Yet such was the young lady’s maturity, or, at any rate, the condition of her being so greatly practiced in her skill, that she had no true need even of the spirit’s consolation: for she doubtless knew the fools would never apprehend her, without being told of the fact. Indeed, her mind was already detaching itself from the high-ceilinged parlor, and the assembled ladies and gentlemen, with their great variety of expressions—some of which, despite Dr. Dodd’s assurance, frankly communicated suspicion and even contempt, and not a little inquisitional appetite: her mind, sinking into passivity, withdrew from the jarring diversity of the visible world, and took solace, in a manner of speaking, in the invisible, where she might think and dream and summon forth all manner of memories, while the spirits advanced, to gather themselves close about her. In this state of light trance, which the medium would systematically deepen, by some mysterious volitionless volition of her own, she would be free to entertain such thoughts as those stimulated by her visit to the Fanshawe Theatre some time previously, and by the frequent accident of her sharing a page in the Tribune or the Graphic with the acclaimed stage actress Malvinia Morloch—now enjoying yet another conspicuous success, in a lavishly produced presentation of She Stoops to Conquer; she might passionlessly contemplate the angry, tearful farewell between herself and Madame Blavatsky that had occurred not a week before, just prior to Madame’s removal of herself and her most cherished chelas to Bombay—the anger, and the tears, being exclusively on Madame’s side, as well as unseemly accusations of “betrayal,” “wanton cruelty,” and “Luciferian pride.” Indeed, so impenetrable was the trance into which Deirdre of the Shadows sank, while her inquisitors gazed upon her outward and material form, that she freely visited the parlor of the Octagonal House, where, at that very moment, her adoptive father and mother, her stepsister Samantha, and sleepy-headed Pip, had gathered; Mr. Zinn in his usual chair, Mrs. Zinn in hers, knitting an item of clothing for “Little Godfrey”—but who was “Little Godfrey”?—and chatting companionably about “Nahum” and “Mr. Watkins”—but who were they?—in total oblivion of Deirdre’s spirit-presence. To her credit, the imperturbable Deirdre gazed almost with longing upon this warm domestic scene, and bethought herself that, had she her physical being, she should want very much to—nay, she would—bestow a light kiss not only upon the brow of the handsome Mr. Zinn, but upon the somewhat creased brow of Mrs. Zinn, and the small palely freckled cheek of Samantha! and then depart, in the very next instant.
Such were the perplexing skills of the medium’s mind, during the very time when the examination was beginning, and when, still in her own voice, she forthrightly if rather mechanically answered questions put to her by the gentlemen of the committee. There she sat, on a slightly raised platform, in a sturdy C-scroll chair with a velvet cushion and velvet arm-rests, at apparent ease, tho’ exhibiting satisfactorily good posture; there she sat, unalarmed by the multitude of eyes fixed upon her, a young woman of decidedly exotic countenance—with her prominent widow’s peak, and her loos’d black hair that seemed frazzled and stiff with electricity, and the uncanny gray eyes which glinted with an impersonal authority, like mica (how totally altered from that furtive, feral, shrinking child of thirteen years previously, when she was first brought to dwell with the Zinns!); there she sat, I repeat, calmly answering questions asked by Dr. Dodd, and Dr. Stoughton, and Professor Crosby, and Mr. Sinnett, and Dr. Eglinton, and Sir Patrick Koones, and Mr. Oakley-Hume, and Professor Bey—while her mind was fully occupied elsewhere, and the spirits, unbeknownst to the others, silently gathered.
(HOW DEIRDRE OF the Shadows managed the following harlequinade, I do not know—no more than the mystified Nathaniel Hawthorne could grasp how Daniel Dunglas Home summoned forth his spirits, and made lights fly flashing about the room, and immense pieces of furniture dance, all the while being closely observed. Since the official investigation of Deirdre of the Shadows of April 21, 1886, is included in the eleventh volume of the historic fifteen-volume compendium, The Transactions of the American Society for Psychical Research, it is a matter of public record, and one dare not doubt its veracity—however unsettling to the Christian mentality, and to common standards of decency and sanity.)
