THE MEDIUMSHIP OF BESSIE FITZGERALD.
One evening I went to have a cup of tea with my friend Miss Schonberg at
Shepherd's Bush, when she proposed that we should go and have a _seance_
with Mrs. Henry Jencken (Kate Fox), who lived close by. I hailed the
idea, as I had heard such great things of the medium in question, and
never had an opportunity of testing them. Consequently, I was
proportionately disappointed when, on sending round to her house to ask
if she could receive us that evening, we received a message to say that
Mr. Jencken, her husband, had died that morning, and she could see no
one. Miss Schonberg and I immediately cast about in our minds to see
what we should do with our time, and she suggested we should call on
Mrs. Fitzgerald. "Who is Mrs. Fitzgerald?" I queried. "A wonderful
medium," replied my friend, "whom I met at Mrs. Wilson's last week, and
who gave me leave to call on her. Let us go together." And accordingly
we set forth for Mrs. Fitzgerald's residence in the Goldhawk Road. I
only mention these circumstances to show how utterly unpremeditated was
my first visit to her. We arrived at her house, and were ushered into a
sitting-room, Miss Schonberg only sending up her name. In a few minutes
the door opened, and a small, fair woman, dressed in black velvet,
entered the room. Miss Schonberg saluted her, and was about to tender
some explanation regarding _my_ presence there, when Mrs. Fitzgerald
walked straight up to me and took my hand. Her eyes seemed to dilate and
contract, like the opening and shutting off of a light, in a manner
which I have often seen since, and she uttered rapidly, "You have been
married once; you have been married twice; and you will be married a
third time." I answered, "If you know anything, Mrs. Fitzgerald, you
must know that I am very much attached to my husband, and that your
information can give me no pleasure to hear." "No!" she said, "no! I
suppose not, but you cannot alter Fate." She then proceeded to speak of
things in my past life which had had the greatest influence over the
whole of it, occurrences of so private and important a nature that it
becomes impossible to write them down here, and for that very reason
doubly convincing to the person whom they concern. Presently Mrs.
Fitzgerald wandered to her piano, and commenced to play the air of the
ballad so firmly connected in my mind with John Powles, "Thou art gone
from my gaze," whilst she turned and nodded at me saying, "_He's_ here!"
In fact, after a couple of hours' conversation with her, I felt that
this stranger in the black velvet dress had turned out every secret of
my life, and laid it naked and bare before me. I was wonderfully
attracted to her. Her personality pleased me; her lonely life, living
with her two babies in the Goldhawk Road, made me anxious to give her
society and pleasure, and her wonderful gifts of clairvoyance and trance
mediumship, all combined to make me desire her friendship, and I gave
her a cordial invitation to my house in the Regent's Park, where for
some years she was a constant visitor, and always sure of a hearty
welcome. It was due to her kindness that I first had the opportunity to
study trance mediumship at my leisure, and in a short time we became so
familiar with her most constant control, "Dewdrop," a Red Indian girl,
and so accustomed to speak through Mrs. Fitzgerald with our own friends
gone before, that we welcomed her advent to our house as the signal for
holding a spiritual party. For the sake of the uninitiated and curious,
I think I had better here describe what is meant by trance mediumship. A
person thus gifted has the power of giving him or herself up to the
control of the influences in command, who send him or her off to sleep,
a sleep so deep and so like death that the spirit is actually parted
_pro tem_ from the body, which other spirits, sometimes living, but far
oftener dead, enter and use as if it were their own. I have mentioned in
my chapter on "Embodied Spirits" how my living friend in India conversed
with me through Bessie Fitzgerald in this way, also how "Florence" spoke
to me through the unconscious lips of Mabel Keningale Cook.
