THE WHITE LADY
My collaborator is a member of the Society for Psychical Research, so I must be careful what I say, or I shall be abused again. We had a grand séance on the evening of 16th June. It was held in the "Emperor's Room"—so called because the Emperor Leopold I. is said to have slept there. His portrait is painted on the ceiling, which, by the way, is of wonderful Venetian stucco, with cupids and garlands of fruits and flowers all over it. It is a haunted room. It is not the Emperor that appears here, however, but a much more interesting sort of person—the White Lady. She had a cruel husband who threw her down the cliff under the ruin. Her body may still be seen, as she was turned into stone, a gigantic woman wrapped in a long white garment—everlastingly climbing up the cliff, but never getting any higher. Her spirit returns to the castle and searches for her lost children. On nights when the moon is full one can hear the rustling of her robes, as she wanders disconsolately about in the "Emperor's Room."
THE WHITE LADY
We carried out our séance on the most approved methods. Eight of us—my collaborator, the Energetic Lady, the Photographic Lady, Miss Umslopogaas, the two learned men, the Seal, and myself—sat round a little oval table with both our hands on it, and clasped each other's little fingers. The learned Dark Man calculated that there were eighty fingers on that table. "Better eighty fingers on one table than eighty tables on one finger" remarked our host. He was rather a nuisance (our host, I mean), as he insisted on walking about the room and smoking cigarettes. He also kept turning up the lamp (ghosts dislike much light, and it is necessary to respect their feelings) to see how we were getting on.
TIN-HO—FIRST-CLASS MANDARIN
There was also a dog in the room. This dog rejoices in the name of "Tin-ho"—he is a Chinese animal. I believe he is the last of his race, or something of that sort, and is the most cherished possession of the Energetic Lady. He is one of the banes of my life—he, Napoleon I., and Wagner. I like animals—in fact, I love them—especially cats and dogs. But this dog is too much for me. I have made the most friendly overtures to him. I have called him by the most endearing terms. I have even learned some Italian (he only understands that language) especially for his benefit, and have said poverissima bellissima to him with a pathos that would have moved a stone statue to tears. But it is of no use. He is as unfriendly as ever, and treats me with contempt. Now I kick him, whenever the Energetic Lady is not anywhere near him, which is not very often, by the way.
I have not explained yet who Miss Umslopogaas is. She is a lady who is staying here, and her proper name is difficult to pronounce—at least, I cannot conquer it. I began by calling her Miss Asparagus, but that sounds too much like a vegetable, and is familiar besides. Umslopogaas is quite as much like what I can imagine her real name to be, and has the advantage of sounding more foreign.