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Hell, Per a Spirit-Message Therefrom (Alleged): A Study in Graphic-Automatism
To call John Armstrong Chaloner (born Chanler, 1862-1935) an eccentric author is somewhat to understate the case; scion of a wealthy Virginia family and worth some $4 million by the time he hit adulthood, his family in 1897 had him declared insane -in part because Chaloner claimed he had discovered the sixth sense of "X-Faculty," which allowed him visionary insights into the stock market, informed him he could carry hot coals in his bare hands, and suggested he looked like Napoleon Bonaparte, etc. Chaloner escapedand was declared sane by the state of Virginia in 1901, and he took up in his eccentric way the cause of mental health reform on the strength of his prolific output of incendiary verses and polemics, peppered with his trademark catch-phrase "Who's looney now?" This collection of miscellaneous polemics in the guise of supposed spirit visions from Hell is interlarded with press notices of the industrious Chaloner.
119 pages, Hardcover
Published January 1, 1912
14 people want to read
About the author
John Armstrong Chaloner
36 books2 followersJohn "Archie" Armstrong Chaloner (né Chanler; October 10, 1862 – June 1, 1935) John Armstrong Chaloner (October 10, 1862 - June 1, 1935) was an American philanthropist, an heir of an Astor-related family (being a great-great grandson of John Jacob Astor), as well as a poet and author, known for his catch phrase "Who's looney now?"
Chaloner was involuntarily committed by his family in 1897 to the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum at White Plains, New York, where he was held for nearly four years before he escaped, disappearing only to resurface and check himself in voluntarily to the Shaffer Sanitarium at Philadelphia, where he was found to be competent, after which he went to Virginia, where the courts agreed with the Pennsylvanian assessment. However, despite being free and considered sane in Pennsylvania and Virginia, his status under New York law meant his estate and inheritance continued to be held by his family in trust and doled to him as they saw fit, a case that he was forced to spend many years fighting in the courts. The cause of Chaloner's commitment had been over his claims to have developed what he termed the "X-Faculty," giving him certain mediumistic and psychical abilities — which he accessed by "graphic automatism" (automatic writing) and "vocal automatism", and through which he learned he was the reincarnation of Napoleon Bonaparte and received stock trading tips — and further claims of accompanying physiological changes, specifically that his facial features came to resemble Bonaparte's, and that his eye colour shifted from brown to grey,
Chaloner was involuntarily committed by his family in 1897 to the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum at White Plains, New York, where he was held for nearly four years before he escaped, disappearing only to resurface and check himself in voluntarily to the Shaffer Sanitarium at Philadelphia, where he was found to be competent, after which he went to Virginia, where the courts agreed with the Pennsylvanian assessment. However, despite being free and considered sane in Pennsylvania and Virginia, his status under New York law meant his estate and inheritance continued to be held by his family in trust and doled to him as they saw fit, a case that he was forced to spend many years fighting in the courts. The cause of Chaloner's commitment had been over his claims to have developed what he termed the "X-Faculty," giving him certain mediumistic and psychical abilities — which he accessed by "graphic automatism" (automatic writing) and "vocal automatism", and through which he learned he was the reincarnation of Napoleon Bonaparte and received stock trading tips — and further claims of accompanying physiological changes, specifically that his facial features came to resemble Bonaparte's, and that his eye colour shifted from brown to grey,
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March 11, 2024
JOHN ARMSTRONG CHALONER
Talks With "Spirits" in Hades.
(Washington Post, August 5, 1912.)
"All dead game sports enjoy it in hell."
-Message to John Armstrong Chaloner, dated Hell, Tuesday, 6:22 A. M., July 31, 1912.
John Armstrong Chaloner, in the presence of a number of representatives of the press, who met him by invitation at Alexandria, Virginia, went into an interesting discussion of his psychological researches, and read to his audience an interview which he said he had had at "Merry Mills" recently through his "subconsciousness" with an old friend, who, according to his chat with the spirit world, is now sojourning in Hades.
Mr. Chaloner calls his subconsciousness his "X-Faculty," and stated while in communication with the other side he lies on his back in the dark, with a pad and pencil convenient, and as soon as he is in communication with "the decedent" an unknown force -as is the case with "Planchette"-guides his hand.
Mr. Chaloner gave a graphic description of his entry into the semihypnotic state, and said that he gasped for fully five minutes, meanwhile, he was told, his features had taken on a striking likeness to Napoleon.
Through his "X-Faculty," and "automatic writing," Mr. Chaloner received from his friend a most encouraging report of the hereafter, though to a spiritualist who was present he declared:
"I want you to understand-and my veracity has never been called into question—that I did not invent this yarn consciously, nor do I believe a d-d word of it. I do believe that my subconscious self, my X-Faculty, did invent it in the guise of the spirit of the spirit of my old friend."
*. ,*. ,*. ,*. .*, *. * *
"A fiery throne." Upon said throne sits Satan. His features are precisely those of Napoleon Bonaparte at the apex of his power. In height he is considerably taller, but yet under 6 feet, and regarding weight there is no surplusage of flesh. He is dressed in the costume of Michaelangelo's statue, "The Thinker."
The Hall of Audience (Hell) is an immense apartment, so huge as to be practically incomprehensible to mortal ideas of architecture. It is miles long, miles wide, and miles high. The hall is of rubies, and they are of the size of ordinary building bricks, and of the luster and fire of rubies known as "pigeon blood." In place of mortar, binding the bricks and making a white line, we have diamonds as large as your thumb nail, and of the purest water. To soften and enrich the fiery effect of such splendor, the diamond line is broken every few inches by several inches of sapphires, as blue as the Mediterranean.
