This is a modern-English version of The Humbugs of the World: An Account of Humbugs, Delusions, Impositions, Quackeries, Deceits and Deceivers Generally, in All Ages, originally written by Barnum, P. T. (Phineas Taylor).
It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling,
and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
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Transcriber’s Note
Transcriber's Note
THE
HUMBUGS OF THE WORLD.
AN ACCOUNT OF HUMBUGS, DELUSIONS, IMPOSITIONS,
QUACKERIES, DECEITS AND DECEIVERS
GENERALLY, IN ALL AGES.
AN ACCOUNT OF HUMBUGS, DELUSIONS, IMPOSITIONS,
QUACKERIES, DECEITS AND DECEIVERS
GENERALLY, IN ALL AGES.
BY
P. T. BARNUM.
BY
P. T. BARNUM.
“Omne ignotum pro mirifico.”—“Wonderful, because mysterious.”
“Anything unknown is amazing.”
NEW YORK:
CARLETON. PUBLISHER. 413 BROADWAY.
1866.
NEW YORK:
CARLETON. PUBLISHER. 413 BROADWAY.
1866.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
G. W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
G. W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE.
One of Mr. Barnum’s secrets of success is his unique methods of advertising, and we can readily understand how he can bear to be denounced as a “Humbug,” because this popular designation though undeserved in the popular acceptation of it, “brought grist to his mill.” He has constantly kept himself before the public—nay, we may say that he has been kept before the public constantly, by the stereotyped word in question; and what right, or what desire, could he have to discard or complain of an epithet which was one of the prospering elements of his business as “a showman?” In a narrow sense of the word he is a “Humbug:” in the larger acceptation he is not.
One of Mr. Barnum’s secrets to success is his unique advertising methods, and we can easily see why he can handle being called a “Humbug.” Although this label is unfair in its common interpretation, it “brought grist to his mill.” He has always kept himself in the public eye—actually, we could say he has been kept in the public eye by this very term; and what reason, or what desire, could he have to reject or complain about a label that was one of the key factors in his success as “a showman?” In a narrow sense, he is a “Humbug”; in a broader sense, he is not.
He has in several chapters of this book elaborated the distinction, and we will only say in this place, what, indeed, no one who knows him will doubt, that, aside from his qualities as a caterer to popular entertainment, he is one of the most remarkable men of the age. As a business man, of far-reaching vision and singular executive force, he has for years been the life of Bridgeport, near which city he has long resided, and last winter he achieved high rank in the Legislature of Connecticut, as both an effective speaker and a patriot, having “no axe to grind,” and seeking only the public welfare. We, indeed, agree with the editor of The New York Independent, who, in an article drawn out by the burning of the American Museum, says: “Mr. Barnum’s rare talent as a speaker has always been exercised in behalf of good morals, and for patriotic objects. No man has done better service in the temperance cause by public lectures during the past ten years, both in America and Great Britain, and during the war he was most efficient in stimulating the spirit which resulted in the preservation of the Union, and the destruction of Slavery.”
He has discussed the distinction in several chapters of this book, and we will only add here, what anyone who knows him will agree on, that aside from his talent for popular entertainment, he is one of the most remarkable individuals of our time. As a businessman with a strong vision and unique leadership skills, he has been a vital part of Bridgeport, where he has lived for many years. Last winter, he earned a prominent position in the Connecticut Legislature as both an impactful speaker and a patriot, having “no personal agenda,” and focusing solely on the public good. We agree with the editor of The New York Independent, who, in an article prompted by the burning of the American Museum, states: “Mr. Barnum’s exceptional talent as a speaker has always been used for good morals and patriotic causes. No one has better served the temperance movement through public lectures over the past decade in both America and Great Britain, and during the war, he played a crucial role in inspiring the spirit that led to the preservation of the Union and the end of Slavery.”
We cannot forbear quoting two or three additional paragraphs from that article, especially as they are so strongly expressive of the merits of the case:
We can't help but quote two or three more paragraphs from that article, particularly since they express the merits of the case so clearly:
“Mr. Barnum’s whole career has been a very transparent one. He has never befooled the public to its injury, and, though his[iv] name has come to be looked upon as a synonym for humbuggery, there never was a public man who was less of one.
“Mr. Barnum’s entire career has been quite transparent. He has never misled the public to its detriment, and even though his[iv] name has become associated with trickery, there has never been a public figure who embodied it less."
