Example 7 - Mrs. widow FOULON, née WOLLIS.

— Mrs. Foulon, who died at Antibes on February 3, 1865, lived for a long time at Le Havre, where she earned the reputation of a most skillful miniaturist. Of notable talent, she first made use of it merely as an amateur, but, when needs befell her, she made of her art a profitable source of income.

What made her admired and esteemed, winning for her afterward, on the part of those who knew her, a memorable remembrance, was above all the gentleness of her character, the personal qualities that only her intimates could know in their full extent. For Mrs. Foulon, like all those who have an innate sense of goodness, did not parade it; rather, she regarded it as a natural attribute.

If there was ever a person over whom selfishness held no sway, such, without doubt, was she. Never, perhaps, was the sentiment of personal self-denial so far-reaching, ready as she always was to sacrifice to it her rest, her health, and her interests for the benefit of the needy; 4 it may be said that her life was a long series of sacrifices, as well as of harsh trials from her youth, without courage and resignation, in spite of them, ever failing her. But behold, her eyesight, wearied by meticulous work, was fading day by day, to the point that, with a little more time, it would result in complete blindness!

It was then that the knowledge of the Spiritist Doctrine became for her an ocean of light, rending as it were a thick veil to let her glimpse something not entirely unknown, but of which she had only a vague intuition. She studied it with diligence, but at the same time with the power of appreciation proper to persons, such as she was, endowed with high intelligence.

One would have had to gauge all the uncertainties, all the doubts of her existence, arising not from herself but from her relatives, in order to judge of the consolations she drew from the sublime revelation, and which gave her the unshakable faith in the future, the awareness of the nothingness of earthly things.

Her death, too, was worthy of the life she had led. Without the slightest anguished apprehension, she saw it draw near as a deliverance it was for her from earthly chains, while at the same time it opened to her the gates of spiritual life, with which she had become identified through the study of Spiritism. And she died calmly, convinced of having completed the mission she had accepted upon incarnating, for she had scrupulously fulfilled the duties of wife and mother of a family; and just as during life she had declined any and all resentment toward those of whom she might perhaps have complained as ungrateful; and just as she had always returned good for evil, so too she disincarnated, forgiving them, imploring for them the divine goodness and justice.

She disincarnated, finally, with the serenity flowing from an unblemished conscience, and the conviction that she would not on that account be any more separated from her children, since she would be able to be with them in spirit, to counsel and protect them, whatever the point of the globe at which they might find themselves.

As soon as we learned of Mrs. Foulon's passing, our first concern was to evoke her. The relations of friendship and sympathy that the Doctrine had established between us explain some of her phrases and justify the familiarity of her language.

I.

(Paris, February 6, 1865, three days after the decease.)

“Holding it for certain that you would evoke me right after the release, I was preparing myself to answer you, since I had not experienced any disturbance; 11 this exists only for beings enveloped and submerged in the darkness of their own spirit.

“Well then! my friend, I consider myself happy now; these wretched eyes that had weakened to the point of leaving me no more than the remembrance of the colored prisms of youth, of scintillating splendor; these eyes, I say, have opened here to behold again splendid horizons, idealized in vague reproductions by some of your brilliant artists, but whose majestic, severe, and consequently grandiose exuberance bears the stamp of the most complete reality.

“It is not more than three days since I disincarnated, and I feel that I am an artist: my aspirations, relating to the ideal of artistic beauty, were nothing but the intuition of faculties acquired in previous existences and developed in this last incarnation.

But, how much labor to reproduce a masterpiece worthy of the grandiose scene that presents itself to the Spirit arrived in the regions of light! Brushes! brushes, and I will prove to the world that Spiritist art is the complement of pagan art, of Christian art now in peril, with only Spiritism deserving the glory of reviving it in all its splendor upon your disinherited world.

“This is enough from the artist; and now, from the friend:

“Why distress yourself thus, my good friend (she refers to Mrs. Allan Kardec), over the cause of my death? You above all, you who know the disappointments and bitterness of my existence, ought rather to rejoice in knowing that I no longer drink from the bitter cup of earthly sorrows, a cup drained to the dregs.

Believe me: the dead are happier than the living, and to mourn them is to doubt the Spiritist truths.

You will see me again, be assured. If I departed first, it is because the task was finished, which moreover each one has on Earth. Thus, when yours is completed, you will come to rest a little beside me, to begin again later, mindful of the principle that nothing is inactive in Nature.

