10. When Antoine was already grown up, shortly before his marriage, his father, Louis, suffered heavy losses of money through a defaulting cashier. Antoine did not take this to heart; moreover, no one ever knew of the incident, which was carefully kept from the knowledge of every one outside of the family.

‘11. He wrote under a pseudonym. He wrote a few insignificant plays in 1876 or 1877; but it would be almost impossible to recover traces of them to-day.

‘12. The house where he was born, and where he lived up to the time of his marriage, is very old (situated on the Quai de H., and not in the Faubourg Montmartre); the furniture is ancient; the house is quite unlike a modern one.

‘13. The description of Lucie, his wife, is exact—“a very charming woman with beautiful dark hair and eyes.” Antoine had a portrait of her in a locket, which he used to wear on his person.

‘14. In a conversation I had with him a short time before his death, he spoke to me about the extreme fatigue which he felt, a kind of general lassitude, and of his great need of change and rest.

‘In all the above facts there is an admirable and most unlikely concordance between the reality and the indications given by Madame X.

‘To be quite complete, I ought to mention the facts which I have not been able to verify, and those which seem inexact to me.

‘Among the facts I have been unable to verify, are the names of Yvonne, Josephine, Sarah, Marguerite, Georges, Clotilde.

‘The chief inexact details are the story of Lucie’s true husband—a Jew (un gros juif)—and of the child Lucie and Antoine had, of whose existence hardly any one knew; also the detail of having been wounded during the Commune and his wound having been dressed by my father. I ought also to add that Antoine and Marie B. were at Fontainebleau with their three children. However, for reasons which I will develop further on, these errors have a great interest and merit an attentive examination.

‘When considering these phenomena we must, first of all, rid ourselves of commonplace prejudices. The question is, not whether such or such a phenomenon does or does not concord with recognised ideas, but whether the phenomenon exists or does not exist—always supposing, of course, that it be not in flagrant contradiction with established and verified truths.

‘Therefore every effort of demonstration must be concentrated on this one point: Can we explain the above facts by any known process? For the sake of simplicity let us only take one of the facts, that of the presence—“or of the thought”—of Antoine B. at the Melun railway station. We have seen that I fell into error by endeavouring to explain this presence—or this thought—by a term at the School of Artillery at Fontainebleau; and I do not see what other explanation can be attempted, since not the slightest trace is left of Antoine’s visit to Fontainebleau with his wife twenty years ago.

‘Even if an expensive detective inquiry had been set on foot, it is highly doubtful if anything concerning Monsieur and Madame B.’s visit to Fontainebleau could have been found out.

‘Therefore, at the very outset, and without taking into account any of the other exact details in Madame X.’s visions, we encounter the material impossibility of establishing any relations between Fontainebleau and Antoine.

‘But, just for one moment, let us make the concession that the names of Monsieur and Madame B. had been somewhere met with at Barbizon after an interval of twenty years; this would immediately entail the knowledge of many other details ever so much easier to gather than were those very details given by Madame X., and not only easier but also more exact. Had this visit become known to Madame X. by any normal means, there would not have been the story of an illegal union, and of a residence of five years at Fontainebleau.[12] So even the mistakes are a confirmation of the truth, one of the most interesting of confirmations; for, honestly, we cannot suppose that, knowing the real facts, Madame X. would have taken it into her head to add facts, which she knew to be incorrect.

‘To put it in another way, even if we admit this absurdity of an extremely cleverly conducted detective inquiry making known to Madame X. the story of Antoine’s life, she would not have distorted the results of such an inquiry by introducing errors therein. To take an example, when Antoine was at Fontainebleau with his wife and three children, she would have mentioned the other two children. She would also have said—and this was extremely easy to find out—that the B. establishment was situated on the Quai de H., and not in the Faubourg Montmartre.

‘Therefore, every point carefully considered, I think it is absolutely certain that normal means of knowledge could not establish any connection between Antoine and Fontainebleau.

‘In the second place, unpublished details were furnished. I will pass over all the details—though they too be correct—which might be found in biographical or necrological articles; I will simply draw attention to the following five extremely private details:—

‘Now, not one of these details could have been found out by any inquiry, however clever, however well-planned and well carried out such an inquiry might have been.

‘1. Madame B. was the only living person who knew of Antoine’s preference for the name of Lucie. She had never spoken of this to any one; and it is a minute detail of which I was in complete ignorance, until Madame B. told me of it in 1901, after hearing about the visions Madame X. had related to me in her letters, a year before.

‘2. I was the only person living who knew that Antoine called me “Carlos”; and this is not a very commonplace statement, since no one, save Antoine, has ever called me “Carlos.”

‘3. No one ever suspected Antoine of having written under a nom de plume; the few insignificant things he wrote for the stage are so entirely forgotten, that Madame B. herself remembered nothing about them in 1901; and it is even highly probable that what he wrote could not be found again, the Bobino theatre, where he presented his plays, having disappeared years ago.

‘4. The monetary losses which his father, Louis B., sustained a short while before Antoine’s marriage, had been carefully kept from the knowledge of every one. These losses were occasioned by a dishonest cashier. The man was not prosecuted. Notwithstanding the importance of the sum involved, Antoine was relatively indifferent to the loss, as was distinctly indicated by Madame X.

‘5. The circumstances of his death are described with striking reality. I kissed Antoine on the forehead when he was dead. Some little time before the end, he spoke to me about his health, saying he felt in great need of rest. He did not look ill, however, and he died, after a few hours’ illness only, from a cardiac affection: quelque chose l’a étouffé à la poitrine.

‘There is still another item of interest, which I wish to touch upon: this is, the “message” from Antoine to his wife: rien de mauvais ne lui arrivera. These words were written by Madame X. in one of her letters to me, with the indication that Antoine had pronounced them on a certain day. Now, on that very day, Madame B. was delivered of a still-born child. She was, therefore, in a perilous condition at the very time Antoine said: “I watch over her, even now; tell her, no evil will ever befall her.”

‘We have, now, to draw our conclusion. The hypothesis of chance is absurd; the hypothesis of fraud is absurd; there remains but a third hypothesis, that of a phenomenon inexplicable by any of the existing data of our knowledge. It is for this inexplicable phenomenon, that we are going to try and find an explanation.

‘Two explanations at once present themselves: α, either this knowledge is entirely due to the intellectual faculties of Madame X.; or β, some other intelligence intervenes, which manifests itself to Madame X.

‘α. This hypothesis is rather complicated, for it is not in the form of abstract knowledge that Madame X. learnt of all these real facts concerning Antoine, but in the form of Antoine himself. So that, if it really be only a question of abstract notions, these abstract notions have taken a concrete form in order to manifest themselves. They would thus have constituted a sort of error in themselves. It has been supposed that Antoine himself came into the railway carriage at Melun, that he accompanied Madame X. in her walks in the forest at Fontainebleau during the whole month of October 1900, that he related the story of his life to her; and there is something which shocks us in the thought that, though the story told to Madame X. be true, there was no Antoine. At the same time, this objection is not paramount; for we know so little of the ways in which supernormal knowledge flows into the mind, that we are unable to make any negation concerning them.

‘Moreover, it is, relatively, more rational, not to suppose the intervention of another force, since, à la rigueur, a human intelligence, under extraordinary conditions of clairvoyance, may suffice to explain everything.

