Part 1

LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

_BY ELSA BARKER_

WAR LETTERS FROM THE LIVING DEAD MAN

LAST LETTERS FROM THE LIVING DEAD MAN

SONGS OF A VAGROM ANGEL

LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

WRITTEN DOWN BY ELSA BARKER

_WITH AN INTRODUCTION_

NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE

COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY MITCHELL KENNERLEY

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

_All Rights Reserved_

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

LETTER PAGE

INTRODUCTION 5

I. THE RETURN 15

II. TELL NO MAN 16

III. GUARDING THE DOOR 18

IV. A CLOUD ON THE MIRROR 19

V. THE PROMISE OF THINGS UNTOLD 21

VI. THE WAND OF WILL 22

VII. A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL 24

VIII. THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER 26

IX. WHERE SOULS GO UP AND DOWN 28

X. A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 30

XI. THE BOY--LIONEL 35

XII. THE PATTERN WORLD 40

XIII. FORMS REAL AND UNREAL 44

XIV. A FOLIO OF PARACELSUS 47

XV. A ROMAN TOGA 51

XVI. A THING TO BE FORGOTTEN 56

XVII. THE SECOND WIFE OVER THERE 64

XVIII. INDIVIDUAL HELLS 70

XIX. A LITTLE HOME IN HEAVEN 71

XX. THE MAN WHO FOUND GOD 78

XXI. THE LEISURE OF THE SOUL 84

XXII. THE SERPENT OF ETERNITY 90

XXIII. A BRIEF FOR THE DEFENDANT 97

XXIV. FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE 101

XXV. A SHADOWLESS WORLD 104

XXVI. CIRCLES IN THE SAND 109

XXVII. THE MAGIC RING 115

XXVIII. EXCEPT YE BE AS LITTLE CHILDREN 121

XXIX. AN UNEXPECTED WARNING 126

XXX. THE SYLPH AND THE MAGICIAN 131

XXXI. A PROBLEM IN CELESTIAL MATHEMATICS 139

XXXII. A CHANGE OF FOCUS 147

XXXIII. FIVE RESOLUTIONS 153

XXXIV. THE PASSING OF LIONEL 158

XXXV. THE BEAUTIFUL BEING 167

XXXVI. THE HOLLOW SPHERE 173

XXXVII. AN EMPTY CHINA CUP 179

XXXVIII. WHERE TIME IS NOT 187

XXXIX. THE DOCTRINE OF DEATH 195

XL. THE CELESTIAL HIERARCHY 205

XLI. THE DARLING OF THE UNSEEN 210

XLII. A VICTIM OF THE NON-EXISTENT 219

XLIII. A CLOUD OF WITNESSES 228

XLIV. THE KINGDOM WITHIN 235

XLV. THE GAME OF MAKE-BELIEVE 237

XLVI. HEIRS OF HERMES 241

XLVII. ONLY A SONG 247

XLVIII. INVISIBLE GIFTS AT YULETIDE 250

XLIX. THE GREATER DREAMLAND 258

L. A SERMON AND A PROMISE 265

LI. THE APRIL OF THE WORLD 273

LII. A HAPPY WIDOWER 276

LIII. THE ARCHIVES OF THE SOUL 284

LIV. A FORMULA FOR MASTERSHIP 288

INTRODUCTION

ONE night last year in Paris I was strongly impelled to take up a pencil and write, though what I was to write about I had no idea. Yielding to the impulse, my hand was seized as if from the outside, and a remarkable message of a personal nature came, followed by the signature “X.”

The purport of the message was clear, but the signature puzzled me.

The following day I showed this writing to a friend, asking her if she had any idea who “X” was.

“Why,” she replied, “don’t you know that that is what we always call Mr. ----?”

I did not know.

Now, Mr. ---- was six thousand miles from Paris, and, as we supposed, in the land of the living. But a day or two later a letter came to me from America, stating that Mr. ---- had died in the western part of the United States, a few days before I received in Paris the automatic message signed “X.”

So far as I know, I was the first person in Europe to be informed of his death, and I immediately called on my friend to tell her that “X” had passed out. She did not seem surprised, and told me that she had felt certain of it some days before, when I had shown her the “X” letter, though she had not said so at the time.

Naturally I was impressed by this extraordinary incident.

“X” was not a spiritualist. I am not myself, and never have been, a spiritualist, and, so far as I can remember, only two other supposedly disembodied entities had ever before written automatically through my hand. This had happened when I was in the presence of a mediumistic person; but the messages were brief, and I had not attached any great importance to the phenomena.

