Boïeldieu at the thousandth performance of The White Lady.

— The following stanzas, by Mr. Méry, were recited at the thousandth performance of The White Lady, at the theater of the Opéra-Comique, on December 16, 1862:

To Boïeldieu.

Glory to the work where sings entire the melody Of Boïeldieu’s creation, with applause of joy, And, as in the past, still young, with no harm done!

A full house, seeing Paris again, ever fresh, The Lady of Avenel, the noble chatelaine!

Ten times a centenarian, after thirty-six years!

For the author gave her all that a poet Can give of the best to what the lyre interprets, The master lavishes, in successive ardor, Charms that no one ever knew how to translate:

The tone that makes one dream, the tone that makes one smile, The joy of the Spirit in an ecstasy of love!

Such sonority comes from the supreme grace That exhales from the voice, and from the orchestra, and from the poem, The art of the evening could not then surpass it;

For it is Boïeldieu’s most beautiful victory, It makes the public an artist and, to the audience in glory, The universe expresses to it the voice of the heart!

With what felicity the august master labors In inspired tones for the beloved muse!

Like a river of gold falling from the serene lute!

Like rays that come from a Scottish mist!

For such a work, then, French music Has nothing to fear from the Alps or the Rhine!

It falls to us to celebrate so noble a thousandth, Which rises so high and is covered with applause;

And… do we know the secrets of the beyond?…

Who knows? Here perhaps beneath this sky there delights A shade, this evening, and joyfully listens to us, As one more listener, and we see no one!

— All Spiritists must have noticed this last stanza, which could not better correspond to their thought, nor better express the presence, in our midst, of the Spirit of those who have left their carnal remains. For the materialists, it is a simple play of the poet’s imagination, because, in their opinion, of the man of genius whose memory was being celebrated, nothing remained, and the words addressed to him were lost in the void, finding no echo. The memories and regrets he left behind are worth nothing to them; even more: his vast intelligence is mere chance of Nature and of his organization. Where, then, is his merit? He would have no more of it for having composed his masterpieces than the barrel organs that execute them. Does such a thought not have something glacial about it, we would even say, something profoundly immoral? And is it not sad to see men of talent and of science extol it in their writings and, from the height of their chairs, teach it to the youth of the schools, seeking to prove to them that only nothingness awaits us and, consequently, that he who was able or knew how to escape human justice has nothing more to fear? This idea — it could never be repeated too often — is eminently subversive of social order and, sooner or later, peoples suffer the terrible consequences of its predominance through the unleashing of the passions. For it would be the same as telling them: You may do with impunity all that you wish, provided you are the stronger. However, this idea — it must be admitted, to the praise of Humanity — meets with a sentiment of repugnance in the masses. We ask what effect the poet would have produced upon the public if, instead of that image so true, so moving, and so consoling of the presence of the Spirit Boïeldieu in the midst of the numerous audience, happy with the approval of his work, he had said: Of the man we mourn there remains only what went to the tomb and which is destroyed day by day; a few more years and not even his dust will remain; but of his thinking being nothing remains; he has entered into the nothingness from which he came; he no longer sees us nor hears us. And you, his son here present, who venerate his memory, your regrets no longer reach him; in vain do you call him in your fervent prayers: he cannot come, because he no longer exists; the tomb has closed forever over him. It is in vain that you hope to see him again upon leaving the Earth, because you too will enter into nothingness, as he did; in vain will you ask him for support and counsel: he has left you alone and quite alone. Do you believe that he continues to occupy himself with you, that he is at your side, that he is here, among us? Illusion of a weak mind. You are a medium — you say — and you believe that he can manifest himself through you! Superstition arising from the Middle Ages; effect of your imagination, which is reflected in your writings. We ask: What would the audience have said of such a picture? It is, however, the ideal of incredulity. Certainly some of those present, on hearing these verses, will have thought: “Beautiful idea! It has a foundation!” But others, in greater number, will have thought: “A sweet and consoling thought that warms the heart!” Yet they will have added: “If Boïeldieu’s soul is present, what is it like? Under what form? Is it a flame, a spark, a vapor, a breath? How does it see and hear?” It is precisely the uncertainty as to the state of the soul that gives birth to doubt. Now, Spiritism comes to dispel such uncertainty, saying: Upon dying, Boïeldieu left only his heavy and gross envelope; but his soul retained the indestructible fluidic covering; henceforth, free of the impediment that held it to the ground, it can rise and traverse space. He is here under his human form, albeit etherealized, and if the veil that hides him from our sight could be lifted, we would see Boïeldieu, coming and going, or hovering above the multitude; associated with his triumph, thousands of Spirits with ethereal bodies would be with him. Now, if the Spirit Boïeldieu is there, it is because he takes an interest in what is happening there, because he associates himself with the thought of those present. Why, then, would he not make his own thought known, if he has that power? It is such power that Spiritism verifies and explains. His fluidic covering, however invisible and ethereal it may be, is nonetheless a kind of matter; in life, it served as intermediary between the soul and the body; through it the soul transmitted its will, which the body obeyed, and through it the soul received the sensations experienced by the body; in a word, it is the link of union between the Spirit and matter properly so called. Today, freed from his corporeal envelope, associating himself by sympathy with another incarnate Spirit, he can, in a certain way, make use of the body of the latter to express his thought by word or by writing; in other words, by mediumistic means, that is, through an intermediary. Thus, from the survival of the soul to the idea that it may be in our midst there is but a step; from that idea to the possibility of communicating at a distance is not great. Everything lies in our accounting for the manner in which the phenomenon operates. It is seen, then, that the Spiritist Doctrine, in giving as truth the relations between the visible and invisible worlds, does not advance a thing so eccentric as some say it is, and the solidarity it proves to exist between these two worlds is the door that opens the horizons of the future.

— After Mr. Méry’s stanzas were read at the Spiritist Society of Paris, in the session of December 19, 1862, Mrs. Costel received from the Spirit Boïeldieu the following communication:

“I feel happy to be able to manifest my gratitude to those who, in celebrating the old musician, did not forget the man. A poet — poets are divine — felt the breath of my soul still seized with harmony. Music resounded in his verses of remarkable inspiration, in which there also vibrated a moved note, which made the happy shade of the one they celebrated hover above the living. “Yes, I attended that festival commemorative of my human talent and heard, above the instruments, a voice, more melodious than earthly melody, which sang of death stripped of its former terror, appearing no longer as a somber divinity of Erebus, but as the brilliant star of hope and resurrection. “The voice also sang of the union of Spirits with their incarnate brothers. Sweet mystery! Fecund association that completes man and restores to him the souls that he called in vain from the silence of the tomb.

“Precursor of the times, the poet is blessed by God. A morning lark, he celebrates the dawn of ideas long before they arise on the horizon. But behold, the sacred revelation spreads like a blessing over all, and, like the beloved poet, you all feel around you the presence of those whom your memory evokes.” Boïeldieu. n [1]

[v. Boïeldieu.]