‘β. If other personalities intervene, they may be either β´, the personality of Antoine B. himself, or, β´´, other forces non-identical with human personalities.

‘β´. Assuredly, the hypothesis that it is the consciousness of Antoine B. himself who came to Madame X. is the simplest, and at a first glance, it satisfies us. But then! what a number of objections such a hypothesis raises! How is it possible for the consciousness to survive after death? How can intelligences which suffer birth escape death? A beginning implies an end: Birth implies death, the one involves the other!

‘β´´. Other forces such as genii, demons, angels, etc., may exist, as strict logic commands us to admit. There is a certain impertinence in supposing that, in the Infinite Immensity of Worlds and Forces, man is the only force capable of thinking. It seems to me necessary to admit, that there exist intelligent forces in nature, other than man; forces, which are constituted differently to him, and are consequently imperceptible to his normal senses; these forces may be called angels, genii, demons, spirits, no matter the name we give them. It is evident, however, that this hypothesis of intelligent forces ought not to be confounded with the hypothesis of human personalities surviving after death. These are two absolutely distinct hypotheses. Now, I think that it is not the hypothesis of intelligent forces which is doubtful; what is extremely doubtful is that these forces can enter into communication with man. Moreover, as in the case under notice, why should they take the material appearance of a deceased human being, and declare their identity with such?

‘We see that all the explanations so far put forth are imperfect, and, for my part, I find them so imperfect, that I am inclined to believe in some other hypothesis which I do not know, which I cannot even guess, but which, nevertheless, I am convinced exists, since here we have real facts, which not any of the hypotheses heretofore presented can explain in a satisfactory manner. It is to this hypothesis X that I attach myself, for the present, recognising, while doing so, that there is a certain amount of irony in proposing a hypothesis, of which I am unable to give the formula.

‘In conclusion, we see that this case of Antoine B. involves the whole problem of spiritism. It appeared to interest you, my friend, and I have, therefore, related it to you, because the simple and complete narration of facts ought to precede theories.’

November 1903.

‘My dear Maxwell,—The series of phenomena concerning Antoine B. do not cease with the recital I recently sent you. That recital comports an epilogue not less extraordinary than itself. I say an “epilogue,” for most assuredly it has some connection—of a psychological order—with the preceding recital. I will set it forth as concisely as possible:

‘One evening in May 1903 I was dining with Madame X. and her family. After dinner we tried for phenomena, but received nothing. Towards the close of the evening, shortly before I left, Madame X. pronounced the following words—words which I wrote down among my notes as soon as I reached home—“I see a woman standing near me; she has grey hair, she is about fifty years of age, but looks older than she really is. Her hair is quite grey. I believe it is Madame B.” (Antoine’s widow), “though I am not quite sure yet. I see the figure 7 with her, which probably means that she will die in seven months, or on the 7th of some near month.” Such is the copy of the very brief note I took of Madame X.’s words. I ought to add that this note is a much abridged account of Madame X.’s actual words, and that she also said:—“Madame B. is very ill; she has some sort of chest complaint—perhaps tuberculosis—and she will die very soon indeed.”

‘What renders this premonition extremely interesting is that Madame B., at that moment, was only very slightly ill. She was so slightly indisposed, that not for a moment did the thought ever cross my mind, that her indisposition might turn into anything serious. Neither I nor any one in the world suspected any danger whatsoever. But fifteen days after this prognostication had been made, the apparently slight bronchial affection from which Madame B. was suffering, and of which I had, naturally, never said a word to Madame X., remained stationary, but still the idea that the result might prove fatal never entered into any one’s head.

‘Nevertheless, the result did prove fatal. Madame B. died, within seven weeks after Madame X.’s prediction, on Tuesday, 30th June 1903, after a very sudden and irresistible aggravation of her previously slight indisposition, which carried her off in four or five days. The illness turned out to be a sort of pulmonary affection, the nature of which is still unknown to the doctors who attended her: (tuberculosis? infectious grippe?).

‘An interesting detail: Madame B. had black hair; I, who knew her well, had never noticed any grey in her hair; I did not know she was grey. Now a few days before her illness took a serious turn, one of the members of my family who had just been paying Madame B. a visit, said to me: “Madame B. does not dye her hair any longer, so that one can now see how very grey she is!”

‘Here is a veritable premonition. The authenticity of this remarkable fact cannot be doubted, for it would have been impossible for me, or for any one else, by means of telepathy, or in any other way, to convey to Madame X. the idea of a death, in which I did not believe, and which did not, even for a moment, cross my mind, or any one else’s mind.

‘Such, dear Dr. Maxwell, is the epilogue of the recital I sent you. Although we cannot state precisely the link uniting the diverse psychical phenomena exposed in my two letters, I do not think we can consider them as independent of each other. There are certain mysterious relations here, which the future, aided by our patience, will certainly elucidate.—Yours sincerely,

‘Charles Richet.’

January 1905.

‘Dear Friend,—During the revision of the above pages, whilst I was showing them to Madame X., the latter told me that “the family B. were not yet done with” [tout n’est pas fini encore pour la famille B.!]; her words conveyed to me the impression of a presentiment of some misfortune about to fall upon that family. These words were uttered between 3 and 4 o’clock on the 23rd December 1904.

‘Now, during the night of the 23rd-24th December, towards 11 o’clock, Louis B. (the son of Antoine B.) narrowly escaped being killed in a serious railway accident. That he was saved was little short of a miracle. When, on the morning of the 24th December, I saw by the newspapers that Louis had escaped, I was struck by the thought that Madame X.’s prediction [tout n’est pas fini encore pour la famille B.] had been on the point of becoming realised.

‘Alas! the presentiment was but too true; for Oliver L., the son of Madame B.’s second husband, was in the same train as Louis B., and, though the morning papers did not mention the fact, he was killed instantaneously.

......

‘I have another interesting point to mention in connection with this presentiment. On the 8th July 1903 Madame X. wrote to me saying, that Madame B.’s death (she had just died) would be soon followed by another. She added: ‘Some one tells me that one of the sons will soon die,—before the end of two years. I think it is Jacques B., but they do not say so.’ [Quelqu’un me dit qu’un des fils mourra bientôt, avant deux ans. Je pense que c’est Jacques B., mais on ne le dit pas.]

‘Thus this premonition—somewhat vague it is true—pronounced eighteen months before, was realised. It will be remarked that Madame X., by adding her own impression to her auditory perception, committed an error; whilst the perception itself, though not very explicit, was correct.—Yours very sincerely,

‘Charles Richet.’

II. MOTOR AUTOMATISM

The observations which I have just laid before my readers, relate to facts occurring in the domain of sensibility; the motor centres do not escape automatism, and there is a whole series of motor automatisms, simple or mixed, to be noticed. For the sake of clearness, I will divide them into four classes:—

1. Simple muscular automatism:—Typtology; Planchette; and diverse alphabetic systems, ouija, etc.

2. Graphic muscular automatism:—Automatic script and drawing; Planchettes, baskets, tables.

3. Phonetic automatism:—Automatic discourses.

4. Mixed automatisms:—Incarnations.

I will remark, first of all, that the word automatism, borrowed from Myer’s terminology, is not strictly correct. In reality, we can only speak of automatism when we are in presence of mechanical acts, excluding intervention of the will. Now this is not the case with the acts in question; these acts, which appear to be automatic if they are looked at solely from the point of view of the personal consciousness, are in reality due to some sort of consciousness, parasitic or non-parasitic, and offer the characteristic features of voluntary acts. These reserves made, I will continue, for want of better, to use the word consecrated by custom.

