“And yet,” Sir Patrick Koones said, in a low rapid voice, “it can hardly be done in public. We must clear the room of spectators, or adjourn to a more suitable place.”
“If Dr. Dodd were present—” Dr. Stoughton began, but was interrupted by Dr. Eglinton’s sneering aside: “But the old man is not present, is he?—and we are now in charge.”
WHETHER THE THREE gentlemen would have succeeded in clearing the hall of the invited guests, or whether the proposed examination would have taken place in another part of the building, one cannot know; it is likely, too, that Dr. Stoughton, and one or two others, feeling keenly the injustice of the procedure, would have insisted upon an adjournment, thereby averting disaster.
However, Dr. Eglinton had no sooner uttered his abominable remark, than the gas jets flickered anew, and Mr. Oakley-Hume shuddered aloud at another severe chill, which appeared to pass up his legs from the floorboards; and Mr. Sinnett snatched at his notebook, which suddenly rose from the table, and spiraled away out of sight. “The deuce!” Mr. Sinnett exclaimed. “What has happened?”
Dr. Stoughton was to state afterward, in making his deposition to the Chief Magistrate of New York County, that he had known immediately that something irremeable had occurred, by a subtle alteration of the temperature, and by his uneasy recollection of the medium’s warning words—to the effect that, should wicked spirits be loos’d, she might be incapable of restraining them. (“Indeed,” Dr. Stoughton explained to the authorities, and by his testimony quite exonerated the medium herself, of any possibility of wrongdoing, “it should have been a miracle for the poor young lady to have affected the course of the events at all, since her delicate constitution was so taxed by the examination, she was very nearly in a dead faint; and must have been entirely insensible of what happened about her.”)
Professor Crosby, clutching several instruments of a gleaming surgical nature, had pushed back his chair, and was about to proceed boldly to the medium, in order, as he put it, “to forcibly examine her, and expose the shameful fraud to the assemblage of gulls and dupes”; but was restrained by Mr. Oakley-Hume, who murmured, with great compassion and distress, that it was a “most ungentlemanly procedure, in which he could have no part.” Mr. Sinnett had wandered to one side of the oval parlor, seeking his notebook (which appeared to have vanished, tho’ it was to be found, upon the morn, in one of the horse troughs on the north side of Gramercy Park), being aided in his activity by several sympathetic members of the audience. Sir Patrick Koones complained aloud, with some alarm, of the truly severe chill, which not only arose from the carpet, but descended from the ceiling, with a disconcerting effect upon his bald head; and Dr. Eglinton began to wipe and swat the air close about him, as if driving off flies, being afflicted, of a sudden, with something invisible but highly persistent, that both bit and kissed at his face. “What is it—who is it—how dare you!” the astonished gentleman cried.
Attention was now turned to Dr. Eglinton, who stumbled to his feet, continuing to mutter excitedly, and swatting at the air. A child’s voice was suddenly heard—singing and crooning—high, shrill, mischievous, yet of an almost distressing sweetness, uncanny to hear. Dr. Eglinton did not find the presence sweet, however, but cried angrily: “The Devil!—the very Devil! D——n creature! Away with you! None of that, d’you hear! I am Dr. Percival Eglinton!”
Out of the empty air came the melodious voice: “Love love love love love”—followed by a tinkling giggle.
“I say, how dare you! I say, none of that!” Dr. Eglinton remonstrated, his face flushing red.
“Love Doctor! Love Doctor! Kiss kiss kiss kiss!” the naughty spirit cried. (This was of course the child Bianca, and never had she possessed, at any previous séance, so extraordinary a charm! Indeed, I am powerless to evoke, for the skeptical reader, the nearly unbearable beauty of her voice—its winsome sweetness, its pristine innocence, yet, withal, its teasing girlishness. But every witness to Dr. Eglinton’s collapse was to attest, afterward, that the child’s voice—to whomever it belonged—must have had a heavenly origin, being so angelic: and that the physician’s furious swatting and pummeling of the air, seemed greatly in excess of the situation.)
“Lips brushing mine—arms about my neck—murderous little teeth—I say, stop! D——n slut! I will have you put in chains! I will have you flogged!—flayed!—dissected!”
And the darling little girl merely crooned and teased, quite invisible to the assemblage, save in her remarkable effect upon Dr. Eglinton.
