by Colin Wilson
From then on, poltergeist disturbances were continuous. Milk pans were overturned, windows smashed, small fires started, water poured on to the floor. The “focus” seemed to be an eleven-year-old Scots girl called Dinah McLean, an orphan who had been adopted by the Dagg family. One day soon after the disturbances began, her braid of hair was tugged so violently that she screamed. It was found to be partly cut, so that it had to be completely severed. The “spirit” made a habit of attacking Dinah. And she was soon reporting that she could hear its voice, although no one else seemed to be able to.
An artist named Woodcock came to the house in November, and asked Dinah questions about the “haunting.” She said she had seen something in a woodshed, so Woodcock got her to take him there. In the woodshed, Dinah said: “Are you there mister?” and to Woodcock’s amazement, a gruff voice replied with some violent obscenities (another characteristic of the rare examples of the “talking poltergeist”). Woodcock describes it as being like the voice of an old man which sounded from the air a few feet away from him. When Woodcock asked “Who are you?”’ the answer came: “I am the devil. I’ll have you in my clutches. Get out of this or I’ll break your neck.”
But Woodcock refused to be intimidated; so did George Dagg, who was called in. An immensely long conversation ensued, and the “devil” gradually became less foul-mouthed and abusive. When Dagg asked: “Why have you been bothering me and my family,” it replied: “Just
for fun.”
Dagg responded that it wasn’t much fun setting the place on fire, to which came the significant reply: “I didn’t. The fires always came in the daytime and where you could see them.” And again, when Dagg asked why it had thrown a stone which had hit his four-year-old child Mary, he got the answer: “Poor wee Mary. I didn’t intend to hit her. I intended it for Dinah. But I didn’t let it hurt her.” Again and again poltergeists do things that could kill or cause severe damage; yet in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, no one is actually harmed. People may even be beaten with what sound like terrible blows—yet they are hardly hurt.
After more conversation, the spirit declared that it would take its leave of the house the following day, a Sunday. When this news spread around the area, people began to crowd into the farmhouse. The poltergeist did not let them down; as soon as they began to arrive, it was there, making comments. Like the original Hydesville poltergeist in the home of the Fox sisters, it seemed to have intimate knowledge of the people who came in, and of their private affairs. The voice was still the same as on the previous day; but when someone remarked on the improvement in its language, it replied that it was not the same spirit, but an angel sent from God “to drive away that fellow.” But this seems to have been untrue, for it ended by contradicting itself, then lost its temper, and used some of the old bad language.
Woodcock took the opportunity of many witnesses to draw up a lengthy report, stating that they had seen fires break out spontaneously, stones thrown by invisible hands, a mouth organ apparently playing itself, and all kinds of mischievous and generally upsetting phenomena. This statement goes on to say that the “entity” had claimed to be a discarnated spirit who had died twenty years previously; it actually gave its name, but asked that this should be kept a secret. The spirit was able to make itself visible to the children—two-year-old John, four-year-old Mary, and Dinah. It had appeared to them at various times as a tall, thin man with a cow’s head, horns and cloven hoof, as a big black dog, and as a beautiful man dressed in white robes with a starry crown. This statement was signed by seventeen witnesses.
On Sunday evening, Woodcock left the house to go back to his own lodgings; but the crowd found the spook so interesting that they begged it to stay on until 3 a.m. By this time it had ceased to speak in a gruff voice and began to sing hymns in a pleasant, flute-like voice. In the early hours of Monday morning, the spirit took its leave, but said it would show itself again to the children before it left permanently.
The next morning the children rushed in in great excitement. They claimed that the beautiful man in white robes had appeared in the yard, and had picked up Mary and Johnny in his arms, declaring that Johnny was a fine little fellow. The man then remarked that “that fellow Woodcock” thought he was not an angel, but he would show that he was. Whereupon, he ascended into the air, and disappeared. The children all told the same story, and repeated it word for word many times.
Father Herbert Thurston, who has summarized the story in his book Ghosts and Poltergeists,[2] comments that the ghost’s ability to appear to the children must have been some form of telepathy, and mentions that this has happened in many other cases—that the poltergeist has been seen by children, though not by adults.