1. Simple muscular automatism.—I designate thus those acts which require no association of complicated movements, such as the movements of writing and language exact. The simplest way of provoking this automatism is in the ordinary spiritistic process of typtology.

The experimenters sit down round a table, and lay their hands lightly on it. Sooner or later the table trembles, sways about from side to side, sometimes turns round, but more often raises one of its feet and strikes the ground with it. A code of signals is arranged to express ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘doubtful’—e.g. three, two, and four:—the manner in which the alphabet is to be pointed out is also agreed upon, either the table will strike the number of the letter’s rank, for example, one for A, three for C, 15 for O, 20 for T, etc., or it will strike the floor when the letter desired is pronounced.

I rank this phenomenon with automatisms because, nearly always, it has appeared to me to be due to involuntary, or unconscious movements. I do not like this kind of experiment; it does not carry conviction. Gasparian, and after him, Chevreul have given the correct interpretation of it.

It is interesting only when the communications obtained reveal facts, apparently unknown to the experimenters. Then the phenomenon is no longer explicable by simple automatic action: the muscular movement is determined by the impersonal consciousness of the sitters or the medium, and becomes the manner of transmitting the message addressed by the impersonal consciousness to the personal consciousness. In fact, we conceive that, if what I said concerning parakinesis be correct, the movements of the table may be sometimes parakinetic. I have been present at many seances for typtology, but I have never verified interesting facts, except the one I related concerning Touton la Pipe. When the experiments are conducted under the conditions which I consider indispensable, I am careful not to encourage typtological manifestations.

There exists other means of inducing simple muscular automatism. The best are instruments after the style of the psychograph. The alphabet, numbers, and the words ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘I do not know,’ are written on a dial in the centre of which a needle is placed. The displacements of this index hand indicate the letters, numbers, etc., like the needle of the dial of a Bréguet telegraph. These dials are made of different sizes, and of different materials. It is best, however, to construct them in the following manner:—take a square piece of white wood, non-resinous, from seventeen to twenty inches broad. Trace thereon a circumference of seven to nine inches in diameter, and write around it the letters of the alphabet, numbers, the words, ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘I do not know,’ and any other desired indications. Place in the centre of the circle a bone or ivory pivot, the axis round which the needle will turn. Make the needle of wood, giving it enough thickness and solidity for the hands to be able to rest on it. It is not necessary to give much mobility to the needle if the hands are to rest on it; in this case, it will suffice to pierce a hole in it, through which the pivot may pass.[13]

I have been told of cases where the needle moved of its own accord; but I have not personally verified this fact. If movements of the needle without contact be desired, it would be well to give a more perfect suspension to the needle: this may be accomplished by supporting it on small movable rollers, like those on the planchettes used for automatic writing.

I have rarely experimented with psychographs, for the same reasons which made me shun typtology.

I will say the same thing of another kind of apparatus: the ouija, made in England. It is a board on which the alphabet and other signs are written. A small movable planchette supported on three or four feet is placed on the board; the sitters put their hands on the planchette which points out the letters, etc., with one of its feet, a process which is irksome, to say the least of it.

There are yet other means for inducing muscular automatism. I will point out, as an example, the very ancient method of divination by the ring. A metal, or better still an ivory ring, is suspended to a hair or silken thread. The end of the hair or thread is held in the fingers; the ring is held, thus suspended, in the centre of a small circle of three or four inches in diameter on which the alphabet is written.

At the end of a certain time, the ring sways about, then strikes the letters, sometimes spelling out words. By placing the ring in a glass, it will strike against it, giving indications in this way. I have only used this method once or twice, for it seemed to me to present very little interest. This is in reality Chevreul’s exploring pendulum.

2. Automatic script.—Automatic writing is, I think, one of the most interesting of all phenomena; I have no need to bring to mind the important studies which Myers, Hodgson, Hyslop, Sidgwick, and others have made on this phenomena. I have been able to make some observations of great interest, but the limits of this book do not permit me to give a detailed report of them. The thorough examination I made of one particular case of automatic writing—a rather rudimentary case, it is true—clearly revealed to me the play of the unconscious souvenirs of the medium.

The methods for obtaining automatic writing are numerous. We can even make a table write by fixing a pencil to one of its feet; the same with a hat or basket, etc. More perfect methods exist, of which the following are the best:—

First of all the planchette; an instrument in the shape of an oval piece of wood, resting on three movable tiny ivory rollers, with a small copper setting at one end, in which a lead-pencil may be screwed. With the planchette two or three persons may write at the same time.

Another equally good method is the following: Fix two, three or four handles on to a large wooden ball, of about seven inches in diameter. Fix the pencil in a hole bored through the ball, each handle of which is held by an experimenter. Place a sheet of paper underneath the pencil, the latter will then often move and write words and phrases.

Finally, the best method of all is to write naturally, without any instrument at all. The sensitive sits down with a pencil, as though to write, and waits.

Whatever the method adopted may be, it is seldom that automatic writing is manifested at the outset. Generally one or several seances are passed in illegible scribblings, in making strokes, zigzags, in endless repetitions of the same letter. But we must not be discouraged; on the contrary, we must continue experimenting for a certain time, before concluding to the impossibility of success. Whether we be trying to obtain collective or ordinary automatic writing, it is a good plan to consecrate ten or fifteen minutes every day, always at the same hour, to these trials. The phenomenon takes a long time to evolve, and people, who have obtained most curious results with automatic writing, have passed months in developing their faculty.

As I said before, I have chiefly directed my experiments towards the observation of movements without contact; therefore, I have not sought very assiduously to obtain automatic writing with my mediums. The greater number of cases I have observed offer little interest, if we compare them to the curious visual hallucinations which I related a little while ago. I will make an exception though for one which I am in the act of studying, and which makes me conceive some hopes, the sensitive having written in English, a language which I am positive he does not know. This medium, like many I have met with, submits grudgingly to these experiments, and has not yet consented to sit regularly for automatic writing. I hope I may succeed in persuading him to do so.

Though my observations present very little relative interest, I will give some examples of the results I have obtained personally. I will give them simply as indications, for, none of the facts I have observed present, so far, any real interest, except the one I was able to analyse, and even this contains nothing of a transcendental nature.

I myself have often tried to write with the planchette. I obtained words and incoherent phrases, all extremely commonplace. I wrote alone or with others; alone, I obtained it with the left as well as with the right hand. The left hand sometimes gives mirror-writing, Spiegelschrift; with the planchette, the left hand generally writes in the usual manner from left to right. One point to be noted with planchette-writing, is the dissociation of the graphic elements. The letters are as a rule fairly large, varying from an eighth of an inch to nearly an inch. It is chiefly in capital letters we find the dissociation curious. The characteristics of my hand-writing are not altered. I will add that this manifestation does not present much interest, for I am perfectly conscious of what I write when alone, and when I write with another person, the movements of the planchette indicate to me what letters are being formed.

With the ball and handles, of which I gave a description, I once observed a curious fact. I was experimenting with a lady and her husband; the former is a medium whose faculties are above the average. The writing announced the reception of a letter from Hendaye on the morrow. The letter came; but to demonstrate the premonitory feature of this fact, I have only the affirmation of my co-experimenters, and although they are people of unimpeachable probity, their affirmation alone would be insufficient to establish the reality of the premonition in a positive manner. Therefore, I only give it as a specimen of the facts which may be obtained with automatic writing.

