CURIOUS PSYCHIC EXPERIENCES
After my father's death I began to live a much more independent life. I
was financially independent, and I proceeded to London, where I felt I
would have a wider range of intellectual companionship. I lived in
hotels and dispensed with all chaperonage, thus leaving myself free to
join my mother on the Riviera in the early spring months.
I never cared for dancing, and always having had the companionship of
people who were years older than myself, I had made few girl friends. My
first cousin, Lady Campbell, wife of Sir Guy Campbell, Bart., 60th
Rifles, and another first cousin, Menie Muriel Dowie, were the only two
I really saw much of.
Lady Campbell was, and is, a very attractive woman, possessed of great
charm of manner. Exceedingly cultured and intelligent, she is also an
artist to her finger tips. As girls we used to be fond of attending
Queen Victoria's Drawing-rooms. A bevy of us would take lunch with us in
the carriages, and thoroughly enjoy our day out. I was the last woman to
kiss the hand of Queen Victoria at a Drawing-room. I was stopped by a
Court official just as I was moving forward, and told to wait as "Her
Majesty is going to withdraw." The present Dowager Queen Alexandra, as
Princess of Wales, then took her place. On this occasion I heard the
Queen say, "Let this lady pass." I was then told to proceed.
Being very tall I had always a certain difficulty in getting down low
enough to kiss the tiny Queen's hand. After I had passed, and as I
backed out of "the presence," I saw Her Majesty being assisted out of
the queer little half chair, half stool she used. She never held another
Drawing-room, and I regret that, being abroad, I had not the honor of
making a last curtsy to the little coffin as it passed through the
streets of London.
Menie Muriel Dowie was a brilliant bohemian, as can be gathered by those
who have read her book, "A Girl in the Carpathians." I have never known
any woman who was possessed of so many natural talents. She is as much
at home in skilled and polished diplomacy as in practical agriculture.
She has always been a great traveler, yet a delicate woman. Only her
indomitable spirit kept her going in her youth, as it still does in her
beautiful house in Green Street, and her model farm in Gloucestershire.
My greatest older friends were Mrs. Lynn Linton, the novelist, Browning,
the poet, Lord Leighton, the painter, and Mrs. Proctor, widow of Barry
Cornwall, and mother of Adelaide Proctor, the poet. All people old
enough to be my parents.
I had a great admiration for Mrs. Lynn Linton's strong, cold intellect;
it was so invigorating, and she was so self-reliant, an uncommon thing
for a woman to be in those days. We had long arguments over matters
occult, but I never could make the least impression upon her strong
materialism. "I won't leave this earth even with you," she used to
protest. She was a great friend and admirer of my aunt, Lady Priestley,
also a woman of very fine intellect, who devoted herself to scientific
pursuits. Had she been a man, or had she lived in the present day, when
woman has at last come into her own, she would have made a very strong
mark.
Robert Browning, whom I had known for some years, used to drop in very
often to have a chat, and I rejoiced in him exceedingly as a born mystic
of a high order. We often discussed the possibility of his work being
directed from the other side, and we argued as to whether he received
inspiration from various quarters, or whether he was the beloved of some
poet of a former age, who, active still in the spirit world, expressed
his great thoughts through Robert Browning on earth. So many people at
that time frankly said they could not understand Browning's poetry, and
this I told him was to be attributed to lack of the mystic perception.
Now that mysticism has so enormously developed, his work is much more
comprehensive to the world.
I had alas! only one year of really close friendship with him, for he
died the year after I came to London.
One curious thing Browning told me.
He dropped in one night to see me, after dinner at a house where
Millais, the painter, had been one of the guests.
"Johnnie Millais told me an odd thing to-night," he said. "He's
constantly seeing figures appearing and disappearing on the face of the
canvas he's working upon."
"What sort of figures?" I asked.
Browning shot out his cuff.
"Here they are. I knew you'd be interested, so I took them down for you.