“The hearty good wishes of many good men, and the sympathies of the community in which he has lived, go with him, and the public he has so long amused, but never abused, will be ready to sustain him whenever he makes another appeal to them. Mr. Barnum is a very good sort of representative Yankee. When crowds of English traders and manufacturers in Liverpool, Manchester, and London, flocked to hear his lectures on the art of making money, they expected to hear from him some very smart recipes for knavery; but they were as much astonished as they were edified to learn that the only secret he had to tell them was to be honest, and not to expect something for nothing.”
“The warm wishes of many good people and the support of the community where he lived accompany him, and the public he has entertained for so long, but never taken advantage of, will be ready to back him whenever he reaches out to them again. Mr. Barnum is a genuinely representative Yankee. When crowds of English traders and manufacturers in Liverpool, Manchester, and London gathered to hear his lectures on making money, they anticipated hearing clever tricks for deceit; but they were as surprised as they were enlightened to discover that the only secret he had to share was to be honest and not to expect something for nothing.”
We could fill many pages with quotations of corresponding tenor from the leading and most influential men and journals in the land, but we will close this publisher’s note with the following from the N. Y. Sun.
We could fill many pages with quotes of a similar nature from the top and most influential people and publications in the country, but we'll end this publisher’s note with the following from the N. Y. Sun.
“One of the happiest impromptu oratorical efforts that we have heard for some time was that made by Barnum at the benefit performance given for his employés on Friday afternoon. If a stranger wanted to satisfy himself how the great showman had managed so to monopolize the ear and eye of the public during his long career he could not have had a better opportunity of doing so than by listening to this address. Every word, though delivered with apparent carelessness, struck a key-note in the hearts of his listeners. Simple, forcible, and touching, it showed how thoroughly this extraordinary man comprehends the character of his countrymen, and how easily he can play upon their feelings.
“One of the happiest impromptu speeches we've heard in a while was delivered by Barnum at the benefit performance for his employees on Friday afternoon. If a newcomer wanted to understand how the great showman managed to capture the attention of the public throughout his long career, there couldn't have been a better chance than listening to this speech. Every word, though spoken with a sense of apparent ease, resonated deeply with his audience. Simple, powerful, and moving, it demonstrated how well this extraordinary man understands the nature of his fellow countrymen and how effortlessly he can connect with their feelings.”
“Those who look upon Barnum as a mere charlatan, have really no knowledge of him. It would be easy to demonstrate that the qualities that have placed him in his present position of notoriety and affluence would, in another pursuit, have raised him to far greater eminence. In his breadth of views, his profound knowledge of mankind, his courage under reverses, his indomitable perseverance, his ready eloquence, and his admirable business tact, we recognise the elements that are conducive to success in most other pursuits. More than almost any other living man, Barnum may be said to be a representative type of the American mind.”
“Those who see Barnum as just a fraud really don’t understand him. It would be easy to show that the qualities that have brought him his current fame and wealth would have made him even more successful in a different field. In his broad views, deep understanding of people, courage during tough times, relentless determination, quick thinking, and impressive business skills, we see the traits that lead to success in most other areas. More than nearly any other person alive, Barnum represents the American mindset.”
INTRODUCTION.
In the “Autobiography of P. T. Barnum,” published in 1855, I partly promised to write a book which should expose some of the chief humbugs of the world. The invitation of my friends Messrs. Cauldwell and Whitney of the “Weekly Mercury” caused me to furnish for that paper a series of articles in which I very naturally took up the subject in question. This book is a revision and re-arrangement of a portion of those articles. If I should find that I have met a popular demand, I shall in due time put forth a second volume. There is not the least danger of a dearth of materials.
In the “Autobiography of P. T. Barnum,” published in 1855, I somewhat promised to write a book that would reveal some of the biggest scams in the world. My friends, Messrs. Cauldwell and Whitney from the “Weekly Mercury,” invited me to provide a series of articles for their paper, where I naturally addressed the topic at hand. This book is a revised and reorganized version of some of those articles. If I find that there’s a strong interest, I’ll eventually release a second volume. There’s certainly no risk of running out of material.
I once travelled through the Southern States in company with a magician. The first day in each town, he astonished his auditors with his deceptions. He then announced that on the following day he would show how each trick was performed, and how every man might thus become his own magician. That exposé spoiled the legerdemain market on that particular route, for several years. So, if we could have a full exposure of “the tricks of trade” of all sorts, of humbugs and deceivers of past times, religious, political, financial, scientific, quackish and so forth, we might perhaps look for a somewhat wiser generation to follow us. I shall be well satisfied if I can do something towards so good a purpose.
