In 1970, the building was in a terrible state: it had no longer foundations, because the wooden posts had rotted away, and it could collapse at any moment. The house that is now to be found at No. 17, Spaniard Street (Spanjaardstraat), was completely demolished. Only the facades and the gates were saved. The workers however, discovered in the cellars the entrance to an underground tunnel…

The house on Spaniard Street was so ancient that the original date had been lost, but a stone set into a wall said it was restored in 1616 and a map of the city showed it to have stood there already in 1562. Prior to that period, and probably since the 13th century, it formed a convent with three houses on either side of it.

It was in this house the sister of the spiritualist writer Florence Marryat went to live. Back then, it still had subterranean passages, choked with rubbish, leading nowhere – or, at least, no one knew where they were leading to. Mrs Marryat had stayed here several times, and always had unpleasant feelings about it, especially in a large room on the lower floor that had originally been the chapel of the convent.

The incidents she wrote about in her book occurred in the autumn of 1878, when she visited her sister in the company of their friends Mr and Mrs Uniacke, and of the famous medium Mr William Eglinton. They were not there “for their pleasure or edification”, as one of the control-spirits of Mr Eglinton put it, but because “there was a great work to be done”.

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The First Séance

They all assembled in the drawing-room, where the séance was intended to be held. Mr Eglinton immediately became restless and moved away from the piano, where they had made some music. He walked up and down the room, stared fixedly at the door and exclaimed: “What is the matter with it? There is something very peculiar about that door!”

He approached it quickly, but the voice of his control-spirit Joey warned him: “Don’t come too near!” – And so he retreated to a sofa, where he appeared to be fighting violently with some invisible spectre. Mr Eglinton made the sign of the cross and extended his fingers towards the door, as if he wanted to exorcise something. Finally the medium burst into a mocking, scornful laughter that lasted for minutes, while a diabolical expression came over his face.

Mr Eglinton clenched his hands, gnashed his teeth and crawled – in stead of walking – towards the door and up the steep turret stairs to the room on the entresol where they had made a so-called “cabinet”. Reaching the upper floor, he suddenly came to himself and fell back several steps. The husband of Mrs Marryat  was, fortunately, just behind him and saved him from a fall.

The medium complained of a pain in his head and they all sat at the table to receive further instructions. But there the same spirit took again possession of him, and Mr Eglinton left the table and groped his way towards the bedrooms on the upper floor, his hand holding an imaginary knife, raised as if he wanted to strike, a horrible expression on his face.

The spirit seemed to lead the medium up to a flight of stairs from the entresol to the corridor, closed by a padded door. Moaning terribly, Mr Eglinton made half a dozen times his weary round of the room, when one of his control-spirits took possession of him. “Daisy” talked with the Marryat party for some time and they asked her what the spirit was like that had controlled Mr Eglinton until now.

“I don’t like this spirit,” Daisy answered. “He has a bad face and there is no hair on the top of his head. He wears a long black frock.”

They concluded the spirit had to be a monk or a priest. At that moment, this spirit again got possession of Mr Eglinton and led him, as before, to the bedrooms on the upper floor. Florence Marryat describes how he was elevated far above their heads and carried to a large table into the “cabinet”. But then, Joey advised them to take Mr Eglinton downstairs to the dining room, where they had supper and the medium appeared to be quite himself, laughing and eating well.

After dinner, however, he turned restless again and began pacing up and down the room, controlled by the unfriendly spirit. Mr Eglinton went to the drawing-room, pronounced three times the word “Go!” and locked himself up in the darkness of the room, while all the others waited outside.

He remained there for sosme minutes and then opened the door. “Bring a light!” he said in quite a different voice. “I have something to say to you!”

Motioning them to be seated, Mr Eglinton stood before the party in the light of a lamp. “I have to tell you the story of this unhappy and disturbed entity,” he said. “The spirit is present now. The confession of his crime, through my lips, will help him to… throw off! off! off!…. the earthbound condition… to which he was condemned…”

And so they were told now that this house once had been a convent, with four subterranean passages. In this convent lived a most beautiful nun, while on the other side of the canal there was an Italian priest residing in the monastery there. This priest had conceived a forbidden passion for the nun. At night he would steal his way to the nun’s convent, by means of one of the underground corridors, attempting to make her listen to his tale of love. But she was strong in the faith, and she resisted him… until one one night, when he hid himself here in the dark, maddened by his guilty passion and her repeated refusals, waiting for her to pass him on her way to the chapel. When she resisted him again, he stabbed her on the very spot where Mr Eglinton first perceived him.