Better write them down for yourself, but don't mention the subject to
him or any of his family."
I fetched a piece of paper and copied from Browning's cuff.
"13. 1.8.9.6. The figures don't always come in that order," he said,
"but more often than not they do. The 13 always comes up as 13, but he's
seen 9.6.1.8. What do you make of it?"
"At present nothing, but the future may throw light upon the
phenomenon," I answered.
I never mentioned this occurrence to any one, and, indeed, forgot all
about it till some years after Millais' death, when I came upon my notes
in an old box. I then realized that the great painter had been looking
upon the dates of his own death. He died on August 13th, 1896.
One night some one, I have not the least idea who, came to me in my
sleep and bade me take up pencil and paper, and write to dictation.
Still sound asleep I did as I was bidden. I always kept writing
materials by my bedside.
In the morning I remembered nothing of this till my eye fell upon some
sheets of paper. The writing upon them was mine, but very big and
untidy. Then I recollected the command I had received in the night and
eagerly read what I had written. Here it is. I gave Browning a copy as
he was so deeply interested--
"A solitary cottage stood on the edge of a bleak moorland. The sun
sank behind the low horizon, and left marshy pools glowing like
living opals. A stream of homeward flying rooks made a streak of
indigo across the topaz sky where gauzy wind-riven clouds floated
westward. The sacred hush of eventide brooded under the calm wings
of night.
"Out on the waste wandered the Angel of 'Sleep,' and the Angel of
'Death' with arms fraternally entwined, and whilst the brotherly
genii embraced each other, night stole down with velvet footfall,
and the green stars peered forth.
"Then the Angel of Sleep shook from out his hands the invisible
grains of slumber, and bade the night wind waft them o'er the
world. And soon the child in its cradle, the tired mother, the aged
man, and the pain-laden woman were at peace. The curfew tolled out
from the distant hamlet and then was still.
"Inside the cottage a rushlight burned faintly, indicating the
poverty of the room, and illuminating the death-like features of
the boy who lay on the bed. By his side, worn out, sat the father,
his horny hand clasped in that of his child.
"And the two brother Angels advanced, hand in hand, and peered in
at the window, and the Angel of Sleep said: 'Behold how gracious a
thing it is, that we can visit this humble dwelling and scatter
grains of slumber around, and send oblivion to the weary watcher. I
am beloved and courted by all. How merciful is our vocation.' And
silently he entered the room.
"He kissed the eyelids of the weary watcher, and as he did so some
grains fell from out the wreath of scarlet poppies that lay like
drops of blood upon his brow.
"But the Angel of Death sat without, his pallid face shrouded in
the sable of his wings.
"And he spake to the Angel of Sleep, 'Of a truth thou art happy and
beloved. The welcome guest of all, whereas I am shunned, the door
is barred as against a secret foe, and I am counted the enemy of
the world.'
"But the Angel of Sleep wiped away the immortal tears from the dark
and mournful eyes of his brother Death.
"'Are we not children born of the one Father?' said he, 'and do not
the good call thee friend, and the lonely, the homeless, the weary
laden bless thy hallowed name when they wake in Paradise.'
"And the Angel of Death unfurled his sable wings and took heart.
And as Lucifer the light-bringer paled in the violet Heavens he
silently entered the dwelling. With his golden scythe he cut the
silver cord of life, and gathered the child to his faithful bosom."
The evenings I most enjoyed were those I spent in the studio of Felix
Moscheles, the great apostle of peace. There one met all the genius and
talent in London, and any genius of foreign nationality who happened to
be visiting England. The cosmopolitan element always attracted me, and I
went to several frankly revolutionary houses, where red ties flaunted,
and where those Russian Nihilists found a welcome who were constantly
rushing over here to escape Siberia. Through them I learned to
understand what the real woes of Russia were, and to expect the present
revolution as the inevitable result of brutal repression and
misgovernment.