I have often observed ordinary writing, but I have never obtained a veridic paranormal fact in this way. I have, as I said, studied a case of semi-automatic writing, and was able to analyse its psychological features thoroughly. The writer was what spiritualists call an intuitive medium, that is to say, he was conscious of what he wrote. He was thirty-five years of age, and had never indulged in spiritistic practices before, though he knew the literature, especially Allan Kardac’s works. At the time the phenomenon manifested itself with him, he was mentally overdone through excess of brain work. He occupied an important official position. Apparently he has no nervous defect, and, except for frequent headaches, his health is good. I have not been able to study his reflex movements, nor examine him from a somatic point of view.

He commenced writing with the planchette; he had a sensation of being guided, but knew what he wrote and what he was going to write. There was, therefore, a beginning of dissociation between the mental images, properly so called, and their motor action. This fact should be noted, because it seems to me to have an interesting signification, in so far as it demonstrates that the ideomotor image is not simple, but has complex elements, and, notably, that elements which are purely ideal and motor elements can become dissociated. In the example cited, the sensitive was fully conscious of the ideas which were formed in, or which presented themselves to, his consciousness. On the contrary, he was not fully conscious of the movements his hand made. The stereognostic perception and the muscular sense were intact; only the consciousness of the origin of the accomplished movement was obscure; therefore, it was only the sphere of voluntary motor power in the personal consciousness which was touched.

The first manifestations of pseudo-automatic writing claimed to emanate from a deceased relation. This relation was quite disposed to communicate facts known to the sensitive, but manifested very little eagerness to answer questions which the sensitive’s consciousness could not answer. Invited to justify his identity, the personality showed itself incapable of giving the slightest proof.

Meanwhile, the sensitive tried ordinary writing, and obtained it. It presented the same features as planchette-writing. A new personification came and assisted the deceased relation—he was nothing less than a Mahatma from India! At this time the sensitive was reading the works of Madame Blavatsky and Mr. Sinnett, especially the latter’s Occult World. The communications were signed Hymaladar. This Mahatma presented nothing of transcendental interest, and was lavish with his promises. He declared he was ready to undertake the exoteric education of the sensitive, who, in his naïveté, yielded to the Mahatma’s advice. The Mahatma promised to transport him actually over to India, to precipitate letters, etc. The promises were never fulfilled.

Other personifications manifested; the sensitive tried to obtain some proofs of identity, but without success. On the other hand the personifications were verbose on general topics, and gave proof of a lively imagination. Here are some specimens of their style and ideas.

A guide, signing himself Memnon, expressed the following opinion upon a certain mystic book:—

‘... Do not allow yourself to be led away by its descriptions: they apply to all those who, in no matter what religion, devote themselves to a contemplative life, which is, assuredly, a blessing, but one which must be won by patience and effort. When the duties common to every man born of the flesh have been fulfilled, abstention from the imperious duty of procreation can, and really does, favour the faculty for projection of the soul, and renders ecstasy easier; but not only is such a development artificial, it is also reprehensible to arrive at that contemplative life, without having founded a family in compliance with the imprescriptible law of nature. Herein lies the original vice of all religious communities which offend creation’s views; it would suffice to generalise the doctrine to discover its falseness immediately. Man has physical as well as moral duties to accomplish: he is composed of a body and a soul; he is culpable when he subordinates one of his composing parts to the other. The senses have no more the right to command the body than the soul has of making the body suffer in its physical functions. The suppression of any natural function is criminal, and every religious order does this. This is their capital error. He who has raised children and satisfied the physical evolution, he alone has the right to withdraw from the world, to lead a contemplative life, when the body, worn out by old age, has finished its active rôle here below. It is only then that preparation is useful.’

The pencil was verbose every time general subjects were broached. Whenever the sensitive pressed the personification on some given point, the latter was silent—he disappeared. The questions were written as well as the replies. There are some amusing conversations, where the ‘spirit’ plays a rôle other than that of simple interlocutor. By way of specimen, I note the following dialogue:—

Q. Do you see me?

A. Yes, but badly; we do not see matter clearly; a long apprenticeship is necessary, and we have not been working long with matter.

Q. Is it long since you left your sphere?

A. Eight years.

Q. Who are you?

A. Monsieur A.

Q. And?

A. And Mamie Beaupuyat.

Q. You have known me?

A. Yes, I was one of your college friends.

Q. Where?

A. At N.

Q. What college?

A. Z. College.

Q. Will you write your name again?

A. Maurice B. (here the name of a street).

Q. I do not remember having known you my friend. Remark this, you have given me two different names, Beaupuyat and B.

A. Many details are forgotten in Paradise (sic).

Q. Ah! strange ambassador! You come to see me without letters of credit!

A. Good-bye.

Q. Good-night.

The subconscious excuse for the contradiction pointed out is not wanting in humour.

Here is another example:—

Q. Are my guides here?

A. We are always at hand to help you, always.

Q. Will you show yourselves to me?

A. Ought you to ask us for anything before giving us tokens?

......

Q. Is it X. who is influencing me?

A. Yes.

Q. But he is dead?

A. Yes.

Q. But you forbid me to evoke the dead?

A. We are the spirits of dead people.

Q. But you told me you were Mahatmas?

A. We are Mahatmas, but Mahatmas are not living.

Q. Is it again a trick of my subliminal?

A. Yes, your subliminal is the will.

Q. Yes, it is true, but the will is chiefly superliminal.

A. You are right.

Q. Why do you always make fun of me?

A. We do so to please the Lord.

Q. This is cruel. I am in earnest, and your lord, if he be just, will punish you severely for your farces.

A. Yes, he will give us the whip.

Q. I do not like this joking, leave me.

A. Always ... (illegible).

Q. What?

A. Magician.

Q. Am I a magician?

A. Yes.

Q. I did not know it.

A. Always do good, and you will be happy.

Q. Happiness is not so easy to obtain.

A. Good-bye.

Q. Who are you?

A. A friend.

This is simply nonsense. I have quoted these three examples in order to show the growing analogy found therein with the delirium of dream. It is scarcely visible in the first quotation, which is coherent, logical and of fairly elegant form. But the ideas which are expressed have their sources in subconscious souvenirs: they will be found in Spirit Teachings, Higher Aspects of Spiritualism, Occult World, and Esoteric Buddhism.

The second quotation reveals decided oneiroscopic associations. The name Beaupuyat awakens no souvenir; the name of a street having nearly the same assonance is then substituted for it; this is an illogical association, formed by phonetic elements. The explanation of the contradiction between the names given successively is very illogical, but it is what might be called ‘a good hit.’ This is one of our ways of reasoning with ourselves in dreams.