This contretemps involved perhaps as little as ten minutes, tho’, in the judgment of most witnesses, the time appeared to be much protracted for so it is, that eyewitnesses can rarely gauge the duration of time, without falling back upon mechanical means. Very little sympathy was evoked by the spectacle of the dignified gentleman stumbling about, in rage, and then terror, for it was generally believed that the child’s teasing was altogether innocent, and the kissing merely kissing. (Which would have been quite shocking in a mature female spirit, but was, surely, no more than a sign of babyish affection in Bianca.) Dr. Eglinton shouted—begged—whined—whimpered: and his fellow committee members made every effort to calm him, tho’ risking the danger (which poor Sir Patrick Koones did not entirely escape) of being struck by him in his frantic pummeling. As if to expose Dr. Eglinton to the weakest eye, the gas jets not only regained their full strength, but appeared somewhat brighter than ordinary; and, as I have said, the poor gentleman drew no sympathy from the audience, and even, it is sorrowful to report, some merriment at his expense—for he did look a fool, stumbling and crashing about, as if set upon by a hive of hornets, and not merely a child-spirit’s kisses!
Dr. Stoughton remonstrated with Dr. Eglinton, not guessing at the seriousness of the situation, and perhaps believing, in his own confusion, that Dr. Eglinton was imagining the assault, and that argument could reason him out of it. Professor Crosby stood with his surgical instruments at the ready, a sneer twisting his lips: for his old rival Eglinton was being quite humiliated, and he saw no reason not to enjoy the spectacle. Mr. Oakley-Hume, his hand pressed to his heart, pleaded in a low voice to the frightened Mr. Sinnett to help him from the “accursèd chamber before it was too late, and all were destroyed,” which Mr. Sinnett needed no further prompting to do: whereupon both gentlemen left the parlor, under cover of the general confusion. (In writing up his famous account of the evening for the Boston Journal, Mr. Sinnett averred that it was only the feebleness of his companion’s constitution that saved both their lives—which was, I am convinced, a grave exaggeration. “In any case,” Mr. Sinnett declared, for the Journal’s thousands of fascinated readers, “there can be no doubt from this day forward: Spirit World does exist, and is hardly to be trifled with, by even the most distinguished scientists.”)
Now Dr. Eglinton pawed and clutched at his clothing, so writhing about that his gray frock coat tore under one arm: a sight that repulsed the ladies, and many of the gentlemen. Dr. Stoughton and Sir Patrick Koones being temporarily routed, Professor Crosby set his instruments aside, and went to seize his colleague by the shoulders, declaring that “the charade was about over,” whereupon, to everyone’s astonishment, he too began at once to swat and strike at the air, and rub his bewhiskered face roughly, muttering: “Begone, d’you hear! Begone! What is it! Who—!”
I should have noted, perhaps, that during this time the entranced medium remained seated as before, rigid as a statue, and as sightless, on her raised platform, discreetly apart from the gentlemen’s difficulties. Where her etheric body roamed—where her imagination dwelt—I cannot say; nor could Deirdre herself, recall upon wakening. And during this time members of the audience had risen to their feet, in amusement, alarm, or simple keen interest, crowding to the front of the room, tho’ not o’erly near—wisely fearing the contagion of the child-spirit’s assault. (A number of Society members, primarily ladies, made their exit from the room, feeling great strain and fatigue, and not a little apprehension, that perhaps—tho’ t
hey were not Popish in their fear of Spiritualism—the Devil might have a hand in it, and not merely disinterested private spirits.)
Now both Dr. Eglinton and Professor Crosby were being attacked by the invisible Bianca, perhaps with the aid of other spirits, for so it seemed afterward, judging from the extent of their injuries; and the situation, tho’ ludicrous to behold, soon darkened, and revealed its sinister aspect, when Dr. Eglinton crashed heavily to the floor, and rolled and pitched about. Poor Dr. Stoughton clearly had no idea what to do, for relative youth and inexperience, and a certain reserve of character, ill equipped him to handle such emergencies: he clutched and tugged at his hair; ran to Deirdre of the Shadows and begged her to awaken, and put a halt to the spirits’ persecution; then ran back to the struggling gentlemen, remonstrating with them, and near-sobbing in his distress: for how unfortunate it was, that his first experience as comptroller of a Spiritualist session, should end in such chaos!
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! You must come to your senses!” the distracted young man cried. Whereupon a vast assemblage of spirits laughed heartily—and the cruel gas jets glowed stronger than ever.
