It is to the kindness of M. Braunschweig that I owe the following story, which is instructive from several points of view. M. Braunschweig, a retired business man, intelligent and highly educated, is well known in his town. The phenomena, of which he guarantees the authenticity, have not been observed by me; but the disastrous consequences of his and M. Vergniat’s too great confidence in a ‘spirit’ taught him such a useful and serious lesson, that I thought I would do well to make it known. I only give it with that object, for I cannot personally vouch for the extraordinary facts in this interesting recital. I give this recital in extenso without changing anything, in order not to alter its physiognomy.

A Mystery

Canius Junius when walking to the scaffold said to his friends: ‘You ask me if the soul is immortal; I am going to find out, and if I can, I will return to tell you.’

These notes, written in haste, and, as it were, off-hand, have no other claim than to bring a few strange facts together, leaving every one free to appreciate them as they think best.

For a while I was swayed by a preoccupation; I hesitated in the face of incredulity, which thrusts aside all which is neither matter nor number, to unveil phenomena of the nature of those which have been verified by so many persons already; but the duty imposed upon me of preserving my children from trials similar to mine, has triumphed over my hesitation, and I will proclaim the truth without any fear of their ever doubting their father’s veracity.

In writing these lines, I yield to a feeling that the witness of mysterious facts ought to give, in the interests of humanity or science, a scrupulously exact narration of what he has seen. And particularly so when his revelations are likely to preserve the inexperienced from the pitfalls of an occult power which it would be as senseless to deny the existence of as to doubt of its power for good or evil, according as it desires good or evil. I therefore accomplish what I believe to be a duty. This conviction suffices to brave the spirit always more or less strong, which is ever inclined to deny what it cannot explain.

The fear of being accused of seeking for sympathy, by relating these facts of which I have been the victim, might also have stopped me from speaking; but for the loss of a few worldly goods, my mind, my soul, finds ample compensation in that certitude of a future life, which results from the facts the Master permitted me to witness.

It was in 1867. Attracted by the noise of a trumpet, I crossed La Place Saint-AndrÉ, and went down the dark, narrow street which, at that time, skirted the Cathedral, and where bric-À-brac dealers used to spread out their wares. At the corner of the street Palangues, I came across a crowd gathered around an auctioneer who was holding a sale of statuary.

I was passing on indifferently when the auctioneer held up a statuette, the outlines and graceful pose of which immediately struck my fancy.

Was it a Virgin? A mater dolorosa? I do not know. But I still see that beautiful face, stamped with sadness, the eyes upraised, two great tears tremblingly seeming to implore me to put a stop to this profanation. The general appearance of the statue—its head bent slightly forward—and the graceful drapery denoted a work of art.

I bought it, yielding simply to the desire of possessing an artistic work, and not to satisfy any religious sentiment, which, I must own, did not exist.

I also bought a bracket to support the statuette, and a few minutes afterwards, everything was arranged in my room, Rue du Palais Tallien, No. 147.

My wife, Madame Vergniat, was at PÉrigord. When she returned home, she was surprised to see, in the most conspicuous spot in my room, a religious object which I myself had bought.

Her surprise was legitimate, for strong prejudices against religion left little room in my mind for religious practices.

Nothing strange happened in that house, although we lived in it for a long time after the purchase of the statuette. But I always felt such great pleasure in admiring my Virgin, that I have often wondered whether this ill-defined attraction were not the prelude, and, in some measure, a first influence of the mysterious facts which were going to happen.

We left our residence in the Rue du Palais Tallien to go to a house I had bought in the Rue Malbec, No. 116.

It was a detached house surrounded by a garden; it contained two bedrooms, a sitting-room, and a vestibule which served as a dining-room.

In order to make my recital intelligible, I am obliged to give a few details about the furniture and its arrangement.

A night-table separated my bed from the fireplace. Above the table was a holy-water fount; above the latter an oil painting representing the Virgin; finally, near the ceiling, the statuette on its bracket.

To the left of the night-table, in the recess beside the chimney, there was a panoply composed of swords and sabres.

When we were settled, Madame Vergniat again visited PÉrigord. It was during her absence that the first manifestation took place, but I attached no great importance to it.

Here are the circumstances under which the phenomenon occurred.

I was awakened in the night by the sound of a violent blow as of some one hammering at the front door. I promptly lit the candle, and looked at the time; it was one o’clock.

This visit was not of a reassuring nature, for, to be able to knock at the front door at this hour of the night, it was necessary to leap over the gate, which, securely closed, barred access to the house.

Before proceeding to open the door, I waited for a second knock, but in vain. I was awakened, at the same hour on the following night, by a similar rap.

The nurse, sleeping with the children in the next room, hearing the knock, got frightened. I tried to reassure her by saying: ‘To-morrow a loaded gun will receive the individual who takes such a pleasure in arousing us.’

I underline these words, because further on we will have occasion of seeing them repeated in a surprising manner.

A few months later, and without any new incidents occurring in the meantime, our nurse was discharged, and replaced by a strong healthy girl from the Pyrenees.

The nocturnal visit had been quite forgotten, when on the 23rd January 1868, Madame Vergniat and the nurse, who were busy in my room, heard something like a rustling on the window-panes, and saw the statuette bow twice, as though saluting them. At first they thought an earthquake had happened, and when I entered they related the incident to me in scared tones.

The statuette was indeed displaced; but was that sufficient to convince me? No.

I laughed at the story, convinced that my wife and the nurse were victims of an illusion.

However, on the morrow and following days, the same phenomena occurring at the same hour, that is to say towards eleven o’clock in the morning, I determined to stay at home and verify de visu this marvellous fact.

