New Fiction for Patrons: W.B. Yeats Summons the Spirits

"WB Yeats Summons the Spirits" is an extract is from A Life Before, which publishes later this year. The novel is narrated by the oldest woman in Ireland, Rosy Cross. In this extract, the young W.B. Yeats (20) continues his magical experiments and attends a Dublin séance, with sorry consequences.

Like most of his time and class, WB mixed mostly with Protestants (the Prods, as we liked to call them). However poor a Prod might be, their English ways put them above us. Above and away. The two religions hadn’t just separate churches. Different schools and shops and entertainment houses were also the order of them days. The young, however, were less separatist, especially the young of the creative classes and the usual boundaries could be dissolved by a shared interest. So it was in the case of W.B. and Mr John Corbet, who was a Papist (as the Prods liked to call us).

The young mens' mutual interest in the paranormal had brought them together and it was he who told W.B. about the séance held close by his home in Terenure, each Thursday at 7pm. Run by a gifted medium, according to Corbet. A Mrs Callaghan, who had an indirect line to the dead though a little girl called Lulu. She had put Corbet in touch with an aunt who’d divulged how much happier she was in the afterlife, now she was out of pain, and instructed him to tell his mother that she carried the yellow handkerchief she’d embroidered for her. His mother had been greatly touched and there was no way the medium could have known about that handkerchief.

WB told Russell and there the trio found themselves the following Thursday, perched on hard-backed chairs around a card-table in Mrs Callaghan's cramped parlor, squeezed together with a motley crew of spiritualists. There was a widowed Mrs Doyle, hoped to contact her husband. A Colonel Fredericks who held himself aloof. A Dr Keegan, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to be the medium’s protector. And a young Miss O'Sullivan, who’d told them in whispers while they’d waited in the hall that she’d been twice before—the first visit splendid, the last time a washout.

There the three found themselves the following Thursday, perched on uncomfortable chairs around a card-table in Mrs Callaghan's cramped parlor, with a motley crew of true believers, sceptics, and the curious, squeezed together. A Miss O'Sullivan who'd been only twice before, a widow Mrs Doyle, a Colonel Fredericks, and a Dr Keegan, the self-assigned guardian to the seer,

Now, you might be thinking that W.B. had come along gullible but no. With sceptics, he might stand forth for the spirit world, but surrounded by believers, he took a critical squint. He could not resist a spiritual conundrum or philosophising theory but he approached both like a hen with a pebble, forever poking but never quite swallowing. Tonight, his dubiousness was well up. He expected a gathering that would smack more of theatrics and spectacle than genuine spiritual quest.

First sight of Mrs Callaghan and her set-up had confirmed that expectation. Her gown was the colour of blood roses, fringed at the shoulders and hem, and a hat sitting atop her head was held in place by a feathered pin. Its veil that half-covered her weathered face. Her eyes were sharp as a falcon's. Her hands, liver-spotted and sinewy, with knuckles gnarled like old tree roots, rested on the table. With the curtains pulled tight and the lamps doused, she was only half-visible in the candlelight that was throwing spectral shadows across her face.

She said: “I am glad to meet all my dear friends again and to welcome Mr. Yeats, Mr Russell, and Mr Corbet amongst us for the first time. I must explain for their benefit that we do not call up spirits here. We make the right conditions and they come. I never know who is going to come; sometimes there are a great many. Our guide—we call her the control—chooses between them for us.

“Our control is a dear little girl called Lulu. She will describe the spirits present and tells us which spirit wishes to speak.” Mrs. Callaghan paused for dramatic effect. "The control strives to fetch a message for everyone here gathered, but does not always manage to. If your friend can't make the journey this time around, perchance next time."

She fell silent then, staring into the darkness past the ring of candlelight, creating a suspense and a cue for the group to join hands, which the regulars now did. Corbet took W.B.’s left hand, and Miss Sullivan his right as the medium started to tremble. Drawing her tongue across her upper lip, she exhaled a long sigh. W.B., made nervous by the scent of Miss Sullivan's perfume so close, and the feel of her hand in his, feared he might break into nervous laughter.

