But stranger things were to happen. The narrow, winding staircase had on one side a massive balustrade, with thick square posts at each side of the many landings and turns. The flat tops of these square posts were favourite seats for the children, who would climb upon them and watch what went on on the stairs and landings below.
Two of the children, Mary and Walter, were thus seated one morning, when their play was interrupted in a curious manner. Mary, the elder, was on the lower post of the two, and from both seats the door of the drawing-room on the floor below was visible, Looking down they presently saw a little old lady in black come perfectly noiselessly up the stairs and go slowly into the drawing-room. The bell had not been rung, and, bending further forward, the children saw that the gate on the stairs was fast shut and nobody near it.
Whispering their wonder that the old lady should have got in without opening the gate, and should go into a room where nobody else was, the children slid off the balusters and stole quietly down to the drawing-room to see, and perhaps speak, to their visitor. But nobody was in the room!
It was against orders to go into the drawing-room, so Mary started out again, while Walter stood astonished and stared about the room. Reaching the door Mary gave a loud scream, for there, on the landing above them, near the very spot they had just left, was the old lady coming out of a door that was always kept locked.
Mary ran back into the big drawing-room to fetch Walter and they went together to the landing. There they saw the old lady going downstairs below them, at the other side of the gate, which still stood fast shut. Mr. Simpson, at work in his office below the drawing-room, had been disturbed by Mary’s scream, and came out to tell the children to be quiet. He did not receive their story with any great belief, and told them to play quietly and not fancy silly things. But as they went upstairs the children found the door on the landing, out of which the old lady had come, still locked, as it always was kept.
Less than a week after this occurrence the children were in the nursery on the top floor playing at a game of their own invention. They put chairs together to represent a carriage, and, covering the top with a table-cloth by way of roof, sat in their coach and made believe to travel immense distances. Mary happened to snatch at the cover with her hand and pulled it down, and there, in the half-opened door, all three children saw the little old lady as before, in black dress and large bonnet. Her face was perfectly white, and although her eyes stared piercingly, there seemed the indication of a smile about her mouth, which reassured the children; so Mary, thinking the old lady had mistakenly come up too high when looking for the office, went toward her. She immediately turned, and made slowly for the bed-room door — it was the eldest Miss Simpson’s bed-room — on the opposite side of the landing. As she entered the room Mary ran round through the dining-room by the other door into the bed-room in order to meet their queer visitor there. But again nobody was in the room; and hastening through and out on to the landing, Mary saw her brother Walter running headlong down the stairs after the old lady, who was gliding along very rapidly some distance below him, not guiding herself, as any ordinary person would have done, by the rail, but keeping close against the wall on the opposite side of the stairs.
Aroused by the clatter, Mr. Simpson came to his office door to stop it, and — there was no old lady anywhere on the staircase!
The children consulted together, and decided to take the opinion of the kitchen on the subject. So they went down, and said Walter:
“Ann, who is that tiny old lady in a black dress who goes up and down the stairs?”
“Only some one who comes to see your mamma — that’s all. Now you must run away upstairs again, please — we’ve got to clean up.”
Outside the door of the kitchen Mary said:
“What did they look at one another like that for? I’ll ask mamma about it.”
And they did, but got little information. Mrs. Simpson, hardly knowing whether to think the thing a delusion or not, put them off as best she could, and they were reduced to discussing the mysterious old lady among themselves.
After this it became quite common for the figure to be seen standing in the doorway of the nursery as the children played, and they, who were not a bit afraid, grew quite familiar with it, although, finding themselves not believed and sometimes reprimanded, they rarely mentioned it to others. But, confident as they were, they secreted a heavy ruler from the office into the nursery, with which they designed to defend themselves in case their visitor’s fixed stare should develop into something more formidable. Also, when the coach was brought into operation, it was thought advisable for one always to be an outside passenger, to watch for the coming of the pale old lady.
One evening, at about eleven, Mrs. Simpson was sitting in the drawing-room with her grown-up daughter. The door on to the staircase was left open for air and coolness. Happening to glance at the same time toward the staircase, which was well lighted up by gas, there they clearly saw, peering above the balusters, a man’s face — a face of sickly bluish paleness and a sad expression.
They looked at each other, rose, and went quietly towards the landing. In an instant the face was gone!
Who or what was it? A visitor, perhaps, who had come to the wrong house. In her own heart each felt sure that this was not so, but it seemed to be the most rational supposition.
They called the servants. Why had they not locked the iron gate, and why was not the outer door shut? Both had been done, the servants replied, hours before. Accompanied by the two ladies they went down, and, surely enough, both gate and outer door were fast. Not only that, but every other door below, inner and outer, was firmly secured. Moreover, no stranger was in the place. How did that white-faced man get in? How did he get out?
The effect of the relation of this occurrence upon Mr. Simpson was very small. Mrs. Simpson kept a diary at the time, and here is an entry: —
“When my husband came home I told him. He treated it as a good joke, laughed at our bewilderment, and said we must all have been asleep and dreaming. He has supreme contempt for any supposition of the supernatural. Has no belief in spiritual visions, in ‘ghosts,’ or visions of the night. He is far too practical, and only derides my credulity.”