I got what I wanted; for on that day, the statuette turned about now to the right, now to the left, twelve or fourteen times. Sometimes it advanced and balanced itself on the edge of the pedestal.

The evolution was so prompt and so unexpected, that the eye could scarcely follow the movement.

I was not long in ascertaining that, before executing these movements, the mysterious power awaited the moment when the attention, tired of remaining on the qui vive, was off its guard. Then a sharp sounding rap, similar to the discharge of an electric spark, denoted that the evolution had taken place.

The picture hanging under the statuette lost its equilibrium, the bÉnitier fell over, and the swords swayed about like so many clock pendulums.

I noticed that the presence of my wife and the nurse aided these manifestations considerably; I even noticed that the appearance of either of them on the threshold of the room sufficed to provoke the phenomena.

I tried to dissimulate the preoccupation these manifestations caused me, and I pretended to attach no importance to them, in order to react against the exaltation and fear which were taking hold of Madame Vergniat and the nurse, and of the two work-women, who were also constant witnesses of this disorder.

But instead of aiding me in my efforts, the Virgin no longer contented herself with simple evolutions on her pedestal. She began to let herself fall down on the eiderdown of my bed, and would remain buried there until a sharp sounding rap announced that she had returned to her pedestal.

In a short time, the raps became more frequent, and did not always indicate displacements. We heard them on the doors, on the cupboards, etc., and even in the middle of the garden.

Thus on returning home one day, such a formidable rap resounded, that the neighbours ran to their windows, and called out to me: ‘Well, M. Vergniat, one would think you were being saluted.’

These facts, already so extraordinary, were to be succeeded by others more extraordinary still.

The watchmaker, M. Ouvrard, who wound up our clocks every fortnight, having at one time taken up the study of somnambulism, thought he recognised in our nurse a subject who would be susceptible to magnetic influences, and proposed putting her to sleep.

A few minutes sufficed to obtain the state of prostration and insensibility which characterises magnetic sleep. For the first few seances, Marie’s replies were unintelligible, but she very soon began to express herself clearly and even with volubility.

Considering the state of mind the manifestations of the statuette kept us in, it will be readily understood that the first question put to the somnambulist was, ‘Do you see who it is who moves the Virgin about?’

‘I see him,’ she replied, ‘he is close to me on his knees, praying. It is a man dressed in a brown coat, holding a dark-covered book in his hand. I do not see his face. I only see a part of his moustache, for he is turning his back to me.’

For several days her answers were always the same. But having insisted upon knowing the name of the man in prayer, the somnambulist at last replied, ‘I am Madame’s father.’

However, this assertion was soon contradicted by a more explicit declaration.

It was so easy to produce the magnetic sleep with Marie, that, once when she asked me to put her to sleep, I succeeded in doing so without having any other notions about such things than those I had gathered from our few seances; but I found it impossible to awaken her, and was obliged to send for the watchmaker, hoping he would help me out of my dilemma. He arrived, but his efforts were in vain.

The somnambulist made fun of us, and teased the watchmaker about his embonpoint.

This fact is to be noted, for it contradicts the current belief that the subject obeys the will of the magnetiser: but what follows reveals a phenomenon of vastly different interest.

Marie ceased to speak in her own name. A spirit having taken possession of her will, declared that all our efforts to awaken the somnambulist would be useless.

‘I am quite comfortable here,’ said the spirit, ‘and it pleases me to stay. But at four o’clock, I am wanted elsewhere; the somnambulist will then awaken of her own accord. Have the patience to wait.’

At the hour mentioned, at the exact moment, the somnambulist returned to her normal state.

From that day forth the somnambulist remained constantly under the influence of the spirits who took possession of her during her sleep. Thus, as soon as she was asleep, the spirit sometimes said, ‘I have only a few minutes to stay’; and when the time was up, Marie would awaken without any intervention.

During these more or less lengthy conversations, the spirit took a fancy to calling me his son. His advice testified to a disposition of great benevolence, and was chiefly of a profoundly religious character. It is incontestable that, by an inexplicable phenomenon, Marie’s faculties were replaced, during these communications, by a spirit whose superiority it was impossible not to recognise, a superiority revealed by the tone of the discussion and the choice of expressions.

Pressing him one day for an explanation, I resolutely asked him, ‘But who are you, then?’

‘I am he, you wanted to receive with a loaded gun, when I knocked at your door at one o’clock in the morning.’

Remember the somnambulist was absolutely ignorant of this fact, as she was not in our service when the strange nocturnal visit occurred.

As for the Virgin, she was not at a standstill all this time; she continued to turn five or six times every day.

The good advice of the spirit, the purity of his principles, most certainly interested me; but I confess the statuette interested me more. Had I not a tangible, undeniable fact before me, just as stubborn as my reason tried to be? Stamping my feet I repeated, ‘And still she turns.’

Ever on my guard, even in face of evidence, I gave myself the satisfaction of imprisoning the Virgin, but in such a way as to be able to verify her evolutions.

I had a niche of wire made, covered with transparent gauze, and, sealing it to the wall, I securely shut up the statuette therein.

My work done, I left my room. At once a formidable rap resounded: I ran to the room, everything had disappeared, the pedestal alone was still in its place. The Virgin, thrown on to the bed, was found buried in the eiderdown, whilst the casing was at the side of the bed.

My precautions having incurred displeasure, I took care not to renew them. When consulted on this, the next day, the somnambulist, or rather the spirit acting through her, said, ‘Never touch the Virgin, leave her there; otherwise she will be transferred,’ adding, ‘he who takes her away from her pedestal will know very well how to put her back again.’