DR. DODD, AS the President of the Society, began by asking certain formal questions of Deirdre—her full name, her birthplace, background, and so forth—and the young woman, gravely composed, replied succinctly that she was no more than “Deirdre of the Shadows,” and could not explain herself further. “The spirits have thus baptized me,” she said, “and I cannot contradict their wishes.”
After a startl’d pause, Dr. Dodd proceeded to inquire into her professional background, receiving this response: “My first séance was conducted at Landsdowne House, in the late autumn of 1879, as the Society doubtless knows—if its records are thorough.”
“And this début,” Dr. Dodd said, “was it not under the auspices of Mrs. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, the founder of Theosophy?”
“It was under no one’s auspices,” Deirdre said, “save perhaps Mrs. Holtman Strong’s—or that of the friendly spirits themselves.”
“But Mrs. Blavatsky was present, I believe?” Dr. Dodd asked.
“She was present,” Deirdre said evenly, “along with divers others, whose names I am afraid I have forgotten.”
“And where is Mrs. Blavatsky at the present time?”
“She has allegedly departed for India,” Deirdre said, with a very slight curl of her pert upper lip, “and I doubt—I strongly doubt—that our paths shall cross again, in this life.”
Here was intercalated some questioning by Professor Crosby, and Sir Patrick Koones, who wished to know more about the medium’s association with Mrs. Blavatsky, and with the “discredited” Theosophical Society in general; and then Dr. Stoughton (happening to be the youngest gentleman on the committee, with a handsome, forthright countenance, and a strong but courteous voice) observed that “Mrs. Blavatsky is not tonight under investigation, her case having been decided some time past,” and that the questioning should continue, “along a more temperate line.”
Despite Dr. Stoughton’s wise counsel, however, Professor Crosby continued his line of interrogation, asking the medium whether she was familiar with one “Count Youry,” a trance medium residing for a time in Boston, and long since exposed as a fraud, and arrested as a common felon, said “Count Youry” having been an early protégé of Mrs. Blavatsky’s. Whereupon the medium paused for the briefest of instants, and replied, in a voice of great dignity: “Should you desire to bring to trial the Countess Blavatsky, you must transport her hither by your own efforts: for my spirits have assured me, they are not capable of doing so.”
This response was so fluidly offered, it was a moment before the audience comprehended its wit: and the gentlemen of the committee, Professor Crosby in particular, glanced out, annoyed, at a small flurry of laughter. Dr. Dodd, too, frowned as if distinctly annoyed, and the laughter at once subsided.
Next, Dr. Eglinton, a blunt-featured gentleman in a gray frock coat that ill fit his massive frame, asked the medium, in an imperial voice, whether she would reconsider, as to informing the Society of her background, for “it could not be a matter of any anxiety, in an honest and law-abiding career,” that such information be made public.
Whereupon the medium said: “I know only that I am baptized ‘Deirdre of the Shadows,’ and that my life previous to this baptism is of no account. The spirits have selected me, I am given to understand, as the bearer of good tidings, heralding the New Dispensation.”
“The ‘New Dispensation’?” Dr. Eglinton asked sharply.
“Whereby the Resurrection of the Spirit is properly understood,” Deirdre said without hesitation, “and the material world is transform’d.”
“But precisely how, my dear child,” Mr. Sinnett asked with a fond, if rather peremptory, smile, “is the material world to be transform’d!”
Deirdre paused; and it might have been observed that her large gray eyes h
ad become somewhat glassy. After a placid moment she said: “Mr. Sinnett—for I believe that is your name?—you must not condescend with me, or suggest familiarity: for the spirits will be displeased, and I cannot answer as to the punitive capacities of the least mature among them.”
“Ah! The young lady threatens us!” Dr. Eglinton said, with a startl’d laugh.
“It was not a threat—not precisely a threat,” Mr. Sinnett said. “I interpret it as a rather charming rebuke, the which I own I probably deserve! My apologies, Mademoiselle.”
Dr. Dodd, clearing his throat, returned briefly to the subject of the medium’s background, inquiring of her whether, to her knowledge, there was an hereditary history of psychic powers in her family—this information always being valuable, for the record: but the medium greeted this question with an imperturbable silence, as if beneath her consideration to answer.