The priest dragged the body of his beloved down the stairways to the vaults beneath, and buried it there. The pure soul of his victim found immediate consolation, but the spirit of the priest was chained down to the scene of his awful crime… Mr Eglinton walked up to that spot and knelt there for some minutes in prayer.

The Second Séance

The next day, as Florence Marryat sat at the table in the “cabinet” with only her sister, the name of “Hortense Dupont” came through, and the following conversation was rapped out:

“Who are you?”

“I am the nun he loved and I loved him too…”

“When did he kill you?”

“In 1498.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-three.”

That evening, when Mr Eglinton entered the séance room, he was immediately possessed by the spirit of the murderer. From the window he saw his victim coming through the courtyard, and then started to pursuit her again, perspiration streaming down his face. They all kneeled down then and started praying the De Profundis, while Mr Eglinton fell to the ground, wrestling in agony. At the Salve Regina, he lifted his eyes to heaven; at the Ave Maria he clasped his hands; in the Pater Noster he appeared to join them. But when they ceased praying, the evil passions returned and his face became distorted again in the thirst for blood of his beloved.

At last, Mrs Marryat’s sister fetched a crucifix, which they placed upon his breast. It had not been there many seconds before a different expression came over the face of the medium. Mr Eglinton seized the crucifix in both hands, strained it to his eyes, lips and heart. He held it from him at arm’s length, then passionately kissed it, as they repeated the Anima Christi. Finally, holding the crucifix out for each of them to kiss, a beautiful smile broke out on his face… and the spirit passed out of him.

Mr Eglinton awoke, terribly exhausted, his face as white as a sheet, trembling violently. “They are doing something to my forehead,” he muttered. “Burn a piece of paper… Give me the ashes…”

He rubbed the ashes between his eyes and immediately the sign of the cross became visible, drawn on his forehead in deep red lines. In a trance, his control-spirits led him to the cabinet, where they all formed a circle in front of him while he was sitting in an arm-chair. A cross of fire now appeared outside the curtain of the cabinet, illuminating it, while the head and shoulders of a nun appeared there, floating, her white coif and chin-piece pinned, her face that of a young and pretty woman. The spirit seemed very anxious to show herself and came close to each of them in turn.

“Are you Hortense Dupont,” Mrs Marryat asked, and the apparition nodded her head in acquiescence.

The Third Séance

On the third day, when they were all dining, loud raps were heard. As soon as they were seated in the cabinet, Mr Eglinton became entranced. He crawled up the stairs that led to the padded door which he found open now, drew a long breath and went to the winding turret staircase where he was carried up and down in a wonderful manner, only placing his hand on the balustrades.

They all ended up in the drawing-room of the sombre old house, watching by the ghastly light of a lamp the acting of that terrible tragedy – holding their breath as the murderer crouched by the chapel door, retreated with his dagger in his hand, and then stabbed his victim, and stabbed again, and again.

At last, and only for a brief moment, he seemed paralyzed. Then he started back, both hands clasped to his forehead. He flung himself on the body, frantically kissing the ground. Waking to the fear of detection, he raised the corpse in his arms, seized it, dragged it, slipping on the stone floor to the cellars below, and moaning all the time.

They all knelt with him and began to pray.  As he heard their voices he turned towards them, his lips moving while he was trying to speak, trying to bless them, his arms outstretched, his tongue protruded. He was unable to articulate, but a beautiful smile broke out over his countenance and he fell prostrate on the floor.

“Where am I?” Mr Eglinton asked them. “What on earth has happened? I feel so queer!”

The medium was exhausted, but nevertheless felt a great calm and peace.

Copyright by Patrick Bernauw

This account was also published in the Spiritualist Newspaper, on August 29th, 1879 – when the séance had just occurred.

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