This recommendation was followed; but one day the statuette disappeared. Madame Vergniat having quite got over her first fears, searched for it actively everywhere, and after having turned the house upside down in her quest, found it in a cupboard behind the children’s bed. This cupboard, being dissimulated by tapestry, had never been used, and we did not even know of its existence.

How had the Virgin got into it?

The displacements became more and more frequent. For instance, the statuette took it into its head to change rooms, and the sitting-room became its favourite resort, but it never let a whole day pass without reappearing upon its pedestal.

The doors opened and shut before it with the same sharp sound which followed each evolution. All this went on so rapidly that we were more surprised than inconvenienced.

Under the influence of these phenomena, the ordinary sleep of the somnambulist became heavier. At night she was often heard speaking aloud. She awakened with difficulty, and having shaken off her torpor, she could not open her eyes. ‘They feel as though they were glued down,’ she used to say. But placing her fingers on Marie’s eyelids, Madame Vergniat used to pray, and the difficulty would disappear.

In her ordinary sleep, the conversation was not serious; it was more often commonplace, full of jesting, sometimes even of bad taste; whereas in provoked sleep, we constantly found a serious spirit, professing the purest maxims, and giving advice full of sincere charity.

I asked this mysterious spirit if it were true that he was Madame’s father, as he had once declared himself to be.

Here is his reply, I give it word for word: ‘My son, I read in your mind (for you cannot hide your thoughts from me) that not having enough faith to attribute to God the happiness of the visit you receive in your house, you seek its explanation in absurd suppositions. Do not believe in spiritism, my son.

‘God, who is essentially good, could not permit your spirit-friends, after having gone through all the trials of earth, to be condemned to look on at the turpitudes and the sufferings of those who are dear to them. This is a torture which God did not wish to reserve for you.

‘Yes, a Spirit exists; but He is alone, unique, and that Spirit is mine. It is He who breathes into all things, who animates all things; He who makes you act, walk, stop when you believe that your own will is all-powerful.

‘That Spirit, I repeat, is unique. It is the Master’s.’

Let us remark, en passant, that this is the opinion of Mallbranche, who claims God to be the immediate Author of the union we admire between soul and body.

‘I see that you doubt my words,’ added the spirit, ‘(for I have already told you that you cannot hide your thoughts or actions from me), and you are saying, “What presumption! to suppose that I have deserved such a visit, and that the Divine Spirit has knocked at my door!”

‘You prefer, therefore, my son, to doubt my words and to stand aloof from the truth. So be it! but do not forget, whatever your appreciation may be about me and the object of my visit, be assured that I am only able to visit your home in pursuance of a supreme will, and that all your efforts to drive me away, and even my desire to leave you before the accomplishment of my mission, would be equally useless.

‘Welcome me, therefore, as a kind father who comes to help his son to tread the painful path of life. I have never left you since you came into the world. We have gone through many worries together, we have borne many sorrows; but better times are at hand, and I am able to reveal to you, my child, that from the moment I am able to make my voice heard, the blessing of the Master will assure you the repose of body, soul, and spirit.

‘No more worry for you, your father is here to shield you. But in exchange for the good which my mission is to bring you, I ask you to turn your thoughts to the Creator, and thank Him for the immense favour He has accorded you. For, learn that no man has ever before received such a Visitor in his home.

‘I desire you to attend divine service regularly, and to go to communion.

‘I also desire you to help those people whose addresses and needs I will make known to you; but as I am a protector, if I impose charges upon you, I will also procure you the means of providing for them.’

Imagine what an influence these mysterious facts already exercised over me, when I say that I promised everything, and, like a submissive child, took the communion with fervour.

From that day forth the benevolence of the unknown was extended over every one and every thing, from the household to the house needs. His solicitude, for the somnambulist especially, drove him sometimes to charge me with delicate missions, of which I will give an example.

I had once just put Marie to sleep, when the spirit manifested itself, saying:—

‘I am going to speak to you about some of the private affairs of the somnambulist, and I beg you to follow my instructions.

‘This girl thinks of marrying a carpenter, named Toussaint, who has been following her about for a long time. But Marie’s parents, who are honest folk, will never consent to this marriage. First of all, because Toussaint is a worthless fellow, and in the second place, because Toussaint’s brother was condemned yesterday to pay an ignominious penalty for a foul crime he has committed.

‘Therefore, Marie must cease to know this young man; moreover, his jealous and violent character might soon endanger her life.

‘Marie is ignorant of these details. Therefore, when she awakens, take care not to repeat our conversation; but to-morrow, when returning from Bordeaux, tell her about this as though it were some news you had heard of in town.

‘Marie will deny everything, first of all; she will pretend not to know the individual; but insist upon it, and she will confess everything.’

And this, in fact, is what happened.

The spirit went on to say:—

‘This workman has recently wounded his hand, and is consequently debarred from working; he is always prowling about the house, and I advise you to be on your guard against him.’

Marie often used to ask me to put her to sleep in the evening. Then, strange to say, she would tell us when and how many times this man Toussaint would pass the door, the next day.

This information was always correct. However, one day, our man did not turn up at the given time—he was two minutes late. Marie was asleep in the sitting-room, and I went backwards and forwards from her to the terrace. I was nearly losing patience, when she cried out, ‘He is coming—you will barely have time to get to the terrace.’ And so it was; as soon as I reached my post of observation, the carpenter came into the Rue Malbec out of the Rue BÈgles.

A few days afterwards, the spirit, whom the somnambulist called ‘Grand Father,’ warned us that Marie ran a great risk. Toussaint having had the door shown to him everywhere because of the disgrace which had fallen upon his family, had made up his mind to avenge himself.