The floor is of marble, that has the marvelous quality of being capable of taking on the tone of whatever stands upon it, or is reflected upon it, or flies over it. If a seraphim flies over the floor, the marble at once becomes tinged with blood. The roof is of crystal, so pure that the eye can pierce it as if it were plate glass."
I became lost in delighted wonder at the beauty of the prospect, when suddenly I heard a sound that stopped my heart from beating for a moment. It was the most bloodcurdling thing I had ever dreamed of. It sounded like a cross between the roar of a lion and the scream of a wounded horse. The next moment I saw a creature the like of which I had never seen, dart towards me from a clump of bushes on the edge of the lawn. The creature was about the size of a lion—a large, full grown lion-but in place of having the hind quarters of a lion -though it had the head, forepaws and mane of the King of Beasts-those of this horror were those of a horse. The gait with which it rushed towards me was an unwieldy gallop. Its eyes shot fire, and its mouth opened as it roared. I felt that I should petrify. To my unutterable relief the thing had not gone more than twenty paces before it was seized by a current such as had been gently pushing me, and tripped up and hurled with a back somersault high in the air, and flat on its back, whereupon it set up a piteous moaning, as heartrending to a humane-minded man as its former noises had been hair-raising. I could scarcely forbear a smile of relief. My relief was short-lived however. While I was sympathizing with the unwieldy thing, as it writhed in pain on its back and sides, a sound like the hissing of a thousand serpents struck upon my startled ear. I looked in the direction of the sound, and saw from a cluster of umbrageous undergrowth opposite the lair of the halfhorse-half-lion creature, and protecting as it were the left flank of His Satanic Majesty's palace-a something undulating towards me that made my hair stand on end-I actually felt my hair stiffen and bristle from the roots up.
Talks With "Spirits" in Hades.
(Washington Post, August 5, 1912.)
"All dead game sports enjoy it in hell."
-Message to John Armstrong Chaloner, dated Hell, Tuesday, 6:22 A. M., July 31, 1912.
John Armstrong Chaloner, in the presence of a number of representatives of the press, who met him by invitation at Alexandria, Virginia, went into an interesting discussion of his psychological researches, and read to his audience an interview which he said he had had at "Merry Mills" recently through his "subconsciousness" with an old friend, who, according to his chat with the spirit world, is now sojourning in Hades.
Mr. Chaloner calls his subconsciousness his "X-Faculty," and stated while in communication with the other side he lies on his back in the dark, with a pad and pencil convenient, and as soon as he is in communication with "the decedent" an unknown force -as is the case with "Planchette"-guides his hand.
Mr. Chaloner gave a graphic description of his entry into the semihypnotic state, and said that he gasped for fully five minutes, meanwhile, he was told, his features had taken on a striking likeness to Napoleon.
Through his "X-Faculty," and "automatic writing," Mr. Chaloner received from his friend a most encouraging report of the hereafter, though to a spiritualist who was present he declared:
"I want you to understand-and my veracity has never been called into question—that I did not invent this yarn consciously, nor do I believe a d-d word of it. I do believe that my subconscious self, my X-Faculty, did invent it in the guise of the spirit of the spirit of my old friend."
*. ,*. ,*. ,*. .*, *. * *
"A fiery throne." Upon said throne sits Satan. His features are precisely those of Napoleon Bonaparte at the apex of his power. In height he is considerably taller, but yet under 6 feet, and regarding weight there is no surplusage of flesh. He is dressed in the costume of Michaelangelo's statue, "The Thinker."
The Hall of Audience (Hell) is an immense apartment, so huge as to be practically incomprehensible to mortal ideas of architecture. It is miles long, miles wide, and miles high. The hall is of rubies, and they are of the size of ordinary building bricks, and of the luster and fire of rubies known as "pigeon blood." In place of mortar, binding the bricks and making a white line, we have diamonds as large as your thumb nail, and of the purest water. To soften and enrich the fiery effect of such splendor, the diamond line is broken every few inches by several inches of sapphires, as blue as the Mediterranean.
The floor is of marble, that has the marvelous quality of being capable of taking on the tone of whatever stands upon it, or is reflected upon it, or flies over it. If a seraphim flies over the floor, the marble at once becomes tinged with blood. The roof is of crystal, so pure that the eye can pierce it as if it were plate glass."
I became lost in delighted wonder at the beauty of the prospect, when suddenly I heard a sound that stopped my heart from beating for a moment. It was the most bloodcurdling thing I had ever dreamed of. It sounded like a cross between the roar of a lion and the scream of a wounded horse. The next moment I saw a creature the like of which I had never seen, dart towards me from a clump of bushes on the edge of the lawn. The creature was about the size of a lion—a large, full grown lion-but in place of having the hind quarters of a lion -though it had the head, forepaws and mane of the King of Beasts-those of this horror were those of a horse. The gait with which it rushed towards me was an unwieldy gallop. Its eyes shot fire, and its mouth opened as it roared. I felt that I should petrify. To my unutterable relief the thing had not gone more than twenty paces before it was seized by a current such as had been gently pushing me, and tripped up and hurled with a back somersault high in the air, and flat on its back, whereupon it set up a piteous moaning, as heartrending to a humane-minded man as its former noises had been hair-raising. I could scarcely forbear a smile of relief. My relief was short-lived however. While I was sympathizing with the unwieldy thing, as it writhed in pain on its back and sides, a sound like the hissing of a thousand serpents struck upon my startled ear. I looked in the direction of the sound, and saw from a cluster of umbrageous undergrowth opposite the lair of the halfhorse-half-lion creature, and protecting as it were the left flank of His Satanic Majesty's palace-a something undulating towards me that made my hair stand on end-I actually felt my hair stiffen and bristle from the roots up.
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