Spiritism everywhere.

— Contemporary literature, periodical and otherwise, is daily becoming imbued with Spiritist ideas; and this is so true, as we have been saying for a long time, that these ideas are a fertile mine for works of the imagination, rich in poetic scenes and in captivating situations; thus, writers gather from it by the handful. Materialist doctrines offer them a very limited field, a very prosaic one. What can be drawn from there capable of touching the heart and of elevating thought? What poetry does the prospect of nothingness offer, of the eternal destruction of oneself and of those whom one loves? The materialist feels the need to speak to the soul of his readers, if he does not wish to freeze them; to give a soul to his characters, if he wishes them to be interesting. In all ages poets and men of letters have taken from spiritualist ideas their most beautiful images and their most moving situations. But today Spiritism, by making the beliefs in the future precise, gives body to thoughts and an emphasis that they did not have; it opens a new field that is beginning to be explored. We have already cited numerous examples of the fact, and we shall continue to do so from time to time, because it is a characteristic sign of the reaction that is taking place in ideas. Besides literary works properly so called, the press also records, daily, facts that fall within the scope of Spiritism.

THE COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO.

Under this title, the newspaper Petite Presse publishes a serial novel, in which the following passages are found, taken from chapters XXX and XXXI:

“— My paradise, dear mother, said her dying daughter to the Countess of Monte-Cristo, will be to remain near you, beside you! always alive in your thoughts, listening to you and answering you, conversing softly with your souls.

“When the flower perfumes the garden, and you bring it to your lips, I shall be in the flower and it will be I who receives the kiss! I shall also make myself the ray of light, the breath that passes, the murmur that whispers. The wind that stirs your hair will be my caress; the perfume that rises from the flowering lilacs toward your window will be my breath; the distant song that makes you weep will be my voice… “Mother, do not blaspheme! No anger against God! Oh! these fits of anger and these blasphemies might perhaps separate us forever.

“While you remain here, I shall make myself your companion in exile; later, however, when, resigned to the will of our Father, who is in heaven, you in your turn have closed your eyes never to open them again, then in my turn I shall be at your bedside, awaiting your deliverance; and, intoxicated with an eternal joy, our two hearts, united forever, entwined for eternity, will fly in a single impulse toward the merciful heaven. Do you understand this joy, mother? never to leave one another, always to love one another, always! To form, so to speak, at the same time two distinct beings and one alone; to be you and me at the same time? To love and to know that one is loved and that the measure of the love one inspires is the same as that which one feels? “Here we do not know one another; I am unknown to you, as you are to me; between our two Spirits our two bodies represent an obstacle; we see one another only confusedly, through the veil of the flesh. But up there, we shall read clearly in each other’s heart. And to know to what degree one is loved is the true paradise, do you not see?

“Alas! all these promises of mystical and infinite happiness, far from soothing Helena’s anguish, only made it more intense, by making her measure the value of the good she was about to lose.

“Yet, from time to time, at the breath of these inspired words, Helena’s soul took flight almost to the serene heights where that of the Pippione hovered. Her tears were stanched, calm returned to her troubled bosom; it seemed to her that invisible beings floated in the room, breathing the words to Blanche as she pronounced them.

“The child had fallen asleep and, in her dream, seemed to converse with someone she did not see, to listen to voices that she alone heard, and to answer them.

“Suddenly, an abrupt start agitated her frail limbs, she opened her great eyes wide and called her mother, who was dreaming, leaning against the window.

“She drew near the bed and the Pippione took her hand, with hers already moist from the last sweats.

“— The moment has come, she said. This night is the last. They are calling me, I hear them! I would very much like to remain still, poor mother, but I cannot; their will is stronger than mine; they are up there and they make a sign to me.

“— Madness! cried Helena; a vision! a dream! You, to die today, this night, in my arms! Is this possible?