Animated with the worst designs, he had shaved off his beard in order to make himself unrecognisable; and hiding a large knife under his coat, he was bending his way to the house, with the fixed purpose, said the spirit, of striking Marie.

When giving us this information through the somnambulist, our mysterious friend added: ‘Do not allow this girl to go out to-day. I will deliver you from this dangerous man very soon, by making him wish to go on a long voyage, from which he will never return.’

Two or three days afterwards, Marie heard that this individual had left for Algeria.

First of all we have seen, by the substitution of the spirit to the faculties of the somnambulist, how our free-will is subordinated to occult influences. And if the objection be made that in that case, magnetic influences facilitated this substitution, there still remains the case of the carpenter, whose free-will was absolutely subjugated after premeditation, as is shown by the spirit’s declaration that he would ‘make him wish to take a long voyage from which the individual would never return.’

In proportion as these strange facts succeeded each other, we yielded further and further to an influence from which it was impossible to escape—I may even say we were happy to obey.

How could we thrust aside advice which was always thoroughly honest, and with which the name of God was constantly associated?

After the somnambulist, Madame Vergniat was the one who felt the effects of this mysterious atmosphere the most strongly.

For my part, I had, at first, confined myself simply to observing the phenomena, to accepting them only as a study; but under the influence of surprise upon surprise, filled with admiration, I ended in blind submission. And yet, we were only at the beginning of our marvellous manifestations.

Often, during a meal, if we had need of something or other, Marie would bring it to us before we asked for it. A voice, which she thought was at times mine, at times Madame Vergniat’s, transmitted our desire to her before it was expressed. It was a splendid case of thought transference.

If the maid’s work was not quite properly done, he who watched over the house so assiduously, punished her immediately, by removing with remarkable dexterity the foulard she wore on her head. And if she ever happened to be wanting in politeness towards us, she was instantly called to order in the same way, without any consideration for the place or circumstances she might be in at the moment. I have often seen her foulard thrown on the ground, to remind her that she should allow us to pass before her into a carriage, omnibus, etc.

I have also had occasion to witness a very surprising manifestation, surprising because of the facility shown for displacing a piece of furniture the weight of which was relatively considerable.

Often, after retiring to rest, the somnambulist would feel her bed gently rolled into the centre of the floor, and then back again to its place. This to-and-fro movement used to be repeated as often as three or four times in the same evening; the movement was slow, we could see distinctly that great mass moving about under the impulsion of some invisible force.

The somnambulist, as I said in the beginning, was a big, stout girl from the Pyrenees. She could neither read nor write, and the sight of all these supernatural things astounded and alarmed her. I have remarked that, in her normal state, she often forgot what she had seen the previous day. But what she really did understand was that ‘Grand Father’ was not satisfied with her when a crust of bread or some cheese was thrown at her head; this was a sure sign that there was a hitch somewhere.

In the vestibule, which we used as a dining-room, a small Louis xv. lustre was suspended; it often swayed about when we sat down to meals, and the movement, which was always preceded by a rustling on the metal chains, was slow or accelerated according to my wife’s expressed or unexpressed wish.

If we had visitors, everything was so quiet that no one would ever have suspected what strange things happened to us habitually. It looked as though these manifestations were reserved for the inmates of the house and for a few privileged guests, whose attention was, perforce, aroused by the noise.

Two young girls, one Anna ——, from PÉrigord, the other Mathilde ——, from Bordeaux, who worked almost constantly in our house, were present at most of these occurrences, and ‘Grand Father’ even testified much affection for these girls.

In the beginning, I said that when the statuette turned on its pedestal, the swords had moved about in the contrary direction. One of them was unhooked and deposited in a corner of the wall, but in the presence of Madame Vergniat an invisible force almost immediately put it slowly back again in its place.

The oscillations of the lustre, the movements of the swords, the displacements of the bed were the only phenomena which the eye was able to follow; all the others were so rapid that they escaped even the most vigilant attention.

Our presence in the house was not necessary to produce noises and other phenomena. The fact which I am going to relate contradicts the opinion emitted by some spiritists, that spirits borrow the force which is indispensable to produce these displacements from the mediums or assistants.

We once went to spend a day in the country, taking the nurse with us, and leaving the house empty for the day. Returning in the evening, the neighbours came out to meet us saying that they feared all our crockery was broken, because ever since our departure a dreadful noise had reigned in the house. We searched all the rooms, but no damage had been done, and everything was in its place.

Where, therefore, in that empty house had the spirit taken the auxiliary force which we are told is necessary for its manifestations?

I was very reserved respecting these facts. I did not care to noise them abroad, for had I done so controversy would certainly have arisen.

Another reason for remaining silent was, that once after having spoken of these events to the member of a reputedly religious family, the Virgin refused to make any evolution before this visitor. But scarcely was the incredulous person out of the house when the statuette was displaced.

The same evening I put Marie to sleep, and reproached the spirit severely.

‘What happens here is for you alone,’ he replied, ‘and ought not to be exhibited as a spectacle.’

However, this apparently severe admonition was soon infringed upon by himself under the following circumstances:—

M. Bossuet, a hairdresser in the Rue Bouffard, at Bordeaux, was dressing Madame Vergniat’s hair in the sitting-room: my wife heard the sharp rap which usually announced a displacement of the Virgin. She got up, and without saying anything went into the room, followed instinctively by M. Bossuet. The Virgin was balancing herself on the edge of the bracket. M. Bossuet, quickly understanding what was happening, cried out in admiration, ‘Mon Dieu! how glad I am to have seen such a thing!’

