[1]Translation: "I am the sister of Madame Schewitsch—I know that you spent this afternoon with my sister."
[1]Translation: "I am the sister of Madame Schewitsch—I know that you spent this afternoon with my sister."
She had evidently a strong, almost overwhelming desire to make some communication to me for her sister, but the difficulty in doing so seemed equally strong.
It lay beyond the question of language. She spoke with sufficient strength, and I could understand perfectly her well-chosen and well-pronounced words. But some insuperable obstacle seemed to prevent her telling me what she wished to convey, and the despairing attempt to surmount this was painful in the extreme.
I assured her of my willingness to help in any way possible, and made a few suggestions, but all in vain.
"Is it that you are not happy?"
"No—no! That is not it."
It seemed to me some sort of warning which she wished to convey, and had some connection with illness, for the wordsachtungandkrankheit(warning and illness) were repeated more than once, but no definite message came.
I then asked if she couldwriteit, and she caught eagerly at the idea. So I borrowed a pencil and some paper, and placed them on a small table in the middle of the room, with a chair in front of it. She came quite close to the table (five gas burners were more than half turned on, so there was plenty of light), sat down, and took up the pencil, but almost immediately threw it down again, saying in a most unhappy and despairing voice: "Nein! nein! Ich kann es selbst nicht schreiben!"[2]and vanished before my very eyes as she rose from the table. Now had this been a case of fraud, and supposing that some woman had means of discovering the name of my New York friend and the fact of my having spent that very afternoon with her, what would have been easier than to write or give some commonplace message in a language of which she had already proved herself mistress?
[2]Translation: "No! no! I cannot even write it!"
[2]Translation: "No! no! I cannot even write it!"
The episode was so painful that I decidednotto write to Madame Schewitsch about it. I have therefore no absolute corroboration of the fact that the lady mentioned had a sister who became a nun, or who was connected with some such establishment, and had passed over. This, however, is much more probable than not, because in every high-born Catholic family in Austria, one member in a large family almost invariably takes the veil. I have given the real name in this case, hoping Madame Schewitsch may perchance come across my book, and supply the information needed. I may remark, finally, that three or four months later, whilst travelling in California, I heard from my excitable and sceptical Italian friend (who had given me the introduction to Madame Schewitsch) that this lady had had a long and most serious illness during my absence in the West, and that her husband and he had both feared she would never recover from it. This fear, fortunately, proved to be groundless.
To return to the sitting.
About twenty minutes after the "sister" had disappeared, a figure in white came forward very swiftly, and without a moment's hesitation pointed towards me, saying quickly: "For you."
I went up at once, recognising who it was, but determined to give no sign of this fact.
The "spirit" looked at me for a moment with surprise, as one might look at any well-known friend who passed us in the street without a greeting.
As I remained silent she whispered: "Don't you know me?" I am afraidIgave the false impression this time, and asked her for her name.
"Why, I am Muriel!" came the instant answer, mentioning the name of the first friend who had appeared to me, after spelling out her name, at the previousséancesheld in another part of New York.
On this third appearance my spirit friend asked me to kiss her. I must confess that I complied with some amount of trepidation, which proved to be quite unnecessary.
There was nothing the least repulsive to the touch, although it was not exactly like kissing anyone on earth; but an indescribable atmosphere of freshness and purity, which seemed always to surround this friend whilst living, was very apparent under these changed conditions. Another curious little point is that I had entirely forgotten my friend's love of violets (she always wore them when possible, and used violet scent) until I smelt them distinctly whilst speaking to her.
It must be remembered that until the day of the sitting, we had never dreamed of going to Mrs Gray's house, nor had we even heard her name. I picked it out of a newspaper by chance—amongst at least thirty others.
Until past seven o'clock that evening we had not decided to visit her, and theséancebegan at eightp.m., no single person in the room being present who had been at the house of the other medium some weeks previously. Under these circumstances it would be difficult to account for the fact of my friend's reappearance on the ground of collusion between the two mediums. Moreover, such collusion would not account for the appearance earlier in the evening of a spirit claiming to be the sister of Madame Schewitsch.
No one hitherto has been able to suggest anyintelligentexplanation of my personal experiences on these occasions. Conjuring tricks and trap doors are, of course, "trotted out" by theunintelligentsceptic, but these do not meet the difficulty of anaccurate knowledge of names and of family matters of comparatively small importance.
As I am just now chiefly concerned with presenting incidents in my life rather than in prosing over them, I resist the temptation to go further into the question ofMaterialisationseither from the historical or ethical point of view, and pass on to the subject of clairvoyance.
In speaking of clairvoyance I shall again have recourse to my notes taken at the time of my American visit and on the spot.
I am quite convinced that where a life has been in any way eventful or at all marked, any fairly developed clairvoyant can in some way "sense" your mental and moral atmosphere.
In some three or four personal cases, the notes taken at the time of such visits, paid several thousands of miles apart, might almost be read as descriptive of the same interview, with different witnesses.
My travelling companion, who had led a very uneventful life, seemed to puzzle them much more. There was apparently nothing to lay hold of, and only a very shadowy, indistinct picture was given in consequence.
In my own case the colours were put on freely, firmly, and without the least hesitation, and in every single instance the sketch was remarkably truthful, and yet would not have described the life of one other woman in three or four hundred.
That there is a good deal of guesswork done even under the supposed influence of "trance" is quite evident to me. I am not prepared to say that such trances were in no case genuine, but the remarks made during them were frequently of a tentative nature, and the slightest good "hit" was followed up with as much ingenuity as Sir Richard Owen displayed in putting together his skeleton from a single bone.
I was told some six or seven times that my mother (who died during my infancy) was my guardian spirit, and six times her name was given to me, with some difficulty in one or two cases, but invariably without the smallest guessing on the part of the clairvoyant or any hint from me.
One of my most successful interviews in New York was with a Mrs Parks of Philadelphia—a very pleasant, good-looking, healthy woman, quite unlike the usual cadaverous medium with whom one is more familiar.
Her terms being rather higher than those usually asked in America (where competition has made mediums a cheap luxury), I demurred at first; upon which she said brightly: "Well, don't come if you don't feel like paying that; but I never alter my prices. But I won't take your money if I don't give you satisfaction. Some get satisfaction from one person and some from another—you will soon see if I am telling you the truth about your friends, and I won't take a penny from you if you are dissatisfied."
I left the house saying I would think it over, and Mrs Parks did not at all press me to come, and from my manner could hardly have expected to see me.
I had a most satisfactory interview with her next day.
After referring to my mother's presence, and giving her name without any hesitation, she gave me several messages with regard to character which were singularly appropriate, and finished up by saying: "Your mother does not wish you to go to mediums or mix yourself too much up with such persons. It is not necessary for you to do so; she says you have enough mediumistic power for her to be able to communicate with you directly."