During one winter at Nice I renewed my acquaintance with one of the most
remarkable mystics of modern times, Marie, Countess of Caithness and
Duchesse de Pomar.
I had first met her in Edinburgh in 1872 when she was on the eve of her
second marriage with Lord Caithness. My father and mother attended her
very quiet wedding. Now we met again many years after at her beautiful
home, the Palais Tiranty, Nice. Lady Caithness was widowed for the
second time, Lord Caithness having died in 1881, and lived alone with
her devoted son, the Duc de Pomar. She had a magnificent home in Paris,
"Holyrood," Avenue Wagram. This house contained a large lecture hall
filled with gilt chairs, and hung round with fine pictures. Leading from
this hall down a flight of marble stairs one came to a chapel or seance
room, used for direct communication with the spirit of Mary Stuart, and
said to have been built "under the Queen's instructions."
This presupposes Queen Mary to be still on "the other side." Other
occultists maintain that she has reincarnated again in the person of a
very old Empress, who still lives on earth.
It has been often said of Lady Caithness that she believed herself to be
the reincarnation of Mary Stuart. During all the years I knew her
intimately I never heard her even hint at such a belief, and the fact
that she believed herself to be in touch with the Queen on "the other
side" precludes in my opinion the possibility of her having formed such
a conception.
What may have given rise to the suggestion was the fact that she dressed
after the fashion of the Scottish Queen, and was surrounded by "Mary
relics." Also, there is no doubt that she had a deeply sympathetic
interest in the unfortunate Queen, and had elevated her memory into what
amounted almost to a religion. In the chapel there is a full length
lovely portrait of Mary, which is so lighted and arranged that it gives
the impression of a living woman. Leading out of the dining-room was the
bedroom of Lady Caithness, a sumptuous apartment. The bed was a state
bed, plumes of ostrich feathers uprose at each corner. At one end was a
crown, and behind the pillows was a fresco painting representing Jacob's
Ladder, with a multitude of angels ascending and descending. Often Lady
Caithness received in bed, as was the habit of the French Queens of
former days.
The jewels possessed by Lady Caithness were the most gorgeous I have
ever seen. Nothing worn by crowned heads, at the many English Courts I
have attended, were comparable to them. I can remember an Edinburgh
jeweler inviting my father and me to inspect some diamonds belonging to
her that he was cleaning. There was a long chain of huge diamonds
reaching to the knees, with a cross attached, which no casual observer,
not possessing the jeweler's guarantee as we did, would have believed to
be genuine. When standing receiving her guests in the beautiful salons
of the Palais Tiranty, clad in crimson velvet, she looked a very
wonderful figure, for she possessed exceptional personal beauty as well.
As may be supposed, a woman of such commanding presence who was known to
possess a deep interest in the occult, could secure the services of the
best mediums the world over. I sat with her through many seances,
successful, barren, and indifferent, conducted by mediums of various
nationalities. I remember one conducted by a South American medium,
where the "controls" became very noisy and troublesome, and threatened
to do serious damage. The medium could not be roused out of the trance
she had fallen into, and it had really become necessary to put an end to
the performance. She was a very big, heavy woman, and had sunk half off
her chair on to the floor. I suggested to Lady Caithness that if we
could drag or carry her into another room matters might then quiet down,
but I added dubiously, "She must be a great weight."
Lady Caithness replied with a smile: "Try. You'll probably find her very
light indeed."
I did try, and this was the only time in my life that I had the
opportunity of proving to myself how tremendously a medium loses weight
whilst genuine manifestations are in progress. I found it quite easy to
lift this woman, who in ordinary circumstances must have weighed at
least twelve or thirteen stone.
Sir William Crookes has given to the world a very interesting account of
his work in weighing mediums, before and during materialization. He
always found that a great decrease in weight took place during the
materializations, proving how enormous is the drain on the strength of
the medium. Such evidence is most valuable, as coming from our greatest
chemist.