Mrs Callaghan said in an intoning voice: "Spirits of the light, we gather in unity to invite your communication, opening our hearts to the ethereal plane. Hear our call, loving spirits who have crossed. Ancestral guides, lend your guiding hand. Open-hearted, we welcome your messages. In love, trust, and respect, we invite you now. Amen."

She sank deep in her chair, seemingly drifting into a slumber. Miss Sullivan whispered to him, confidingly, "She is about to enter her trance. Sometimes she snores first."

Then there came from the medium’s mouth the voice of a child, but not like any child W.B. had ever heard. Neither male nor female, the sweet and sly voice spoke with an innocence that yet seemed to ooze sexual longing and adult cunning. "Lulu's so glad to see all her friends."

"We are glad you have come, Lulu," Mrs. Doyle replied, matter-of-fact.

"Lulu is glad to see new friends," the chilling, child-like voice continued.

W.B. shifted in his chair, wanting to flee. Russell seemed in a trance of his own. Corbet said, uncertainly, "Er... thank you."

"Lulu sees a tall man here, with lots of hair on his face."

"Oh yes," Mrs. Callaghan said, hands moving over her own cheeks and chin. "But not much hair on top of his head," she continued, passing her hand over her own head, then down to her neck.

Lulu continued: "He wears a red necktie and a peculiar horseshoe-shaped pin."

"Oh.. oh...it's my husband!" exclaimed Mrs. Doyle. "Oh, my dear... Oh, my goodness... What does he say?"

"He is too far away. Lulu cannot hear him.”

Mrs. Doyle groaned. "Oh please..."

"Oh... he has come closer. Lulu can hear him now. He says..."

A small, childlike scream, and the voice was frightened now. “He is pointing to somebody in the corner, that corner over there. He says, ‘Drive that man away!’ He says it is the bad man who spoilt everything last time.”

Colonel Fredericks remarked, in the voice of a man who has found a fly in his soup, "Not him again."

"Last time, he dominated the séance.," Miss O'Sullivan whispered confidentially. "He wouldn't let anyone else speak."

At this, W.B. felt an icy draft of air run running down his back and his hands began to twitch. He felt could stop the spasms if he wished but was compelled to let them continue. He watched the muscles of his hands convulsing involuntarily, as if they were detached from him, letting his curious feeling of trepidation continue, for the sake of curiosity.

The childish voice wailed, "If you don't go away, Lulu will scream."

The candles seemed to flicker, the room to darken. WB's right hand began to twitch uncontrollably, this time bringing Miss Sullivan's knuckles down, to bang on the table. She let a small scream and he dropped her hand and began to apologise, profusely, as the control's voice continued speaking through the medium.

“No, no, no. Go away.”

Mrs. Callaghan said opened her eyes and said, in her own voice: "We must sing a hymn. A hymn. Sing Hymn 564." And she began:

"Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, It is not night if Thou be near: O may no earth-born cloud arise To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes...."

WB didn't know the hymn. Now his palms were slick with sweat, and he felt the chair beneath him was vibrated with an otherworldly energy. His head jerked uncontrollably on his neck. He struggled to contain it but his will was no match against the force overtaking him. He found himself slamming his head up and down on the table - hard, harder still-- then striking it with his fists and feet, each blow sending shock waves of pain through every nerve ending in his body. He struck out so strong that he broke the flimsy table.

Yet in another part of his consciousness he was aware of Miss O'Sullivan screaming, Corbet looking at him with panic and Russell sitting and meditating.

Lulu’s cried, ‘Sing, sing.’

Now his whole body was convulsing into a rigid arc, like a suddenly unrolled watch-spring. He was thrown backward against the wall. Now his whole body was convulsing into a rigid arc, like a suddenly unrolled watch-spring. He was thrown backward against the wall. The back of his head smacked against the wall with a sickening thud as he slumped to the floor

Mrs. Callaghan rose from her chair, moving around him in a trance-like state, while Lulu, speaking through her, pleaded for them to continue singing. A hymn would bring good influence. Everyone in the room sang in fearful voice. WB didn't know the hymn. He reached for sacred words, found the first words of "Paradise Lost”, the nearest to a prayer he could remember, emerging from his lips.