The Dagg case parallels the Bingen case of 858 a.d. with remarkable closeness, even to the attitude of the neighbors, who in both cases became hostile and suspicious, believing that witchcraft or magic was at the bottom of it. Both poltergeists set fires, both spoke and identified themselves. These parallels make it clear that, for all its amazing features, the report in the Annales Fuldenses is probably basically accurate.
It must also be acknowledged that the behavior of the poltergeist seems to support the assertions of Kardec. According to The Spirits’ Book, the aim of all spirits is to evolve, and they may choose freely how they do this. The spirit in the Daggs’ farmhouse sounds very much like an ordinary human being with destructive or criminal tendencies. He commits all kinds of mischief and generally torments people—although he never actually does physical damage to them; he uses filthy language and sounds thoroughly resentful. He tells Woodcock that he is the devil, and actually appears to the children with a cow’s head and cloven hoof. Yet in the course of a long conversation, he moderates his language, pleads that he never meant to hurt anyone, and ends by promising to go. Having set himself up as an angel, he loses his temper and gives himself away; yet his last appearance seems to be an effort to leave behind a good impression of himself. All this makes him sound like a mischievous but fundamentally good-natured juvenile delinquent. Superior spirits do not,
says Kardec,
amuse themselves with playing ill-natured tricks, any more than grave and serious men do. We have often made spirits of this disorderly nature come to us, and have questioned them as to the motives of their misbehavior. The majority of them seem to have no other object than amusing themselves, and to be rather reckless than wicked . . .
This is an interesting and important point, which seems to offer an insight into “the mind of the poltergeist.” Human beings who lack a sense of purpose may behave very badly; they may lie and steal, not out of real criminality, but out of a kind of boredom. Their lying is an attempt to impress people, and they want to impress because they lack a sense of purpose, a personal center of gravity. As soon as such a person achieves a sense of purpose, he or she ceases to be badly behaved. In that sense, poltergeists seem to be much like human beings.
This is all the more puzzling because in other respects they seem to have very unusual powers. For example, they seem to know a great deal about the people they are dealing with. There is a case recorded by the Welsh writer Giraldus Cambrensis in 1191 in which “foul spirits” performed all the usual poltergeist tricks—throwing lumps of dirt, tearing clothes, opening doors.
But what was stranger still, in Stephen’s house the spirit used to talk with men, and when people bandied words with it, as many did in mockery, it taxed them with all the things they had done in their lives which they were least willing should be known or spoken about.
It took pleasure in causing dismay and embarrassment. In many respects, poltergeists behave like the traditional mischievous elves or goblins, and (as we shall see in a later chapter), there is a distinct possibility that the goblins and fairies of folk lore may be more than the spirits of dead human beings. The earliest case of “mediumistic phenomena” dates back to 1524. Some time in the early 1520s, a pretty nun named Alix de Telieux became bored with the dull life of the conve
nt of St. Pierre, in Lyon, and ran away with some stolen jewels. She seems to have found the world harder than she bargained for, and died in misery in 1524. It was in this year that another sister named Anthoinette de Grolée, a girl of eighteen, woke up with a vague impression that someone had kissed her on the lips and made the sign of the cross over her head. She sat up, and heard rapping noises that seemed to come from under the floor. As the disturbances continued, various people were called in to witness them, including Adrien de Montalembert, almoner to Francis I. By this time, someone had tried asking the spirit questions, and it replied by means of a code of raps. In this way, they had discovered that it was the dead Alix de Telieux, whose spirit was earth-bound as a result of her misdemeanors. She was able to tell them where she was buried; the body was brought back to the convent and buried there. This does not seem to have put an end to the “haunting.” Anthoinette de Grolée was evidently able to provide it with the energy it needed to express itself. In death, the spirit of Alix was apparently as restless as in life, and made Anthoinette’s life something of a misery. Montalembert himself spoke to the spirit, and had his questions answered by means of raps, and he adds that it was able to answer questions whose answer was not known to any other mortal creature. He also reports that Anthoinette de Grolée was made to levitate up into the air by the spirit. Finally, according to Montalembert, the dead girl actually appeared to Anthoinette and said she intended to depart. At matins that day there were loud rappings and other disturbances. But that was her final appearance.
