Privat d’Anglemont.

— In the newspaper Pays, of August 15, 1859, one reads the following obituary of Privat d’Anglemont, a man of letters, deceased at the Dubois Hospice.

“His extravagances never did harm to anyone; only the last one was wicked and turned against him. Upon entering the nursing home in which he has just died, Privat d’Anglemont committed the imprudence of saying that he was an Anabaptist and an adept of the doctrine of Swedenborg. He had said so many similar things in his life! But this time death surprised him without his having had time to recant. In reprisal, he was denied the supreme consolation of the cross at his bedside; his funeral procession came upon a church but had to pass at a distance; the cross did not come to receive him at the cemetery gate. When the coffin descended into the tomb, Édouard Fournier, in pronouncing touching words over that body, did not dare to wish him more than eternal sleep. All his friends withdrew, astonished at not having saluted him, one by one, with that water which resembles tears, and which purifies all. Make, then, a subscription and try to build something upon a grave without hope! Poor Privat! I commend him none the less to Him who knows all the miseries of our soul and who set forgiveness as a law in the effusion of an affectionate heart.” We shall make a preliminary note on this notice. Is there not something atrocious in the idea of a grave without hope, not even deserving the honor of a monument? Certainly Privat’s life could have been more meritorious. It is incontestable that he committed errors. But no one will be able to say that he was a wicked man who, like so many others, did evil at his pleasure, under the cloak of hypocrisy. Because in his last moments on Earth he was deprived of the prayers dedicated to believers, prayers which his scarcely charitable friends likewise denied him, shall God condemn him forever, leaving him nothing but eternal sleep as supreme hope? In other words, in God’s eyes would he be no more than an animal, he, a man of intelligence, indifferent, it is true, to the goods and favors of the world, living unconcerned about the morrow, but, incontestably, a man of thought, not to say a transcendent genius? Were this reasoning correct, how frightful must be the number of those who plunge into nothingness! Let us acknowledge that the Spirits give us a far more sublime idea of God, ordinarily presenting Him to us as always disposed to extend His hand in aid to the one who recognizes his errors, to whom He always leaves an anchor of salvation.

[Evocation of Privat d’Anglemont.]

Evocation Answer. – Here I am. What do you wish, my friends?

Do you have a clear consciousness of your present situation?

Answer. – No; not entirely, but I hope to have it without delay, because, happily for me, God does not seem to me to wish to keep me away from Him, despite the almost useless life I led on Earth; later I shall have a fairly happy position in the world of the Spirits.

Did you immediately recognize your situation at the moment of death?

Answer. – I was disturbed, which is understandable, but not as much as one might suppose, for I always liked what was ethereal, poetic, dreamy.

Can you describe what happened to you at that moment?

Answer. – Nothing extraordinary happened, nothing different from what you already know. It is useless, then, to speak of it further.

Do you see things as clearly as in the time when you were living?

Answer. – No; not yet, but I shall see them.

What impression does the present sight of men and things cause you?

Answer. – My God! That which I always thought.

With what do you occupy yourself?

Answer. – I do nothing; I am wandering. I do not seek a social position, but a Spirit position; another world, another occupation: it is the natural law of things.

Can you transport yourself to any place you wish?

Answer. – No; I would be very happy; my world is limited.

Do you need an appreciable time to transport yourself from one place to another?

Answer. – Quite appreciable.

When alive, you verified your individuality by means of the body. Now, however, that you no longer possess it, how do you confirm it?

Answer. – Ah! It is strange! Here is something I had not yet thought about; those are right who say that we learn something every day. Thank you, dear colleague.

Well then! Since we have drawn your attention to this point, reflect and answer us.

Answer. – I told you that I am limited as to space. Unfortunately I, who always had a lively imagination, am also limited as to thought. I shall answer later.

When alive, what was your opinion about the state of the soul after death?

Answer. – I supposed it immortal, this is evident. I confess, however, to my shame, that I did not believe, or at least did not have a firm opinion, about reincarnation.

What was the source of the original character that distinguished you?

Answer. – There was no direct cause; some are profound, serious, philosophers; I was cheerful, lively, original. It is a variety of character, that is all.

Could you not have, through your talent, freed yourself from that bohemian life that left you at the mercy of material needs, for I believe that often you lacked the necessary?

Answer. – Very frequently. But, what would you have? I lived as my character ordained. Moreover, I never bent to the foolish conventions of the world. I did not know what it was to go begging for protection; art for art’s sake, that was my principle.

What is your hope for the future?

Answer. – I do not yet know.

Do you recall the existence that preceded the one you have just left?

Answer. – It was good.

Observation. – Someone observed that these last words could be taken as an ironic exclamation, which would be characteristic of Privat’s nature.

He answered spontaneously: — I beg a thousand pardons of you. I was not jesting. It is true that for you I am a Spirit little instructive. But, after all, I do not wish to trifle with serious things. Let us finish; I do not wish to speak any more. See you soon.

(SECOND CONVERSATION. — SEPTEMBER 9, 1859.) n

Evocation Answer. – Come now, my friends! So you have not yet finished putting questions to me, very sensible ones, moreover, but which I cannot answer?