I could not help saying: "Well, Mrs Parks, you are going very much against your own interests in giving me this message. I am a perfect stranger to you in this city. I have told you that I am making some little stay here, and as you have given me so much satisfaction I might have been induced to come and see you several times again before leaving."
She laughed, and answered: "That is quite true; but I am an honest woman, and I am bound to give you the message that is given to me for you, even when it goes against my interest."
Seeing her bright, pleasant home, with every trace of comfort about it, and having received personal proof that money alone was not her consideration, I could not help asking why she continued such an arduous life.
"Well," she answered, "the truth is that I do it now against my own wish. My husband has always objected to it more or less. He was afraid it might injure my health, and for two years I gave it up entirely. But," she added, "the spirits would not leave me alone. It seemed as if Ihadto come back to it, as if I were refusing to use the powers that had been given to me for the help and comfort of my fellow-creatures. I name a higher price than others, to limit my work and to keep away those who would only come from idle curiosity." She also told me that sometimes she had to give orders beforehand that certain people should not be admitted on any pretext whatever. "I can see their spirits round them before they reach the door very often, and I would not have such people, bringing such an atmosphere into my house—no, not if they gave me a hundred dollars for each sitting."
I must mention one more incident connected with this period of my investigations, because it throws a strong light on some obscure problems.
Whilst consulting these clairvoyants, in widely different parts of America, two very near relatives of mine were almost invariably described, and the names—one male and one female—were generally given. The mediums invariably went on to say that the female spirit was further on in development than the male spirit. Now there were circumstances which made this statement, viewed from this world's standpoint, not only absolutely mistaken, but almost ludicrously so. The woman's nature had been a far more faulty one—more impetuous, less balanced, and so forth. The male spirit described had been a man of very exceptional character and spirituality, whilst on earth.
In spite of these facts the same "mistake," as I considered it, had consistently been made by every clairvoyant who described them; which, by-the-by, rules out telepathy as an explanation of these special experiences. It certainly seemed strange that after giving accurate descriptions of the two relatives referred to—names included—each clairvoyant should make exactly the same mistake upon so obvious a matter as the question involved.
Some months later, in the course of my travels, I found myself at Denver in Colorado. We stayed here, at first, one day only, to break our journey farther up into the Rocky Mountains. The previous day, when wandering about Colorado Springs, my friend and I had come across a lady doctor by chance; and having asked some trivial question, we were invited into her pretty little house, where we chatted for half-an-hour on various subjects—including spiritualism. We gave no account of our experiences, but simply mentioned the fact that we had some interest in the investigation.
Hearing this, and that we were going on to Denver next day, this lady gave me the address of a young married friend who lived in that city, and who had during the previous two years suddenly developed strong mediumistic power, but was in no way a professional. She begged us to call if possible, and I took down the address, but said it was very doubtful if we could do so in the short time we should have at our disposal.
At the end of a long afternoon's drive to the most interesting points of view in Denver, we found ourselves close to the quarter where this young woman lived, and called at the house mentioned. The lady was not at home, and a friend who received us explained that it would be impossible for her to come down in the evening to see us, as she was delicate, and not allowed to go out at night.
As we were leaving Denver early next morning, this made a meeting impossible, so we left our cards, and a note to explain our visit. Going into the hotel office after dinner that evening, I heard a gentleman inquiring for me by name, saying he had brought his wife to see me. I explained that I was the lady he asked for, and he then said, with the stoical resignation of the typical American husband: "I did not like her to come out, but she was bound to have her own way."
The lady in question came into my bedroom upstairs after dismissing her husband, and said she "preferred a room already permeated by my influence." She then continued very simply: "I do not know whether I shall be able to help you at all, but it seems there is something I have to tell you or explain. When I read your note I felt bound to come, although my husband tried to dissuade me. It seemed to me as if the spirits came all the way with me in the cars."
She then gave me quite a good sitting, but on the ordinary lines, ending up by the description of the relatives mentioned, and by making the usual "mistake" about their relative spiritual positions.
This was all said in trance. When she returned to consciousness I said: "Now, Mrs Brown (her real name), I must tell you honestly that you have made one cardinal mistake, but I am also bound to say that five or six professional mediums have done just the same as regards the same matter." I then explained, and asked if she could account for such a persistent and obvious misconception.
"Wait a moment," she answered; "perhaps the spirits will tell me."
She looked up with a very intent expression for a minute, as though listening to some explanation which did not cover the ground of her own experience, and then said very quickly and in a monotonous voice, as though repeating a verbal message:
"It has nothing exactly to do with our earthly idea of 'goodness.' Spiritual life can only come to those prepared for it, within the limits of their capacity. The male spirit you mention was a clergyman of the Church of England. He was a very holy man, but he was in some way creed bound. He was a man of strong creed; he clung to his creed here, and cannot quite free himself from it even now, although he has advanced very much in spiritual perception. Now his wife had a very sympathetic,apprehendingnature. She can therefore receive spiritual light more fully and freely. That is why she has risen to a higher plane. This is not a question of character so much as ofspiritual capacity, and in this she is the more highly gifted of the two. She is on a different plane, but she is able to help her husband very much, and in time he will join her, and they will progress together."
All this was said in a quick, decided way, and without the smallest hesitation.
One would hardly have expected a young woman in the midst of the Rocky Mountains to know the exact meaning of the term "clergyman of the Church of England," for the word is almost unknown in America, where they speak invariably of aminister. Yet the words were given with quick, firm precision, exactly as written down.
Later, in San Francisco, a clairvoyant at once referred to my friend "Muriel," and described her, but in rather vague terms. When I pointed this fact out she said a little impatiently, as though we were wasting time in quibbling: "Oh, well, it does not matter. The spirit tells me you know perfectly well who it is. She has already appeared to you in New York."
I had gone to this particular medium with several young friends, who were all in a very sceptical and rather frivolous state of mind. She described "an uncle," apparently over the heads of two of my friends, and gave the further information that he was surrounded by water, and appeared to have been drowned; also that he was extremely musical.
This was declared to be perfectly untrue and without a grain of foundation, in fact.
The woman looked puzzled and a little mortified, but turned to others in the circle, with better success, let us hope!
On our return home, when the young people were telling their mother of the "awful humbug" amid shouts of laughter, the mother said quietly: "But surely you remember, my dear children, hearing of your Uncle Robert, who was drowned years ago, before any of you were born? Hewasa great musician. He wanted to give up his life to art, but he was persuaded to take up another profession."
I give this as an instance of the carelessness with which, when we aredeterminedto find fraud, we may do so sometimes at the expense of truth. These young girls had doubtless heard of their uncle, but the fact had possibly escaped their memories for the moment, and probably they had no wish to recall anything which could cast a doubt on their preconceived notion that "the whole thing was a swindle!"