“— No, not to die, said the Pippione; to be born! I am leaving the dream, instead of entering into it; the nightmare is over, I am waking. Oh! if you only knew how beautiful it is, and what light shines here, beside which your Sun is no more than a black spot!

“She let herself fall back upon the pillows, remained silent for an instant, then continued:

“The moments I have to spend beside you are short. I want all of you to be here to say to me what you call an eternal farewell, which is, in reality, only a brief see you soon. All of you, do you understand? First you, the good doctor, Úrsula, Cipriana, and José.

“This name was pronounced more softly than the others; it was the last sigh, the last human regret of the Pippione. From that instant on she belonged entirely to heaven…

“— She was my daughter!

“— She was!… repeated Doctor Ozam in an almost paternal voice, drawing Helena to his breast. She was!… therefore she is no more… What remains here? a little half-decomposed flesh, nerves that vibrate no more, blood that thickens, eyes without a gaze, a throat without a voice, ears that no longer listen, a little mire!

“Your daughter! this corpse in which fecund Nature has already made the lower life germinate, which will disseminate its elements? — Your daughter, this slime that tomorrow will turn green again into grass, will bloom into roses, and will return to the soil all the living forces it drew from it? No, no. This is not your daughter! this is no more than the delicate and charming garment that she had created in order to pass through our life of trials, a tattered rag that she will abandon with disdain, like an old dress that one throws away! “If you wish to have a living remembrance of your daughter, poor woman, you must look elsewhere… and higher.

“— Do you too believe in this, doctor, she asked, in this other life? They said you were a materialist.

“The doctor gave a faint, gently ironic smile.

“Perhaps I am, but not in the way you understand it.

“It is not in another life that I believe, but in life eternal, in the life that has not begun and that, consequently, will have no end. — Each being, in the beginning equal to the others, carries out, so to speak, the education of its soul and increases its faculties and its power, in proportion to its merits and its acts. An immediate consequence of this reasoning: the more perfect soul gathers around itself an equally more perfect envelope. Finally, a day comes when this envelope no longer suffices it, and then, as is said, the soul breaks the body. “But it breaks it in order to find another more in keeping with its new needs and qualities? Where? Who knows? Perhaps in one of those higher worlds that shine above our heads, in a world where it will find a more perfect body, endowed with more sensitive organs, and for that very reason better and happier!

“We ourselves, perfect beings, endowed from the first day with all the senses that put us in relation with the exterior nature, how many efforts do we not require! What latent labors are not needed for the child to become a man, the ignorant and weak being, king of the Earth! And, ceaselessly, until death, the courageous and the good persevere in this arduous path of labor; they broaden the intelligence through study, the heart through devotion. Such is the mysterious labor of the human chrysalis, the labor by which it acquires the power and the right to break the wrapping of the body and to soar with wings.” Observation. – The author, who up to now had kept his anonymity, is Mr. du Boys [Jean Charles du Boys, 1836-1873], a young dramatic writer. From certain almost textual impressions, one sees that he was evidently inspired by the Doctrine.

BARON CLOOTZ.

Under the title of: A humanitarian wish, Anacharsis Clootz, Prussian baron, French member of the Convention, to his fellow citizens of Paris and of Berlin, the Progrès of Lyon, of April 27, 1867, published, in the form of a letter supposedly written from the other world, by the Convention member Clootz, a very long article, beginning thus:

