Frenzied Fiction

  IV. Personal Adventures in the Spirit World

  I do not write what follows with the expectation of convincing orconverting anybody. We Spiritualists, or Spiritists--we call ourselvesboth, or either--never ask anybody to believe us. If they do, well andgood. If not, all right. Our attitude simply is that facts are facts.There they are; believe them or not as you like. As I said the othernight, in conversation with Aristotle and John Bunyan and GeorgeWashington and a few others, why should anybody believe us? Aristotle,I recollect, said that all that he wished was that everybody should knowhow happy he was; and Washington said that for his part, if peopleonly knew how bright and beautiful it all was where he was, they wouldwillingly, indeed gladly, pay the mere dollar--itself only a nominalfee--that it cost to talk to him. Bunyan, I remember, added that hehimself was quite happy.

  But, as I say, I never ask anybody to believe me; the more so as I wasonce an absolute sceptic myself. As I see it now, I was prejudiced. Themere fact that spiritual seances and the services of a medium involvedthe payment of money condemned the whole thing in my eyes. I did notrealize, as I do now, that these _medii_, like anybody else, have got tolive; otherwise they would die and become spirits.

  Nor would I now place these disclosures before the public eyes were ifnot that I think that in the present crisis they will prove of value tothe Allied cause.

  But let me begin at the beginning. My own conversion to spiritualismcame about, like that of so many others, through the more or less casualremark of a Friend.

  Noticing me one day gloomy and depressed, this Friend remarked to me:

  "Have you any belief in Spiritualism?"

  Had it come from anyone else, I should have turned the question asidewith a sneer. But it so happens that I owe a great deal of gratitude tothis particular Friend. It was he who, at a time when I was so afflictedwith rheumatism that I could scarcely leap five feet into the airwithout pain, said to me one day quite casually: "Have you ever triedpyro for your rheumatism?" One month later I could leap ten feet in theair--had I been able to--without the slightest malaise. The same man,I may add, hearing me one day exclaiming to myself: "Oh, if there wereanything that would remove the stains from my clothes!" said to me verysimply and quietly: "Have you ever washed them in luxo?" It was he, too,who, noticing a haggard look on my face after breakfast one morning,inquired immediately what I had been eating for breakfast; after which,with a simplicity and directness which I shall never forget, he said:"Why not eat humpo?"

  Nor can I ever forget my feeling on another occasion when, hearing meexclaim aloud: "Oh, if there were only something invented for removingthe proteins and amygdaloids from a carbonized diet and leaving only thepure nitrogenous life-giving elements!" seized my hand in his, and saidin a voice thrilled with emotion: "There is! It has!"

  The reader will understand, therefore, that a question, or query,from such a Friend was not to be put lightly aside. When he asked if Ibelieved in Spiritualism I answered with perfect courtesy:

  "To be quite frank, I do not."

  There was silence between us for a time, and then my Friend said:

  "Have you ever given it a trial?"

  I paused a moment, as the idea was a novel one.

  "No," I answered, "to be quite candid, I have not."

  Neither of us spoke for perhaps twenty minutes after this, when myFriend said:

  "Have you anything against it?"

  I thought awhile and then I said:

  "Yes, I have."

  My Friend remained silent for perhaps half an hour. Then he asked:

  "What?"

  I meditated for some time. Then I said:

  "This--it seems to me that the whole thing is done for money. Howutterly unnatural it is to call up the dead--one's great-grandfather,let us say--and pay money for talking to him."

  "Precisely," said my Friend without a moment's pause. "I thought so. Nowsuppose I could bring you into contact with the spirit world through amedium, or through different _medii_, without there being any questionof money, other than a merely nominal fee, the money being, as it were,left out of count, and regarded as only, so to speak, nominal, somethinggiven merely _pro forma_ and _ad interim_. Under these circumstances,will you try the experiment?"

  I rose and took my Friend's hand.

  "My dear fellow," I said, "I not only will, but I shall."

  From this conversation dated my connection with Spiritualism, which hassince opened for me a new world.

  It would be out of place for me to indicate the particular addressor the particular methods employed by the agency to which my Friendintroduced me. I am anxious to avoid anything approaching a commercialtinge in what I write. Moreover, their advertisement can be seenalong with many others--all, I am sure, just as honourable and just astrustworthy--in the columns of any daily newspaper. As everybody knows,many methods are employed. The tapping of a table, the movement of aouija board, or the voice of a trance medium, are only a few among themany devices by which the spirits now enter into communication with us.But in my own case the method used was not only simplicity itself, butwas so framed as to carry with it the proof of its own genuineness. Onehad merely to speak into the receiver of a telephone, and the voice ofthe spirit was heard through the transmitter as in an ordinary telephoneconversation.

  It was only natural, after the scoffing remark that I had made, thatI should begin with my great-grandfather. Nor can I ever forget thepeculiar thrill that went through me when I was informed by the headof the agency that a tracer was being sent out for Great-grandfather tocall him to the phone.