Before closing the chapter of my American experiences in the years 1885 and 1886, I must give one more personal detail.
When investigating various clairvoyants in the Eastern States in March and April of the year 1886, I had been told more than once that a guardian band of six spirits was forming round me, and would be later supplemented by another band of six protectors. Whether this had any bearing upon the following incident, I must leave my readers to decide.
About three months after this pronouncement I found myself at Victoria, Vancouver's Island. Miss Greenlow and I had gone there from San Francisco for a week or two, not being able at that time to make the further trip to Alaska. After a very stormy voyage of two or three days we reached Victoria one morning about sixa.m.There was only one large double-bedded room available at the hotel, and we took this on the understanding that two separate rooms should be found for us before the evening.
As we lay on our beds for a few hours of much needed rest, quite suddenly I realised that I saw something abnormal in the air—just above and in front of my head. I mentioned this with much surprise to my companion, who at once suggested the effects of liver after a sea voyage so tempestuous as ours had been. For the first few moments I was inclined to agree with her, and said so; but very shortly my opinion was altered by the fact that what I saw first as an indistinct blur gradually assumed a definite shape, and I then found there were six little swallows in front of me, apparently connected with each other by a waving ribbon, or so it appeared to me.
Opening and shutting one's eyes did not affect the vision. There they remained, both at the moment and for several succeeding years, during which time I was constantly in the habit of seeing "my birds," as we used to call them. About six months after their first appearance in the pure, clear atmosphere of Victoria (Vancouver), I was driving across the Blackheath Common on a very bright, frosty day, and looking out of the open window of my carriage, I saw my six birds as usual; but for the first time, parallel with them and lower down, were six new birds of just the same size and appearance (about half-an-inch between the tips of the wings).
A few days later the new birds and the old ones had amalgamated, and twelve little swallows floated in the air before my eyes. I could not see them in the house. It needed the background of uninterrupted sky apparently to throw them into sufficient relief to be recognised. After some years, this special sign was withdrawn, and others have taken its place. For example, I have seen in the same way, during the last fourteen years, an anchor, with the chain attached to it, and caught through one end of the former, a short reaping hook. This, doubtless, has some symbolical meaning. Near the anchor I see a sacrificial altar, with flames rising up from it; then a triangle, with loops at the corners, which I was once told was the sign of Nostradamus. Then an old-fashioned mirror in a quaintly-shaped frame, and finally a long staff, with the sign of Aries at one end. I have since realised that this is very much like the "Staff of Faith" found on the top of many of the tombs in the Roman catacombs. All these latter emblems come together as a rule, with a connecting thread binding them to each other. I cannot see them at will, but when the atmosphere is at all clear they are rarely absent, when I have time to look for them. I was much amused once by an earnest Christian scientist, with whom I happened to be spending a few days on the coast of the eastern counties. She had warned me repeatedly against "phenomena" of every kind, spontaneous or induced. On a specially bright morning we were sitting together in a beautiful park, which is thrown open to strangers on special days, and, forgetting my companion's prejudices, I exclaimed involuntarily:
"I never saw my signs more clearly than just now!—there must be something very pure about the atmosphere."
This was too much for my friend, who bent forward eagerly, saying:—"Do let me try if I cannot see them too!"
Well, she "tried" for the greater part of two hours, but absolutely in vain, and then got up, and suggested going home to luncheon. She added naïvely: "Ithoughtthey must have something wrong about them, and I am quite sure of it now,or I should have seen them."
But it had taken her two hours of failure to be absolutely convinced that they came straight from the devil!
One sign—also birds—appeared to me on one occasion only. We had returned to Denver, where Miss Greenlow and I were to separate after a year's constant travel together. She was going back to San Francisco to take steamer for the Sandwich Islands, and thence on to Australia; whilst I was returning to England for family reasons.
I had arranged to dine with the hospitable Dean of Denver the evening of the day of her departure, and I had not realised how much less lonely one would have felt had my journey East corresponded more closely with her journey West, especially as she was obliged to leave the hotel about nine o'clock in the morning.
Waking early, and lying in bed, feeling very melancholy at the idea of being left behind and alone in the very centre of America, I looked up, and, to my delight, saw a new sign.
Not my little birds this time, but two big, plump father and mother birds, with a short string attached, not horizontally as before, but perpendicularly. At the end of this little string was a tiny bird, even smaller than the swallows, being evidently guided by the two big birds, and quite safe in their charge.
My room communicated with that of my companion, whose door was open, and I told her of this new "sign in the heavens," adding that I hoped it had come to stay. Fortunately, I found a pencil, and made a rough sketch at the time, or I might have been tempted to imagine that I had never seen it at all, for the trio never appeared again, though I have longed to see them, and have certainly required the consolation quite as much, many times, since that far-away summer morning in Denver, Colorado.
On reaching home after this long American trip, I found a budget of letters awaiting me—amongst them a little registered box containing a kind birthday present from the brother who has been mentioned in the Introduction to this book. Was it another case of mental affinity which had induced him unconsciously to choose a gold brooch with two swallows in gold and pearls? Not an uncommon design; butthe birds were exactly the same size as those I was in the habit of seeing just at that time.
I never told him how extraordinarilyà proposhis present had proved, but I have always looked upon that brooch as a mascot, and have certainly worn it every day since it came into my possession.
Shortly after the Jubilee of 1887 had taken place, I sailed for Australia and New Zealand.
My first psychic experience in the Colonies took place in Melbourne, some months after my landing in Tasmania.
The wife of one of the "prominent citizens" in Melbourne had been specially invited to meet me at an afternoon reception in the house of friends to whom I had carried letters of introduction, as she was said to be so deeply interested in everything psychic, and would greatly enjoy hearing my American experiences. Fortunately, the lady arrived late, and we had already enjoyed some interesting conversation before she came. A wetter "wet blanket" it has never been my fortune to encounter. She was a very handsome woman, and therefore good to look at, but in therôleof sympathetic audience she was a miserable failure. She sat with a cold, glassy eye fixed upon me, whilst I endeavoured to continue the conversation which had been interrupted by her arrival.
She might just as well havesaidas have looked the words: "Now go on making a fool of yourself!—that is just what I have come to see."
The position was hopeless. So I began to talk about the weather, which is disagreeable enough from sirocco in the hot spring months (it was the end of October) to be useful.
Presently the daughter of the house came up to me, and said:
"Do, please, go on telling us your interesting experiences, Miss Bates; we can talk about other things at any time, and we asked Mrs Burroughes on purpose to meet you."
The lady in question had joined another group by this time, so I was able to whisper in reply: "I am so very sorry, but I cannot possibly talk of these things before your friend—she paralyses me absolutely from any psychic point of view. She is very handsome, and I like looking at her, but I cannot talk to her except about the weather."
