In Part 1 and Part 2 of this series, I examined some cases of claimed "spirit writings" which seemed to show great skill beyond any we would expect from those that put the words down on paper. Since writing these parts of the series, I have become aware of another impressive case of this type: the case of Etta de Camp. I first became aware of Etta de Camp when reading the 1909 newspaper story below:
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85066387/1909-08-22/ed-1/seq-7/
The newspaper tells us that Etta de Camp was a business woman who one day tried her hand at automatic writing. A person trying to achieve automatic writing holds a pen or pencil in the hand, next to a sheet of paper, and tries to relax, to see whether the hand might produce some writing that did not seem to be willed by the person. Trying such a thing, Etta felt an unusual sensation. After producing pages with meaningless scrawls, she began to get intelligible words, and the writing became more coherent.
On the page here, Etta tells the story of how her attempt at automatic writing began. She says that she started to get more intelligible words after asking whether a spirit was present:
"The third night when I sat again and the hand began to write in the same way, I said aloud: 'If there is a spirit here who would like to communicate with me he must write more legibly.' After that I began to distinguish such words as 'and,' 'the,' 'farm,' etc., and the writing soon became readable and expressed thought. I received messages from one who claimed to be an Indian called 'Blackfoot.' Then messages came from one signing himself 'Lafayette,' whether the well-known Lafayette or another I do not know. For a time I received many messages from another Indian who signed the name, 'Three Feathers.' "
Etta claims this then occurred:
"During the first part of March, I received several messages from my father who had passed away twelve years before. These messages were all to my mother, and concerned many things of which I knew nothing whatever, being absent from home when the events occurred. Later, they were all corroborated by my mother as being true."
Etta claims this then occurred:
"Then the handwriting changed and this was written: 'I am Frank R. Stockton. I have many stories I wish written out. I am glad I can write them through you. I have one I wish to write called 'What Did I Do with My Wife?' We will go on with it now."
Etta later states this about her automatic writing experience:
"When I lay the pencil down all connection is cut off, the same as when one hangs up the receiver of a telephone, and not one word, line or even the names of the stories come to me in any way until the work is again taken up. A remarkable feature of the stories is that during the writing, although days, weeks and even months have passed between the sittings, the pencil has never failed to continue the story without a break, as if no time had intervened."
In the newspaper story above, we have an example of one of the stories arising from such activity, a story which Etta says came from the deceased Frank R. Stockton. It's a pretty good story about a doctor who discovers a collapsed man outside, and begins going through the man's pockets, trying to find some address that the man might be taken to. In the story the man is arrested as a thief, and suffers legal troubles despite having acted only to assist the collapsed man. Frank R. Stockton is known to have been a story writer, and was the writer of the well-known story, "The Lady or the Tiger?"
Below is a cover illustration of the stories produced under such activity, one depicting Stockton as guiding the writings of Etta:
The book of stories transcribed by Etta supposedly through the spirit inspiration of Frank R. Stockton includes the interesting story "What Became of the Ghost of Mike O'Flynn?" It tells a tale of observations by the disembodied spirit of Mike O'Flynn after his physical death. Below is an excerpt:
"As the carriages drove up and deposited their occupants beside the grave, Mike's ghost, which still stood holding fast to the gates-ajar, had a fine view of the ceremonies from the floral-laden carriage. The first sight of the open grave made him gasp with terror, but this quickly changed to joy as he realized that he did not have to go into the grave with the body which now reposed upon the ground, in the fine mahogany casket. As the words of the burial service fell from the lips of the priest, Mike's ghost for the first time began to feel solemn, and the tears rolled down his cheeks as the casket was lowered reverently into the grave....His feeling of sorrow for his poor old body made the ghost of Mike deaf to the sound of weeping from his mourning family, so he did not get down from his seat to go and comfort them, but remained where he was, lost in thought. He was lifted down with the gates-ajar and placed at the head of the grave, where he adjusted himself comfortably with his back against a tree, his legs crossed and again quickly lapsed into memories of the past. So deep in the reverie was the ghost of Mike that he failed to notice the departure of the funeral entourage. Finally, arousing himself, he realized, with a shudder, that he was alone with the dead and he shivered as he gazed about at the monuments and graves."
The story includes much speech coming from the ghost of Mike, which is written in a thick Scottish brogue. The representation of how a Scotsman might speak is skillful. It's the kind of writing we would not expect from an American such as Etta.
Another story in the book is a long and very interesting fantasy tale entitled "The Widow He Lost." In the tale a journalist named John Blackstone visits ruins at Rome. Ignoring a sign telling him not to proceed any further, he discovers the ruins of some ancient palace. Exploring about, Blackstone is amazed to find some glorious palace inhabited by a Queen and her royal entourage. We read this passage, in which the lowly John gets himself out of trouble by pretending to be a visiting king :
" 'From what strange planet didst thou drop, sir, and how dared thou seat thyself upon my throne?' exclaimed the Queen, haughtily.
To his great joy, Blackstone realized the Queen was addressing him in his own tongue though with a strange arrangement of speech, and a brilliant idea flashed through his brain. He resolved to use it, together with all the wit he had inherited from an Irish mother, in order to save his head from the spears held so dangerously close that he dared not move for fear of being thrust through the neck.
' If it please Your Gracious Majesty to listen to my tale, I will explain, that, being a king in my own country, the sight of your throne made my heart glad, and, being somewhat weary with my long journey, I seated myself without the formality of announcement, for there seemed to be no one about at the time.' "
Later in the tale Blackstone eloquently describes his homeland to the Queen who apparently knows nothing of it:
" 'I am about to relate a strange tale, fair Queen, and ask Your Gracious Majesty to pardon me if I consume much time in telling it. Many, many leagues away, too far for the falcon to go and return in one day, is a beautiful island of the sea. To the north the snow flies, to the south the sun shines brightly most of the year. Both parts are good for your health at different seasons, providing you do not have to live in either one of them all the year around. In the centre, or between the north and the south, is a country designed by the gods, called England, and in that country a city is built for the favorites of the gods. The city is named London, and is filled with strong, brave men. and maidens with hair of gold, cheeks like the wild-rose, eyes like bits of blue sky, and skin of milky whiteness...Now, in this town, called London, are buildings of wondrous size and castles whose towers reach far upward to the sky. Among these many castles, built by the people for their lords, is one called the British Museum, and in this castle I live, for I am the King, and it is my home. See, here is a picture of it and my credentials, as well.' And Blackstone took from his pocket a letter with a large seal, and having a picture of the Museum at the head of the page, the seal and signature at the bottom, so that it looked imposing enough for a king."
On and on the story goes for many pages, telling a well-crafted narrative. Around page 243 and the following pages we get some real character development and pathos, as the Queen (a widow) starts to tell of her attraction to Blackstone, and her pining for some love that might take her beyond her lonely life fulfilling royal duties. Blackstone asks the Queen whether she wants to go to England to see its glories, and the Queen agrees. The story is then neatly wrapped up as an earthquake strikes, leaving Blackstone surrounded by ruins. He is later recovered by a searching party.
All in all, the roughly 64 pages of "The Widow He Lost" (basically a novella) makes a fine work of romantic fantasy, one that is a very unified and coherent literary work, something much greater than we would expect to appear as some emanation from the subconscious of Etta de Camp. It is therefore not very hard to believe Etta's claim that the story came from the late great story teller Frank R. Stockton.
No comments:
Post a Comment