In childhood I had several times put my hand upon a planchette with the hand of another person, and the planchette had written the usual trivialities. On one occasion, some months before the first “X” letter, I had put my hand upon a planchette with the hand of a non-professional medium, and the prophecy of a fire in my house during a certain month in the following year was written, supposedly by a dead friend, which prophecy was literally verified, though the fire was not caused by my hand, nor was it in my own apartment.

A few times, years before, I had been persuaded by friends to go with them to professional séances, and had seen so-called materialisations. I had also seen independently a few appearances which I could not account for on any other hypothesis than that of apparitions of the dead.

But to the whole subject of communication between the two worlds I felt an unusual degree of indifference. Spiritualism had always left me quite cold, and I had not even read the ordinary standard works on the subject.

Nevertheless, I had for a number of years almost daily seen “hypnagogic visions,” often of a startlingly prophetic character; and the explanation of them later given by “X” may be the true explanation.

Soon after my receipt of the letter from America stating that Mr. ---- was dead, I was sitting in the evening with the friend who had told me who “X” was, and she asked me if I would not let him write again--if he could.

I consented, more to please my friend than from any personal interest, and the message beginning, “I am here, make no mistake,” came through my hand. It came with breaks and pauses between the sentences, with large and badly formed letters, but quite automatically, as in the first instance. The force used on this occasion was such that my right hand and arm were lame the following day.

Several letters signed “X” were automatically written during the next few weeks; but, instead of becoming enthusiastic, I developed a strong disinclination for this manner of writing, and was only persuaded to continue it through the arguments of my friend that if “X” really wished to communicate with the world, I was highly privileged in being able to help him.

“X” was not an ordinary person. He was a well-known lawyer nearly seventy years of age, a profound student of philosophy, a writer of books, a man whose pure ideals and enthusiasms were an inspiration to everyone who knew him. His home was far from mine, and I had seen him only at long intervals. So far as I remember, we had never discussed the question of postmortem consciousness.

Gradually, as I conquered my strong prejudice against automatic writing, I became interested in the things which “X” told me about the life beyond the grave. I had read practically nothing on the subject, not even the popular _Letters from Julia_, so I had no preconceived ideas.

The messages continued to come. After a while there was no more lameness of the hand and arm, and the form of the writing became less irregular, though it was never very legible.

For a time the letters were written in the presence of my friend; then “X” began to come always when I was alone. He wrote either in Paris or in London, as I went back and forth between those two cities. Sometimes he would come several times a week; again, nearly a month would elapse without my feeling his presence. I never called him, nor did I think much about him between his visits. During most of the time my pen and my thoughts were occupied with other matters.

Only in one instance before the writing began had I any idea as to what the letter would contain. One night as I took up the pencil I knew what “X” was going to write about; but, though I remember the incident, I have forgotten to which message it referred.

While writing these letters I was generally in a state of semi-consciousness, so that, until I read the message over afterwards, I had only a vague idea of what it contained. In a few instances I was so near unconsciousness that as I laid down the pencil I had not the remotest idea of what I had written; but this did not often happen.

When it was first suggested that these letters should be published with an introduction by me, I did not take very enthusiastically to the idea. Being the author of several books, more or less well known, I had my little vanity as to the stability of my literary reputation. I did not wish to be known as an eccentric, a “freak.” But I consented to write an introduction stating that the letters were automatically written in my presence, which would have been the truth, though not all the truth. This satisfied my friend; but as time went on, it did not satisfy me. It seemed not quite sincere.

I argued the matter out with myself. If, I said, I publish these letters without a personal introduction, they will be taken for a work of fiction, of imagination, and the remarkable statements they contain will thus lose all their force as convincing arguments for the truth of a hereafter. If I write an introduction stating that they came by supposedly automatic writing in my presence, the question will naturally arise as to whose hand they came through, and I shall be forced to evasion. But if I frankly acknowledge that they came through my own hand, and state the facts exactly as they are only two hypotheses will be open: first, that they are genuine communications from the disembodied entity; second, that they are lucubrations of my own subconscious mind. But this latter hypothesis does not explain the first letter signed “X,” which came before I knew that my friend was dead; does not explain it unless it be assumed that the subconscious mind of each person knows everything. In which case, why should my subconscious mind set out upon a long and laborious deception of me, on a premise which had _not been suggested to it_ by my own objective mind, or that of any other person?

That anyone would accuse me of deliberate deceit and romancing in so serious a matter did not then and does not now seem likely, my fancy having other and legitimate outlets in poetry and fiction.