THE INVESTIGATION OF the Society for Psychical Research into the mediumship of Deirdre of the Shadows became a landmark in American Spiritualist research, and acquired notoriety, as I hardly need record, far beyond Spiritualist circles. That two examiners were tormented by spirits to their deaths, and a third examiner so deranged that his relatives were soon obliged to hospitalize him, impressed upon the scientific community the gravity of taking too lightly Spiritualist claims; and impressed upon the public in general the formidable powers of Spirit World. It goes without saying that Deirdre of the Shadows became so famous, and so sought after, that she was obliged to go into seclusion for some months—and to afterward accept, as her clients, only a very élite group of ladies and gentlemen, whose fidelity to Spiritualism, and whose fervor in supporting its necessary worldly accoutrements, were exemplary.
“How very extraordinary!” Mr. Orlando Vandenhoffen was to observe, the following midday, when, at a late breakfast, he saw the blazing front page of the Tribune, with its lurid photographs, its two-inch red headlines, and exclamations. “How very—very—extraordinary!”
Malvinia, sensing that the news must concern her despised sister, grew deathly pale, but said not a word: indeed, she turned innocently aside, and occupied herself with rearranging a bunch of white and pink orchids, which had been delivered only minutes before.
“Ah, this medium—this ‘Deirdre of the Shadows’—I am grateful to you, dear Malvinia,” Vandenhoffen said, “for dissuading us from going to one of her sittings: for, as it turns out, she is not only a genuine medium, but a lethal one.”
Not noticing that his mistress remained silent, her back to him, he continued to read the article, muttering aloud, and sucking and pulling at his mustache, frequently interrupting himself with ejaculations of alarm and horrified amusement. “Egad, how is it possible!—and yet, and yet—it seems that it is possible—for the Tribune would hardly lie,” he said.
Malvinia succeeded in remaining silent, tho’ her heart fluttered, and a violent pulse raced in her throat; and she very nearly drew blood, by biting so hard upon her lower lip. I shall not inquire, I shall not know, she is nothing to me, I feel no curiosity, I am untouch’d. . . .
And finally, after much muttering and tsking, Vandenhoffen relieved her suspenseful curiosity, by saying, in an amazed voice: “It seems, my dear, that two gentlemen—a Dr. Eglinton, and a Professor Crosby—of whom, I must say, I have never heard—were tormented to death last night, before some fifty eyewitnesses, here in the city—by spirits. It is evidently the first such instance in recorded history, and it took place but a scant mile south, at Gramercy Park! Amazing! Two gentlemen said to be in excellent health, in the prime of life, staunch Rationalists, tormented to death by spirits—have you ever heard anything more astonishing? It was discovered that their faces and throats, and much of their bodies, were mutilated by thousands of tiny serrated teethmarks, which had filled in with blood. How very extraordinary,” Vandenhoffen mused uneasily. “One might suppose that—granting the existence of spirits, to begin with—they might have had the power to frighten the men to death: but to bite them to death, with such tiny teeth! Each of the victims, it says, lost less than a pint of blood; the wounds were quite superficial. Don’t you think, Malvinia,” Vandenhoffen said, turning to her, “it is all most extraordinary? And perhaps even ‘historical,’ in a manner of speaking?”
But Malvinia was staring sightlessly at the gorgeous orchids, which revealed, at their very centers—or did the terrified young woman imagine it?—tiny, almost imperceptible dots of red. For a long moment she was so transfixed, she could not speak; indeed, she could not move.
“I said, Malvinia,” Vandenhoffen repeated, his voice edged with a coolness that had become, alas, all too familiar in recent months, “I said, don’t you think it is all most extraordinary? This ‘Deirdre of the Shadows,’ and her carnivorous spirits, and the fact that two men were evidently murdered, not very distant from this room?”
Malvinia summoned the false, bright, brave strength of the stage, in giving an answer; and managed even to turn a pale, but quite composed, countenance to the gentleman who so resolutely addressed her. “Extraordinary? Such monstrousness? I might have said,” she murmured, pausing for dramatic effect, “that I expect nothing less, from such low and vulgar quarters.”
VII
“Unsung Americans ...”
FORTY-FOUR
Loving, unquestioning obedience! Dependence! Cheerful resignation! What can be sweeter? To submit oneself wholly and contentedly into the hand of another; to surrender all appetite for the grossness of Self; to cease taking thought about oneself at all, and rest in safe harbor, at last, content to know that in great things and small we shall be guided and cherished, guarded and helped—ah, how delicious!—how precious! Even the poet Alexander Pope, who in other instances reveals a low, coarse, jesting soul beneath his smooth-tongu’d verse, spoke with rare wisdom when he penned—
She who ne’er answers till a husband cools,
Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules,
Charms by accepting, by submitting, sways,
Yet has her humour most, when she obeys.