On this particular night I had no doubt as to the genuineness of the
medium. Had she been a fraud she would have stopped the seance at once,
on seeing how annoyed Lady Caithness was. She had every reason to
conciliate her, and was greatly distressed to hear that her services
would no longer be required. The troublesome spirits followed her into
the next room, but gradually subsided as we succeeded in bringing the
woman back out of her trance.
I used to go very often to the theater at Nice with Lady Caithness. She
had her own box, and often invited Don Carlos of Spain, and other
distinguished personages, to accompany her. One night we went to hear
the incomparable Judic. We were only a party of three, the third being
Prince Valori.
The Prince was then a man past middle age. He suggested a magnificent
ruin, retaining as he did the battered remains of great good looks, and
it was plain to see that his valet was exceedingly skillful. He
possessed also a European reputation for heiress hunting, but to the day
of his death he never succeeded in catching one, though it was said he
had pursued his quarry in all parts of the world. Perhaps the figure he
placed upon his ancient lineage and his personal charm was too high;
perhaps he had begun his quest too late in life, though the position of
a widowed Princess Valori would certainly not have been without
attraction. I attributed his single blessedness to quite a different
cause.
That night, whilst my attention was fixed on the stage, I became dimly
aware that some one had entered our box, but until the song was over I
did not turn round to look who it was. We always had visitors coming and
going. When at last I did glance round I saw nothing remarkable. Only a
man in fancy dress seated behind Valori, a man whom I had never seen
before.
At that period Nice went mad during the winter season. The most
extravagant amusements were entered into with a wild zest, by the very
cosmopolitan society of extremely wealthy people. There were fancy
dress balls every night somewhere, and no one thought it strange to see
bands of revelers in fancy costume walking about the streets and
thronging the cafes at all hours of the night.
I was not therefore astonished to see this man in fancy dress, leaning
familiarly over the back of Prince Valori's chair. He was a very thin
man, with very long, thin legs, and he was dressed entirely in chocolate
brown--a sort of close-fitting cowl was drawn over his head, and his
curious long, impish face was made more weird by small, sharply pointed
ears rising on each side of his head. He appeared to have "got himself
up" to look like a satyr, or some such mythical monstrosity. He was not
introduced to me at the moment, and other people entering our box whom I
knew, I forgot about him. When the box cleared before the next act I
noticed he had gone.
A week or so after this I went to a fancy dress ball given by a Russian
friend of mine--Princess Lina Galitzine. There was a great crowd, and a
number of Grand Dukes and Grand Duchesses, some of whom had driven long
distances from their villas and hotels in Mentone, Monte Carlo, and
Beaulieu, etc. I soon saw Prince Valori making his way towards me,
dressed very magnificently, in a French costume of the eighteenth
century. By his side moved the man in brown.
Now that I saw "the satyr" under brilliant light he struck me at once as
something peculiar. His walk was alone sufficient to attract attention.
He strutted on tiptoes, with a curious jerk with every step he made.
Those who remember Henry Irving's peculiar walk may form some idea of
"the satyr's" movements. They were Irving's immensely exaggerated. I
concluded that Valori was bringing him up to present him to me, but
such proved not to be his intention. Valori shook hands, coolly
requested the young American to whom I was talking to move off and find
some one to dance with, and seated himself in the vacated chair. "The
satyr" stood by his side and said nothing. I thought this very odd, and
glancing, whenever I could do so unobserved, at the silent brown figure,
I began to feel uneasy and shivery. It was impossible, whilst he stood
there listening to all we said, to ask Valori who he was, and no mention
was made of him.