"How very odd!" was the unexpected reply. "That is just what Lizzie Maynard says. And I did very much want Lizzie to hear about America too, but she has gone off to the other end of the room, saying she knows you won't be able to talk whilst Mrs Burroughes is here."
This was interesting, for I had not noticed the young girl mentioned, who had not been introduced to me. So when my young hostess asked "if she might bring Lizzie to see me at my hotel next day," I gladly acquiesced, in spite of feeling very far from well at the moment.
This feeling ofmalaiseincreased in the night, and was, in fact, the precursor of a short but sharp attack of a form of typhoid which was running through the hotel at the time. Being in bed next afternoon about four o'clock, I was dismayed to hear that Miss Maynard had arrived to see me, and, moreover, had arrivedalone. I had never spoken to the girl nor even consciously set eyes on her before, but I knew she must have come at least three miles from the suburb where she lived, and would probably refuse to have a cup of tea downstairs during my absence. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to make an effort, order tea to be brought for her to my room, and send a message hoping she would not mind seeing me in my bedroom.
She came up—a modest, charming-looking girl of about twenty. I explained the circumstances, and apologised for being unable to join in the tea-party, but felt rather desperate when I realised that even the effort of taking any share in the conversation was beyond me.
Suddenly a brilliant idea passed through my throbbing head. The day before, in planning the visit, which Miss Boyle had been unable to carry out herself, she had mentioned that her friend Lizzie Maynard was a very good automatic writer, and this seemed a solution of the difficulty.
So when my little friend had finished her tea, but was still looking tired from the long walk, I said to her: "I am so sorry to be so stupid to-day, Miss Maynard. I cannot talk, but I can listen; or do you think possibly you could get a little writing for me? Miss Boyle told me you wrote automatically sometimes?"
"I will try, certainly," was the ready response. "I never know, of course, what may come, and as this is our first meeting, it may be a little more difficult, but I should like to try."
She found paper and pencil, and sat by my bedside, holding the pencil very loosely between the second and third fingers, instead of between the thumb and first two fingers in the usual way.
She continued talking to me during the whole time, and not being well versed in automatic writing then, I could not believe that any writing could really be going on in this very casual sort of way.
"Is any writing really coming?" I questioned at last.
"Oh yes; but I can't make out the last long word," she said, turning the paper round, so that she could see it, for the first time. "Kindly give me that word again," she remarked casually, and continued her conversation with me.
Finally the three or four sheets of rather large but not always very distinct caligraphy were submitted to me, and I saw that "Miscellaneous" had been the long word at the beginning which Lizzie had asked to have repeated.
The whole message was intensely interesting to me, for it began: "I who on earth was known as George Eliot."
Now I had more than once seen, but had never spoken to, George Eliot in earth life, and although admiring her genius, as all who read her books are bound to do, there seemed no very obvious reason why she should come to me. Moreover, Lizzie Maynard, a charming but not highly educated girl (as I discovered later), seemed to know little about the famous author beyond her name. Another, and infinitely inferior, lady writer had been discussed with bated breath the day before in Lizzie's presence. Her books—just then in the zenith of their popularity—had newly penetrated to the Colonies, and were being talked of there as though Minerva herself, helmet and all complete, had suddenly arrived in Melbourne. I had personally been greatly interested by one of this lady's earlier books, and had a much less definite opinion of the author then, than I have at the present moment.
Threshing my brains for any sort of tie with George Eliot, I remembered having often stayed at Oxford as a young woman, when Jowett of Balliol was entertaining her and Mr Lewes, in his own home.
Of course, there was no question in those far-away days of my being asked to meet such a brilliant star; but it amused me often to hear the dull and uninteresting people of some standing in the University, whom Jowett hadnotfavoured with an invitation, declaring that nothing would have induced them to accept it!
This was, however, but a feeble link, even when added to the righteous indignation one had so often experienced on hearing similar remarks made, about a woman too far above her critics both in genius and morals, for them to be able to catch the faintest glimpse of her personality.
Apparently it only now lay with me to cease askingwhy, and accept the goods provided by the gods, making the most of such an opportunity. On these occasions so many possible questions tumble over each other in the brain that it is difficult to select any one to start with.
At length I asked the following question:—
"What did George Eliot think of the author who had been so much discussed and so highly applauded on the previous afternoon?"
Very quickly came the answer: "I have no sympathy there—a mere puppet."
Certainly this was not thought reading; for my own opinion then was very indefinite, and Lizzie's views, as it turned out, were as enthusiastic as those of most people in the Colony. It was not until several years later that I realised that an extraordinarilyaptcriticism had been made; for a puppet is made to dance by other entities.
I was longing to ask another question, but had some natural hesitation in doing so before such a young girl. Moreover, I feared the answer must almost of necessity be coloured by the traditions of the latter, and therefore would be of no great value either way. But taking my courage "in both hands," I put the question:
"Please ask George Eliot if shenowthinks that she was justified in the position she took up with regard to George Lewes?"
The answer came in a flash: "Certainly.We are one here, as we were on earth."
Anything less likely to emanate from the brain of an orthodox young girl can hardly be conceived!
Amongst other details, George Eliot said finally that she had come to know my mother in spirit life, where she was calledStella. Now my mother's name in earth life was Ellen, which has the same root for its origin. Of course, Miss Maynard did not then know whether my mother were alive or dead, and nothing naturally concerning her Christian name.
The last statement made by George Eliot on this occasion was that "before another year had rolled by, a great gift would come to me, and I must be very careful to use without abusing it." I was too tired at the moment to ask whether "another year rolling by" meant a whole year from 28th October 1887 (the date of the message), or the end of the current year—namely, 31st December 1887.
When the message had come to an end, Miss Maynard gathered up the scattered sheets, and promising to copy them out for me, took her departure, and left me to muse—so far as a racking brain would allow—on the curious and interesting result of her visit. No cup of tea to thirsty wayfarer was ever surely so grandly rewarded!
My next adventure had a distant connection with these Australian experiences.
I had come out to join the friend (Miss Greenlow) who had been my companion in America, and who had thence sailed for Sydney when I returned for a year to England. She had been anxious for me to rejoin her in Australia, and from thence visit Japan and China; but my arrival having been delayed by literary matters, this lady had finally lost patience, and, without my knowledge, had gone on to New Zealand, and thence, as it turned out, to Samoa. When I heard of the New Zealand episode there was nothing for it but to follow her there, on a will-o'-the-wisp expedition, as it turned out, but, fortunately, I was unaware of this at the time. I say fortunately, because had I known that she had already left Australia for Samoa, I should certainly have returned to England, in despair of tracing her any further, and thereby one of my most interesting experiences would have been lost.