Of Man’s First Disobedience, and the Fruit Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste Brought Death into the World, and all our woe…

He heard someone ask, "What is he saying?”, another voice sneering, "Just gibberish,” and a third voice claimed he was speaking in tongues. The singing stopped, and his voice grew louder in the room.

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat, Sing Heav’nly Muse…

He heard the distant sound of "Ave Maria" from another corner of the room. Corbet? He didn't know. He had lost sight of everyone around him. Unworldly voices filled his ears, mingling with the rush of a distant river. Then suddenly, the room quieted. It was like going out of a noisy political meeting onto a quiet country road.

Lulu said, “He is gone. We are through the bad spirits”.

Gravely shaken, through the ruckus of his breath kept repeating Milton’s words in his head. Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat. His mind was full of prayers, the smell of sweat, the sting of fear.

He struggled to find a part of himself that was equal to this crisis, and said, in a voice coarse and cowed, , ‘Will they come again?’

Nobody answered. They were leading Mrs. Callaghan, who seemed very exhausted, back to her chair. Her skin was blotched with an ashen color, her eyes were tired and bleary. She sank back in her chair, allowing her head to slowly sink, so her face becomes hidden as her veil falls forward. Her hands clutch the arms of her chair like white claws. Dr Tench seats himself at her right elbow.

When she speaks it is as Lulu. “Bad man gone. Power all used up. Lulu can do no more. Goodbye, friends.”

Mrs. Callaghan speaking in her own voice, called out, “Go away, go away!”

Then she opened her eyes, awakened from her trance.

"I saw him a moment ago," she said in her own voice. "Has he spoilt the séance again?”

The fire was burning in the grate, small crackling in the flames, its glow throwing a red wash of light across their white faces. He saw them now as figures huddled around the table, not as people. Even Corbet, over by the window saying his prayers, had lost something of who he used to be, when they'd entered this place just an hour before. From somewhere, he heard a voice saying, “This is too much like death.” Was it himself? He cleared his throat, tried to speak with a tongue too coarse and too cowed to form words. He had become the captive of the ruckus of his own breath. He struggled to find a part of himself that was equal to this crisis. He said, in a voice peculiar, strangled, ‘Will they come again?’ Nobody answered. They were leading Mrs. Henderson, who seemed very exhausted, back to her chair. Her skin was blotched with an ashen color, her eyes were tired and bleary. She sank back in her chair, allowing her head to slowly sink, so her face becomes hidden as her veil falls forward. Her hands clutch the arms of her chair like white claws. Dr Tench seats himself at her right elbow. When she speaks it is as Lulu. “Bad old man gone. Power all used up. Lulu can do no more. Goodbye, friends.” Mrs. Callaghan speaking in her own voice, calls out, “Go away, go away!” Then she opened her eyes, awakened from her trance. "I saw him a moment ago," she said in her own voice. "Has he spoilt the séance again?”

“Yes, Mrs. Callaghan, “ says Mrs Mallett. “My husband came, but he was driven away.”

WB was still whispering Paradise Lost to himself. "Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat."

The fire was burning in the grate, small crackling in the flames, its glow throwing a red wash of light across their white faces. He saw them now as figures huddled around the table, not as people. Even Corbet, over by the window saying his prayers, had lost something of who he used to be, when they'd entered this place just an hour before. The utter stillness in the room now felt like a vacuum, empty and vast. From somewhere, he heard a voice saying, “This is too much like death.” Was it his own?

Dr Keegan was leading Mrs. Callaghan back to her chair. Her ashen complexion and weary eyes hinted at the toll the séance had taken on her. She sank into the chair, her face hidden beneath her veil, her hands gripping the chair's arms tightly. Dr. Keegan positioned himself by her side. "We must allow her to rest." He placed money on the sideboard as payment. Mrs. Callaghan protested. “No no. I cannot take any money. It is wrong to take money for such a failure.” "Of course you must take it, dear Mrs. Callaghan. A bad séance is just as exhausting as a good séance, and you must be paid." Colonel Frederick said, “A jockey is paid whether he wins or not,” laying down his payment. “That spirit rather thrilled me,” giggled Miss Sullivan, as she paid and clicked closed her purse. “I shall pray for you to-night, dear. I shall ask God to bless and protect your séances.” She swept out, without looking back at WB. To be continued...