“In the other world in which I dwell, since the terrible day of March 24, 1794, which, I confess, disillusioned me somewhat about men and about things, only the word war retains the privilege of reminding me of the concerns of earthly politics. That which I most loved, what am I saying? adored and served, when I dwelt on your planet, was the fraternity of peoples and peace. To that great object of study and of love, I gave a very serious pledge: my head, to which my hundred thousand pounds of income, in the eyes of many people, adds considerable value. What even consoled me a little, as I climbed the steps of the scaffold, were the considerations by which Saint Just had just justified my arrest. It was said, if I remember rightly, that henceforth peace, justice, and probity would be placed on the order of the day. I would have given my life, I declare proudly and without hesitation, and twice rather than once, to obtain half of that result. And note, please, that my sacrifice would be more complete and more profound than that of most of my colleagues would have been. I was in good faith and kept respect for justice in the depths of my heart; but, without speaking of the cults of which I had a horror, Robespierre’s very Supreme Being irritated my nerves, and the future life had for me the appearance of a pretty fairy tale. No doubt you will ask me what it is. Was I wrong? Such is the great secret of the dead. Judge for yourselves your own risks and perils. Nevertheless, it seems that I went somewhat far, since, on this solemn occasion, I am permitted to write to you.” The article being exclusively political and falling outside our scope, we cite only this fragment, to show that, even in these grave matters, one can make use of the idea of the dead, addressing the living, in order to continue with them the relations that had been interrupted. At every moment Spiritism sees this fiction realized. It is more than probable that it is Spiritism that has given this idea. Moreover, if it were given as real, it would not disapprove of it.

METEMPSYCHOSIS.

“Do you know the cause of the noises that reach us? said Mrs. Des Genêts. Could it be some new scene of enraged tigers, that those gentlemen are preparing for us?

“– Be calm, dear friend, all is safe: our living and our dead. Listen to the enchanting melody of the nightingale, that sings in the willow! Perhaps it is the soul of one of our martyrs, hovering around us under that lovely form. The dead have these privileges; and I willingly convince myself that they return thus near to those whom they loved.

“– Oh! if you were speaking the truth! exclaimed Mrs. Des Genêts vivaciously.

“– I believe it sincerely, said the young duchess. It is so good to believe in consoling things! Besides, my father, who is very wise, as you are not unaware, assured me that this belief had been spread in olden times by great philosophers. Lesage himself also believes in it.”

This passage is taken from a serial novel, entitled: The dungeon of the Tower of the Pines, by Paulin Capmat, published by the Liberté of November 4, 1867. Here the idea is not borrowed from the Spiritist Doctrine, because this Doctrine, in all ages, has taught and proved that the human soul cannot be reborn in an animal body, which does not prevent certain critics, who have not read the first word of Spiritism, from repeating that it professes metempsychosis; but it is always the thought of the individual soul surviving the body, returning under a tangible form near to those whom it loved. If the idea is not Spiritist, at least it is spiritualist, and it would still be better to believe in metempsychosis than to believe in nothing. This belief, at least, is not as despairing as materialism; it has nothing immoral about it, on the contrary; it led all the peoples who professed it to treat animals with gentleness and benevolence. This exclamation: It is so good to believe in consoling things is the great secret of the success of Spiritism.

FUNERAL OF MR. MARC MICHEL.

One reads in the Temps of March 27, 1868:

“Yesterday, at the funeral of Mr. Marc Michel, Mr. Jules Adenis bade farewell, in the name of the Society of Dramatic Authors, to the writer whom cheerful and light comedy has just lost.

“I find this sentence in his discourse:

“It was Ferdinand Langlé who, recently, preceded into the tomb the one whom we mourn today… And, who knows? who can say it?… just as we accompany here these mortal remains, perhaps the soul of Langlé has come to receive the soul of Marc Michel on the threshold of eternity.”

“It is most certainly the fault of my very frivolous spirit, but I confess that it is difficult for me to imagine, with the suitable gravity, the soul of the author of Le Sourd - Google Books, of Le camarade de lit - Google Books, of Une Sangsue - Google Books, of the Grève des portiers, coming to receive on the threshold of eternity the soul of the author of Maman Sabouleux - Google Books, of Mesdames de Montenfriche - Google Books, of Un tigre du Bengale - Google Books and of La station champbaudet - Google Books.”

