“The spirit of Liszt is already helping me. With Wagner’s aid I cannot fail.”
One could not smile in face of the story of boundless faith and pitiful struggle these few words told. And with the next sitter pathos rose to positive tragedy.
“There is the spirit of a man here, whose name is Frederick,” the medium declared, “and he comes to you, madam. Take my hand.”
Slowly a woman, dressed in deep mourning, stood up and extended her hand. Intensity was written in every line of her face.
“There were two Fredericks,” she said. “Which is it?”
“It is the Frederick—it is the Frederick, who, while on earth, did this.”
And he struck her sharply on the arm. Tears filled her eyes.
“I understand,” she murmured, “I understand. What does he say?”
All this was interesting, but not convincing. For aught we could tell to the contrary, the medium had familiarized himself with the life stories of these women, who doubtless were regular attendants at his séances. But now he passed to the friend by my side.
“A message for you, sir,” said he, “from the spirit of a military-looking man. Yes, he says that when he was in this sphere he was a commander of soldiers, a general. This is what he looks like.”