But Mr. Simpson soon had reason to change his views, as we shall see.
Once again Mrs. and Miss. Simpson were sitting in the drawing-room at night, with the door, as usual, open. Mrs. Simpson was reading and her daughter was engaged in needlework. Looking up from her work the younger lady once more saw, over the balustrade, the face. She touched her mother gently on the knee to direct her attention to it, and both darted toward the landing, intending, as they had previously arranged in case of its re-appearance, to-seize the figure.
It was gone!
Again the place was searched, and again with the same result.
It is well to note the courage displayed by these ladies in their attempts to examine the mystery; it is very inconsistent with the production of imaginary images by a nervous and terrified brain. Indeed their whole testimony is positive and unequivocal that, without a doubt, they distinctly saw what they described, and that they never felt any actual alarm. A third time the same apparition was seen and vanished in precisely the same manner as before.
Mr. Simpson, who until now had observed none of the phenomena beyond the cries, was the only person about the place who doubted the possibility of the sights which the others had seen, and he was now to be convinced.
He was sitting very late one evening in his office at work on an accumulation of correspondence. The whole place was shut up, and everybody, excepting his own family and servants, had left the premises long ago. He had shut himself up in his office, and given particular instructions that nobody was to be allowed to enter the room or disturb him on any account; the whole place was perfectly silent, and at about eleven o’clock he was still steadily working away.
Presently, wishing to take a paper from a heap before him, he looked up, and there,
standing just inside the door, was a little old lady in black. Her face was pale and her hands were clasped before her; round her face a white frill, and over that a large black bonnet.
So little was he thinking of the stories told by the children and servants, that, without a moment’s thought, he assumed her to be a business visitor, forgetting, for the moment, the late hour and the fact that the gate and the outside door were shut. He rose and offered the lady a chair.
No response. There stood the figure, in the full blaze of the gaslight, motionless and noiseless, the eyes still fixed upon him. He approached her slightly.
“Can I do anything for you ma’am?”
No sound — no movement.
He came closer. Still no sign.
Surprised and a little annoyed, he stepped quickly toward her; and — there was no old lady there — nothing, nobody!
He opened the door, and called angrily upstairs to the servants. Who had been letting people in at this time of night?
Suddenly, as he spoke, he remembered that he had locked his door on going in, leaving the key in the hole, and in throwing it open again he had unlocked it.
What old lady could have come through that locked door? More; where was she now?
Nowhere; in no corner of that brightly lighted room. Certainly not outside.
By this time the servants were down, loudly protesting that they had admitted nobody, and, indeed, there stood the gate, locked, and the outer door was locked too. Mr. Simpson sent the servants away and turned from the office in a nervous bewilderment. He never afterwards greeted with derision any talk of the sights and sounds in the old house in St. Swithin’s Lane. Another entry in Mrs. Simpson’s diary runs thus: —
“As it is, no explanation can do away with the fact, and it is useless to deny what he has once admitted. Either way, he is in a dilemma, from which he cannot escape. He sums it all up by saying ‘I have told you exactly what took place. I know what I saw, and am quite aware that it cannot be explained. As it is, so let it rest.’ He will never again laugh at us for our absurd notions and experiences of ‘ghosts,’ I am quite certain. He is touched in a way that he himself cannot comprehend. He does not like it — his own feelings puzzle him. It will be a long time before he loses the novel impression aroused in his mind by that visit of our little old lady, who seems to wander about our house whenever and wheresoever she pleases.”
THE STRANGE CASE OF EMÉLIE SAGÉE
A MOST complete and well attested case of what would seem to be the involuntary projection of the vital principle is that of Emélie Sagée. It differs in many respects from the other known cases. The wraith or double was never seen at any great distance from the agent, and actual trance in no instance took place; it being, however, observable that a state of languor and apparent exhaustion was involved, increasing in proportion to the distance from the agent at which the wraith was seen. Thus it might easily have been possible for this state to have merged into one of coma had the projection ever been to a great distance, as in the case of Maurice Tulling. It will be noticed that the projection, although both involuntary and unconscious, invariably ensued upon a state of mind involving intense attention or anxiety as to something passing at the moment.
In the-province of Livonia stands the small town of Volmar, of some 2,000 inhabitants, some sixty miles from Riga. The inhabitants are almost entirely of German descent, as, indeed, are those of nearly the entire province.
About a mile from Volmar, at Neuwelcke, there lately stood, and probably still stands, a public school for young ladies, under the direction of a Moravian board of management. This institution was called the Neuwelcke Pensionnat, and it bore a high reputation throughout the province as a most efficiently organised college.
The president of the board of management in 1845, was a M. Buch, and among the pupils, of which there were more than forty, was Mdlle. Julia de Guldenstubbé, second daughter of Baron de Guldenstubbé, the same gentleman who was president of the Ahrensburg consistory at the time when the Buxhoewden incident took place. Mdlle. de Guldenstubbé’s closest school companion was Mdlle. Antoine de Wrangel, a year or two older than herself.