X. Feyrnet.

The thought expressed by Mr. Jules Adenis is of the purest Spiritism. Let us suppose that the author of the article, Mr. Feyrnet, who finds it difficult to preserve the suitable gravity on hearing it said that the soul of Mr. Ferdinand Langlé is perhaps present and comes to receive the soul of Marc Michel, had taken the floor and, in his turn, had expressed himself thus: “Gentlemen, you have just been told that the soul of our friend Langlé is here, that it sees us and hears us! He would only need to add that it can speak to us. Do not believe a single word of it; the soul of Langlé no longer exists; or else, which amounts to the same thing, it has merged into the immensity. Of Marc Michel nothing remains; it will be the same when you die, as it was for your parents and friends. To hope that they await you, that they come to receive you upon disembarking from life, is madness, superstition, illuminism. Here is the positive fact: When one dies, all is finished.” Which of the two orators would have met with more sympathy among those present? Which would have wiped away more tears, given more courage and resignation to the afflicted? The unfortunate man, who no longer hopes for relief in this world, would he not have reasons to say to him: “If it is so, let us put an end to life as soon as possible?” One must pity Mr. Feyrnet for not being able to keep serious before the idea that his father and his mother, if he has lost them, still live, watch at his bedside, and that he will see them again.

A DREAM.

Extract from the Figaro of April 12, 1868:

“However extraordinary the following account may seem, the author, declaring that he received it from the vice-president of the Legislative Body himself (Baron Jérôme David), gives his words an incontestable authority.

“During his stay at Saint-Cyr, David was witness to a duel between two of his classmates, Lambert and Poirée. The latter received a thrust and went to be healed in the infirmary, where his friend David went up to see him every day.

“One morning Poirée seemed to him singularly disturbed; he plied him with questions and finally drew from him the confession that his emotion came from a mere nightmare.

“– I dreamed that we were on the bank of a river, I received a bullet in the forehead, above the eye, and you held me in your arms; I was suffering greatly and felt myself dying; I was commending to you my wife and my children, when I awoke.

“– My dear fellow, you have a fever, David answered him, smiling; pull yourself together; you are in your bed, you are not married and you have no bullet above the eye; it is a very stupid dream; do not torment yourself so, if you wish to be cured quickly.

“– It is singular, murmured Poirée, I never believed in dreams, I do not believe in them and, nevertheless, I am shaken.

“Ten years later, the French army was disembarking in the Crimea; the Saint-Cyrians had lost sight of one another. David, an adjutant officer, attached to the division of Prince Napoleon, received the order to go and discover a ford upstream of the Alma. To prevent the Russians from taking him prisoner, this reconnaissance was supported by a company of riflemen, taken from the nearest regiment. The Russians were making a rain of bullets fall upon the men of the escort, who deployed in the counterattack. “Not ten minutes had passed when one of our officers rolled to the ground, mortally wounded. Captain David leaped from his horse and ran to lift him up; he supported the head on his left arm and, unfastening the canteen from his belt, brought it near the lips of the wounded man. A large hole above the eye was bloodying his face; a soldier brought a little water and poured it over the head of the dying man, who was already in his last agony. “David looked attentively at the features, which he seemed to recognize; a name was pronounced beside him; no doubt: it was he, it was Poirée! He calls him; his eyes open; the dying man in his turn recognizes the comrade of Saint-Cyr…

“– David! You here?… The dream… my wife…

“These broken words were not finished and already the head fell inert on David’s arm. Poirée was dead, leaving his wife and his children to the remembrance and the friendship of David.

“I would not dare to tell such a story if I had not heard it myself from the honorable vice-president of the Legislative Body.

“Vox populi.”

With what purpose does the narrator add the words vox populi? They might be understood thus: Facts of this nature are so frequent that they are attested by the voice of the people, that is, by a general assent.

RAPPING SPIRITS IN RUSSIA.