  Great-grandfather--let me do him this justice--was prompt. He wasthere in three minutes. Whatever his line of business was in thespirit world--and I was never able to learn it--he must have left itimmediately and hurried to the telephone. Whatever later dissatisfactionI may have had with Great-grandfather, let me state it fairly andhonestly, he is at least a punctual man. Every time I called he cameright away without delay. Let those who are inclined to cavil at themethods of the Spiritualists reflect how impossible it would be tosecure such punctuality on anything but a basis of absolute honesty.

  In my first conversation with Great-grandfather, I found myself soabsurdly nervous at the thought of the vast gulf of space and timeacross which we were speaking that I perhaps framed my questionssomewhat too crudely.

  "How are you, great-grandfather?" I asked.

  His voice came back to me as distinctly as if he were in the next room:

  "I am happy, very happy. Please tell everybody that I am _happy_."

  "Great-grandfather," I said. "I will. I'll see that everybody knows it.Where are you, great-grandfather?"

  "Here," he answered, "beyond."

  "Beyond what?"

  "Here on the other side."

  "Side of which?" I asked.

  "Of the great vastness," he answered. "The other end of theIllimitable."

  "Oh, I see," I said, "that's where you are."

  We were silent for some time. It is amazing how difficult it is to findthings to talk about with one's great-grandfather. For the life of me Icould think of nothing better than:

  "What sort of weather have you been having?"

  "There is no weather here," said Great-grandfather. "It's all bright andbeautiful all the time."

  "You mean bright sunshine?" I said.

  "There is no sun here," said Great-grandfather.

  "Then how do you mean--" I began.

  But at this moment the head of the agency tapped me on the shoulder toremind me that the two minutes' conversation for which I had deposited,as a nominal fee, five dollars, had expired. The agency was courteousenough to inform me that for five dollars more Great-grandfather wouldtalk another two minutes.

  But I thought it preferable to stop for the moment.

  Now I do not wish to say a word against my own great-grandfather. Yetin the conversations which followed on successive days I found him--howshall I put it?--unsatisfactory. He had been, when on this sid
e--touse the term we Spiritualists prefer--a singularly able man, an Englishjudge; so at least I have always been given to understand. But somehowGreat-grandfather's brain, on the other side, seemed to have got badlydamaged. My own theory is that, living always in the bright sunshine, hehad got sunstroke. But I may wrong him. Perhaps it was locomotor ataxythat he had. That he was very, very happy where he was is beyondall doubt. He said so at every conversation. But I have noticed thatfeeble-minded people are often happy. He said, too, that he was glad tobe where he was; and on the whole I felt glad that he was too. Once ortwice I thought that possibly Great-grandfather felt so happy because hehad been drinking: his voice, even across the great gulf, seemed somehowto suggest it. But on being questioned he told me that where he wasthere was no drink and no thirst, because it was all so bright andbeautiful. I asked him if he meant that it was "bone-dry" like Kansas,or whether the rich could still get it? But he didn't answer.

  Our intercourse ended in a quarrel. No doubt it was my fault. Butit _did_ seem to me that Great-grandfather, who had been one of thegreatest English lawyers of his day, might have handed out an opinion.

  The matter came up thus: I had had an argument--it was in the middle oflast winter--with some men at my club about the legal interpretation ofthe Adamson Law. The dispute grew bitter.

  "I'm right," I said, "and I'll prove it if you give me time to consultthe authorities."

  "Consult your great-grandfather!" sneered one of the men.

  "All right," I said, "I will."

  I walked straight across the room to the telephone and called up theagency.

  "Give me my great-grandfather," I said. "I want him right away."

  He was there. Good, punctual old soul, I'll say that for him. He wasthere.

  "Great-grandfather," I said, "I'm in a discussion here about theconstitutionality of the Adamson Law, involving the power of Congressunder the Constitution. Now, you remember the Constitution when theymade it. Is the law all right?"

  There was silence.

  "How does it stand, great-grandfather?" I said. "Will it hold water?"

  Then he spoke.

  "Over here," he said, "there are no laws, no members of Congress and noAdamsons; it's all bright and beautiful and--"

  "Great-grandfather," I said, as I hung up the receiver in disgust, "youare a Mutt!"

  I never spoke to him again. Yet I feel sorry for him, feeble old soul,flitting about in the Illimitable, and always so punctual to hurry tothe telephone, so happy, so feeble-witted and courteous; a better man,perhaps, take it all in all, than he was in life; lonely, too, it maybe, out there in the Vastness. Yet I never called him up again. He ishappy. Let him stay.

  Indeed, my acquaintance with the spirit world might have ended at thatpoint but for the good offices, once more, of my Friend.

  "You find your great-grandfather a little slow, a little dull?" he said."Well, then, if you want brains, power, energy, why not call up some ofthe spirits of the great men, some of the leading men, for instance, ofyour great-grandfather's time?"

  "You've said it!" I exclaimed. "I'll call up Napoleon Bonaparte."

  I hurried to the agency.

  "Is it possible," I asked, "for me to call up the Emperor Napoleon andtalk to him?"

  Possible? Certainly. It appeared that nothing was easier. In the caseof Napoleon Bonaparte the nominal fee had to be ten dollars in place offive; but it seemed to me that, if Great-grandfather cost five, NapoleonBonaparte at ten was cheapness itself.