The third quotation shows a still more marked degree of incoherence. The first replies are attempts at conciliation of contradictions impossible to do away with: they are affirmations which are but echoes of the questions asked. I do not quite understand the association between subliminal and will; but the emergence of the idea of will gives place to a curious phenomenon: the evolution of a parasitical association of ideas bringing to mind the psychological phenomenon which A. Pick describes under the name of Vorbeidenken. We have non-expressed stages, from will to ‘God’s will,’ words which are often associated together in religious language: ‘to do the will of God, to be agreeable to God.’ The incoherent reply, which consists in saying that the Mahatmas make fun of the subject in order to be agreeable to God, is then the last link of a chain of latent associations; this last link is the only one shown. Also, the incongruous idea of beings who call themselves spirits and wise men, and declare they must be whipped, is the result of an evident association between the idea of being severe consciously expressed, and the idea of severity, chastisement, whip, average latent terms. The psychological analysis, therefore, reveals to us mental processes which are known and classed. It shows us, that the dream character of subconscious messages does not differ from that observed in the mental operations of the consciousness, as soon as the latter’s personal and voluntary activity becomes weakened or gradually gives place to spontaneous ideation. I think the three examples I have chosen show this progressive debilitation very well, and also the corresponding accentuation of the characteristics of dream in the messages obtained. The case I examined is at the limit of paranormal facts, but the inquisitive reader has at his disposal the weighty analysis of the transcendental cases published in the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, epitomised by M. Sage in his book Mrs. Piper et la Société Anglo-Américaine des Recherches Psychiques, to verify the accuracy of my conclusion, viz. that the mental processes in simple cases, as well as in the more complex cases, are identical.

I return to the case observed by me. The obstinacy of even the best and most moral of these personalities in refusing to expose themselves to any control whatsoever, the falsehoods they were imprudent enough to overlook, and the critical attitude of mind of the sensitive himself, awakened a spirit of distrust in the latter. He began to observe himself, and the first result of his observation of the conditions under which the writing was produced, was the gradual disappearance of the sensation of impulse which he had felt: his pencil, he told me, had seemed to follow a magnet. As this sensation weakened and disappeared, so the personifications affected to be either grievously pained, or cold and dignified, or frankly insolent; they all deplored the sensitive’s incredulity. The relation bade him adieu and appeared no more; Hymaladar himself ceased to be interested in his chela. The sensitive soon saw the futility of his efforts, and the writing ceased completely to present the peculiarity it had offered during several weeks.

This case is instructive, because it is on the borderline between conscious and unconscious phenomena. Thanks to the clear and complete indications on the part of the sensitive, I was able to reconstitute the genesis of every personality. That of the relation is easily explained, but Hymaladar was more rebellious to analysis. Upon investigation it appeared to me to be the synthesis of the words Hymalaya and Damodar. The one, which quite naturally evokes the thought of India, is the dwelling-place of the sages who, it appears, preside in a very secret manner at the evolution of the theosophical movement; the disciple or chela of one of them was the guru, the master of Madame Blavatsky. His name was Damodar. The associated ideas—Blavatsky, India, Hymalaya, Damodar—lead up to the word Hymala (ya Damo) dar; the genesis of the word is thus quite comprehensible.

At present I am observing a more complex case, in which paranormal phenomena accompany automatic writing. The sensitive, who is in the act of developing his medianity, unfortunately gives himself up rather unwillingly to observation. He does not know English, yet he has automatically written certain phrases in English. However, we must not conclude therefrom, that these messages are of transcendental origin. This sensitive is a well-educated person, and most probably English words and phrases have fallen under his eyes from time to time; thus the irruption of English in messages he obtains may be explained by the emergence of subconscious souvenirs. The tenor of the messages is still vague; the writing is often difficult to read; no precise fact capable of being analysed and verified has so far been given. It appears to me useless, in these circumstances, to give examples of these messages, but I will point out an interesting peculiarity which I have observed only with this sensitive. This is the concomitancy of raps and automatic writing. I have most carefully studied these raps; they appear to me to occur on a level with the point of the pencil. The phenomenon is forthcoming in broad daylight, and under excellent conditions of observation. An attentive examination shows that the point of the pencil does not leave the paper. The raps are forthcoming even when I put my finger on the upper end of the pencil, and when I press the point on the paper. The pencil vibrates, but it is not displaced. As these raps are very sonorous, I have calculated that it would be necessary to give rather a strong knock in order to reproduce them artificially: the necessary movement would require raising the pencil from the twentieth to the eighth of an inch, according to the intensity of the raps. Now, the pencil does not appear to be displaced. Further, when the writing runs quickly the raps succeed one another with great rapidity, and the close examination of the writing reveals no stops; the text is unbroken, no trace of pencil dots is perceptible, there is no thickening of the characters. The conditions of observation appear to me to exclude the possibility of a trick. I will add that during this automatic writing the arm and hand of the sensitive are in a state of anæsthesia.

3. Phonetic and mixed automatisms. I combine these two categories of automatisms because the automatism is seldom purely phonetic. The sensitive makes gestures appropriate to the personage he represents, and the automatism is complicated; the muscles which regulate the emission of the voice are not the only ones in activity.

This kind of automatism is very easy to observe. It is the basis of ordinary spiritistic seances; it is called ‘incarnation’ or ‘control,’ and the sensitive, who produces this kind of phenomena, is called a ‘trance medium.’

Its necessary condition is the trance or somnambulistic state. The sensitive falls asleep spontaneously, or is put to sleep artificially by passes. After a certain time, more or less long, and after diverse movements, the most usual of which seem to be muscular contractions of the face and pharynx, the sensitive enters into somnambulism and passes into the secondary state. Some subjects fall asleep very quickly. It is not a rare thing in spiritistic seances, for two or three persons to enter into a state of somnambulism at the same time. The perfection of the sensitive’s acting, when personifying diverse individualities, is most striking when they have known the persons they are imitating. Observation is extremely interesting. In spiritistic seances these personalities, naturally, always represent spirits.

I have seen nothing in this order of phenomenon which appeared to me worth noting. Everything is easily explained by the play of impersonal memory and by imitation. Many transcendental facts have been related to me: personally I have observed none. But I have very rarely tried to provoke trance phenomena. They do not present the same interest to me as physical phenomena do. The most interesting I have seen, were given me by Madame Agullana, in private seances. This sensitive’s most curious personality is that of a doctor, who died about eighty or a hundred years ago: he has always refused to give any information concerning his identity; the reason he advances for maintaining his incognito—the existence of his family, members of whom are living in the south of France—does not satisfy me; I imagine he is withholding the best. His medical language is archaic. He calls plants by their ancient medical names; his diagnosis, accompanied with extra-ordinary explanations, is generally correct, but the description of the internal symptoms which he perceives is such as would astound a doctor of the twentieth century. Matters, fluids, molecules, dance a strange saraband. Nevertheless, my colleague from beyond the tomb—not at all loquacious, by the way—retains a serenity, which is proof against everything, and humbly recognises that there are many things he does not know. During the ten years I have been observing him, he has not changed, and presents a logical continuity which is most striking. Persons, who are not au courant with the features of secondary personalities, might easily be deceived and believe in his objective reality. Be he what he says he is, or be he what I suspect him to be, that is to say, one of the sensitive’s secondary personalities, my confrère Hippolytus is an interesting interlocutor, and, with his conversation, one could write a work on clinical medicine which would be rather out of the common. This is not the place to study him, for his examination only raises problems of psychological interest. In these phenomena of mixed automatism, of ‘incarnation,’ we observe the complete development of personifications. These personifications are the feature common to all psychical phenomena. Raps claim to emanate from a given personality, paranormal movements have the same pretension, automatic script assures us of a like origin: ‘incarnation’ or ‘control’ puts forth the claim of being the personality himself, in full possession of the sensitive’s body, directing and using it as he pleases.