I once traveled through the Southern States with a magician. On the first day in each town, he amazed his audience with his tricks. Then he announced that the next day he would reveal how each trick was done and teach everyone to be their own magician. That revelation ruined the magic market along that route for several years. So, if we could fully expose “the tricks of the trade” used by all kinds of frauds and deceivers from the past—whether in religion, politics, finance, science, quackery, and so on—we might expect a somewhat wiser generation to come after us. I will be happy if I can contribute to such a worthy cause.
P. T. BARNUM.
P.T. Barnum.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.—GENERAL VIEW OF THE SUBJECT.—HUMBUG UNIVERSAL.—IN RELIGION.—IN POLITICS.—IN BUSINESS.—IN SCIENCE.—IN MEDICINE.—HOW IT IS TO CEASE.—THE GREATEST HUMBUG OF ALL. 11
CHAPTER I.—GENERAL VIEW OF THE SUBJECT.—UNIVERSAL DECEIT.—IN RELIGION.—IN POLITICS.—IN BUSINESS.—IN SCIENCE.—IN MEDICINE.—HOW IT CAN END.—THE BIGGEST DECEPTION OF ALL. 11
CHAPTER II.—DEFINITION OF THE WORD HUMBUG.—WARREN OF LONDON.—GENIN THE HATTER.—GOSLING’S BLACKING. 18
CHAPTER II.—WHAT HUMBUG MEANS.—WARREN IN LONDON.—GENIN THE HATTER.—GOSLING’S BLACKING. 18
CHAPTER III.—MONSIEUR MANGIN, THE FRENCH HUMBUG. 29
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—MR. MANGIN, THE FRENCH FRAUD. 29
CHAPTER IV.—OLD GRIZZLY ADAMS. 37
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—OLD GRIZZLY ADAMS. 37
CHAPTER V.—THE GOLDEN PIGEONS.—GRIZZLY ADAMS.—GERMAN CHEMIST.—HAPPY FAMILY.—FRENCH NATURALIST. 46
CHAPTER V.—THE GOLDEN PIGEONS.—GRIZZLY ADAMS.—GERMAN CHEMIST.—HAPPY FAMILY.—FRENCH NATURALIST. 46
CHAPTER VI.—THE WHALE, THE ANGEL FISH, AND THE GOLDEN PIGEON. 53
CHAPTER VI.—THE WHALE, THE ANGEL FISH, AND THE GOLDEN PIGEON. 53
CHAPTER VII.—PEASE’S HOARHOUND CANDY.—THE DORR REBELLION.—THE PHILADELPHIA ALDERMAN. 57
CHAPTER VII.—PEASE'S HOARHOUND CANDY.—THE DORR REBELLION.—THE PHILADELPHIA ALDERMAN. 57
CHAPTER VIII.—BRANDRETH’S PILLS.—MAGNIFICENT ADVERTISING.—POWER OF IMAGINATION. 65
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—BRANDRETH’S PILLS.—AMAZING ADVERTISEMENT.—POWER OF IMAGINATION. 65
CHAPTER IX.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS, THEIR RISE AND PROGRESS.—SPIRITUAL ROPE-TYING.—MUSIC PLAYING.—CABINET SECRETS.—“THEY CHOOSE DARKNESS RATHER THAN LIGHT,” ETC.—THE SPIRITUAL HAND.—HOW THE THING IS DONE.—DR. W. F. VAN VLECK. 73
CHAPTER IX.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS, THEIR RISE AND PROGRESS.—SPIRITUAL ROPE-TYING.—MUSIC PLAYING.—CABINET SECRETS.—“THEY PREFER DARKNESS OVER LIGHT,” ETC.—THE SPIRITUAL HAND.—HOW IT WORKS.—DR. W. F. VAN VLECK. 73
CHAPTER X.—THE SPIRIT-RAPPING AND MEDIUM HUMBUGS.—THEIR ORIGIN.—HOW THE THING IS DONE.—$500 REWARD. 82
CHAPTER X.—THE SPIRIT-RAPPING AND MEDIUM SCAMS.—THEIR ORIGIN.—HOW IT'S DONE.—$500 REWARD. 82
CHAPTER XI.—THE “BALLOT TEST.”—THE OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS “DISEASED” RELATIVES.—A “HUNGRY SPIRIT.”—“PALMING” A BALLOT.—REVELATIONS ON STRIPS OF PAPER. 88