As soon as I could I escaped to talk to some one else, and for an hour
or two I avoided both. During this time I asked several people who "the
satyr" was, but no one seemed to have noticed him in the crowd. At last,
when seated at supper with the late James Gordon Bennett, who did not
usually go to balls, but had looked in here for half an hour for some
purpose of his own, I found myself seated next to a very charming Pole,
married to a Russian, the Princess Schehoffskoi. I knew her to be a
genuine mystic, one of the group who first instituted spiritualism into
the Russian Court circles. I seized an opportunity, whilst Gordon
Bennett was occupied with some one else, to ask her who the brown satyr
was who had attached himself to Valori.
She was at once absorbed in the question, and, lowering her voice, she
said, "Why, how interesting! Don't you know that is his 'Familiar' who
is constantly in attendance upon him. People say they became attached
whilst he was attending a 'Sabbath' in the Vosges, and he can't get rid
of it."
"A Sabbath!" I echoed blankly.
"Yes! Surely you have heard of a 'Witch's Sabbath.' They still hold them
at Lutzei, and each person receives a 'Familiar.' Those 'Sabbaths' are
the most appalling orgies and hideously blasphemous. The 'Familiars'
have names--Minette, Verdelet, etc. I had an ancestor who owned a
'Familiar' called Sainte Buisson. His name was de Laski. Of course, he
was a Pole, and a Prince of Siradia, and he came across Dr. Dee, the
necromancer of Queen Elizabeth's time. They seem to have entered into a
sort of partnership."
All this the Princess told me quite seriously, and I found out later
from her that Satanism or devil worship was largely practiced in France.
It is interesting to note that the names of the French war mascots of
the moment are all taken from the names of well-known "Familiars" in
occult lore.
"Then the 'satyr' attached to Valori is not human flesh and blood; how
horrible!" I whispered back. "Have many people seen him? Is he always
there?"
The Princess nodded, "The clairvoyantes here all know about it, and I
myself have seen him, not here, but in Paris. I shall go in search of
Valori directly after supper."
"And I shall go home to bed," I answered.
The next morning I met Valori, alone, on the Promenade des Anglais. He
turned and strolled by my side, and I determined to put a straight
question. After a little trivial conversation I said, "By the way, who
is that brown man, dressed like a Satyr, who has been with you lately?"
I watched Valori's face as I put the question, and as I saw the change
that came over it I felt very sorry and ashamed of having spoken. He
looked so utterly dejected and miserable.
"You also?" he muttered, then fell to silence.
I gathered that the same question had been put to him before, and I
hastened to reassure him. "Don't answer. My question was impertinent;
let us speak of other things," I said hastily, but he remained silent,
staring down at the ground. Then suddenly he said--
"I am not the only one in the world so afflicted."
I did not pursue the subject. His words were true. That evening I
received a large bouquet of Russian violets, and on a card was written
the following French proverb:--"La reputation d'un homme est comme son
ombre, qui tantot le suit et tantot le precede; quelquefois elle est
plus longue et quelquefois plus courte que lui."
At that time the whole Riviera was swarming with professional
clairvoyantes, and it soon "got wind" that Prince Valori's "Familiar"
was walking about with him. He treated the matter almost as lightly as a
distinguished English General treated his "Familiar."
The Englishman, General Elliot, who commanded the forces in Scotland,
was a very well-known society man, about twenty-five years ago. He had a
name for his Familiar, "Wononi," and used actually to speak aloud with
him in the middle of a dinner-party. The General occupied a very
distinguished position, not only in his profession, but in the social
world, and to look at he was the very last man that one would associate
with matters occult.
In 1895 Marie, Duchesse de Pomar and Countess of Caithness, died. She
had the right to claim burial in Holyrood Chapel, and a very simple
stone marks her last resting-place. To her I owe the warmest friendship
of my life, for it was in her opera box I met the present Lady Treowen,
born a daughter of Lord Albert Conynghame, who afterwards became the
first Lord Londesborough. To the many who know and love her, Albertina
Treowen represents a type of perfect breeding, alas! fast becoming
extinct in these days. She has lived the reality of noblesse oblige, has
the rare gift of perfect friendship, and combines a rare refinement of
mind with strong moral courage.