The illness in Melbourne, already referred to, detained me for over a fortnight, so it was necessary to transfer my New Zealand ticket from one boat to another. So the illness also must have been one of the factors that was involved in the adventure, as I have called it. For the delay led to my meeting—in a friend's house—Mr Arthur Kitchener (a younger brother of Lord Kitchener), who was introduced to me on the special ground that we were to be fellow-travellers to New Zealand a day or two later. As a matter of fact, Mr Kitchener was on his way from England to New Zealand, where he was superintending a sheep-run for his father in those days. He had come out by P. & O., and transhipped at Melbourne after two or three days' delay there.
Several other passengers from theMassiliawere also going on to New Zealand, and naturally they felt like old friends after the five or six weeks already spent together. They thoughtIwanted to be alone, and I thoughttheywanted to be alone, and so I kept severely to the upper deck, feeling often lonely, and they all remained on the lower deck, wishing I would come down and talk to them sometimes. In spite of these misconceptions on either side, Mr Kitchener and I became sufficiently friendly for him to give me a very kind and hospitable invitation to spend the last few days of the year at his "station," about nine miles from Dunback, in the Dunedin district. I think I must have told him of my disappointment in missing my companion in Sydney, after travelling so many thousand miles to join her, and doubtless he felt some interest in this Stanley and Livingstone sort of chase, with two women taking the principal characters!
Anyway, the invitation was given and accepted, and he kindly promised to ask one or two people to meet me in his house.
All this came to pass some weeks later, on my return from the New Zealand lakes, and just before an expedition to the "Sounds," generally known as the "Sounds Trip."
This is a pleasure trip, organised for early January, which is, of course, midsummer there. It lasts for ten days, and gives one the opportunity of seeing to the best advantage these glorious inlets of the sea.
My week at the sheep station was to precede this, as I have explained; in fact, as the steamer sailed late in the afternoon, it was possible to go on board without stopping for the night at Dunedin, whence we were to sail. But at the last moment a slight contretemps took place. Owing to some delay the steamer would not be able to leave till Monday, instead of the Saturday morning as arranged, and our kind host insisted on extending his hospitality for the two extra days.
Now each day there had been some talk about having an impromptuséance, and each day I had successfully evaded the arrangement. I have a great dislike to sitting in casual circles with strangers, and it seemed to me that no good purpose would be served by doing so. It is impossible on these occasions to convince anyone else that you are not pushing or "muscle moving," or generally playing tricks, and it has always seemed to me that the time wasted over mutual recriminations on these points, or the silly jokes that appear inevitable, when two or three human beings at a table get together in a private house; might be much more profitably spent.
Table turning as a parlour game is about as stupid and aimless an amusement as I know. I represented all this to Mr Kitchener, but in vain. He had attended some psychic meetings in Dunback or Dunedin, and evidently wished me to reconsider the matter. Also it happened to be the last day of the year, when people are always more inclined to be obliging, I suppose; anyway that Saturday night, 31st December 1887, found me sitting down to a table in the little drawing-room of that far-away sheep station.
As some reward for any virtue there may have been in yielding my point, I remembered suddenly that George Eliot's message on 28th October—two months previously—had been rather vague, and that it might be interesting, if the chance came, to find out whether "before another year has rolled away" meant a year from 28th October, or the year of which so few hours still remained to us.
After the usual inanities—"I am sure you are pushing." "No;youare!I saw your fingers pressing heavily." "Why, how extraordinary! that is exactly what I thought about you," etc. etc., it was intimated that a spirit was there giving the name of George Eliot, so I put my question at once.
"I did not mean another year from October last—I referred to this year," was the answer.
"Shall I be able to write automatically?" was my next query.
"No; leave that alone—it would be very dangerous for you at present."
"Shall I be able to hear? Shall I become clair-audient?"
"No," came for the second time.
My next question naturally was: "Then shall I be able toseevery soon?"
"Yes; for you will become clairvoyant for the first time. Remember my warning to use but not abuse the gift."
Now I must explain that all this time a good deal of the usual kind of joking had been going on. Moreover, I felt intuitively that Mr Kitchener thought I was deceiving myself into the idea that human muscles could not account for the movements, and, in fact, the very worst possible conditions for getting anything of value were present.
So much so that I did not for one moment suppose that it was really George Eliot, or that she would countenance that particular sort of buffoonery, and the incident made no impression upon me at all. I had already taken my hands off the table, when someone—Mr Kitchener, I think—banged it down four times, and then triumphantly observed: "Yes, of course, you will see somebody during the night, or rather at four o'clock in the morning, you see!" The whole thing was the kind of fiasco I had expected, "degenerating into a romp," as poor Corney Grain used to remark about the "Lancers" and the stern old lady in the suburban villa.
The bathos of table turning had surely been reached when it came to banging the leg of the table down four times, and calmly announcing four o'clock as the time for my first vision!
But the remarkable point is that Ididhave my first vision that night, though it had come and gone long before foura.m.
It is necessary to remember that the sun rises about three-thirtya.m.during the end of December or first week in January out there, so it would have been fairly light before foura.m.; whereas when I woke out of my first sleep that night, it was pitch dark.
My room was the usual whitewashed apartment to be found in the ordinary colonial "station," with a wooden bed standing about two or three feet from the wall, and parallel with the only window in the room; which faced the door (at the foot of my bed), and was fitted with a very dark green blind, on account of the hot summer sunshine.
But it was now pitch dark in the room. I woke facing the window, but turned on my side, as one generally does on such occasions, and this brought me face to face with the wall. To my infinite amazement there stood between the wall and my bed, a diaphanous figure of a woman, quite life size or rather more, with one arm held out in a protecting fashion towards me, and some drapery about the head. The features were, moreover, quite distinct, and, as I afterwards realised, the counterpart of George Eliot's curious and Savonarola-like countenance. But at the moment, oddly enough, I only thought of two things—first, how extraordinary that what had appeared to me such a silly waste of time overnight should have had any element of reality about it! Then swiftly came the second idea: "And how in the world does it happen that I don't feel a bit frightened?"
I lay there absolutely content and peaceful, with a feeling of blissful satisfaction which I have never exactly realised either before or since that one occasion.
"Everything is all right—nothing can really ever go wrong—nothing at least that matters at all. All the real things are all right. I can never doubt the truth of these things after this experience. It was promised, and the promise has been redeemed." These were the thoughts that passed idly through my brain as I lay—fully awake—and looked up at the comforting woman's figure. For it seemed more—much more—than a mere vision. I have spoken of the figure as diaphanous because it was not as solid as an ordinary human being, but, on the other hand, I could not see the wall through it: it was too solid for that. Then I remembered a story told inThe Athenæum—of all papers—and written by a Dr Jephson, of his experience whilst paying a visit to Lord Offord, and making notes—late at night—in the library of the house for some literary work on hand. He had finished his notes, put away the book of reference, looked at his watch, found the hands marking twoa.m.(so far as I remember), and had just said to himself: "Well, I shall be in bed by two-thirty after all," when, turning round, he found a large leather chair close to his own, tenanted by a Spanish priest in some ancient dress!