CHAPTER XI.—THE “BALLOT TEST.” — THE OLD MAN AND HIS “ILL” FAMILY MEMBERS. — A “STARVING SPIRIT.” — “PALMING” A BALLOT. — REVELATIONS ON STRIPS OF PAPER. 88
CHAPTER XII.—SPIRITUAL “LETTERS ON THE ARM.”—HOW TO MAKE THEM YOURSELF.—THE TAMBOURINE AND RING FEATS.—DEXTER’S DANCING HATS.—PHOSPHORESCENT OIL.—SOME SPIRITUAL SLANG. 96
CHAPTER XII.—SPIRITUAL “LETTERS ON THE ARM.” — HOW TO CREATE THEM YOURSELF. — THE TAMBOURINE AND RING TRICKS. — DEXTER’S DANCING HATS. — PHOSPHORESCENT OIL. — SOME SPIRITUAL SLANG. 96
[viii]CHAPTER XIII.—DEMONSTRATIONS BY “SAMPSON” UNDER A TABLE.—A MEDIUM WHO IS HAPPY WITH HER FEET.—EXPOSÉ OF ANOTHER OPERATOR IN DARK CIRCLES. 102
[viii]CHAPTER XIII.—DEMONSTRATIONS BY “SAMPSON” UNDER A TABLE.— A MEDIUM WHO IS CONTENT WITH HER FEET.— EXPOSÉ OF ANOTHER OPERATOR IN DARK CIRCLES. 102
CHAPTER XIV.—SPIRITUAL PHOTOGRAPHING.—COLORADO JEWETT AND THE SPIRIT PHOTOGRAPHS OF GENERAL JACKSON, HENRY CLAY, DANIEL WEBSTER, STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS, NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, ETC.—A LADY OF DISTINCTION SEEKS AND FINDS A SPIRITUAL PHOTOGRAPH OF HER DECEASED INFANT, AND HER DEAD BROTHER WHO WAS YET ALIVE.—HOW IT WAS DONE. 109
CHAPTER XIV.—SPIRITUAL PHOTOGRAPHY.—COLORADO JEWETT AND THE SPIRIT PHOTOS OF GENERAL JACKSON, HENRY CLAY, DANIEL WEBSTER, STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS, NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, ETC.—A DISTINGUISHED LADY SEEKS AND FINDS A SPIRITUAL PHOTO OF HER DECEASED INFANT AND HER LATE BROTHER WHO WAS STILL ALIVE.—HOW IT WAS DONE. 109
CHAPTER XV.—BANNER OF LIGHT.—MESSAGES FROM THE DEAD.—SPIRITUAL CIVILITIES.—SPIRIT “HOLLERING.”—HANS VON VLEET, THE FEMALE DUTCHMAN.—MRS. CONANT’S “CIRCLES.”—PAINE’S TABLE-TIPPING HUMBUG EXPOSED. 119
CHAPTER XV.—BANNER OF LIGHT.—Messages from the Dead.—Spiritual Etiquette.—Spirit "Calling."—Hans Von Vleet, The Female Dutchman.—Mrs. Conant’s “Circles.”—Paine’s Table-Tipping Scam EXPOSED. 119
CHAPTER XVI.—SPIRITUALIST HUMBUGS WAKING UP.—FOSTER HEARD FROM.—S. B. BRITTAIN HEARD FROM.—THE BOSTON ARTISTS AND THEIR SPIRITUAL PORTRAITS.—THE WASHINGTON MEDIUM AND HIS SPIRITUAL HANDS.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS AND THE SEA-CAPTAIN’S WHEAT-FLOUR.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS ROUGHLY SHOWN UP BY JOHN BULL.—HOW A SHINGLE “STUMPED” THE SPIRITS. 130
CHAPTER XVI.—SPIRITUALIST FRAUDS EXPOSED.—FOSTER REPORTED ON.—S. B. BRITTAIN REPORTED ON.—THE BOSTON ARTISTS AND THEIR SPIRITUAL PORTRAITS.—THE WASHINGTON MEDIUM AND HIS SPIRITUAL HANDS.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS AND THE SEA-CAPTAIN’S WHEAT-FLOUR.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS EXPOSED BY JOHN BULL.—HOW A SHINGLE “STUMPED” THE SPIRITS. 130
CHAPTER XVII.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS SHOWN UP ONCE MORE.—THE SPIRITUALIST BOGUS BABY.—A LADY BRINGS FORTH A MOTIVE FORCE.—“GUM” ARABIC.—SPIRITUALIST HEBREW.—THE ALLEN BOY.—DR. RANDALL.—PORTLAND EVENING COURIER.—THE FOOLS NOT ALL DEAD YET. 145