M. Bossuet is dead now; who can say whether he has found the solution of the problem which engages us?

I took advantage of this incident to ask why the Virgin had moved during M. Bossuet’s visit, since it was told me that these favours were exclusively reserved for the household.

‘I choose my company,’ replied the spirit, ‘and I had to reward M. Bossuet for having patiently reproduced the features of Christ in some hair.’

I do not know if it be true—though many have since assured me it is true—that M. Bossuet was the author of such a work. I confine myself, as a faithful reporter, to recording the reply which was given me.

Our house had one inconvenience—a very disagreeable one in winter—that of obliging the maid to cross the garden in order to open the gate for the milkman, who rang every morning at daybreak.

We were looking for a combination which might enable us to avoid this inconvenience, when our kind protector came to our aid.

This fact is one of the most curious of our long series of surprising adventures.

Henceforth, when the milkman’s cart stopped at the gate and before he rang, a mysterious power shot back the bolt in the lock. Then the gate opened, and the milkman placed on the window-sill the jug of milk, which the domestic took in later on.

Perhaps the milkman thought a special mechanism allowed us to open the door. However that may be, his imagination was evidently at work, for he was heard to say aloud, when getting into his cart, ‘All the same, this is a very queer house.’

Sometimes, after having attended vespers either at Sainte-Croix or at the Vieillards, we used to take a long walk, and often we returned home tired and impatient to sit down and rest a while.

So that we might not have to wait, an invisible hand used to knock at the door before we arrived there.

This fact could not be hidden, and our neighbour, Madame Pardeau, in a good position for observation, laughed at the attentions shown us.

At about this time there was a strange substitution, one which would, henceforth, render the intervention of the somnambulist unnecessary. Madame Vergniat and I were returning home after visiting Talence. On the way, my wife turned round quickly, saying: ‘Some one has just called me: twice I heard a voice say, “HÉloÏse! HÉloÏse!”’

From that day forth, Madame Vergniat asked questions mentally and a foreign voice answered them.

Very soon the voice took the initiative of conversations, and absorbing Madame Vergniat’s faculties, spoke through her.

There was no being deceived; it was easy to recognise the same benevolent spirit, which had only changed his dwelling-place, as it were.

The first recommendation given through Madame Vergniat was to cease putting Marie to sleep. ‘Henceforth you will not be able to do so, without incurring much unpleasantness.’

But my keen desire to see and to observe everything was so great, that it got the better of this last advice, and I put the somnambulist to sleep as usual. Ill came of it. To the charitable and benevolent discourses succeeded a dishevelled language, which I thought I could put an end to by awakening the somnambulist; but it was impossible to do so.

She walked about the room with her eyes closed, crying out: ‘I will wake up when it suits me to do so. I am here, and I want to stay just because my staying annoys you.’ Then she tried to go out to walk about in the garden, and I was obliged to lock the door.

This scene, which lasted for several hours, took away my wish for further experimentation with Marie.

From that time, Marie was subjected to several ill-defined influences during her ordinary sleep; she spoke aloud, sometimes she used serious language; sometimes she seemed to be filled with mad joy. The former depth and goodness in advice given through her had disappeared.

Moreover, I was amply compensated by the new situation which rendered the somnambulist’s intervention unnecessary, and I thought no further of risking the disagreeable scene of which I have spoken. I may even say that all magnetic attempts and experiments with Marie ended here. There was no further question of them.

Sometimes the spirit when consulted did not answer. Madame Vergniat would then say, ‘I speak to him, but he does not reply.’ But he never kept us waiting very long.

The spirit often announced his departure. ‘If you have something to ask me, or to tell me,’ he would say, ‘be quick, because I am obliged to go away, and will only be able to return to-morrow at such and such a time.’

And, until the time indicated had arrived, all questioning was useless. There were no replies.

Hundreds of times I had had occasion of verifying the exactness of information furnished by means of Marie; but it remained to me to find out if the information given by the new channel had the same value.

I had not long to wait before attaining certitude in that respect.

It was on a winter’s evening, the night was pitch dark, it was pouring in torrents. Returning home from business, the maid came to tell me that a small Havanese dog, which a neighbour had kindly given us, had gone astray. As I said, the weather was fearful, and we could not think of going out to search for the tiny animal. But, as I appeared to be troubled about the matter, Madame Vergniat, who so far had said nothing, raised her head, and addressing me in the peculiar way which announced an official communication, said, ‘So you were really attached to that little animal! Very well! do not be sad, you will find it again. I see it; a workman is holding it under his jacket in a hairdresser’s establishment in the Rue BÈgles (the little hunchback).’

The information was precise; given by the somnambulist, I would not have hesitated believing it; but I now needed further proof; therefore, in spite of the weather, I went out in search of the dog. My quest having led me to the hairdresser’s, I looked timidly in at the window, when the hunchback perceived me, and called out: ‘Do you want something, M. Vergniat?’ I replied, ‘If you should happen to hear that a small Havanese dog has been found, be kind enough to let me know.’

A workman, who was in the shop, said: ‘Five minutes ago I held it in my jacket trying to warm it. I had picked it up sopping wet, in a corner of the street, where I dropped it again.’

Some few steps further off, I observed a white spot in the darkness. It was Fleurette crouching down in the shelter of a doorway.

I returned home triumphantly, carrying the children’s happiness with me, as well as the confirmation of the infallibility of our protector. The influence of this power, which revealed itself as unlimited, will be easily understood. Always gaining fresh ground by new supernatural phenomena, its will entirely superseded ours. What in the beginning it formulated as a desire, soon became an order. It paid attention to the smallest details; designated the necessary provisions for the day and fixed the prices thereof. If a more important purchase than usual had to be made, he indicated the shop and price beforehand.