Thinking it might be an hallucination, he deliberately turned round—awayfrom the priest—rubbed his eyes, and then slowly looked back again. Still the priest was there, and Dr Jephson then realised for the first time that, although notconsciously frightenedor alarmed in any way, he was quite unable tospeakto the intruder. So he quietly chose a pencil, sat down, and calmly took his portrait. The priest politely remained until the sketch was completed, and then vanished.
This story, read some years previously, flashed through my brain, and I thought: "Iwill try turning round, and then seeing if she is still there." I turned deliberately, facing the window, and then realised that it was pitch dark in my room—not the faintest glimmer of light came through the heavily shrouded window. "Then it can't be four o'clock," was my triumphant comment.
It would have been too disappointing had my distinguished visitor condoned the unblushing banging down four times of the table leg, by choosing that hour for her arrival in my room! But then again, how could Iseeher, since the room was quite dark? It was only necessary to turn round once more to the wall to realise that Ididsee her in fact, although I ought not to have done so in theory! I saw her as distinctly as I ever saw a marble statue in the Vatican Gallery by the light of noon. Although I had recalled the Jephson story so circumstantially, it never struck me that it might be interesting to attempt any conversation, and see whether I also were tongue-tied. I did notwantto speak—there seemed no special reason for speaking. It was quite enough to lie there with this blissful feeling of protection and love folding me round like a cloud with golden lining. And as this consciousness held me in its loving grasp, to my infinite sorrow the kind, protecting figure disappeared, gently and very slowly, sinking into the ground on the spot where I had first seen her; and once more all was dark in the room.
I lay, too happy and peaceful for movement or even speculation for some ten minutes, and then it struck me that I had better light the candle by my side, and find out what o'clock it might be.
Now I have a rather accurate idea of time, and can generally tell within a minute or two how long any special work may have taken me. Looking at my watch, I saw it was just two-twenty-fivea.m., so I settled in my own mind that I must have seen the figure at two-fifteena.m., or possibly at two-tena.m., for I think the experience lasted nearly five minutes altogether. Anyway, I felt sure that ten minutes, as nearly as possible, had elapsed between the sinking of the figure out of sight and my lighting the match in order to consult my watch. It may have been nine minutes, or possibly eleven, but I feel confident the time mentioned would be within these limits.
Therefore next morning, when our host appeared, and I was chaffed about "the vision," I said boldly: "You think it all nonsense, and I confess I did not believe anything that came last night when so much joking was going on, but I was mistaken. Ididsee, for the first time in my life, anything abnormal." And I repeated my experience, just as I have now written it down.
Incredulous looks greeted me, and then Mr Kitchener said quietly:
"Oh yes, you saw something at foura.m.I am not at all surprised to hear that."
"Not at foura.m.," I answered, "but at two-fifteena.m.I made a special note of the time. I was asleep again long before foura.m., and never slept better in my life."
He looked puzzled, and then suggested that my watch must have gone wrong; but we compared notes, and our watches were registering exactly the same hour within a minute or two.
I found out later that, having learnt something of the Thought Transference Theory at the Dunedin Circle or Metaphysical Club which he had attended, Mr Kitchener had attempted tomake me seea vision at foura.m., but as he confessed he had been fast asleepwhenIdidsee (an hour and three quarters before his efforts started), it would take a very ingenious person to prove that the latter had anything to do with the occurrence.
A deeply interesting corroboration reached me, however, a few weeks later, by which time I had visited the "Sounds," and many other places of interest, and had arrived safely at Auckland, in the North Island.
On the morning of my vision, I must not forget to mention, that I had spoken of it to Mr Kitchener's faithful Irish housekeeper, whose nationality I knew would prevent her thinking me a mere lunatic. By this time scepticism had the upper hand, and I was beginning to try to explain away everything in the true Podmorian spirit.
Could Mr Kitchener or any other person present have had to do with the matter? In this case my blissful feelings would naturally be merely the result of imagination, and easily disposed of on this ground. So I questioned the little housekeeper when she brought my hot water as to whether it could have been possible for Mr Kitchener or anyone else in the house to have access to a clean sheet or tablecloth, and to have masqueraded in the garden outside my room. She indignantly denied the possibility. "The linen is all locked up by me; besides, no one would have been so wicked. It might have frightened you out of your senses, ma'am! Do you suppose the master would have done such a thing?"
No; I did not really accuse anyone of such a cruel and stupid joke. Moreover, it was a little difficult, even for Podmorian ingenuity, to explain how man or woman, masquerading in a white sheet in the garden outside, could convey the fairly solid figure of a faked "George Eliot," who stood well out between the wall and my bed; and this through a thick green blind and curtains, when garden and room alike were shrouded inabsolutedarkness!
Foiled in all my attempts to find a "sensible solution" to the mystery, I determined to write and ask Lizzie Maynard of Melbourne ifshecould throw any light upon matters, my decision in taking this step being strengthened by the curious coincidence which I had just discovered—i.e.that Mr Kitchener's housekeeper had lived with the Maynards when they had had a house in Dunedin, which was later burnt down, as so often happens in the Colonies. "Jane" had lost sight of the Maynard family for years, and was much excited by my promising to write and tell them of my meeting with her.
Of course, I mentioned my strange experience and all the details connected with it—exceptthe exact hour of the occurrence. It was by a pure oversight (as I supposed) that this fact was omitted. I have had reason since to believe that I was unconsciously impressed to leave out this special detail, in order that I might receive far better evidence than would have been possible under other circumstances. Had I mentioned the hour of the vision, the imagination of my young friends in Melbourne might have been at work as regards the hour oftheirexperience, which was as follows:—
Several weeks after leaving Dunback I reached Auckland, and received amongst other letters one from Lizzie Maynard in answer to mine. Mr Kitchener had also written, saying what nice girls my friends the Maynards must be, and how kindly they had written to his excellent little housekeeper, sending her welcome gifts, and saying that her place had never been filled in their hearts, and so forth. Lizzie's letter to me began also about the excellences of "Jane," and the curious coincidence through which she had been once more put in touch with her; then she went on to say:
"It is indeed very remarkable about your experience, dear Miss Bates, but I think you will consider it much more remarkable when I tell you whatwewere doing that night. I was spending the week-end with our mutual friends Captain and Mrs Boyle" (in whose house she and I had encountered Mrs Burroughes), "and Lily Boyle and I were sleeping in the same room, as the house was full.