After an uncomfortable moment Sir Patrick Koones said to Dr. Dodd: “Is she already in trance? I say, she is a most peculiar lass!”
“Perhaps she means only to indicate that questions concerning personal background will not be answered,” Mr. Oakley-Hume said in an uneasy voice.
“And yet,” Professor Crosby said, “why will they not be answered? It strikes me as distinctly suspicious.”
“Professor Crosby,” Dr. Dodd said, “you forget yourself. Please, sir.”
“Is the medium in trance?” Mr. Sinnett said, leaning far forward. “Are the spirits present?”
“The spirits are always present,” Deirdre said in a slow sepulchral voice. “Hence they must not be trifled with.”
“Ah, surely no one means to trifle with them!” Professor Bey ejaculated.
“Or to trifle with so haughty a miss!” Dr. Eglinton observed.
“Dr. Eglinton, you forget yourself as well,” Dr. Dodd said, and there was a stir of approbation from the audience. “I must ask you to keep in order.”
The questions then proceeded, pertaining more exclusively to the medium’s comprehension of her exact role, as an intermediary between the “two worlds,” and Deirdre’s answers were forthcoming, if rather slow and glacial in tone: to the point at which Mr. Sinnett (the “layman” of the committee, and, in fact, a journalist for the Boston Journal) could not restrain himself from exclaiming: “Gentlemen, is this young lady in a trance? She looks decidedly unwell—perhaps we should stop. It is all very, very queer—”
Dr. Dodd assured Mr. Sinnett, with barely concealed impatience, that the medium might very well have put herself into a light trance, preparatory to the séance itself; that being her prerogative if she so desired.
Mr. Sinnett replied, embarrassed, that so long as the other gentlemen were not alarmed, and several physicians were present, he supposed that the young lady was not in danger: but she looked, he murmured, so deucedly strange! “So deathly-pale a complexion, in a living creature,” he said, “I swear I have never seen.”
The other gentlemen remonstrated with him, and even young Dr. Stoughton demurred, stating that such personal observations were irrelevant to the investigation, and distracting moreover. Whereupon Professor Crosby resolutely said: “It is the odylic force that renders her so pale, gentlemen. She summons it forth, out of the female organs—by a process but dimly understood. When it is in full flower, so to speak, she will utilize it—you shall see!—to read our minds.”
“Professor Crosby, that is most injudicious,” Dr. Stoughton said, blushing. “It is—most unfair.”
“Odylic force?” Mr. Sinnett inquired of Professor Crosby, leaning in his direction. “What, sir, might that be? I am quite in the dark!”
Before Dr. Dodd could rule him out of order, Professor Crosby said, as if lecturing to the entire assemblage: “O-d-y-l-i-c. Odylic force. A form of electricity, Mr. Sinnett—magnetism. By which the medium penetrates the minds of others—heaves furniture about—causes a general consternation of the air. First proposed by the Baron Reichenbach, deriving obliquely from Mesmer’s animal magnetism, and quite a viable hypothesis—in fact I am publishing a little monograph on the subject in the fall—”
“Professor Crosby, you forget yourself,” Dr. Dodd said sharply.
Tho’ the gentleman declined to apologize, the examination continued along more conventional lines: questions being put to the medium not only by members of the committee, but by several members of the audience, regarding her understanding of “powers” and of their value to the world. These questions the young woman answered in a slow, halting voice, tho’ her words were distinct enough. “The dead are not dead . . . the living are not separate from the dead . . . the worlds are so vastly, vastly populated . . . our dead . . . our belovèd dead . . . close as every breath we inhale.”
(At which Professor Crosby could not resist interjecting, to Mr. Oakley-Hume: “Chemical excitations in young females arise from the reproductive organs, to flood the brain. It may be an epileptoid dysfunction as well—I have seen it often in ‘psychic’ mediums.”)
The medium, while evidently in trance, her head held high and her frost-hued eyes fixed upon an indefinite point in space, nevertheless o’erheard this remark, and said in an even, but forceful, voice: “If you continue to mock, sir, the good spirits will be o’ercome by the malicious: and I cannot promise sufficient control over them, to fully protect you.”