These facts gave rise to some curious incidents. Thus, for example, when a shopkeeper charged too high a price. ‘Grand Father,’ always at hand, used to whisper to Madame Vergniat, ‘Tell that woman her goods only cost her such and such a price. Offer her so much. That is sufficient profit....’

The shopkeeper, dumfounded, could not deny, and the bargain would be concluded.

I reveal all these facts without hesitation, persuaded that the study of such persistent and varied manifestations may help to lift the mysterious veil surrounding us. Moreover, why should I hesitate or keep silent? Have I not seen? The more incomprehensible the facts may be, the greater the duty to reveal them.

I will, perhaps, be accused of weakness by showing so much submission to this occult power, which, however, only put forth the claim of coming from God, and expressed none but honourable sentiments. To my accusers, I will reply, ‘Go through the same trial, then I will recognise your right to criticise.’

As for weakness, this was never one of my failings, unless I should make an exception for the sentiment, which makes me bow before the Master—a sentiment I mean to preserve.

I said my wife and I went regularly to vespers, sometimes at Talence, sometimes at Sainte-Croix; but more often at the Vieillards.

I remember that once when gazing upon these latter poor creatures, ever at the mercy of public charity, our mysterious guest confided to us: ‘Without my visit, my children, that fate might have been yours.’

In the beginning, I said I had promised to take the communion; I did so with fervour, so profoundly had these mysterious facts impressed me; I carried submission to the extent of giving up theatres, and all amusements, obeying the express desire of the unknown.

To make up for this, I was permitted to join every pilgrimage.

One morning, as I was starting for my office, Madame Vergniat, with an inspired air, dictated the following order to me: ‘You must send a telegram to Paris this morning, bidding the agents to sell out 6000 francs worth of French stock at 3 per cent., and buy in 10,000 francs of Italian stock.’ He added: ‘Did I not tell you, that when it would please me to impose an obligation upon you, it would never be at your own expense? Now, I have need of a few thousand francs, the use of which I will point out to you when the time comes.’

In spite of the strange things I had already seen, I was bewildered. Madame Vergniat, although the wife of a stockbroker, had never interested herself in business affairs, and was absolutely ignorant of financial combinations.

The terms used to dictate the transaction, indicated that the operation was planned by a mind accustomed to this kind of business.

As the advice was not dangerous, and, in case of failure, would not carry me very far, I telegraphed to Paris without hesitating. Before I returned home in the evening, I had the reply, and wished to communicate it to my mysterious client. ‘Useless,’ he said to me, ‘I know it.’

I took advantage of this circumstance of talking business with him, with the object of finding out just how far the spirit’s knowledge, in matters of speculation, went.

‘Do you know,’ I said to him, ‘that your transaction is founded on two liquidations. The Italian stock is in liquidation for the 15th inst., and the 3 per cent. for the end of the month.’

‘I did it purposely. The Italian will be liquidated first, for the profits thereof are urgently required. Whoever procures the French stock for the end of the month is destined to offer a present to his daughter. I will give you a few instructions on this subject.’

I risked the question: ‘You then believe in the rise of the Italian and fall of the French stock?’

‘Your Father is not one who doubts, who believes, or who only hopes; He is always sure, because He is the Master.’

From the day the exchange transaction was made, the two contrary movements, favourable to the arbitration, were not belied; and (an important fact to take note of) every morning, with mathematical precision, the unknown predicted the stock-list which the telegraph only brought at four o’clock in the afternoon.

I wish to insist upon this fact, because some people seem to question the spirits’ possibility of foretelling the future.

Always preoccupied in studying these facts, I sometimes asked, the evening before, what the rate would be the following day. ‘I cannot tell you before to-morrow morning. I have need of the night to gather my information.’

One day, there was a difference of a farthing between the rate predicted in the morning, and the official rate received at four o’clock. When I made the remark, the unknown said to me: ‘It was a bad head who rang down the changes at the stroke of the bell.’ The spirit evidently even possessed the slang of the stockbrokers’ ring.

Seeing so much penetration, I meekly asked if he could be useful to me in my own business. He replied: ‘I did not come for that; my visit has another object in view; nevertheless I think I can be useful to you, and when the opportunity occurs, I will not forget.’

This declaration seemed to contradict the first one. At the outset of these manifestations, the ‘Master’s’ blessing assured the repose of body, soul, and spirit: ‘No more worries for you: your Father is here to turn them all aside.’ There was now a slight deviation which we cannot help observing.

Let us, however, return to this power of penetration; it was such, that, consulted upon the state of my cash-box, he at once told me how much it contained. For him, it was mere child’s play to tell any one the contents of their purse.

During the arbitration process, I sometimes asked him, ‘What profit does your stock operation give you this evening?’ He mentioned it at once, and, without omitting a farthing, he even counted brokerage and the price of telegrams.

‘Your business affairs,’ said he, ‘should no longer trouble you, for they are mine. I will look after them: you have only to obey, and to satisfy me in order to be rewarded.

‘You may be sure that nothing would be easier for me than to load you with riches any day; and, if I make you wait, it is because you made me wait a long time before I was able to bring you to me.’

This is another remark which is not any clearer than the one I quoted a little while ago.

Whilst the arbitration was proceeding favourably, the Virgin continued her evolutions; however, they were soon to cease.

One afternoon she made some evolutions noisier than usual, and going out of the house, went and placed herself upon some grape-vines in the garden.

At that moment, one of our former servants, a girl named Caroline T..., the same who was in our service when the nocturnal visit occurred, happened to come up to the house; seeing the statue in the garden, she and another servant decided to put it back again on its pedestal.