Our subject of course is Christian marriage: that treasure so ignorantly spurned by three of our young Zinn ladies, in their frenzied quest for their own fortunes in the wide world, and, for a long period, held in contempt by a fourth: but never doubted by the fifth, our dear Octavia.
Octavia Theodora Zinn, blessèd in her station as Mrs. Lucius Rumford, of historic Rumford Hall. Wife and mother and mistress of a household: and as exemplary in all roles, as she had been while dwelling in the Octagonal House, as the loving daughter of excellent parents!
That a devout and dutiful Christian wife accepted with gratitude the vicissitudes of marital life, seeking rather to fulfill herself as her husband’s belovèd helpmeet, than to pursue her own vanities, was never doubted by sweet Octavia; and accounts for much of the placidity and industry and prayerful contentment of her nature, during even the perilous years of this chronicle. By intrinsic temperament docile, trusting, and unquestioning, this well-bred young lady did not pine after an unseemly independence, whether of fortune or spirit; nor did she truly require instruction, by her religious mentor Reverend Hewett, or the elder ladies of the family, or such conscientious handbooks as those authored by Miss Edwina Kiddemaster, to comprehend the fact that the Husband is the natural head of the household, and that Our Heavenly Father is never more pleased than when His authority is honored, albeit on the humble, earthly plane, in the eager submission of Wife to spouse. To love, honor, and obey—never were these sacred words more gravely whispered, than by Octavia, as she knelt trembling at the altar of Trinity Church, beside her God-chosen bridegroom Mr. Rumford.
(If I feel compelled, at this point, to introduce the unhappy fact that, wit
hin a scant fourteen years of her marriage, the courageous Octavia was to mourn no less than three deaths, it is not with the coarse intention of dismaying the reader, but only to assure, in the very next breath, that these several tragedies merely strengthened Octavia’s Christian faith, and compelled the innocent young woman to assume a stoic and matronly dignity all observers were to find most exemplary. “Dear child!” Great-Aunt Edwina herself was to exclaim, with tearful visage, upon the occasion of the third of these unlook’d-for deaths, forcibly clasping her niece’s chill hands in her own; “how far you have journeyed, in so brief a span of time!—and with what remarkable bravery, equal, indeed, to any exhibited by any Kiddemaster, male or female, throughout our long history!” Whereupon the silently weeping Octavia replied, with dignity, and, it may have been, some slight pity for her agèd relative, who, in these final years, was increasingly susceptible to emotional spasms: “Ah, dear Aunt! It is Our Heavenly Father who guides us, and Jesus Christ who hourly grants me strength! I cannot claim a mortal source for bravery, not even in my precious Kiddemaster blood; nor in that fortitude I have some small hope of having inherited, from my belovèd father as well.” The piety of such an answer splendidly revealing, to even the most skeptical of observers, the Christian excellence of which I have been speaking.)
THUS SMOOTH-BROW’D OCTAVIA; whilst her wanton sisters plunge ever more distantly outward, in the perilous waters beyond Bloodsmoor.
That Octavia nonetheless harbored a protracted, albeit surreptitious and even outlaw, interest in their fates, and sought news of “Malvinia Morloch” and “Deirdre of the Shadows” whenever she could (usually by laying hands upon Philadelphia papers and magazines thoughtlessly brought to the country, by visiting relatives), and eagerly, tho’ futilely, sought news of Constance Philippa, is surely not to be charged against her, but attributed, I insist, to a chronic softness of sentiment in her nature: as well as to her stubborn sisterliness, kept wisely hidden from Mr. Rumford (who would have been greatly incensed by it), as it had been hidden, for years, from Mr. and Mrs. Zinn. (Both the elder Zinns continued to forbid all mention of their renegade daughters in the Octagonal House, which sometimes caused confusion in Mr. Zinn’s devoted assistant Nahum, who had reason to guess that Samantha had other siblings beside Octavia, yet hesitated to inquire, for fear of seeming impertinent, or awakening an old distress. By the time of Octavia’s wedding to Mr. Rumford, however, all visible traces of Malvinia, Deirdre, and Constance Philippa had vanished from the household, and even those melodies favored, at the piano, by Malvinia, stood permanently banned. For such was John Quincy Zinn’s hurt, and, it may have been, his manly pride as well, that he contented himself with believing his daughters dead, as well as disgraced; and the obedient Prudence wordlessly concurred in his judgment.)