One of the teachers, having been seriously ill, went home to her parents, and her complaint becoming confirmed, she resigned her appointment, and steps were taken by the directors to suitably fill the vacancy. The most promising applicant seemed to be a young Frenchwoman, about thirty-two years of age, from Dijion, her name being Mdlle. Emélie Sagée. Her testimonials, both as to character and abilities, were of the very highest kind. She had relatives of respectability residing in the province, and her accomplishments were high. She obtained the appointment.
In due course she presented herself before the pupils — a rather tall, slender, fair lady, with light blue eyes and brown hair — and soon gained their goodwill. Her mild, even temper and pleasant ways made them her friends, and her evident anxiety to do her very best in her work pleased the managers. With all her quiet amiability, nevertheless, a certain tendency to nervous anxiety and excitement was often noticeable in her.
She had not been at the Neuwelcke Pensionnat a month before strange whisperings arose among the pupils. Two girls would see Mdlle. Sagée in different parts of the house at the same time. At first the occurrences were looked upon as simple mistakes on the part of observers, but after a while they took place so frequently, and in such circumstances, that it became plain that there was something very unusual about the new teacher. Girls would meet and report having only that moment seen Mdlle. Sagée each in opposite parts of the premises; and Mdlle. de Guldenstubbé affirmed having been frightened, after asking a question of the mysterious governess, and getting no reply, at seeing her vanish where there was no door for her to go out by. Some of the elder girls mentioned these things to the other teachers, and were laughed at.
One day, however, an unmistakable demonstration took place. A class in mathematics numbering thirteen was being taken by Mdlle. Sagée, who, in the course of the lesson, as was her wont, became most earnest and animated in her efforts to impress certain things upon the minds of her pupils. Taking a piece of chalk in her hand, she turned sharply to the blackboard and began eagerly to demonstrate her meaning upon it, when suddenly there was presented to the eyes of the startled girls the sight of two Mdlles. Sagée, side by side, executing precisely the same movements — the real Mdlle. Sagée still animatedly demonstrating with her chalk upon the blackboard, and the unsubstantial apparition at her side dumbly imitating every movement, though with no chalk in its hand.
The agitation caused among the girls by this extraordinary phenomenon may be imagined. Perceiving some disturbance in the class, Mdlle. Sagée turned round and looked about her, and almost immediately the figure at her side disappeared — seemed to approach her, in fact, and lose itself in her own form.
A little while after this a rural fête was arranged to take place near Neuwelcke, and certain of the pupils at the pensionnat were given permission to attend it, among them Mdlle. Antoine de Wrangel. Mdlle. de Wrangel was rather a favourite with Mdlle, Sagée, and, not having witnessed the extraordinary occurrence at the mathematical class, was not so disposed to regard her with that vague fear which was felt by some of the girls who had.
On the morning of the festivities, Mdlle. de Wrangel was dressing for the purpose of taking part in them. She was alone, and having put on her gown had nobody to hook it behind for her. Just at this moment Mdlle. Sagée passed the door.
“Ma’m’selle, if you please, will you help me fasten my gown?”
“Certainly, my dear. It is a pretty gown — a new one, isn’t it?” and Mdlle. Sagée bent down to fasten it.
The dress was rather tight, and Mdlle. Sagée, anxious to set it smoothly, took particular pains with it. Mdlle. de Wrangel was standing with her side to a looking-glass. Turning her eyes toward this, she started and glanced over her shoulder. And, as she saw in the glass, there she saw actually behind her — two women were fastening her dress,
and both, apparently, Mdlle. Sagée. She fainted.
These manifestations continued for some months, and although they bred a certain indefinite fear among the girls, were not the occasion of so much terror as might perhaps have been expected, although in one or two cases the effects were very noticeable. Several times during this period the wraith appeared standing behind Mdlle. Sage’s chair, sometimes a motionless spectre, and at others a moving one, reflecting every action of the real woman. Mdlle. Sagée herself never appeared conscious of its presence, even when, upon one occasion, it took its place in the chair as she vacated it. When it reflected her movements in the act of eating, there was never any appearance of a knife or fork, or of food.
After these few months had passed away Mdlle. Sagée was attacked by influenza — her first indisposition since her arrival at the school. The doctor thought best to order her to keep to her bed, and from time to time, when her school duties permitted, Mdlle. de Wrangel sat by the patient’s bedside and read to her. The effects of this young lady’s former fright had by this time quite passed away, and having witnessed the extraordinary phenomena which haunted Mdlle. Sagée more than once since, she was able to regard it with something approaching equanimity.
Mdlle. de Wrangel sat by the bedside one afternoon reading. The teacher’s double had not been seen for some week or two, and, absorbed as she was in the book, it was a subject quite absent from Mdlle. de Wrangel’s mind.
Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison Page 155