All this sounds like an invention of superstitious nuns who believed in evil spirits. But at the end of the printed account of Montalembert, a nun of the following century has noted that in 1630 she had heard the story from an old nun of ninety-four, who had the story from her aunt, another nun. Montalembert gives an eye-witness account of the phenomena, and mentions that the case was studied by Cardinal Tencin, who found the manuscript in the Abbey of St. Pierre. Andrew Lang, who tells the story[3], says that it has “an agreeable air of good faith.” He also points out that Montalembert and the other investigators established communication with the spirit by rapping, about three hundred years before the case of the Fox sisters inaugurated the Spiritualist movement. Then why did the earlier case fail to arouse interest in this problem of spirits and “the other world”? Because the nuns took it for granted that there was “another world,” and that the spirits were either devils or souls in purgatory—like Sister Alix. In fact, one nun suffered from hysterics as a result of the uproar at matins on that final morning, and it was automatically assumed that she was “possessed.” Three centuries later, very few educated people believed in the devil or purgatory, so exactly the same phenomena started a world-wide movement.
Yet even in these earlier times, genuine psychical phenomena sometimes led to fraud: as in the curious case of Johannes Jetzer, which took place some twenty years earlier than the Alix de Telieux case. Jetzer was a poverty-stricken young man from Zurzach in Switzerland, who managed to get himself accepted into the monastery of the Dominicans at Berne in 1506. From the evidence, it is now clear that Jetzer was simply a natural “medium.” He complained that his rest at night was disturbed by a ghost, dressed as a brother, which kept pulling the clothes off his bed—another favorite activity of poltergeists. This specter was able to speak, and declared that it was suffering because of its sins; it also had a black face and hands. (Talking poltergeists are fairly rare, yet there are a number of cases on record, including the recent case of the Enfield poltergeist; the tape recordings of this spirit sound oddly hoarse and breathless, as if the voice is not being produced in the normal way by vocal cords and lungs.) The prior of the monastery seems to have assumed that Jetzer must be exceptionally holy if he was able to see spirits—an illogical assumption—and he was soon initiated into the Order. Nevertheless, the disturbances did not cease; on the contrary, they became more violent. Bangs and raps resounded through the priory, keeping everyone awake at night. Jetzer also lost a good deal of sleep, and became increasingly alarmed as the phantom appeared in a kind of sheet of flame, asking for masses to be said for its soul. They decided to place some holy relics in the cell next to Jetzer’s. This seems to have provoked the spirit to violence: a huge stone fell out of the air, and doors opened and closed all over the monastery. While all this was happening, the spirit again appeared to Jetzer and announced itself as a former prior, Heinrich Kalpurg, who had died a hundred and sixty years earlier. He had been forced to leave the monastery because of inefficiency in managing its affairs, and had been murdered in Paris. The spirit allowed Jetzer to see its face at close quarters, and he saw that the ears and nose were missing—cut off when he was murdered. The spirit touched Jetzer’s hand, and caused acute pain in his finger, which persisted for a long time afterwards.
Monks who had listened behind the doors verified all that Jetzer described. And the spirit continued to pay visits, heralded by various poltergeist phenomena-knocks, falling stones, objects moving through the air without being touched. Meanwhile, masses were said. And in due course, the spirit apparently succeeded in achieving some kind of peace.
So far, the story appears to be an accurate report of common poltergeist phenomena, which is described at length in three contemporary pamphlets.[4]
But at this point, the Dominicans seem to have decided that it would be a pity to allow the spirit to take its leave. So the ghost apparently continued to visit Jetzer in his cell. And Jetzer was requested to ask its opinion on a highly controversial matter: whether the Virgin Mary was conceived immaculately—that is, born free of original sin. The Franciscans believed she was; the Dominicans opposed this view. So Jetzer asked his ghostly visitor which was correct. The spirit said he wasn’t sure, but would send St. Barbara along to settle the point. The following Friday, St. Barbara arrived, dressed in white, accompanied by two cherubim, and went off with a letter for the Virgin Mary, written by the lector of the priory. The Virgin Mary apparently accepted the invitation it contained, and visited Jetzer’s cell, accompanied by St. Barbara and the two cherubim. She stated authoritatively that the Dominicans were right and the Franciscans were wrong; she was born like anybody else. After that, she returned to Jetzer’s cell on a number of occasions, proving she was not a demon by worshipping the host, and tearing up a tract arguing the Immaculate Conception.