"On the evening of 31st December there was a little dance arranged, to 'dance the old year out and the new year in,' and at midnight we dispersed, the visitors going home, and those in the house retiring to bed. Lily and I were too much excited to get into bed at once, so I suggested that we should try to compose a letter to Miss Pearl" (this being the lady whose writings they greatly admired. I had allowed them to use my name as an introduction, should they wish to communicate with her at any time).
Lizzie went on to say how nervous they were about writing the letter, fearing that so popular an author might not take any notice of the badly expressed letter of two young colonial girls. However, she did her best, and Lily Boyle didherbest, and the result was a hopeless failure! "Then," continued Lizzie, "a happy thought struck me—George Eliot had used my hand to convey her message to you last October; might we not, remembering this, appeal to her to help us in our difficulty? So we gave up trying to write the letter ourselves, took down planchette from its shelf, and started again. In a few moments an excellent letter was written, giving your name as an introduction, with all the little points you had specially begged us to remember in connection with Miss Pearl's probable prejudices. It was so splendidly written, and so quickly, that you can imagine our delight! We could not bear to give up planchette even after both our names had been signed, and I said pleadingly: 'Oh, don't go away! Do stop and tell us something more.'
"In large letters, as you see" (Lizzie enclosed the script), "was written very decidedly:
"No, I cannot stay with you now—I have promised to go and see Stella's daughter.
"I remembered, dear Miss Bates, that G. Eliot had said your mother's name in spirit life wasStella, so, of course, we knew that she meant us to understand that she was going to seeyou.
"Unfortunately, you did not mention the hour of her visit, but we took the time when enclosed message was written—very accurately—in order to tell you about it, and the hour was just twelve-thirtya.m.Do write and tell us that was the time when she appeared to you—we feel sure it must have been—but are longing to have our idea confirmed, etc. etc."
Now my young friends had evidently entirely forgotten the difference in time between Dunedin and Melbourne, and I must confess to my own amazement when I found that it was considerably over the sixty minutes, which I should have vaguely supposed it to be.
In fact, I was rather disappointed to think there was so wide a margin between the two occurrences, until I casually asked a gentleman, who was staying in my hotel, if he could tell me the difference in time between the two cities.
"Not exactly, I'm afraid, but it is considerably over an hour. Ah, there is a good atlas! I can easily calculate it for you." He remained silent for a moment, and then raising his head, said: "As nearly an hour and three quarters as possible." This was pretty good evidence of the practically simultaneous experience of my friends in Melbourne at twelve-thirtya.m., with my own at two-fifteena.m.in the neighbourhood of Dunedin.
When I first became acquainted with Mr Myers, shortly after my return from Australia and New Zealand, I told him this story. He was greatly interested, but pointed out that it was useless from the evidential point of view unless I would take the trouble to write one or two letters to the Colonies.
So I wrote to Mr Kitchener for confirmation of the fact that I was staying in his house on the night of 31st December 1887, and had told him of my experience next morning, exactly as here related. Then I had to get Miss Lizzie Maynard's testimony with regard to her letter to me, and finally, I think, the testimony of Lily Boyle and her father that Miss Maynard was their guest in Melbourne on the occasion of the New Year's Eve dance. These letters are presumably still amongst the archives of the Society of Psychical Research, and the story was printed by them in their Proceedings some years ago.
I may add a last evidential touch by saying that when I met Miss Pearl for the first time after my travels, she referred to the letter she had received—under favour of my introduction—and quite spontaneously remarked upon its excellence, adding:
"I could scarcely believe that two young Australian girls, as they described themselves to me, could have written such an admirable letter."
I did not disclose the real source of the composition, as the popular author thinks that she has no belief in spiritualism.
The spring months of 1888 found me at Brisbane,en routefor China, after spending a pleasant month with old friends on a well-known station belonging to the late Sir Arthur Hodgson, named Eton Vale, and situated on the beautiful and healthy Darling Downs of Queensland.
Before returning to Sydney from New Zealand, my female "Dr Livingstone" had reappeared upon the scene in the most unexpected manner. Our "historical meeting" took place in an Auckland hotel, where she suddenly turned up one day, driven back from Samoa by the intense heat. So after some gentle recriminations, she "having supposed the delay on my part might mean an entire change of plan," and I having supposed—from her letters—that Sydney was such a Paradise that she could hardly be dragged from it even by a flaming sword, we agreed to cry "quits," and continue our travels together. So Miss Greenlow spent the month of March in Sydney, whilst I paid my visit to Queensland, and we met once more at Brisbane to take steamer for Thursday Island, Cape Darwin, and eventually Hong Kong. Only one small matter of psychic interest occurred during this voyage.
I have mentioned in a previous chapter the little "swallows," which I first saw in San Francisco in the year 1886. I had been accustomed to seeing them ever since that date, and had been frequently commiserated for incipient eye trouble in consequence, by more than one sceptical friend.
On the very day we went on board the Hong Kong steamer at Brisbane, a new sign appeared: a single bird, holding in its beak a ring with half hoop of five stones, presumably diamonds. I told my friend about this, but neither she nor I could imagine any significance in it. At that time we had not even met any of our fellow-passengers to speak to, for we were all taken up with settling into our cabins and trying to make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
For a whole week the same little bird and the same ring were persistently held up before me. Then an inkling of the possible meaning broke upon me suddenly. Within a fortnight of our sailing this suspicion was confirmed, and the little bird's warning or suggestion amply justified. But "that is another story!" Curiously enough, the new "sign in the heavens" was withdrawn as soon as I had grasped its meaning.
I must hasten over our delightful stay in Japan, because amongst much of extreme interest from artistic, social, and various other points of view, nothing occurred which has any special bearing on my present subject.
Leaving Japan eventually by sailing from Yokohama to Vancouver (Washington territory), the old threads were once more put into my hands.
We made the acquaintance on board the old P. & O.Abyssiniaof the late Captain MacArthur, a kindly and genial naval man. He was an Australian by birth, but belonged to our English navy, and was just returning home on his promotion as commander.
He became rather interested in my "queer ideas," and ended by suggesting some experiments with "the table," so he persuaded the ship's carpenter to put together a small rough wooden table. The sittings were held, generally after dinner, in either my cabin or that of my "stable companion" Miss Greenlow. So far as I remember, we three were the only sitters, and I am bound to confess the sittings were sometimes very monotonous, even viewed from the indulgent perspective of a sea voyage. In fact, I can now recall only one incident of any real value.
The dear old nurse, spoken of in my opening chapter, had now been for three or four years on the other side of the veil, but had never given me the slightest sign of her presence. But she came several times during this voyage, and always with the same object—namely, to entreat, and finallyimplore me, to give up a projected tour in Alaska.