The letters were probably two-thirds written before this question was finally settled; and I decided that if I published the letters at all, I should publish them with a frank introduction, stating the exact circumstances of their reception by me.

The actual writing covered a period of more than eleven months. Then came the question of editing. What should I leave out? What should I include? I determined to leave out nothing except personal references to “X’s” private affairs, to mine, and to those of his friends. I have not added anything. Occasionally, when “X’s” literary style was clumsy, I have reconstructed a sentence or cut out a repetition; but I have taken far less liberty than I used, as an editor, to take with ordinary manuscripts submitted to me for correction.

Sometimes “X” is very colloquial, sometimes he uses legal phraseology, or American slang. Often he jumps from one subject to another, as one does in friendly correspondence, going back to his original subject without a connecting phrase.

He has made a few statements relative to the future life which are directly contrary to the opinions which I have always held. These statements remain as they were written. Many of his philosophical propositions were quite new to me. Sometimes I did not see their profundity until months afterwards.

I have no apology to offer for the publication of these letters. They are probably an interesting document, whatever their source may be, and I give them to the world with no more fear than when I gave my hand to “X” in the writing of them.

If anyone asks the question, what do I myself think as to whether these letters are genuine communications from the invisible world, I should answer that I believe they are. In the personal and suppressed portions reference was often made to past events and to possessions of which I had no knowledge, and these references were verified. This leaves untouched the favourite telepathic theory of the psychologists. But if these letters were telepathed to me, by whom were they telepathed? Not by my friend who was present at the writing of many of them, for their contents were as much a surprise to her as to me.

I wish, however, to state that I make no scientific claims about this book, for science demands tests and proofs. Save for the first letter signed “X” before I knew that Mr. ---- was dead, or knew who “X” was, the book was not written under “test conditions,” as the psychologists understand the term. As evidence of a soul’s survival after bodily death, it must be accepted or rejected by each individual according to his or her temperament, experience, and inner conviction as to the truth of its contents.

In the absence of “X” and without some other entity on the invisible side of Nature in whom I had a like degree of confidence, I could not produce another document of this kind. Against indiscriminate mediumship I have still a strong and ineradicable prejudice, for I recognise its dangers both of obsession and deception. But for my faith in “X” and the faith of my Paris friend in me, this book could never have been. Doubt of the invisible author or of the visible medium would probably have paralysed both, for the purposes of this writing.

The effect of these letters on me personally has been to remove entirely any fear of death which I may ever have had, to strengthen my belief in immortality, to make the life beyond the grave as real and vital as the life here in the sunshine. If they can give even to one other person the sense of exultant immortality which they have given to me, I shall feel repaid for my labour.

To those who may feel inclined to blame me for publishing such a book I can only say that I have always tried to give my best to the world, and perhaps these letters are one of the best things that I have to give.

ELSA BARKER.

LONDON, 1913.

LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

LETTER I

THE RETURN

I AM here, make no mistake.

It was I who spoke before, and I now speak again.

I have had a wonderful experience. Much that I had forgotten I can now remember. What has happened was for the best; it was inevitable.

I can see you, though not very distinctly.

I found almost no darkness. The light here is wonderful, far more wonderful than the sunlight of the South.

No, I cannot yet see my way very well around Paris; everything is different. It is probably by reason of your own vitality that I am able to see you at this moment.

LETTER II

TELL NO MAN

I AM opposite to you now in actual space; that is, I am directly in front of you, resting on something which is probably a couch or divan.

It is easier to come to you after dark.

I remembered on going out that you might be able to let me speak through your hand.

I am already stronger. It is nothing to fear--this change of condition.

I cannot tell you yet how long I was silent. It did not seem long.

It was I who signed “X.” The Teacher helped me to make the connexion.

You had better tell no one for a while, except ----, that I have come, as I do not want any obstructions to my coming when and where I will. Lend me your hand sometimes; I will not misuse it.

I am going to stay out here until I am ready to come back with power. Watch for me, but not yet.

Things seem easier to me now than they have seemed for a long time. I carry less weight. I could have held on longer in the body, but it did not seem worth the effort.

I have seen the Teacher. He is near. His attitude to me is very comforting.

But I would like to go now. Good night.

LETTER III

GUARDING THE DOOR

YOU need to take certain precautions to protect yourself against those who press round me.

You have only to lay a spell upon yourself night and morning. Nothing can get through that wall--nothing which you forbid your soul to entertain.

Do not let any of your energy be sucked out of you by these larvæ of the astral world. No, they cannot annoy me, for I am now used to the idea of them. You have absolutely nothing to fear, if you protect yourself.