Doubtless it is out of modesty that you speak thus, since the intelligence you revealed in life and the manner in which you answered prove that your Spirit is above the common run.

Answer. – Flatterer!

No; we do not flatter. We say what we think. Besides, we know that flattery would be an absurdity toward the Spirits. On the occasion of your last conversation, you left us abruptly. Could you tell us the reason?

Answer. – Here is the reason, in all its simplicity: you ask questions so far from my ideas that I feel embarrassed in answering them. You will understand, therefore, the natural impulse of pride that I experienced in keeping silent.

Do you see other Spirits at your side?

Answer. – I see them in quantity: here, there, everywhere.

Did you reflect on the question we put to you and which you promised to answer on another occasion? I repeat it: When alive, you verified your individuality by means of the body. Now, however, that you no longer possess it, how do you confirm it? In a word: how do you distinguish yourself from the other spiritual beings whom you see around you? Answer. – If I can express what I feel, I will tell you that I still retain a kind of essence, given by my individuality, and which leaves me no doubt that I really am myself, although dead to the Earth. I find myself still in a new world, very new to me… (After some hesitation). In short, I verify my individuality by my perispirit, which is the form I possessed in this world. Observation. – We think that this last answer was whispered to him by another Spirit, because its precision contrasts with the embarrassment that at the beginning he seemed to demonstrate.

Did you attend your funeral?

Answer. – Yes, but I do not grasp why.

What sensation did you experience?

Answer. – I saw with pleasure, with much satisfaction, that in leaving the Earth, I left behind many sorrows in it.

Where did the idea come to you of passing for an Anabaptist and a Swedenborgian? Had you studied the doctrine of Swedenborg?

Answer. — It is one more of my eccentric ideas, amid so many others.

What do you think of the little obituary published about you in the newspaper Pays?

Answer. – You leave me embarrassed, for if you publish these communications in the Review you will certainly give pleasure to the one who wrote them; as for me, for whom they were made, what shall I say? That they are pretty phrases, nothing more than pretty phrases.

Do you sometimes go to revisit the places you frequented in life, and the friends you left behind?

Answer. – Yes, and I dare say that I still find in it a certain satisfaction. As for the friends, they were little sincere; many shook my hand without having the courage to say that I was eccentric, and behind my back they criticized me and called me mad.

Where do you intend to go upon leaving us? This is not an indiscreet question, but for our instruction.

Answer. – Where shall I go?… Let us see… Ah! an excellent idea… I am going to grant myself a little joy… just once does not make a habit… I shall take a little stroll; I shall visit a little room that left me very pleasant memories in life… Yes, it is a good idea; there I shall spend the night at the bedside of a poor wretch, a sculptor who tonight did not dine and who asked sleep for relief from his hunger… He who sleeps dines… Poor fellow! Rest easy; I shall give you magnificent dreams.

Could we not know the address of that sculptor, in order to assist him?

Answer. – Here is a question that could be indiscreet, if I did not know the laudable sentiment that dictated it… I cannot answer it.

Could you dictate something to us on a subject of your choosing? Your talent as a man of letters should make the task easy.

Answer. – Not yet. However, you seem so affable, so compassionate, that I promise to write something. Now, perhaps, I would be very eloquent; but I fear that my communications are still too terrestrial; let my soul purify itself a little; wait for it to abandon that gross envelope which still retains it, and then I will promise you a communication. I ask only one thing of you: pray to God, our sovereign Lord, to grant me forgiveness and the forgetting of my uselessness on Earth, considering that every man has his mission here. Unhappy is he who does not fulfill it with faith and religiosity. Pray! Pray! Farewell.

(THIRD CONVERSATION.)

I have been here a long time. I promised to say something, and I shall say it.

You know, friends, that nothing is more embarrassing than to speak thus, without preamble, and to attack a serious subject. A scholar does not prepare his works except after long reflection, after having long matured what he is going to say, what he is going to undertake. As for me, I greatly regret not yet having found a subject that is worthy of you. I can only tell you childish things. I prefer, then, to ask you for a postponement of eight days, as they say in court. Perhaps, then, I shall have found something that may interest and instruct you. The medium having insisted mentally that he say something, he added: – But my dear fellow, I find you admirable! No; I prefer to remain a listener. Then do you not know that there is as much instruction for me as for you in hearing what is discussed here? No; I insist that I shall remain only a listener; in my case it is a far more instructive role. Despite your insistence, I do not wish to answer. Do you suppose, by chance, that it would be much more agreeable to me to say: Ah! this evening they evoked Privat d’Anglemont? – Is that true? What did he say? – Nothing, absolutely nothing. – Thank you! I prefer that they keep a good impression of me. To each his own ideas.

SPONTANEOUS COMMUNICATION OF PRIVAT D’ANGLEMONT.

(Fourth conversation. – September 30, 1859.)

