MANY persons have asked me what I have to say about spiritualism.

To them I can only reply that so much has been said and so little is known, even by spiritualists themselves, that there is very little left to write about.

I am in deep sympathy with the eternal quest of the believer in spiritualism. Far be it from me to scoff at that belief. The great majority of mankind has faith in a future life, and why should it not be possible for the souls departed sometimes to get into touch with us who are living in this world?

But, personally, I do not think we are meant to lift the veil.

Most of the mediums that I have come in contact with have been simply conjurers performing under very favourable conditions, and most original conjurers too. Many great stage illusionists have built up their reputations by exposing or just copying their manifestations.

Never having made a speciality of medium-testing, I have not many experiences to quote, but I was once taken to investigate the doings of a wonderful medium in Maida Vale.

He was an ordinary working man, who could, under test conditions, produce "apports", i.e. material objects, from the spirit world.

A committee of which I was a member put together a sort of enlarged meat-safe, a cabinet formed of wooden frames, fastened by screws, upon which were stretched sheets of gauze. We then stripped and searched the medium.

His attire was simple--coat, trousers, flannel shirt and body-belt, and thick boots. He was led to the cabinet, and when he had entered the door was sealed. Apparently he had nothing with him and nothing could be passed to him.

The lights were then reduced to one silk-shaded lamp in a corner of the large room, and the spectators surrounded the cage, where the figure of the medium could be just dimly discerned writhing and twisting as though in pain.

We all sang hymns, which were punctuated by groans from the medium, for about twenty minutes, when suddenly the performer shouted for "lights". Peering through the gauze we could see the man holding between his two hands a bird's nest, with two speckled blue eggs within.

On the door being opened these articles were passed out for inspection. First the eggs and then the nest, but the latter was unfortunately pulled apart by the medium's nervous fingers before we got a close look at it.

Many intelligent people were present, and they seemed greatly impressed by this "séance". But I informed my friend that the material for the nest formed the padding for the innocent-looking body-belt, and that the eggs had been in the heels of the boots, which were really little boxes, opened by lifting the leather lining of the boots.

Acting on these hints, the mediumistic working man was exposed at the next exhibition of his wonderful power, and was sent back to more mundane work.

Performing as I do before thousands of the public each week at the vaudeville theatres, I have ample opportunity to test the credulity of spiritualists.

In some of my illusions--frankly advertised as illusions--I materialize phantoms in full light, including a spirit form of myself. Now these magical effects simply terrify some of the persons whom I invite on to the stage, and I generally find that they are spiritualists.

These persons usually accuse me of being a medium who is prostituting great powers and posing as a conjurer for monetary gain. Nothing I can say will convince them to the contrary. Even a nervous tremor which I unfortunately developed in my left hand was quoted as evidence of the power within me.

In my opinion, the bogus mediums that do the most harm--I do not necessarily wish to infer that they are all bogus--are not those who bang tambourines, but the unctuous humbugs who gather their flock into a darkened room and so play upon their imaginations that they actually do fancy that they see spirits.

Returning, after this digression, to the world of the theatre, the tide now seemed to have turned in my affairs. Several important productions followed each other in quick succession, notably "The Window of the Haunted House", in which living ghosts appeared in an isolated window under the close surveillance of the audience.

Then there was an ambitious effort, "The Pillar of Brass", which had a short life, and ran for one night only, although it was entirely successful. I played the principal part myself, and the reason for its sudden withdrawal was that the board of directors imagined I could not be replaced, and as I happened to be wanted on tour at the moment of production, I had to leave it for future use. Unfortunately, the future never provided an opportunity.

I think I have said before that my performance on the music-halls lasted fifty minutes at each show, and this, twice nightly, together with one or two matinées, formed a mighty strain on my strength. Besides this, I used to give a two hours' matinée performance each week entirely by myself, that is, with no supporting turns to help me out. On that day, usually a Saturday, I was on the stage for three hours and forty minutes without a break.

One day the music-hall world was startled by an announcement that King George V had commanded a special performance at the Palace Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue, to take place on 1st July, 1912. The programme was as follows:

1. Overture	13. Little Tich
2. Perifax and Paulo	14. Arthur Prince and Jim
3. Barclay Gammon	15. Selection
4. Palace Girls	16. Alfred Lester
5. Chirgwin	17. Clarice Mayne with "That"
6. The Bogannys	18. Charles T. Aldrich
7. Fanny Fields	19. George Robey
8. Cinquevalli	20. David Devant
9. Harry Tate	21. Wilkie Bard
10. Ida Crispe and Fred Farren	22. Anna Pavlova
11. Vesta Tilley	23. Harry Lauder
12. La Pia	24. Cecilia Loftus
25. Varieties Garden Party, produced by Albert Toft.

