‘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 I speak of private, unpublished facts, facts known only to me or to his wife.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.