  "Will it take long to get him?" I asked anxiously.

  "We'll send out a tracer for him right away," they said.

  Like Great-grandfather, Napoleon was punctual. That I will say for him.If in any way I think less of Napoleon Bonaparte now than I did, letme at least admit that a more punctual, obliging, willing man I nevertalked with.

  He came in two minutes.

  "He's on the line now," they said.

  I took up the receiver, trembling.

  "Hello!" I called. "Est-ce que c'est l'Empereur Napoleon a qui j'ail'honneur de parler?"

  "How's that?" said Napoleon.

  "Je demande si je suis en communication avec l'Empereur Napoleon--"

  "Oh," said Napoleon, "that's all right; speak English."

  "What!" I said in surprise. "You know English? I always thought youcouldn't speak a word of it."

  He was silent for a minute. Then he said:

  "I picked it up over here. It's all right. Go right ahead."

  "Well," I continued, "I've always admired you so much, your wonderfulbrain and genius, that I felt I wanted to speak to you and ask you howyou are."

  "Happy," said Napoleon, "very happy."

  "That's good," I said. "That's fine! And how is it out there? All brightand beautiful, eh?"

  "Very beautiful," said the Emperor.

  "And just where are you?" I continued. "Somewhere out in theUnspeakable, I suppose, eh?"

  "Yes," he answered, "out here beyond."

  "That's good," I said. "Pretty happy, eh?"

  "Very happy," said Napoleon. "Tell everybody how happy I am."

  "I know," I answered. "I'll tell them all. But just now I've aparticular thing to ask. We've got a big war on, pretty well the wholeworld in it, and I thought perhaps a few pointers from a man like you--"

  But at this point the attendant touched me on the shoulder. "Your timeis up," he said.

  I was about to offer to pay at once for two minutes more when a betteridea struck me. Talk with Napoleon? I'd do better than that. I'd call awhole War Council of great spirits, lay the war crisis before them andget the biggest brains that the world ever produced to work on how towin the war.

  Who should I have? Let me see! Napoleon himself, of course. I'd bringhim back. And for the sea business, the submarine problem, I'd haveNelson. George Washington, naturally, for the American end; forpolitics, say, good old Ben Franklin, the wisest old head that everwalked on American legs, and witty too; yes, Franklin certainly, if onlyfor his wit to keep the council from getting gloomy; Lincoln--honest oldAbe--him certainly I must have. Those and perhaps a few others.

  I reckoned that a consultation at ten dollars apiece with spirits ofthat class was cheap to the verge of the ludicrous. Their advice oughtto be worth millions--yes, billions--to the cause.

  The agency got them for me without trouble. There is no doubt they are apunctual crowd, over there beyond in the Unthinkable.

  I gathered them all in and talked to them, all and severally, thepayment, a merely nominal matter, being made, _pro forma_, in advance.

  I have in front of me in my rough notes the result of their advice.When properly drafted it will be, I feel sure, one of the most importantstate documents produced in the war.

  In the personal sense--I have to admit it--I found them just a trifledisappointing. Franklin, poor fellow, has apparently lost his wit. Thespirit of Lincoln seemed to me to have none of that homely wisdom thathe used to have. And it appears that we were quite mistaken in thinkingDisraeli a brilliant man; it is clear to me now that he was dull--justabout as dull as Great-grandfather, I should say. Washington, too, isnot at all the kind of man we thought him.

  Still, these are only personal impressions. They detract nothing fromthe extraordinary value of the advice given, which seems to me to settleonce and for ever any lingering doubt about the value of communicationswith the Other Side.

  My draft of their advice runs in part as follows:

  The Spirit of Nelson, on being questioned on the submarine problem,holds that if all the men on the submarines were where he is everythingwould be bright and happy. This seems to me an invaluable hint. There isnothing needed now except to put them there.

  The advice of the Spirit of Napoleon about the campaign on land seemedto me, if possible, of lower value than that of Nelson on the campaignat sea. It is hardly conceivable that Napoleon has forgotten where theMarne is. But it may have changed since his day. At any rate, he saysthat, if ever the Russians cross the Marne, all is o
ver. Coming fromsuch a master-strategist, this ought to be attended to.

  Franklin, on being asked whether the United States had done right ingoing into the war, said "Yes"; asked whether the country could withhonour have stayed out, he said "No." There is guidance here forthinking men of all ranks.

  Lincoln is very happy where he is. So, too, I was amazed to find, isDisraeli. In fact, it was most gratifying to learn that all of the greatspirits consulted are very happy, and want everybody to know how happythey are. Where they are, I may say, it is all bright and beautiful.

  Fear of trespassing on their time prevented me from questioning each ofthem up to the full limit of the period contracted for.

  I understand that I have still to my credit at the agency five minutes'talk with Napoleon, available at any time, and similarly five minuteseach with Franklin and Washington, to say nothing of ten minutes'unexpired time with Great-grandfather.

  All of these opportunities I am willing to dispose of at a reduced rateto anyone still sceptical of the reality of the spirit world.