We all have evil tendencies, to which we yield, which is a supreme law and a proof of the faculty of free will. Therefore, have indulgence and charity, my friend, sentiments of which we mutually have need, whether in the visible world or in the invisible. With such a motto, all goes well.

“You will not tell me to cease speaking. Know, however, that, for a first time, the conversation has already gone on quite long, which is why I leave you, to give place to my excellent friend Mr. Kardec.

I wish to thank him for the affectionate words he was good enough to address to the friend who preceded him to the tomb, seeing how we narrowly escaped departing together for the world in which I find myself! (Allusion to the illness of which Dr. Demeure had spoken.) What then would the most loving companion of our existence have said, had the good Spirits not intervened? She would have wept and groaned, which to a certain point I understand; 21 it is necessary, however, that I keep watch so that you do not again expose yourself to new danger, before having concluded the work of Spiritist initiation, arriving prematurely among us and, like Moses, seeing the Promised Land only from afar. It is a friend who tells you so — be on your guard.

“Now I depart to be near my dear children, after which I shall go to see, beyond the sea, whether my wandering lamb has reached land or remains at the mercy of the storms. (She refers to one of her daughters who lived in America.) May the good Spirits protect her, with whom for the same end I am going to join. I shall converse with you again, for do not forget that I am a tireless talker. Until soon, good and dear friends; until later.”

Widow Foulon.

II.

(February 8, 1865.)

Dear Mrs. Foulon, I consider myself satisfied with the communication of a few days ago, in which you promised to continue our conversation.

Believe that I recognized you at once, by your speaking of things unknown to the medium and very proper to your spirit. The language affectionate toward us is surely that of a loving soul such as yours, although we noted in the words a firmness, an assurance, a manner of speaking until then unknown in you. You surely remember that in this respect I permitted myself to give you more than one admonition, in certain specific circumstances.

A. It is true, yes; however, ever since I fell gravely ill, I set about regaining the firmness of spirit, shaken by the disappointments and vicissitudes that so often made me timid on Earth.

I said to myself: — Since you are a Spiritist, forget the Earth; prepare yourself for the transformation of your being and see, in thought, the luminous path that awaits your soul after the parting, and along which you must free yourself, unburdened and happy, to the celestial spheres, where, in future, you will dwell.

You will perhaps tell me that I was somewhat presumptuous in counting on perfect happiness, once disincarnated; but the fact is that I had suffered so much, so much, that I should expiate the faults not only of the last but of the previous incarnations as well.

That intuition did not deceive me, and it was the one that gave me the courage, the calm, and the firmness of the last moments. Well then: that firmness grew at once when, after the release, I saw my hopes realized.

Describe for us now the transition, the awakening, and the first impressions you received there.

A. I suffered, but the Spirit overcame the material suffering that the release in itself awakened in it.

After the last breath, I found myself as if in a swoon, without consciousness of my state, thinking of nothing, in a vague drowsiness that was neither quite the sleep of the body nor the awakening of the soul.

In this state I remained a long time, and then, as if coming out of a prolonged faint, I slowly awoke in the midst of brothers I did not know. They lavished cares and caresses upon me, while at the same time showing me in Space a point somewhat resembling a star, saying: “It is there that you are going with us, for you no longer belong to the Earth.”

Then, I remembered; and, leaning upon them, forming a graceful group that casts itself toward the unknown Spheres, but with the certainty of finding happiness there, we rose, we rose, as the star grew larger…

It was a happy world, a superior center in which your friend is going to rest. When I say rest, I mean the bodily fatigues I endured bitterly, the contingencies of earthly life, not the indolence of the Spirit, for the Spirit has in activity a source of joys.

So you have left the Earth definitively?

A. I leave in it too many beloved beings to be able to separate myself definitively.

To it, therefore, I shall come, in spirit, charged as I am with a mission near my little children.

You know full well that no obstacle stands in the way of the coming to Earth, of the visit, in short, of the Spirits who dwell in superior worlds.

Could your present position in any way diminish or weaken the relations with those you have left here?

A. No, my friend, love draws souls together.

Be assured that on Earth you can be nearer to those who have attained perfection than to those who, through their inferiority and selfishness, gravitate around the earthly Sphere.

Charity and love are two engines of powerful attraction, which consolidates and prolongs the union of souls, in spite of distances and places.

Distance exists only for material bodies, never for Spirits.

What idea do you now have of my labors on Spiritism?