Sir Patrick Koones murmured to his colleagues that they must show respect, whatever disdain they truly felt; and Professor Bey, shifting about restlessly in his chair, observed that he should like very much to examine the medium’s skull—he had been promised that he might have this privilege—for it was highly likely that Deirdre of the Shadows suffered from the phreno-organization of the classic psychopathological spondylosoid: the symptoms being a distinct ridge of bone at the crown of the skull, and numerous small bumps at the base.
Mr. Sinnett interrupted excitedly to say that he had seen something—a spirit, perhaps!—sliding under the door.
Whereupon all the gentlemen turned to look, in the direction he pointed; but professed to see nothing. Dr. Eglinton exhibited some impatient amusement, stating in a low voice that the profession of journalism doubtless accommodated certain excesses of the imagination, not enjoyed by the scientific mentality. Sir Patrick Koones adjusted his pince-nez, which were fastened to his waistcoat by a silver chain, and said, after a strained moment, that he fancied he did see something in the room—now in that corner, above the gilt cornice—now entwined about the chandelier overhead. “A manifestation, it may be. Ectoplasm in a very amorphous state.”
“Nonsense!” said Professor Crosby. “And yet, it is very peculiar, I am suddenly chilled.”
“I too am chilled—my legs in particular,” Mr. Oakley-Hume said, with some agitation. “There seems to be a draft in here.”
Mr. Sinnett rose to his feet, smiling in great perplexity. “Perhaps Miss Deirdre too is cold? Is there a draft? Shall I check the windows, or the door?”
Professor Bey too arose, tho’ slowly. He had drawn out of a leather satchel a peculiar instrument, something like a headdress, tho’ of metal, with several joined curved bands. “Perhaps it is out of order—perhaps it is premature—but I should like—ah, I should so very like—to be assured of—to be allowed—” he said, with a smile no less perplexed than Mr. Sinnett’s, but a great deal wider.
Dr. Dodd and the others stared at him in amazement, and urged him to be seated.
“It is that—that thing in the chandelier,” Sir Patrick Koones whispered. “Cannot someone make it go away?”
“There is nothing there,” Professor Crosby said irritably. “I see nothing.”
“Nor do I. Where is it?” Dr. Eglinton asked, amused.
“Now it is expanding, and growing very thin,” Sir Patrick Koones said quietly. “It means to envelop, I halfway fear, the entire room.”
“It has a slight acrid odor, does it not?” Mr. Oakley-Hume said.
Professor Bey remained on his feet, albeit somewhat shakily, his bony shoulders hunch
ed forward, and his mustache now glistening with saliva. He was a gentleman of some years, yet possessing, withal, a reputation for youthful vigor of purpose: it was to be said of him, after this particular evening, that whatever got into him simply could not be dislodged, and was not him in any case. For he suddenly dropped his measuring instrument, and began speaking in a voice of great urgency: “I—I—I must know, and know upon the spot: Is my Saviour awaiting me? In that other world? Are His promises legitimate?”
“Why, he is babbling,” Dr. Eglinton said.
“Professor Bey, what is wrong?” Dr. Dodd asked, in astonishment.
“I must know this one thing, and then I will be content,” Professor Bey said, his voice quavering. “All else—all such tomfoolery—” and here he indicated, with a careless gesture of his hand, the metallic instrument, the leather satchel, and, indeed, his colleagues at the long table! “All such vanity is merely a waste of our time, and our time, alas, is fast running out.”
“Dear Rodney,” Dr. Eglinton said, tugging at his arm, “you must be seated: it is not quite the place for jesting.”
“I do not jest, sir! How dare you!”
“He is unwell,” Professor Crosby whispered to Dr. Dodd. “Perhaps a mild stroke—an incursion of senile dementia—”
(And all the while Deirdre of the Shadows remained unperturbed—quite oblivious to the drama! Where her unfeeling soul had drifted, I dare not speculate; but those “windows of the soul”—the eyes—now reflected very little that was warm with life, let alone human.)