There is sent to us from Riga, dated April 8, 1868, the following extract, from the Courrier russe of Saint Petersburg:

“Do you believe in rapping Spirits? As for me, no; absolutely not. And, nevertheless, I have just seen a material fact, palpable, that so escapes the rules of common sense, and is also so at odds with the principles of stability and gravity of bodies that my professor in the fourth year instilled in me, that I do not know which of the two is more stricken, the Spirit or I.

“The other day our editorial secretary received a gentleman of agreeable countenance, of an age such that one could not attribute to him the idea of a tasteless joke. Greetings, introduction, etc.; all finished, the gentleman relates that he comes to our office to ask for advice; that what is happening to him is so far outside all the facts of social life, that he deems it his duty to publish it. “– My house, said he, is full of rapping Spirits; every night, around ten o’clock, they begin their exercises, transporting the least transportable objects, rapping, leaping and, in a word, turning my whole apartment upside down. I had recourse to the police; a soldier spent several nights in my house. The disorder did not cease, although at each alarm he drew his saber in a threatening manner. My house is isolated, I have only one servant, my wife and my daughter, and when these facts take place we are gathered together. I live on a very remote street, in Vassili-Ostroff. “I had come in during the conversation and listened with open mouth. As I told you, I do not believe in rapping Spirits, absolutely not. I explained to this gentleman that in order to give publicity to these facts, it was necessary that we be convinced of their existence, and I proposed to go myself in order to ascertain the thing for myself. We arranged to meet in the evening and at nine o’clock I was at the man’s house. I was shown into a small drawing room, furnished with much comfort; I examined the arrangement of the rooms; there were only four, including the kitchen, all occupying the middle floor of a wooden house; no one lives above; the ground floor is occupied by a warehouse. “Around ten o’clock we were gathered in the drawing room, the man, the woman, his wife, his daughter, the cook, and I. Half an hour and nothing new! Suddenly a door opened and a galosh fell into the middle of the room; I supposed an accomplice and wished to make sure that the stairway was empty, when the galosh leaped onto a piece of furniture and from there again onto the floor; then it was the turn of the chairs in the neighboring room, which had no exit except through the one we occupied, and which I had just verified to be perfectly empty. Only at the end of an hour was silence reestablished, and the Spirit, the Spirits, the skillful accomplice, or God knows what, disappeared, leaving us in a stupefaction that, I assure you, had nothing of a game about it. Such are the facts, I saw them with my own eyes; I do not take it upon myself to explain them to you. If you wish to seek the explanation yourselves, we have at your disposal all the information, so that you may make your observations on the premises.” Henri de Brenne.

[1]

[La Comtesse de Monte-Christo, par Jean Du Boys - Google Books.]

[2] Translator’s note: In the original augmentation (increase). Proofreading error?

[3] [Jean-Baptiste du Val-de-Grâce, baron de Cloots (June 24, 1755 - March 24, 1794), better known as Anacharsis Cloots, and nicknamed the “orator of mankind,” and “a personal enemy of God,” was a French politician and a notable figure in the French Revolution. Clootz or Cloots, Anacharsis, revolutionary orator, self-styled Frenchman of the human race. He was born near Cleves and was a member of the minor German nobility, his original name is Jean-Baptiste Cloots. Fanatically devoted to humanitarian ideals and to the liberal ideas of the Encyclopédie - Google Books. He arrived in Paris in 1776 and used his great fortune for the advancement of these ideas. After the outbreak of the French Revolution , he headed a delegation of foreigners as “ambassadors of the human race” to the national assembly, he adopted the name Anacharsis and was elected to the Convention, the revolutionary Assembly, where he was an ardent advocate of the liberation of Europe in the name of the ideals of the revolution. Aligned with the Hébertists (Jacques René Hébert) he was executed when the faction fell in March 1794, during the reign of Terror, the period of the French Revolution 1793-1794, characterized by a wave of executions of presumed enemies of the State.] – Source: The Free Dictionary by Farlex. [4] [Le cachot de la tour des pins: Épisode de la guerre des Cévennes - Google Books.]