“Behold, at last Spiritism is making a great noise everywhere; and behold, the newspapers are occupying themselves with it, in an indirect manner, it is true, citing extraordinary facts of apparitions, of rappings, etc. My former colleagues cite the facts without comment, in which they give proofs of intelligence, since the Spiritist Doctrine must never be badly discussed or taken as something wicked. However, they have not yet admitted the truthfulness of the medium’s role. They doubt. But I refute their objections, saying that they themselves are mediums. All writers, great and small, are so to a greater or lesser degree. And they are so in the sense that the Spirits who are around them act upon their mental system and often inspire in them thoughts which they pride themselves on having conceived. Certainly they would never believe that Privat d’Anglemont, a frivolous Spirit par excellence, had resolved this question. Nevertheless, I tell only the truth and, as proof, I give a very simple sample: How is it that after having written for some time, they find themselves in a kind of overexcitement and in an unusual feverish state? You will say that it is the effort of attention. But when you are very attentive to a thing, contemplating a painting, for example, do you feel fever? No, is it not so? It is necessary, then, that there be another cause. Very well! I repeat that the cause lies in the mode of communication existing between the writer’s brain and the Spirits who surround him. Now, my dear colleagues, whip Spiritism, if that seems correct to you. Ridicule it, laugh; surely you will be mocking none but yourselves, nor dealing blows to any but your own selves… Do you understand? Privat d’Anglemont.

— The medium who at the Society had served as interpreter to Privat d’Anglemont had the idea of evoking him privately, obtaining from him the conversation that follows. It seems that the Spirit felt a certain affection for him, whether because he found in him an easy instrument, or because there was sympathy between them. This medium is a young man beginning in the literary career, and his promising attempts foreshadow dispositions which Privat will certainly have pleasure in encouraging.

Evocation – Here I am. I have already been with you for some time. I was expecting this evocation on your part. It was I who, a little while ago, inspired some good thoughts in you. This was, my dear friend, to console you a little and to make you bear with more courage the sorrows of this world. Do you think, then, that I too have not suffered far more than you imagine, you who smile at my eccentricities? Beneath that armor of indifference which I always affected, how many sorrows, how many pains did I not conceal! But I had a quality very precious for a man of letters or for an artist: no matter in what situation, I always tempered my sufferings with cheerfulness. When I suffered much, I made jokes, puns, and jests in bad taste. How many times did hunger, thirst, and cold not knock at my door! And how many times did I not answer them with a long and merry burst of laughter! Feigned laughter, you will say. Ah! No, my friend, I confess to you that I was sincere. What would you have? I always had the most indifferent character that one can have. I never worried about the future, the past, or the present. I always lived as a true bohemian, haphazardly, spending five francs when I had them, and even when I did not have them; and I was no richer, four days after having received my wages, than I had been the day before. Certainly I wish no one this useless life that I led, incoherent and irrational. Eccentricities are no longer of our time. The new ideas, for that very reason, have made rapid progress. It is a life of which I absolutely do not boast and of which I am sometimes ashamed. Youth must be studious: it must, through work, strengthen the intelligence, in order better to know and appreciate men and things. Disabuse yourselves, young people, if you think that on leaving college you are already complete men, or scholars. You have the key to learn everything. It now rests with you to work and study, entering more resolutely into the vast field that is offered to you, whose paths have been smoothed by your studies in college. I know that youth needs distractions: the contrary would be an offense against nature; however, you must not seek them to excess, since he who in the springtime of life thought only of pleasure prepares for himself painful remorse later on. It is then that experience and the needs of this world teach him that lost moments are never recovered. Young men need serious reading. Often the ancient authors are the best, because their good thoughts suggest others. They should above all avoid novels, which only excite the imagination and leave the heart empty. Novels should not be tolerated except as a distraction, once in a while, and for certain ladies who have nothing better to do. Instruct yourselves! Instruct yourselves! Perfect the intelligence with which God has endowed you. Only at this price shall we be worthy to live.

— Your language astonishes me, dear Privat. You presented yourself under very witty appearances, there is no doubt, but not as a profound Spirit, and now… — A. Hold there, young man! let us stop with that. I appeared, or rather, communicated with you as a somewhat superficial Spirit, it is true, because I was not yet entirely detached from my terrestrial envelope and the condition of Spirit had not yet presented itself in all its reality. Now, friend, I am a Spirit, nothing more than a Spirit. I see, feel, and experience everything like the others, and my life on Earth seems to me no more than a dream. And what a dream!

I am partly accustomed to this new world, which must be my dwelling for some time.

— How long do you imagine remaining as a Spirit, and what do you do in your new existence? What are your occupations? — A. The time that I must remain as a Spirit is in the hands of God and will last, as far as I can conceive, until God judges my soul sufficiently purified to incarnate in a superior region. As for my occupations, they are almost nil. I am still wandering, as a consequence of the life I led on Earth. Thus it is that what seemed to me a pleasure in your world is now a misery for me. Yes, it is true, I would like to have a serious occupation, to interest myself in someone who deserved my sympathy, to inspire good thoughts in him. But my dear friend, we have already conversed enough and, if you permit me, I am going to withdraw. Farewell. If you need me, do not fear to call me: I will hasten with pleasure. Courage! Be happy!

[1] Translator’s Note: Although in the original French [printed text] one reads quatrième entretien, this is, in reality, the second conversation of Privat d’Anglemont, as is easily inferred from the sequence in which they were dictated.