It was scarcely replaced when a violent rap resounded, and the Virgin fell on the ground broken to pieces.

Great was Madame Vergniat’s grief when she heard of the accident. I must own that I, too, was vexed. The debris were gathered up and preserved with veneration for a long time.

But the pedestal remained vacant. Then the thought came to me of asking our protector if it would be possible to find a similar statuette.

‘I will see about it to-night,’ he replied. The spirit often begged me to leave him the night for reflection. He said it was then that he found the necessary information.

The next day, faithful to his promise, he gave me the following information: ‘There is, in Bordeaux, a Virgin like the one which is broken. You will find it at a sculptor’s in the Rue BouquiÈre (a small shop situated in a corner of the street). There is only that one specimen, and the tradesman has no cast.’

I quickly took one of the fragments, and went to the Rue BouquiÈre. I found the shop, and the tradesman told me he had a Virgin similar to the one I desired, but that he had no cast of it. ‘I will look for it, and you may come and fetch it this evening.’ The same evening I returned to Malbec with the statuette which was going to stifle all regrets.

My arrival with the statuette was the occasion for another official communication: ‘My son, that Virgin will be displaced. I will not tell you where I shall carry it to; she herself will reveal it to you. Now, as she will go very far away, you must put your name and address inside the statuette.’ This was done.

Placed upon the pedestal, the new Virgin turned round three times the day after her arrival; since that day she never stirred.

I do not know if she will ever go on this journey; in any case, she is a long time making her preparations.

All the incidents touching the statuette end here: the circumstances of the annÉe terrible caused it to pass into other hands.

We said that the stock transaction was going on better and better. And with his facility to foretell the future, the unknown sold out the Italian stock at the highest rate, whilst he waited for several days to buy back his 3 per cent. favourably.

All this was done with astounding precision; with a power equal to his, fortune was simply without bounds.

The profits of these two transactions amounted to about three thousand francs. With the funds resulting from the liquidation of the 15th I was given the mission to reserve one thousand francs for the father of a large family. And the souvenir of this good action, for which, in a way, I was but an agent, rejoices me still.

Other less important distributions were ordered to be made.

Finally, to crown everything, we were told to illuminate our garden in honour of the Virgin.

The profits of the second liquidation followed afterwards, and gave rise to a curious incident.

On pay-day, when the profits were at the disposition of the mysterious spirit, he begged me to return to Bordeaux to buy a piano, which he offered to my daughter. (This was the ‘present’ which had been spoken of in the beginning of these bourse transactions.)

‘Go,’ he said, ‘to M. CaudÉrÉ’s, AllÉes de Tourny, No. 50, where you will buy a second-hand piano; you will be asked six hundred and fifty francs for it.’

Upon making the remark that I needed precise indications in order to avoid all confusion, he replied: ‘It is not necessary. I will be there to see that they offer you the piano I want. You will not be obliged to bargain, for the price is less than the value of the instrument.’

How could I resist the commands of such a kind-hearted friend, whose power seemed to have no other limit than that of his will?

Moreover, was it my province to discuss the manner of employing money which did not belong to me?

Therefore I arrived at AllÉes de Tourny. Madame CaudÉrÉ was alone in the shop. I followed my instructions, and was offered a second-hand piano for six hundred francs. It was fifty francs below the stated price. I hesitated taking it, but, remembering his own words, ‘I will be there,’ I concluded the bargain on the express condition that the instrument might be delivered the same evening, according to our benefactor’s will.

I arrived home quickly, impatient to have an explanation concerning the fifty francs.

It was the first time I had observed an irregularity, and as my submission was only the result of an infallibility which, until then, had never been belied, the absolute and regular continuation of these facts was required in order to keep up that blind confidence which already impaired so seriously my free will.

It was with almost a triumphant air I announced that the piano had only cost six hundred francs.

‘I know it,’ said the unknown; ‘but Madame made a mistake.’

On the morrow, when settling the account, the shopkeeper said to me: ‘You got a bargain yesterday; my wife made a mistake in selling you for six hundred francs a piano I had fixed at six hundred and fifty.’

Absorbed in these supernatural incidents, I did not think of replying. I walked slowly home wrapped in thought. I related to the mysterious being what had happened to me at the piano-shop.

If my mystical preoccupations had made me forget my duty for an instant, he was not long in recalling it to me.

‘I apprised you of it,’ he answered. I understood, and brought back the fifty francs to the tradesman, not caring to benefit by a mistake.

At that time my daughter’s musical knowledge was limited to the ‘Bon Roi Dagobert,’ and yet, when she sat down to the piano, her fingers, yielding to some mysterious influence, moved involuntarily over the piano, and played unknown airs whose accompaniments were in accordance with all the rules of harmony.

Convinced that the child was playing from memory, the pianoforte-tuner complimented her upon her musical dispositions.

This phenomenon was only produced three or four times; it is true, I always took care to take the child away from the piano as soon as I suspected the approach of the influence.

The stock transaction accomplished, other business, patronised and advised by the protector, succeeded as well as the first. The object was always charity. These operations were not important; but for all that, their results increased the importance of the help every day.

The spirit had reserved to himself the right of designating the persons he wished to help. Sometimes he indicated the name, but more often he confined himself to mentioning the street, the number, and flat.

I remember one Sunday, while breakfasting, I was suddenly told to go immediately and visit a family living in a tiny house behind the Rue FranÇois-de-Sourdis. It was a long way off, and notwithstanding the indications given me, I went up and down several streets in that quarter of the town in vain, and I returned without having been able to fulfil my mission.