Of course, I am aware that it would be so easy for a medium simply to
close her eyes, and, professing to be entranced, talk a lot of
commonplaces, which open-mouthed fools might accept as a new gospel,
that it becomes imperative to test this class of media strictly by _what
they utter_, and to place no faith in them until you are convinced that
the matters they speak of cannot possibly have been known to any one
except the friend whose mouthpiece they profess to be. All this I fully
proved for myself from repeated trials and researches; but the
unfortunate part of it is, that the more forcible and convincing the
private proof, the more difficult it is to place it before the public. I
must content myself, therefore, with saying that some of my dead friends
(so called) came back to me so frequently through Bessie Fitzgerald, and
familiarized themselves so completely with my present life, that I
forgot sometimes that they had left this world, and flew to them (or
rather to Bessie) to seek their advice or ask their sympathy as
naturally as if she were their earthly form. Of these my daughter
"Florence" was necessarily the most often with me, and she and "Dewdrop"
generally divided the time which Mrs. Fitzgerald spent with us between
them. I never saw a control so completely identified with its medium as
"Dewdrop" was with Bessie. It was difficult at times to know which was
which, and one could never be certain until she spoke whether the spirit
or the medium had entered the house. When she _did_ speak, however,
there was no mistaking them. Their characters were so different. Bessie
Fitzgerald, a quiet, soft spoken little woman, devoted to her children,
and generally unobtrusive; "Dewdrop," a Sioux Indian girl, wary and deep
as her tribe and cute and saucy as a Yankee, with an amount of devilry
in her that must at times have proved very inconvenient. She used to
play Mrs. Fitzgerald tricks in those days that might have brought her
into serious trouble, such as controlling her whilst travelling in an
omnibus, and talking her Yankee Indian to the passengers until she had
made their hair stand on end, with the suspicion that they had a lunatic
for a companion. One evening we had a large and rather "swell" evening
party, chiefly composed of ladies and gentlemen of the theatrical
profession, and entirely of non-spiritualists, excepting ourselves. Mrs.
Fitzgerald had been invited to this party, and declined, because it was
out of her line. We were therefore rather astonished, when all the
guests were assembled, to hear her name announced and see her enter the
room in a morning dress. Directly I cast eyes upon her, however, I saw
that it was not herself, but "Dewdrop." The stride with which she
walked, the waggish way she rolled from side to side, the devilry in her
eye, all betokened the Indian control. To make matters worse, she went
straight up to Colonel Lean, and, throwing herself on the ground at his
feet, affectionately laid her head upon his knee, and said, "I'se come
to the party." Imagine the astonishment of our guests! I was obliged at
once, in defence of my friend, to explain to them how matters stood; and
though they looked rather incredulous, they were immensely interested,
and "Dewdrop's" visit proved to be _the_ event of the evening. She
talked to each one separately, telling them home truths, and prophesying
their future in a way that made their cheeks go pale with fright, or red
with conscious shame, and there was quite a contest between the men as
to who should take "Dewdrop" down to the supper table. When there, she
made herself particularly lively, making personal remarks aloud that
were, in some instances, rather trying to listen to, and which Bessie
Fitzgerald would have cut out her tongue sooner than utter. She ate,
too, of dishes which would have made Bessie ill for a week. This was
another strange peculiarity of "Dewdrop's" control. She not only ousted
the spirit; she regulated the internal machinery of her medium's body.
Bessie in her normal condition was a very delicate woman with a weak
heart and lungs, and obliged to be most careful in her diet. She ate
like a sparrow, and of the simplest things. "Dewdrop," on the other
hand, liked indigestible food, and devoured it freely; yet Bessie has
told me that she never felt any inconvenience from the food amalgamated
with her system whilst under "Dewdrop's" control. One day when Mrs.
Fitzgerald was dining with us, we had some apples at dessert, which she
would have liked to partake of, but was too much afraid of the after
consequences. "I _dare_ not," she said; "if I were to eat a raw apple, I
should have indigestion for a week." She took some preserved ginger
instead; and we were proceeding with our dessert, when I saw her hand
steal out and grasp an apple. I looked in her face. "Dewdrop" had taken
her place. "Dewdrop," I said, authoritatively, "you must not eat that.
You will hurt Bessie. Put it down directly."