The problem which these personifications set before us is, perhaps, the most interesting of all those which are to be met with, in the kind of study to which this book is consecrated. I have pointed out, that the general feature of these personifications is to present themselves as living—or more usually deceased human beings. My observations do not tend to make me think that this claim is well founded. It does not come within the scheme of my work to analyse the different hypotheses, which have been emitted by the different mystic schools. Occultists profess to see astral shells, in these personifications, debris—still organised—of the body’s astral double, which the superior principles have abandoned. Theosophists have about the same theory, designating these debris by the name of elementals. Spiritists attribute their phenomena to the spirits of the dead. Roman Catholics see the intervention of the devil therein, while the greater number of savants only see fraud or chimera. All these opinions are too absolute. There is, certainly, something; but I think this something is neither spirit, shell, elemental nor demon. It is not my province to formulate in detail my theory: properly speaking, I have not any. I observe without bias of any kind, and the only indication I can give is the following:—in almost every case I have studied, I believe I recognised the mentality of the medium and the sitters in the personification. It is true, there are certain cases which I cannot explain in this way; but the spirit hypothesis explains them still less satisfactorily. We must continue seeking.

The examples I have given of intellectual phenomena show that in every case of which I have been able to make a thorough analysis, we discover the action of the impersonal consciousness. This explains itself naturally, since the personal and voluntary consciousness excludes by definition the co-existence of a second personality. Nevertheless, this is not absolutely true. The medium, of whom I have already spoken, he who produces raps when writing, writes automatically while he speaks, in quite a natural way, of other things. In fact, he only writes well when his attention is drawn away from his hand. As soon as he is conscious of the movement, the writing ceases. Things happen with him, as though the normal consciousness lost all contact with the motor centres of the arm and hand. A special consciousness appears to be developed in these centres.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF AUTOMATISM

The difficulty, which is raised by the interpretation of facts of the kind exposed above, is considerable. It is to be remembered, that the sensitive of whom I have just spoken, does not appear to suffer any diminution of his normal personality; he converses with facility, his normal personal souvenirs and his intelligence remain intact. His arm and hand alone, especially the latter, are withdrawn from consciousness, and this in the sensitive as well as in the motor spheres. Janet sees in these facts psychological disaggregation, and in many cases his explication is the correct one. But it cannot be applied to the case I am speaking of, for no diminution in the memory, intelligence or mental activity is perceptible. However, Janet seems to have only seen one of the phases of these curious phenomena. I attach so much importance to the establishing of the point de fait that, before all analysis thereof, I desire to state it precisely, successively with the discussion.

The first circumstance of fact which observation of the case I am examining reveals, is the one I have just pointed out: an apparent dissociation of the normal personality, from the cenesthesic consciousness of which a portion of the body is withdrawn. The second circumstance is the relative knowledge of English—with correct orthography excepting one mistake only—which is shown by the apparently self-governed limb. Note also that I feel sure that this knowledge of English is probably subconscious, and that I have supposed, although this has not been proved, that the writer has now and then come across a few English sentences, containing the phrases written by him. These two circumstances are, for me, observed facts.

From these facts there results a third fact, the consequence of the first two: the consciousness, which directs the limb withdrawn from the personality, appears to have more considerable resources—at least from a memory point of view—than the normal consciousness. If it be correct to speak of apparent disaggregation in that which concerns the conscious normal personality, it seems to me that this expression ceases to represent the facts, as soon as it can be demonstrated, that the consciousness manifested by the automatism is more extensive than the normal consciousness. If we are to attach a precise meaning to language—and Janet’s language is so clear and simple that we may not accuse this elegant and remarkable writer of want of precision—the idea of disaggregation implies the division of the personal consciousness into elementary parts, according to definition, lesser than the whole. This phenomenon is frequently observed, e.g. when automatic writing shows itself to be incapable of logical co-ordination, of which I have given examples; sometimes there is no trace of thought, properly so called, e.g. when the sensitive confines himself to repeating sine die the same letter, or traces nothing but lines, and strokes, etc. But can we consider the case as one of veritable disaggregation where the hand, withdrawn from normal consciousness, appears to dispose of a greater mass of souvenirs than the normal consciousness does?

Janet himself has verified the fact, and gives some examples of it in his work, Névroses et idées fixes, vol i. After that, is it not contradictory to say (Automatisme psychologique, p. 452): ‘The result of our studies has been to bring back the diverse phenomena of automatism to their essential conditions—most of these phenomena depend upon a state of anæsthesia or abstraction. This state is connected with the narrowing of the field of consciousness, and this narrowing itself is due to the feebleness of synthesis and the disaggregation of the mental compound into diverse groups smaller than they should normally be. These diverse points are easy to verify; the state of abstraction, incoherence, of disaggregation, in a word, of suggestible individuals has often been pointed out.’ How can a group, smaller than the mental compound of which it forms one of the parts, be more considerable than that compound? How can a part be greater than its whole? This is, nevertheless, a fact easily verifiable in the domain of memory and sometimes in that of intelligence. Janet’s theory explains only some of the observable facts; it is only partially true. It suffices to compare the quotation I have just given with what he says in his work, Névroses et idées fixes, vol. i. p. 137: ‘The souvenir even in somnambulism only exists if the patient be oblivious to everything and replies automatically to questions, by the mechanical association of ideas without reflection, without the personal perception of what he is doing.

‘... The souvenir, in a word, is only manifested unknown to the person: it disappears when the person has to speak or write in his own name, conscious of what he is doing.’ For Janet this is the sign of mental disaggregation.

The quotations I have just given define sharply Janet’s opinion, and show up his mistake and his contradiction. That which becomes disaggregated is the personality, the personal consciousness. But it does not become resolved into groups smaller than they ought normally to be, since these groups often show themselves to be more comprehensive than the mental compound. It is, therefore, illogical to consider them as a part which has become dissociated from the whole.

I have already had occasion to express my manner of thinking in other writings: nevertheless, perhaps I may be permitted to indicate the direction which psychological interpretation should take in order to avoid an encounter with facts.

The personal consciousness is only one of the modalities of the general consciousness. Clinical observation reveals that, in a great many cases, it has been proved, that the souvenirs stored up in the general consciousness are infinitely more numerous, than those which the personal consciousness has at its free disposition. Myers has expressed these ideas most happily in the following words (‘The Subliminal Consciousness,’ Proceedings, S. P. R., vii. p. 301):—

‘I suggest, then, that the stream of consciousness in which we habitually live is not the only consciousness which exists in connection with our organism. Our habitual or empirical consciousness may consist of a mere selection from a multitude of thoughts and sensations, of which some at least are equally conscious with those that we empirically know. I accord no primacy to my ordinary waking self, except that among my potential selves this one has shown itself the fittest to meet the needs of common life. I hold that it has established no further claim, and that it is perfectly possible that other thoughts, feelings, and memories, either isolated or in continuous connection, may now be actively conscious, as we say, ‘within me’—in some kind of co-ordination with my organism, and forming some part of my total individuality. I conceive it possible that at some future time, and under changed conditions, I may recollect all; I may assume these various personalities under one single consciousness, in which ultimate and complete consciousness the empirical consciousness which at this moment directs my hand may be only one element out of many.’

