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.