"I shan't," replied "Dewdrop," drawing the dish towards her; "I like
apples. I'm always wanting 'Medy' to eat them, and she won't, so she
must go away till I've had as many as I want." And in effect she ate
three or four of them, and Bessie would never have been cognizant of the
fact unless I had informed her. On the occasion of the party to which
she came uninvited, "Dewdrop" remained with us to the very last, and
went home in a cab, and landed Mrs. Fitzgerald at her house without her
being aware that she had ever left it. At that time we were constantly
at each other's houses, and many an evening have I spent alone with
Bessie in the Goldhawk Road, her servant out marketing and her little
children asleep in the room overhead. Her baby was then a great fat
fellow of about fifteen months old, who was given to waking and crying
for his mother. If "Dewdrop" were present, she was always very impatient
with these interruptions. "Bother dat George," she would say; "I must go
up and quiet him." Then she would disappear for a few minutes, while
Bessie woke and talked to me, and then, in the twinkling of an eye,
"Dewdrop" would be back again. One day, apparently, "George" would not
be comforted, for on "Dewdrop's" return she said to me, "It's no good;
I've had to bring him down. He's on the mat outside the door;" and
there, sure enough, we found the poor baby wailing in his nightshirt.
Not being able to walk, how he had been spirited from the top storey to
the bottom I leave my readers to determine. Bessie's little girl Mabel
promised to be as wonderful a medium as her mother. She would come in
from the garden flushed from her play with the "spirit-children," of
whom she talked as familiarly as of her little neighbors next door. I
have watched her playing at ball with an invisible child, and have seen
the ball thrown, arrested half-way in the air, and then tossed back
again just as if a living child had been Mab's opponent. I had lost
several infants from premature birth during my second marriage, and the
eldest of these, a girl, appeared to be a constant companion of Mabel's.
She was always talking of what "Mrs. Lean's girl" (as she called her)
had done and said; and one day she had a violent fit of weeping because
her mother would not promise to buy her a frock like the one "Mrs.
Lean's girl" wore.
_Apropos_ of these still-born children, I had a curious experience with
Mrs. Fitzgerald. I had had no idea until then that children so born
possessed any souls, or lived again, but "Florence" undeceived me when
she told me she had charge of her little brothers and sisters. She even
professed to know the names by which they were known in the spirit
world. When a still-born baby is launched upon the other side, she said
it is delivered over to the nearest relative of its parent, to be called
by what name he may choose. Thus my first girl was christened by Colonel
Lean's mother "Gertrude," after a bosom friend of hers, and my second my
father named "Joan," as he said it was his favorite female name. Upon
subsequent inquiry, we found that Mrs. Lean _had_ a friend called
"Gertrude," and that "Joan" was distinctly Captain Marryat's _beau
ideal_ of a woman's name. However, that signified but little. I became
very curious to see or speak with these unknown babies of mine, and used
to worry "Florence" to bring them to me. She would expostulate with me
after this fashion: "Dear mother, be reasonable. Remember what babies
they are, and that this world is quite strange to them. When your
earthly children were small you never allowed them to be brought down
before strangers, for fear they should cry. 'Gertie' and 'Yonnie' would
behave just the same if I brought them back to you now." However, I went
on teasing her till she made the attempt, and "Gertie" returned through
Mrs. Fitzgerald. It was a long time before we could coax her to remain
with us, and when she overcame her first shyness, it was like talking to
a little savage. "Gertie" didn't know the meaning of anything, or the
names of anything. Her incessant questions of "What's a father?" "What a
mother?" "What's a dog?" were very difficult to answer; but she would
chatter about the spirit-world, and what she did there, as glibly as
possible. She told us that she knew her brother Francis (the lad who was
drowned at sea) very well, and she "ran races, and Francis 'chivied'
her; and when he caught her, he held her under the fountain, and the
spray wetted her frock, and made it look like silver." The word
"_chivied_" sounding to me very much of a mundane character, I asked
"Gertie" where she learned it; and she said, "Francis says 'chivy,' so
_I_ may," and it was indeed a common expression with him. "Gertie" took,
after a while, such a keen interest in my ornaments and china, rather to
their endangerment, that I bought a doll to see if she would play with
it. At first she was vastly delighted with the "little spirit," as she
called it, and nursed it just as a mortal child would have done. But
when she began to question me as to the reason the doll did not look at
her, or answer her, or move about, and I said it was because it was not
alive, she was dreadfully disappointed. "_Not alive!_" she echoed;
"didn't God make it?" and when I replied in the negative, she threw it
to the other end of the room, and would never look at it again.