He appears to me to be nearer the truth than Janet is: I do not know if we shall ever arrive at that complete consciousness which Myers hopes for, but it seems to me probable, that our personal consciousness is only one element of our general consciousness. This latter becomes concrete and definite, but also grows less by becoming personal. The apparent supremacy of the personal consciousness may be only an effect of the circumstances in which we are evolving; if Darwin’s ideas are true, we can understand that the necessities of life may have favoured the development of the active, voluntary, personal consciousness; we can imagine other conditions—which the monastic life sometimes realises—where the active and voluntary phases of the general consciousness may be less evolved than its receptive and passive phases. Therefore, the psychologist finds the study of hagiography teeming with information.

Janet’s disaggregation is but the weakening of the sentiment of the conscious and voluntary personal activity, of what I called the sentiment of the personal participation in intercurrent psychological phenomena. It is no veritable disaggregation; it is a disappearance of one modality of the consciousness, of one of its limited expressions, so to speak. However, I recognise, with Janet, that this mode of expression of the consciousness is the necessary basis of our activity in ordinary life, and that it is legitimate to consider as invalids, those persons in whom it is normally wanting. But the fact itself of its disappearance has more the features of an integration than of a disintegration, since upon an attentive examination, the personal consciousness is revealed as a limitation and a special determination of the general consciousness of which it is, in a way, a dismemberment. If I dared to use metaphysical language, I would say that rational and voluntary activity is in reality a disaggregation; personality is only a contingent and limited manifestation of the being, or rather of individuality. This latter, to use the expression of an eminent philosopher, would be superior to reason itself, and of irrational essence, an idea which contains the first principles of a new philosophy. I make this incursion into metaphysics merely to show how narrow Janet’s theories are, and what different consequences result from such a professional manner of thinking as his is, and from a more general conception of that, of which his manner of thinking only concerns one particular case.

The facts, moreover, condemn Janet’s theory. I have too high an opinion of the distinguished man whose ideas I criticise, but whose works I admire sincerely, not to be convinced that he has only observed undeveloped subjects. What demonstrates this in my eyes is his timid affirmation, that ‘nearly always (I do not say always in order not to prejudice an important question) these mediums are neurotics, when they are not downright hysterics.’ It is difficult to discuss an opinion expressed with so much reserve, and I can only commend him for his circumspection, for my personal observations contradict his. I have seen many mediums: the best were not neurotics in the medical sense of the word. The finest experiments I have made have been with persons appearing to present none of the stigmæ of hysteria. Up to the present Janet seems to have operated with invalids only, and I am not surprised, therefore, that he should assimilate the automatic phenomena of sensitives with those of his hysterical patients. It would be surprising were it otherwise. I am not going to defend spiritistic mediums; they appear to me to present very poor interest—at least in ordinary seances—but my duty is to protest against the generality of the judgment which Janet brings to bear upon automatic phenomena. Those facts, which are worthy of careful observation, differ essentially from those which ordinary hysterics present. They indicate no misère psychologique—quite the contrary, and I will state the reasons why.

The discussion, in order to be clear, must be divided:

1. The phenomena observable with good mediums are not those we observe in hysterical patients. I said I had obtained raps and movements without contact under conditions of control, which appeared to me to be convincing. I added that I had obtained by raps, or by the rappings of a table without contact, words and phrases which were extremely coherent. This is not quite the kind of phenomena to which hospital patients have accustomed us. What does Janet say on this point?

‘The essential point of spiritism is indeed, we believe, the disaggregation of psychological phenomena, and the formation beyond the personal perception of a second series of thoughts detached from the first. As for the means which the second personality employs to manifest itself unknown to the first—movements of tables, automatic writing or speaking, etc....—this is a secondary question (sic). Where do those sounds come from which are heard on tables and walls in answer to questions? Is it from a movement of the toes, of that contraction of the tendon supposed by Jobert de Lamballe...? Is it from a contraction of the stomach and from a veritable ventriloquism as Gros. Jean supposes, or from some other physical action yet unknown? Are they produced by the automatic movements of the medium himself, or, indeed, as appears to me most likely in some cases, in the obscurity demanded by the spirits(!) by the subconscious actions of one of the assistants, who deceives others and himself at the same time, and who becomes an accomplice without knowing it? It does not matter very much.’

That is not my opinion. I think, on the contrary, it matters a great deal. I am positive that every sincere and patient experimenter will observe, as I have done, in broad daylight, and not in obscurity, sounds and movements which will not appear to be explicable by any known cause. Those who, like myself, have verified these facts, will not dream of attributing them to unconscious or involuntary movements, to the cracking of a tendon, to ventriloquism. The cases observed by me will not admit of this explanation. Things happen as though some force or other were produced by the medium and the assistants, and could act beyond the limits of the body. If this fact be correct, can we consider it as secondary and without importance? On the contrary, does it not open to the psychology of the future the road of direct observation and experimentation, if, as I have tried to show, this force preserves certain relations with our general consciousness? Does this not make one think of those words of Proclus when speaking of souls:—

Τρίτη δὲ αὐταῖς πάρεστιν ἡ κατὰ τὴν ἰδίαν ὕπαρξιν ἐνέργεια, κινητικὴ μὲν ὕπάρχουσα τῶν φύσει ἑτεροκινήτων. Souls have a third force inherent to their essence, that of moving things which by their very nature are put into movement by an energy foreign to themselves.

Has not Janet a singular way of reasoning? He makes a reserve on the existence of another ‘physical action yet unknown,’ but quickly forgets it, and reasons as though that action were perfectly well known. ‘That action, whatever it may be, is always an involuntary and unconscious action of some one or other: the involuntary word from the intestines(!) is not more miraculous than is the involuntary word from the mouth; it is the psychological side of the problem which is the most interesting, and which ought to be the most studied.’

I am sure that those of my readers, whose patience has not been too severely tested by my long analysis of facts observed, will not consider my distinguished colleague’s conclusion as acceptable. The most interesting side of the phenomenon is, I think, the one which reveals to us an apparently new mode of action of the nervous influx upon matter.

2. These phenomena, again, are not the indication of a misère psychologique, as Janet thinks.

Let us discuss the cases observed by me. To follow my reasoning, it will be necessary to be familiar with the works of Gurney, Podmore, Sidgwick, Myers, Barrett, Hodgson, Lodge, Hyslop, du Prel, Perty, Hellenbach, Aksakow, Richet, de Rochas. To-day, it is no longer possible to shun the work of such savants, (when dealing with a question of such a nature as that which engrossed Janet) by simply saying as he did ‘that he had not had occasion to read the Philosophie der Mystik of a man like du Prel.’ He should have read that book ... and many more.

It seems to me to be now quite an established fact, that the impersonal consciousness is capable of perceiving accurate impressions independently of the senses. It translates these impressions in diverse ways in order to transmit them to the personal consciousness, but these translations are concrete and symbolical. It is a hallucination visual, auditory, or tactile. The form of subliminal messages, to use one of Myers’ expressions, is always the same, be the fact thus transmitted true or false, be it a reminiscence or a premonition. This is already a psychological ascertainment of great importance, for it puts us on the road we must follow, in order to discover the mental process of this psychological phenomenon. But there is something else. The hysteric who automatically simulates a drunkard, a general, a child, offers us a very different spectacle to the one offered us by the sensitive who telepathically sees an event happening afar off, or who predicts the future, or reveals facts unknown to himself and the assistants. There are thousands of examples of these facts; I have given a few which were observed by myself or related to me first-hand.