‘You must go back again,’ said the unknown, ‘and before breakfasting; for you yourself can wait; but it is not the same there, where the children are hungry...!’

Every morning, when leaving home to go to my office, I was commissioned to do a good work. ‘In such and such a street, at such and such a number and flat, at the door to the right, etc., lives a widow; you will give her five francs, or ten francs, and so forth....’

In the beginning, fearing to be led astray, these missions made me feel rather uncomfortable, especially when he sent me to places where there was no apparent misery; but he never made a mistake.

To provide for these distributions, and carry out certain religious projects, which he acknowledged to me—such, for example, as the erection of a chapel on the ground of ‘Malbec,’ in order to perpetuate the memory of his visit—to provide, I say, for so much expense, he considerably increased the figure of his operations.

It is true that an affair undertaken by his order always the same evening gave good results. And it was necessary it should be rigorously so, if he wished to maintain the blind confidence he seemed so desirous of preserving.

It was then that he changed his tactics. Instead of taking his profits at each liquidation, he now opposed himself to any realisation whatsoever.

In the face of such a dangerous system, I timidly risked some remarks:—

‘No one could guide me better than you do, and I would be already too rich if, as before, you took advantage of every fluctuation of the market, instead of opposing yourself to the realisation of the profits. It is true there is a large margin on your purchases, but our prosperity is only artificial, since it is but the result of recharges and not of liquidated operations. That is to say, by this system we are constantly laying ourselves open to emergencies.’

It was also under this mysterious inspiration that I then took an engagement to buy out the interest of my sleeping partners.

Always under the same guidance, our business affairs rapidly created an opulent position for me. The upward movement of stocks continued, and if at times a slight reaction arose, it could only touch a small part of the profits already acquired, and constantly carried over.

The dangerous system of non-realisation, we see, had not been abandoned.

I often complained.

It was thus that on the 1st January 1870 (a Sunday, I think), the Coulisse having quoted on the boulevards 75·05 francs, and this rate assuring us a profit of 30,000 francs on one affair alone, I implored him to consent to realising. He refused energetically, saying, ‘Money-jobbing does not suit me, I have put you in a position which will be your last affair.’ Moreover, he affected a great dislike to my profession, saying he desired to see me leave it as speedily as possible.

Sometimes the spirit dropped certain exclamations, aside, as it were, the most frequent of which was, ‘What a struggle!’

I paid no attention to this, and it was only after the tragic dÉnouement of this affair that the souvenir of these exclamations, although so frequently repeated, came back to my memory.

The circumstances which follow sadly demonstrate that during two and a half years the aim, so patiently followed, was simply to bribe my confidence with strange revelations, and to keep me under his thumb.

This result obtained, he had only to use influence in order to keep me in a position whose importance could not help being fatal, in view of coming events, and which the unknown’s power of penetration permitted him to foresee.

It was in the midst of all this, in a way, borrowed prosperity, since it only resulted from non-realised operations, that I took possession of my new residence, Rue d’Enghien, No. 11.

For several months, although it was impossible for stock to rise above seventy-five francs, faithful to his system, the unknown refused to sell out.

It was therefore necessary to continue. But could I complain if funds remained stationary? The profits entered into cash as a consequence of the rise of stocks, which seemed a sufficient guarantee against any event whatsoever.

Moreover, it seemed to me mean to reproach him with not giving me more, when I owed him already such unhoped-for prosperity.

My tranquillity was, therefore, absolute when complications with Germany broke out. Then, from the first day, I wished to liquidate.

‘There, are your fears beginning again as at the time of the Luxembourg incident? Believe him who is the Master, and who for nearly three years has never deceived you.’

Notwithstanding his affirmations, two days afterwards war was decided, and in taking possession of the telegraph lines, the light-hearted minister put the finishing-stroke to my ruin, for it placed me in the impossibility of communicating, and therefore of limiting my loss.

Whatever may be the danger of a struggle, we succumb with less regret when we have fought on equal terms; but here, without speaking of the strange circumstances, the suppression of telegraphic communication placed me in the position of a man bound hand and foot, who is thrown into the sea and reproached for not swimming.

In this critical moment, the unknown was absolutely dumb. He answered none of the questions I asked him. And yet the situation was most critical; for twenty years of labour disappeared into the gulf, and, moreover, to this material loss was added the grief of being forced to remain separated from my daughter, who was dangerously ill.

A last explanation took place: ‘There, then,’ I said to him, ‘here is what you have brought me to, and I do not know who you are; I only know that you have appealed to honourable sentiments, in order to make me your dupe, and that you have not hesitated using the name of God when laying your snares.’

I was too irritated to heed his reply; and I have only a vague souvenir of the word ‘trials’ faltered out in answer to my upbraidings.

Thus ends this long and sad ‘story.’

I have given this curious self-observation in extenso. The personification is liable to errors which may be dangerous if we abandon ourselves to its direction, as too many people are tempted to do.

The extraordinary facts with which Madame Vergniat’s life was filled are not confined to those just related; she appears to have possessed supernormal faculties right up to the last. It might be of considerable interest if her family would give a detailed account of her life.

Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

Transcriber’s note

A few missing page numbers were added to the table of Contents, but other omissions and inconsistencies were preserved.

Some missing punctuation has been corrected, also the following changes were made, on page
24 under point 6 “a” changed to “d” ((d) Lastly, the most complete)
64 “IV.” added (IV. THE PERSONIFICATION)
95 “is” changed to “are” (Phenomena are often forthcoming)
368 “Phenomenon” changed to “Phenomena” (Phenomena of the same kind).

Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling and hyphenation and possible errors in languages other than English. Additional: Mallbranche, on page 429, should probably be Malebranche.