"Gertie" was about five years old at this period, and seemed to have a
great idea of her own importance. She always announced herself as "The
Princess Gertie," and was very dignified in her behavior. One day, when
a lady friend was present when "Gertie" came and asked her to kiss her,
she extended her hand instead of her face, saying, "You may kiss my
hand."
"Yonnie" (as "Joan" called herself) was but eighteen months old, and
used to manifest herself, _roaring_ like a child forcibly dragged before
strangers, and the only word we could ever extract from her was
"Sugar-plums." Accordingly, I invested in some for her benefit, with
which she filled her mouth so full as nearly to choke the medium, and
"Florence" rebuked me seriously for my carelessness, and threatened
never to bring "Yonnie" down to this earth again. There had been three
other children--boys--whom I was equally anxious to see again, but, for
some inexplicable reason, "Florence" said it was impossible that they
could manifest. The little girls, however, came until we were quite
familiar with them. I am aware that all this must sound very childish,
but had it not borne a remarkable context, I should not have related it.
All the wonder of it will be found later on.
Mrs. Fitzgerald suffered very much at this time from insomnia, which she
always declared was benefitted after a visit to me. I proposed one
night, therefore, when she had stayed with us later than usual, that she
should remain and share my bed, and return home in the morning. She
consented, and at the usual hour we retired to rest together, I taking
care to lock the bedroom door and keep the gas burning; indeed, Bessie
was so nervous of what she might see that she would not have remained in
the dark for any consideration. The bed we occupied was what is called a
half tester, with a canopy and curtains on either side. As soon as ever
Bessie got into it, she burrowed under the clothes like a dormouse, and
went fast asleep. I was too curious to see what might happen to follow
her example, so my head remained on the pillow, and my eyes wide open,
and turning in every direction. Presently I saw the curtains on the
opposite side of the bed gently shaken, next a white hand and arm
appeared round them, and was passed up and down the ridge that
represented Bessie Fitzgerald's body; finally, after several times
stepping forward and retreating again, a female figure emerged and
walked to the foot of the bedstead and stood there regarding me. She
was, to all appearance, as solidly formed as any human creature could
be, and she was as perfectly distinct as though seen by daylight. Her
head and bust reminded me at once of the celebrated "Clytie," they were
so classically and beautifully formed. Her hair and skin were fair, her
eyes luminously liquid and gentle, her whole attitude one of modest
dignity. She was clothed in some creamy white material, thick and soft,
and intermixed with dull gold. She wore no ornaments, but in her right
hand she carried a long branch of palm, or olive, or myrtle, something
tall and tapering, and of dark green. She scarcely could be said to
smile at me, but there was an indescribable appearance of peace and
tranquillity about her. When I described this apparition to Bessie in
the morning, she recognized it at once as that of her control,
"Goodness," whom she had seen clairvoyantly, but she affirmed that I was
the only person who had ever given her a correct description of this
influence, which was the best and purest about her. After "Goodness" had
remained in the same position for a few minutes, she walked back again
behind the curtain, which served as a cabinet, and "Florence" came out
and had a whispered conversation with me. Next a dark face, but only a
face, said to be that of "Dewdrop," peeped out four or five times, and
disappeared again; then a voice said, "No more! good-night," and I
turned round to where Bessie lay sleeping beside me, and went to sleep
myself. After that, she often came, when suffering worse than usual from
insomnia, to pass the night with me, as she said my magnetism caused her
to sleep, and similar manifestations always occurred when we were alone
and together.
Mrs. Fitzgerald's mediumship was by no means used, however, for the sole
purpose of gratifying curiosity or foretelling the future. She was a
wonderful medical diagnoser, and sat for a long time in the service of a
well-known medical man. She would be ensconced in a corner of his
waiting-room and tell him the exact disease of each patient that
entered. She told me she could see the inside of everybody as perfectly
as though they were made of glass. This gift, however, induced her to
take on a reflection (as it were) of the disease she diagnosed, and
after a while her failing strength compelled her to give it up. Her
control "Dewdrop" was what she called herself, "a metal spirit," _i.e._,
her advice was very trustworthy with regard to all speculations and
monetary transactions. Many stockbrokers and city men used regularly to
consult Bessie before they engaged in any speculation, and she received
many valuable presents in return for her assistance in "making a pile."