Is it possible to consider this extraordinary faculty as a ‘disaggregation’? Is it possible to class phenomena of this kind with the commonplace phenomena of somnambulism and ‘incarnation,’ the only ones Janet has observed? It suffices to put the question to receive the answer immediately. The psychological mechanism of these facts, so unlike one to the other, is probably the same, but the cause of the apparent automatism, motor or sensory, is certainly not the same. The sensitive, of whom I spoke, who sees in the mirror twenty-four hours beforehand, the very scenes she actually sees the next day, presents to us a phenomenon of considerable importance. It intimates that time and space are forms of the personal thought and consciousness, but that probably they have not the same signification for the impersonal consciousness. It is a phenomenon which, if it be true, demonstrates experimentally that Kant’s theory upon the contingency of these ‘categories’ necessary to all conscious and personal perception is exact.

I am quite aware of the nature of the reply I shall meet with: my observations have been defective; and all those who before me affirmed the existence of the same facts were also deceived. This simplifies the discussion. The history of science offers us many an example of the manner in which facts are received, when they contradict current ideas. Kant said more than a hundred years ago, in his Traüme eines Geistersehers, 1, i.: ‘Das methodische Geschwätz der hohen Schulen ist oftmals nur ein Einverständniss durch veränderliche Wortbedeutungen eine schwer zu lösenden Frage auszuweichen, weil das bequeme und mehrentheils vernünftige, “Ich weiss nicht,” auf Akademien nicht leichtlich gehört wird.’[14]

The discussion on Janet recalled to my mind these words of Kant’s. His expression, misère psychologique is one of those words of double meaning, true, if we consider only a part of the facts and one aspect only of the phenomenon, that which concerns the personal consciousness; inexact, if we study the facts in their totality and the phenomenon they reveal in its generality. The being who would be capable of perceiving at a distance, by looking into space and into time, would have faculties superior to the normal; he would not be the inferior being imagined by Janet.

An attentive and patient observation will show him, I am sure, the reality of the facts which I point out; may he not deny this possibility without putting himself under the requisite conditions for observing these facts.

It belongs to the future to decide the question, and I have no doubt whatever upon the nature of the verdict.[15]

To sum up, an attentive observation of the facts shows, that in psychical phenomena we observe the emergence of personifications which may be secondary personalities, but which in really clear cases present particular features, and seem to possess information which is inaccessible to the normal personality. They may co-exist with the latter, without any disorder manifesting itself in the sensitive or motor spheres; in other cases, they encroach upon the normal personality, which may either lose the use and sensation of one member, or be deprived of several members. Finally, the personification can invade the whole of the organism and end in incarnation or ‘control,’ a phenomenon of apparent possession. When it reaches this maximum development, the personification manifests a remarkable autonomy, and appears to be much less suggestible than in the intermediate stages of its evolution.

What are these personifications? I do not know. The problem they raise in some cases is extremely difficult to solve. I can only say that they do not appear to me to be what they claim to be. Is it collective consciousness? Is it self-deception? Is it a spirit? Everything is possible, to me nothing is certain save one thing, namely, that we must not put our trust in them.

I say this for the benefit of spiritists, who have a tendency to believe blindly everything their good spirits tell them. These ‘spirits’ may make mistakes, though they may not wish to deceive you. Never abandon yourself or submit the conduct of your life and affairs to their guidance: submit only to the rule of reason and sound judgment. Be not over-credulous.[16]

[8] As crystal-gazing seems to me one of the most curious phenomena to study, I will take the liberty of mentioning that well-made crystal balls may be found at Leymarie, 42 Rue Saint-Jacques, Paris; at the Society for Psychical Research, 20 Hanover Square, London, W.; or Mrs. Venman, Sugden Road, Lavender Hill, London, S.W. The price of the globes varies from 6s. to 9s.; those of ovoids, from 8s. to 10s. The best thing to do would be to look for a ball in rock-crystal, the price of which would vary from 4s. to £8. They must be cut to order, for it is extremely difficult to find any ready made. M. Servan, jeweller at Bordeaux, furnishes good ones.

[9] Interested readers will find a complete analysis of these facts in Azam’s celebrated work, Hypnotisme et double conscience, Alcan; in Pitres’ book, Leçons sur l’hystérie, Alcan; and in Janet’s L’automatisme psychologique, Alcan. It is essential to know at least these three books, if we wish to observe, profitably, the delicate phenomena I am discussing in this chapter.

[10] Readers, interested to know my ideas on this point, will find them more extensively developed in my book, L’Amnésie et les troubles de la conscience dans l‘épilepsie.

[11] A lawyer who was murdered, and whose dead body, much hacked about, was found in a trunk in the luggage-room of a railway-station in France.

[12] Let us, however, point out that Antoine had been five years married when he died, and that he had been at Fontainebleau with his wife, consequently the error, which consists in saying five years of life together at Fontainebleau, constitutes only a relative error.

[13] Articles of this nature may be found at Leymarie’s, 42 Rue Saint-Jacques, Paris; and at the office of Light, 110 St. Martin’s Lane, London.

[14] The methodical idle prattle of the high schools is often only an understanding to elude, by words of variable acceptation, a question difficult of solution, for we do not often hear in academies such convenient and ordinarily intelligent words as ‘I do not know.’

[15] See Appendix [A].

[16] See Appendix [C].

CHAPTER VI
SOME RECENTLY OBSERVED PSYCHICAL PHENOMENA

An account of some recently observed Psychical Phenomena produced in the presence of Doctor Maxwell and Professor Charles Richet. Arranged by the Translator from notes furnished by Dr. Maxwell.[17]

During the last two years exceptional opportunities have been offered Professor Richet and Dr. Maxwell of observing a medium—whom we will call Meurice—who has furnished Dr. Maxwell with many of his most important examples of psychical phenomena. I refer to phenomena spoken of on pp. [74], [81]-[2], [101]-[3], [136]-[7], [152]-[5], [160]-[2], [195]-[9], [201]-[2], [250].

Dr. X.—a friend of Professor Richet—who does not wish his name to be mentioned, having been present with Professor Richet and Dr. Maxwell at some of their experiments, has sent Dr. Maxwell a few notes concerning those seances at which he was present. Dr. Maxwell has authorised me to put these notes in order, and to add to them a few extracts from letters written by Dr. Maxwell to Professor Richet and myself.

These notes and letters were written either during or immediately after the seances, if I may so call the impromptu occasions on which the phenomena to be spoken of were obtained.

There is, in these notes, a miscellaneous stream of evidence, the complexity and importance of which may be presumed, when it is pointed out that a useful combination of two orders of research has been at work therein. Dr. Maxwell was chiefly interested in the study of the facts concomitant with the phenomena, whatever they might be, whilst Professor Richet devoted himself to the analysis of the personifications, and to the study of the manifestations from a purely psychological point of view.

Evidence is the touchstone of truth, and though the reading of parts of this chapter may sound more like pages out of a fantastic story than the words of savants, yet the publication of these facts has been judged necessary by Professor Richet and Dr. Maxwell, in their belief that no one is justified in setting aside facts which have been well attested. These facts have been observed—let it not be forgotten—in a spirit of pure scientific curiosity.

It is, therefore, hoped that this chapter will receive the thoughtful consideration of many; and that careful analysis will be especially given to those very parts, the unreal-like romantic nature of which seems to render them, at a random glance, unworthy of serious thought.