LETTER IV

A CLOUD ON THE MIRROR

(_After a sentence had been half written, the writing suddenly stopped, and was continued later._)

WHEN you respond to my call, wipe clean your mind as a child wipes its slate when ready for a new maxim or example by its teacher. Your lightest personal thought or fancy may be as a cloud upon a mirror, blurring the reflection.

You can receive letters by this means, provided your mind does not begin to work independently, to question in the midst of the writing.

I was not stopped this time, as before, by beings gathering round; but by your own curiosity as to the end of an unusual sentence. You suddenly became positive instead of negative, as if the receiving instrument in a telegraph office should begin to send a message of its own.

I have learned here the reason for many psychic things which formerly puzzled me, and I am determined if possible to protect you from the danger of cross-currents in this work.

There was one night when I called and you would not let me in. Was that kind?

But I am not reproaching you. I shall come again and again, until my work is done.

I will come to you in a dream before long, and will show you many things.

LETTER V

THE PROMISE OF THINGS UNTOLD

AFTER a time I will share with you certain knowledge that I have gained since coming out. I see the past now as through an open window. I see the road by which I have come, and can map out the road by which I mean to go.

Everything seems easy now. I could do twice as much work as I do--I feel so strong.

As yet I have not settled down anywhere, but am moving about as the fancy takes me; that is what I always dreamed of doing while in the body, and never could make possible.

Do not fear death; but stay on earth as long as you can. Notwithstanding the companionship I have here, I sometimes regret my failure in holding on to the world. But regrets have less weight on this side--like our bodies.

Everything is well with me.

I will tell you things that have never been told.

LETTER VI

THE WAND OF WILL

NOT yet do you grasp the full mystery of _will_. It can make of you anything you choose, within the limit of your unit energy, for everything is either active or potential in the unit of force which is man.

The difference between a painter and a musician, or between a poet and a novelist, is not a difference of qualities in the entity itself; for each unit contains everything _except quantity_, and thus has the possibilities of development along any line chosen by its will. The choice may have been made ages ago. It takes a long time, often many lives, to evolve an art or a faculty for one particular kind of work in preference to all others. Concentration is the secret of power, here as elsewhere.

As to the use of will-power in your present everyday problems, there are two ways of using the will. One may concentrate upon a definite plan, and bring it into effect or not according to the amount of force at one’s disposal; or one may will that the best and highest and wisest plan possible shall be demonstrated by the subconscious forces in the self and in other selves. The latter is a commanding of all environment for a special purpose, instead of commanding, or attempting to command, a fragment of it.

In this communion between the outer and inner worlds, you in the outer world are apt to think that we in ours know everything. You expect us to prophesy like fortune-tellers, and to keep you informed of what is passing on the other side of the globe. Sometimes we can; generally we cannot.

After a while I may be able to enter your mind as a Master does, and to know all the antecedent thoughts and plans in it; but now I cannot always do so.

For instance, one night I looked everywhere for ---- and could not find him. Perhaps it is necessary for you to think strongly of us, to make the way easiest.

I am learning all the time. The Teacher is very active in helping me.

When I am absolutely certain of my hold upon your hand, I shall have much to say about the life out here.

LETTER VII

A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL

MAKE an opening for me sometimes in the veil of dense matter that shuts you from my eyes. I see you often as a spot of vivid light, and that is probably when your soul is active with feeling or your mind keen with thought.

I can read your thoughts occasionally, but not always. Often I try to draw near, and cannot find you. You could not always find me, perhaps, should you come out here.

Sometimes I am all alone: sometimes I am with others.

Strange, but I seem to myself to have quite a substantial body now, though at first my arms and legs seemed sprawling in all directions.

As a rule, I do not walk about as formerly, nor do I fly exactly, for I have never had wings; but I manage to get over space with incredible rapidity. Sometimes, though, I walk.

Now, I want you to do me a favour. You know what a difficult job I often had to keep things going, yet I kept them going. Don’t you get discouraged about the material wherewithal for your work. Work right ahead, as if the supply were there, and it will be there. You can demonstrate it in one way or another. Do not feel weak or uncertain, for when you do you drag me back to earth by force of sympathy. It is as bad as grieving for the dead.

LETTER VIII

THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER

TO a man dwelling in the “invisible” there comes a sudden memory of earth.

“Oh!” he says. “The world is going on without me. What am I missing?”

It seems almost an impertinence on the part of the world to go on without him. He becomes agitated. He is sure that he is behind the times, left out, left over.