I was agreeably surprised when my name was found to be in the final list. The function was a brilliant one, and the Palace Theatre was beautifully decorated for the occasion.

On the Sunday before there was a full-dress rehearsal, when I gave my turn. I was very pleased with the result and by the way it was received by the packed house that had been assembled by persons more or less connected with the music-hall world. But unfortunately, to meet the exigencies of stage management, my time had to be cut down, and I was only able to do two small tricks. For one of these--a very successful trick with eggs I was doing at the time--I required the services of two children, which I usually obtained from the audience, but on this occasion I could not depend on children being present, so I had to provide my own in readiness in the side wings. They were not in any sense confederates, and required to know nothing about the trick beforehand. The children I arranged to be present were my own small daughter Vida and little Jasper Maskelyne, then about seven or eight years of age. At the rehearsal all went well: they acted the part of unsophisticated children with great success. Of course, it must be remembered that they were quite familiar with the trick, and knew just what was going to happen. Consequently when they walked upon the stage on the great night they evinced no curiosity as to what was going to happen on my side of the stage, and fixed their eyes on the Royal Box. Apparently they expected to see the Queen wearing her crown, and thought of nothing else. It was as much as I could do to call their attention to myself at all. This rather spoiled the effect, but the audience seemed to understand that the children found Royalty a greater at traction than conjuring.

David Devant in 1913, with his daughter, Vida, and Jasper Maskelyne

There was general dissatisfaction amongst the artists regarding the short time allowed for each turn. Of course, this being the first Command Performance there had ever been, the management wanted as many representative turns as possible to appear. Thus no one had long enough allotted to them, and the entertainment consequently was rather patchy. The following year another Royal Performance, at which the King and Queen were present, took place at Knowsley Hall, on July 7th, 1913. This was by way of celebration of Lord Derby's eldest son's coming-of-age. The music-hall entertainment was provided by Moss Empires, and I was very proud to find my name amongst the artists selected for this. I think I was the only one who appeared at both functions. At this performance I had ample time allowed me to give a typical performance, and the King honoured me by requesting an encore, which was also allowed.

Lord Derby gave us all a very jolly time, and each of us bore away as souvenirs a diamond tie-pin or brooch.

Anent Royal Commands, I had two curious adventures, both concerned with motoring holidays. In the first instance I had gone up the East Coast for a holiday, and we had no settled place to stay at. I promised them at the office that I would send the address on as soon as I had found the ideal cottage--all they knew was that I was going towards Cromer. After some searching we found an excellent furnished cottage at East Runton, which we gladly settled upon. My wife, wanting some groceries for housekeeping, went into an adjacent shop, and I followed her just in time to hear the grocer say: "What address, madam?" Whereupon she gave the name and address. "Devant?" said the man. "The police have been 'phoning for him."

It turned out that Queen Alexandra required my services for a garden party, and the police, in an endeavour to find me, had telephoned to all the post-offices at likely villages along the coast. But, unfortunately, it was too late to comply with the command.

David Devant as he appeared at the Royal Command Performance in 1913

Another similar instance happened for the second Royal Command. I was taking a tour on the Continent by motorcar. I went over the Mediterranean Alps, along the French and Italian Rivieras, up past the Italian Lakes, through Switzerland, the Black Forest and Paris, home. As we had left no address, when our agents wanted to get into touch with me to advise me of the performance at Knowsley Hall they applied to Cook's to stop me en route and give me a message. Consequently when I walked into Cook's office one day I was told the manager wanted to see me instantly. I wired a reply to Lord Derby promising to curtail my tour and be back in time for the event, and from then onwards every time I put my nose into one of Cook's offices I was met by the same slogan: "The manager wants to see you instantly." At last, on going into an office of Cook's, I used to say: "My name is Devant, and the manager wants to see me instantly."

Another notable event at which I had the honour of being selected as one of the artists was the opening of the theatre on the Aquitania. I had the honour, too, of being "top of the bill" at the opening of Golder's Green Hippodrome, and retained that position for the first fortnight. I also opened the New Palace Theatre, Manchester.