COINCIDENCES.
BY SIR LAURENCE GOMME.
A few weeks ago some remarkable examples of coincidences were recorded in the newspapers. They were the actual experiences of the writers, or the guaranteed experiences of relatives or intimate friends. Their genuineness cannot be called in question. But they are all isolated examples, each of them being communicated by different correspondents. Even as such they were sufficiently remarkable to make it worth while to ask whether coincidences in the order of things human play a definite part in life’s drama, in the science of life perhaps one ought to say, or whether they are so accidental and non-influential as to have no bearing upon the problems of life.
If they have a bearing on the unexplored meanings of human action, they seem to me to belong to individual, and not to social, man. They might explain the individual action of Julius Caesar, Napoleon, and the great ones of the world; they might be one of the influences which have apparently made individual men rulers of human destiny for a time. But to prove any such theory as this, even if it be a possible theory at all, one must deal, not with single examples of coincidences which occur to different people, but with a series of examples which have happened to one individual. The comparative study of coincidences in separate lives would, it occurs to me, be not only scientifically valuable, but of intense interest to all who are fond of reading the lives of men who have made a mark in the world.
So much for the psychological aspect of what may be expected from the study of coincidences. In my small life as a student and public servant it happens that I have had two or three remarkable examples of coincidences. They principally belong to my literary life, and have always been of special interest to me; they have remained in my recollection as a sort of indication that the line I was taking was, on the whole, the right line. Upon my pledged assurance that they are all true, I propose to relate them for the amusement of my readers, and with a hope that more important cases may be related in due course. They are merely anecdotal and have no other interest beyond, perhaps, supplying a new chapter of the ‘Curiosities of Literature.’ I propose as far as possible to treat them chronologically in groups, as they have no possible relationship one with another. They will be related quite simply, and with many circumstantial details omitted.
The first incident which I have to relate is connected with my friendship with Henry Charles Coote, lawyer and historian. I had lent to me a copy of his little book, ‘A Neglected Fact in English History’ (London, 1864), and arranged to begin reading it one Sunday morning in 1876, while I walked through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens on my way to luncheon at Shepherd’s Bush. The brilliant little preface fascinated me. The still more brilliant pages in which his thesis of a Roman origin for the people of Britain was developed carried me right away, and I did not put the book down until I had finished it. As I read the last page, I remember saying to myself ‘I must know this man and I believe I shall know him.’ I met Mr. Coote at the first meeting of what was afterwards the Council of the Folklore Society on December 19, 1877. He sat next to me, and to my delight, after the meeting had concluded, he proposed to walk with me as far as Waterloo Place, with the result that we stood opposite the Athenæum Club for over an hour talking of things that interested both of us. He promised me a copy of his ‘Neglected Fact,’ and I have the volume before me, as I write, with his inscription to me written on the title-page. From that day we became fast friends. He never ceased to do kindnesses to me, and I never ceased to think of him with gratitude and affection. We used to discuss his special view of British history, and I gradually fell away from accepting this view. This made no difference to our intercourse until the end came. It impressed me with extraordinary force. Mr. and Mrs. Coote always spent their summer holiday in Italy, the Italy he loved so well, and returning in October, I generally met him for the first time after their journey at the November meeting of the Society of Antiquaries. In 1884 I went to this meeting as usual, but all during the evening I had been feeling strangely uneasy. I did not expect to see Mr. Coote there. And he was not there. On the next day I called upon him with every foreboding of evil, and I found him stricken down with paralysis, the seizure having taken place the night before just at the time when I was feeling so strangely anxious about him. Perhaps this may be a mere case of telepathy between two people with kindred ideas, but the coincidences are too close for this hypothesis. They are indeed too close to be described in anecdotal form, but I like the recollection to open the story of coincidences which I have to narrate.
I have one other coincidence to record, which belongs to the same sort of experience. After my father died, my mother and sisters came to stop with me for a short time while their affairs were being settled. Some pieces of family furniture, portraits, etc. were brought to my house. Among these was a library chair belonging to my father, and it was placed in my own library.
About this time I was being pressed by an official friend to attend a meeting at his house, for the purpose of taking part in a spirit rapping ceremony, but had always declined, because I did not believe in the phenomenon. However he particularly pressed me to come on account of my father’s recent death, saying I should be certain to learn something. Perhaps my nerves had been worn by recent events. In any case I consented to come, and I remember wearing my father’s watch chain and seal for the first time, to attune me to the atmosphere. I told no one at my house that I was going for this particular purpose. They thought I was simply going out to dinner in the ordinary way. My object in this silence was obvious. It was not to disturb the minds of those at home.