Presumably these events spread the fame of the monastery far and wide. But the authorities advised caution, and instructed Jetzer to ask the Virgin various questions, to make sure she was not an evil spirit in disguise. The Virgin seems to have been unoffended, commenting that it was the business of men to make sure they were not deceived.
Jetzer seems to have taken her at her word. The next time she appeared she sprinkled holy water on Jetzer, and then took up a holy wafer and declared she would transform it into the true flesh of her Son. When she dropped it back on the table it was pink. At this point, Jetzer leapt to his feet and grabbed her hand—whereupon the other holy wafer fell on to the table. And Jetzer realized, to his horror, that the Virgin was the lector, Stephan Boltzhurst, and the two angels were the prior and subprior.
This was far from the end of the matter. The next day, the lector assured Jetzer he had been trying to test his powers of observation, and Jetzer accepted the explanation. The Virgin came again and pierced Jetzer’s feet and one of his hands. But soon afterwards Jetzer became suspicious about a bowl of soup; he gave it to some wolf cubs, which instantly died. When the Virgin visited his cell again, he grabbed her hand; and again recognized the subprior. When the statue of the Virgin in the chapel began to weep tears of blood, a neighboring priest climbed up and found they were paint.
The ecclesiastical authorities decided on an investigation, and Jetzer was taken in front of a painting of the Virgin, which began to tell him what to say in court. He saw the painting move, and experienced a sudden suspicion; pulling it aside, he found the lector there. Soon afterward St. Bernard of Clairvaux visited Jetzer
in his cell to give him more instructions; but as he was floating out of the window, Jetzer gave him a shove, and he fell out into the courtyard—it was the prior again. One more attempt to deceive Jetzer so enraged him that he wounded St. Catherine of Siena in the leg with a knife, and discovered her to be the procurator of the monastery. Jetzer was struck in the face.
At the subsequent investigation, it looked at first as if Jetzer intended to protect his colleagues; then he asked the protection of the bishop and told the whole story. He was unfrocked. At a subsequent trial, the four miscreants—the lector, prior, subprior and procurator—confessed in full, after torture, and were burned. Jetzer became a tailor and died in his native village about ten years later.
What is so interesting about the Jetzer case is the ease with which we can, with hindsight, see the distinction between genuine phenomena and invention. The lector decided to cash in on the “supernatural” happenings. But his notion of the supernatural was based on absurd misconceptions. We can see that Jetzer was simply a “medium,” and that the spirit was glad to find someone through whom it could express its problems. It may or may not have been the person it claimed to be—we know spirits are liars more often than not (at least, those that seem to manifest at séances). The lector’s head was full of ideas about souls in purgatory, saints who float through the air, cherubs with wings and so on. It looks as if he had considerable ingenuity in devising the various effects—even for a modern stage designer, it would not be easy to have a “saint” floating in and out of windows. But Jetzer’s own ingenuity is perfectly obvious. E. J. Dingwall, an eminent member of the Society for Psychical Research, who discusses the case at length, concludes that Jetzer was as much a deceiver as the others, but this seems contrary to common sense. The “ghost” produced all the poltergeist phenomena with which we have become familiar in other cases—bangs and raps, falling stones, slamming doors. But we must bear in mind that they were not familiar in the sixteenth century, when very few poltergeist cases were on record, and when the few that were were generally confused with the activities of the devil. Shakespeare thought that ghosts go marching around the place, glowing with phosphorescent fires, and delivering long orations; that was the general opinion of his time. If Shakespeare’s ghosts made rapping noises and threw stones, we would know that he had had some first-hand experience of poltergeists. The case of Jetzer, like that of the Bingen spook, has all the marks of authenticity.