One gentleman, indeed, settled a large sum of money when he died on her
little son in gratitude for the fortune "Dewdrop" had helped him to
accumulate. Persons who sneer at Spiritualism and declare it to be
useless, little know how much advantage is taken of spiritual
forethought and prevision by those who believe in it. I have never been
sorry but when I have neglected to follow the advice of a medium whom I
had proved to be trustworthy.
In the autumn of 1883 I introduced my own entertainment of "Love
Letters" to the provincial British public, and it had an immediate and
undeniable success. My engagements poured in rapidly, and I had already
booked dates for the whole spring of 1884, when Mr. Edgar Bruce offered
me an engagement at the Prince of Wales' (then the Prince's) Theatre,
about to be opened in Piccadilly. I had been anxiously waiting to obtain
an engagement on the London boards, and was eager to accept it; still, I
did not know if I would be wise in relinquishing my provincial
engagements. I wrote to Bessie to ask "Dewdrop" what I should do; the
answer was, "Don't accept, only a flash in the pan." Thereupon I sent to
Mr. Bruce to ask how long the engagement was likely to last, and his
answer was that he expected "The Palace of Truth" to run a year at
least, and at any rate I was to consider myself one of a "stock
company." Thereupon I cancelled all my entertainment engagements,
returned to London, appeared at the Prince's Theatre for just _eleven_
_weeks_, and got into four law suits with my disappointed patrons for my
trouble.
It is one of the commonest remarks made by stupid people, "If the
spirits know anything, let them tell me the name of the winner of the
Derby, and then I will believe them," etc. I was speaking of this once
to "Dewdrop," and she said, "We _could_ tell if we choose, but we are
not allowed to do so. If Spiritualism was generally used for such
things, all the world would rush to it in order to cheat one another.
But if you will promise me not to open it until after the Derby is run,
I will give you the name of the winner now in a sealed envelope, to
prove that what I say is the truth." We gave her the requisite
materials, and she made a few pencil marks on a piece of paper, and
sealed it up. It was the year that "Shotover" won the Derby. The day
after the race, we opened the envelope and found the drawing of a man
with a gun in his hand, a hedge, and a bird flying away on the other
side; very sketchy, but perfectly intelligible to one who could read
between the lines.
I was at the theatre one night with Bessie in a box, when I found out
that "Dewdrop" had taken her place. "Dewdrop" was very fond of going to
the play, and her remarks were so funny and so naive as to keep one
constantly amused. Presently, between the acts, she said to me, "Do you
see that man in the front row of the stalls with a bald head, sitting
next to the old lady with a fat neck?" I replied I did. "Now you watch,"
said "Dewdrop;" "I'm going down there to have some fun. First I'll
tickle the old man's head, and then I'll scratch the old woman's neck.
Now, you and 'Medie' watch." The next moment Bessie spoke to me in her
own voice, and I told her what "Dewdrop" proposed to do. "Oh, poor
things!" she said, compassionately, "how she will torment them!" To
watch what followed was a perfect farce. First, the old man put his hand
up to his bald head, and then he took out his handkerchief and flicked
it, then he rubbed it, and finally _scrubbed_ it to alleviate the
increasing irritation. Then the old lady began the same business with
her neck, and finding it of no avail, glared at the old man as if she
thought _he_ had done it; in fact, they were both in such evident
torture that there was no doubt "Dewdrop" had kept her promise. When she
returned to me she said, "There! didn't you see me walking along the
front row of stalls, in my moccasins and beads and feathers, and all my
war-paint on, tickling the old fellow's head?" "I didn't _see_ you,
'Dewdrop,'" I answered, "but I'm sure you were there." "Ah! but the old
fellow _felt_ me, and so did the old girl," she replied.
Bessie Fitzgerald is now Mrs. Russell Davies, and carries on her
_seances_ in Upper Norwood. No one who attends them can fail to feel
interested in the various phenomena he will meet with there.