Miss Greenlow and I had been prevented from undertaking this, two years earlier, when visiting Victoria (Vancouver), and she was very keen to go there from Washington territory on this occasion. I wasnotkeen for the expedition, but had made no strong objection to it, and it was understood that we should go together.
This was the tour which my old nurse now pleaded so anxiously should be given up, so far asIwas concerned.
"It will ruin your health, my darling," she said more than once. "Don't go there; take my advice." And on one occasion, just before landing, she added: "You will find letters awaiting you which will enable you to make other plans."
This proved true—in a certain way. The first letter opened in the budget which fell to my share, told me of the sudden death of our family solicitor, which would have been a good excuse for a hasty return to England had any such pretext been necessary.
But this was not the case, for my companion, although quite determined to go to Alaska herself, was not in the least inclined to over-persuade me to accompany her. She was a very independent woman, quite accustomed to travelling alone, and I knew that neither her enjoyment nor her convenience would be affected by my decision one way or the other. I had no wish to go myself, and, moreover, thought it quite probable that my dear old nurse's warnings might be amply justified. But there were other grave considerations to be taken into account, and I still feel that I adopted the right, although not the pleasanter course, when I allowed my fellow-passengers to depart East, joking me on my want of faith in the warnings from the spirits, and accompanied my friend, very unwillingly, to Alaska.
My nurse's earnest entreaties were only too fully justified on the physical plane, to say nothing of the miserable discomfort of the trip (which in those days had to be made in an overcrowded cargo boat.) I took a chill in those Arctic regions, which later developed into the longest and most serious illness of my life. It took months to make even a partial recovery, and the effects will remain during my life. Yet I have never regretted my decision.
This little episode seems to throw some light upon the way such warnings should be treated. To give no heed to them on the one hand, or to follow them blindly,in spite of every other consideration, on the other; these seem to me the Scylla and Charybdis of our lives. It shows that wemustjudge for ourselves; we cannot shift the burden of responsibility on any other shoulders. How could we gain the real education of life were it otherwise?
Had I turned my back on Alaska I should have gained enormously, physically speaking, and yet failed in a moral test. But my dear old nurse, who considered only—probablysawonly—the physical evils to be avoided, was entirely in the right,from her standpoint. The faithful soul was doing her best to shield her nursling from danger.
A severe illness was entailed by my Alaska experiences. "Livingstone and Stanley" were once more separated. In other words, Miss Greenlow was obliged to return to England alone, leaving me to be nursed through a long and painful illness by kind friends and connections in Toronto. One of my doctors—the brother of my hostess—kindly made time to take me and my nurse to New York, in order that he might put me under the special care of the ship's doctor, and also be able to certify, as required, that I was in a fit condition to undertake the voyage.
It was during the day or two spent in New York before sailing, that I induced this gentleman to accompany me one evening to aséanceheld by Mrs Stoddart Gray, who has been previously mentioned in this narrative.
Dr Theodore Covernton had all the ordinary doctor's prejudices against anything unseen or unknown. He had read my book on America, and considered the chapter on "Spiritualism" a lamentable lapse "from the good sense shown in the rest of the book!" I represented to him that for a physician to deny all possibilities of Hypnotism or Mesmerism, Thought Transmission, etc., meant losing some very valuable aids in his profession, and would probably soon mean being left pretty badly behind in the race.
Knowing of no specially good hypnotist in New York, and as there was no time to find one out, I boldly suggested that he should plunge into still deeper depths of "folly," and accompany me to the house of Mrs Stoddart Gray.
The usual performances went on, but whether owing to Dr Covernton's attitude of mind or other causes, nothing of any special interest to him or to me occurred.
One incident impressed him, I think; certainly he could suggest no possible explanation of it, for it happened in a very fair amount of light and close to our feet. A gentleman and lady were sitting in the circle who had brought with them their little boy, a child of seven years old. I had asked the lady if she considered it wise to bring so young a child into such amilieu, several hours after an English child would have been put to bed, and her answer was cheery and characteristic:
"Well, I guess we shouldn't have much peace at home if we didn't bring Charlie along with us to see his Granny. We took him once, and since then he always insists upon coming. He loves talking to his Granny, and he is not a bit afraid of her."
At this moment a small frail woman stepped out from the cabinet, and came right up towards us, motioning to the little grandson that she wished him to go into the cabinet with her. This he did without a moment's hesitation, and the curtain fell, and concealed them both from view. The interview lasted for some minutes, and when the little boy reappeared, he was holding his Granny by the hand, and was evidently on the best of terms with her. I do not expect my readers to believe me, but this is exactly what happened next:
The child had brought some toys—a little train and some building blocks—"to get Granny to play with him as usual," and the fragile old lady knelt down on the floor, and played with him just as any ordinary Granny might have done, only with far more agility.
In the very midst of their brick building and train starting, a terrible catastrophe occurred, which spoilt the rest of the evening for the poor child. Granny had evidently forgotten that her time was limited, by conditions of which we are still profoundly ignorant.
Quite suddenly, and without a word of warning, she disappeared, not into the cabinet at her back, but right through the carpet under our feet, and well within a yard of the said feet, and this with two or three gas-jets burning over our heads!
There was no mistake about it. Dr Covernton and I were sitting next to the father and mother, whilst the child and his grandmother played at our feet. One moment she was there; the next she had disappeared like a flash into a mere cloud of mist, and even this was quickly withdrawn, apparently through the floor. No trap-door theory could account for this, because thewomanhad disappeared, and only the wisp of ethereal garments remained, before the latter were also dissipated. We must, moreover, note the difficulty of working a trap door immediately under the feet of a sceptical young physician, who at once investigated the carpet, hoping in vain to find in it some solution of the mystery!
I have already mentioned that the whole incident took place, in light sufficiently good to read a book without straining the eyes.
The poor little boy was terribly upset, and sobbed bitterly. His parents said they had brought him many times before, and such afiascohad never before taken place. Mrs Stoddart Gray was very indignant about it.
"Too bad! She ought to haveknownshe was staying too long, and risking a fright for the child. If she had only gone back into the cabinet he would not have been frightened. But she stayed too long and had not enough strength to get back."
The child was too thoroughly frightened and upset to admit of any consolation, and the parents were obliged to take him away, still sobbing, and askingwhyGranny had gone away like that and given him such a fright.
A year later, in London, I took Dr Covernton—by appointment—to see Dr Carl Hansen, who was then giving hypnotic treatment, and also doing some work in demonstrations for the Society for Psychical Research. Dr Hansen tried in vain to put either Dr Theodore Covernton or myself under the influence, so was obliged to have recourse to his wife. Naturally this was considered a "most suspicious circumstance" by my companion; but I noticed that he was very much interested in his conversation with her—from the medical point of view—and he was sufficiently honest to admit that he could not explain what happened in his presence, upon any normal hypothesis.