A. It seems to me that you are a missionary and that the burden is heavy, but I also foresee the end of your mission and know that you will attain it;

I will help you in whatever lies within my reach, with my counsels as a Spirit, so that you may overcome the difficulties that will be raised against you, encouraging you, in short, to take measures concerning the invigoration of the renewing movement on which Spiritism is founded, this for as long as you remain there.

Demeure, your friend, united to the Spirit of Truth, will be still more useful to you, for he is wiser and more measured than I;

I know that the assistance of the good Spirits strengthens and sustains you in your labor, and thus I too assure you of my support always and everywhere.

From some of your words it may be inferred that you will not render very active personal collaboration in the propagation of Spiritism?

A. You are mistaken. The fact is that I see so many other Spirits more capable than I of treating this subject, so important moreover, that an invincible timidity prevents me from answering you as you wish. Probably it will come to pass, and I shall take heart with boldness once I better know these Spirits.

It is only four days since I left the Earth, and consequently I am still under the dazzling influence of all that surrounds me. Could it be that you do not understand me? I find no means of expressing the new sensations I experience. I strive by all means to escape the fascination that the marvels admired by it exert upon my being.

The only thing I can do is to adore and render thanks to God in His works. But this impression will fade, and the Spirits assure me that before long I shall be accustomed to all these magnificences, so as to be able to treat with spiritual lucidity all the questions concerning the renewal of the Earth. To such a circumstance you must add this further one, that I have a family to console.

Farewell and until soon, dear master. Your good friend loves you and will love you always, seeing how to you exclusively she owes the only lasting and true consolation she had on Earth.

Widow Foulon.

III.

The following communication was intended for her children, dated February 9:

“My most loving children, God has withdrawn me from your midst, but the reward He has deigned to grant me is far greater than the little I did on Earth.

Resign yourselves, dear children, to the will of the Almighty, and draw, from all that He has permitted you to receive, the strength to bear the trials of life. Hold firm in your hearts the belief that so eased my passage to this world.

After death, God, just as He had already done on Earth, spread over me the mantle of His infinite mercy. To Him you owe thanks for the benefits with which He fills you. Bless Him, my children, bless Him always, at every moment.

Never lose sight of what has been pointed out to you, nor of the path to tread. Meditate on the use of the time that God has appointed you on Earth. There you will be happy, my dear children, happy through one another, provided union reigns among you. Happy still with your children, if you bring them up in the same sound principles that God permitted to be revealed to you.

You cannot see me, it is true; but it is fitting that you know that the bonds that linked us there were not shattered by the death of the body, seeing that it was not the envelope, but the Spirit, that united us. And thus it will be possible for me, by the goodness of the Almighty, to guide you, to encourage you, so that we may join together again, when for you this journey ends.

“Dear children, cultivate lovingly this sublime belief. To you who have it, beautiful days await. This very thing has already been told to you, but to me it was not fated to see those days there on Earth. It will be from on High, then, that I shall behold the beautiful times promised by the God of goodness, of justice, and of mercy.

“Weep not, my children. May these communications strengthen you in faith, in the love of God, that God who has lavished so many benefits upon us, who so many and many times succored your mother. Pray always, for prayer reinvigorates.

Conform yourselves to the prescriptions I so ardently followed, when incarnate like you. I shall return, my children, but I must console the daughter who has such need of me now. Farewell, until soon. I beseech you for your own sake: believe in the divine goodness. Until always.”

Widow Foulon.

NOTE.

Every enlightened and serious mind will easily draw from these communications the teachings that stand out from them. We shall only call attention to the two following points:

First — the possibility, demonstrated by this example, of no longer needing to incarnate on Earth and of passing to a superior world, without being separated from the cherished beings we leave behind here.

Thus, those who fear reincarnation, by reason of earthly miseries, can avert it, working for their advancement. And so will act the one who does not wish to vegetate in the inferior layers, doing his utmost to instruct himself, to work, and to graduate.

The second point is the confirmation of the fact that we are less separated in death than in life from the beings who were dear to us in it.

Held back by illness and by the years in a small town in the South, Mrs. Foulon kept near her only a small part of her family. The greater part of her children and friends being dispersed and far off, material obstacles prevented her from seeing them as often as she might perhaps have wished. For some, distance made even correspondence difficult. Barely disincarnated, Mrs. Foulon, swift, runs to be near each one, covers distances without fatigue, rapid as electricity, and sees them and attends their intimate gatherings, protects them, and can, making use of mediumship, converse with them at every moment, as if she were alive on Earth.

And to think that, before so consoling a prospect, there are still those who prefer the idea of an eternal separation!