CHAPTER XVII.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS APPEAR ONCE AGAIN.—THE FAKE SPIRITUALIST CHILD.—A WOMAN REVEALS A MOTIVATING FORCE.—“GUM” ARABIC.—SPIRITUALIST HEBREW.—THE ALLEN BOY.—DR. RANDALL.—PORTLAND EVENING COURIER.—THE FOOLS ARE NOT ALL DEAD YET. 145
CHAPTER XVIII.—ADULTERATIONS OF FOOD.—ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUOR.—THE COLONEL’S WHISKEY.—THE HUMBUGOMETER. 152
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—FOOD ADDITIVES.—LIQUOR ADDITIVES.—THE COLONEL’S WHISKEY.—THE HUMBUGOMETER. 152
CHAPTER XIX.—ADULTERATIONS IN DRINKS.—RIDING HOME ON YOUR WINE-BARREL.—LIST OF THINGS TO MAKE RUM.—THINGS TO COLOR IT WITH.—CANAL-BOAT HASH.—ENGLISH ADULTERATION LAW.—EFFECT OF DRUGS USED.—HOW TO USE THEM.—BUYING LIQUORS UNDER THE CUSTOM-HOUSE LOCK.—HOMŒOPATHIC DOSE. 160
CHAPTER XIX.—AFFORDABLE DRINKS AND ARTIFICIAL SPIRITS.—TRANSPORTING YOUR WINE BARREL HOME.—INGREDIENTS FOR MAKING RUM.—ITEMS TO COLOR IT.—CANAL BOAT MEALS.—UK FOOD SAFETY REGULATIONS.—IMPACT OF ADDED CHEMICALS.—HOW TO USE THEM CORRECTLY.—PURCHASING ALCOHOL UNDER CUSTOMS RULES.—HOMEOPATHIC DOSAGE. 160
CHAPTER XX.—THE PETER FUNKS AND THEIR FUNCTIONS.—THE RURAL DIVINE AND THE WATCH.—RISE AND PROGRESS OF MOCK AUCTIONS.—THEIR DECLINE AND FALL. 167
CHAPTER XX.—THE PETER FUNKS AND THEIR FUNCTIONS.—THE RURAL MINISTER AND THE WATCH.—THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF FAKE AUCTIONS.—THEIR DECLINE AND FALL. 167
CHAPTER XXI.—LOTTERY SHARKS.—BOULT AND HIS BROTHERS.—KENNETH, KIMBALL & COMPANY.—A MORE CENTRAL LOCATION WANTED FOR BUSINESS.—TWO SEVENTEENTHLIES.—STRANGE COINCIDENCE. 175
CHAPTER XXI.—LOTTERY SCAMMERS.—BOULT AND HIS BROTHERS.—KENNETH, KIMBALL & COMPANY.—A MORE CENTRAL LOCATION NEEDED FOR BUSINESS.—TWO SEVENTEENTHS.—STRANGE COINCIDENCE. 175
[ix]CHAPTER XXII.—ANOTHER LOTTERY HUMBUG.—TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY RECIPES.—VILE BOOKS.—“ADVANTAGE-CARDS.”—A PACKAGE FOR YOU; PLEASE SEND THE MONEY.—PEDDLING IN WESTERN NEW YORK. 182
[ix]CHAPTER XXII.—ANOTHER LOTTERY SCAM.—TWO HUNDRED FIFTY RECIPES.—SHADY BOOKS.—“ADVANTAGE CARDS.”—A PACKAGE FOR YOU; PLEASE SEND MONEY.—SELLING IN WESTERN NEW YORK. 182
CHAPTER XXIII.—A CALIFORNIA COAL MINE.—A HARTFORD COAL MINE.—MYSTERIOUS SUBTERRANEAN CANAL ON THE ISTHMUS. 189
CHAPTER XXIII.—A CALIFORNIA COAL MINE.—A HARTFORD COAL MINE.—MYSTERIOUS UNDERGROUND CANAL ON THE ISTHMUS. 189
CHAPTER XXIV.—THE PETROLEUM HUMBUG.—THE NEW YORK AND RANGOON PETROLEUM COMPANY. 195
CHAPTER XXIV.—THE PETROLEUM SCAM.—THE NEW YORK AND RANGOON PETROLEUM COMPANY. 195
CHAPTER XXV.—THE TULIPOMANIA. 204
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—THE TULIPOMANIA. 204
CHAPTER XXVI.—JOHN BULL’S GREAT MONEY HUMBUG.—THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE IN 1720. 213
CHAPTER XXVI.—JOHN BULL'S BIG MONEY SCAM—THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE IN 1720. 213
CHAPTER XXVII.—BUSINESS HUMBUGS.—JOHN LAW.—THE MISSISSIPPI SCHEME.—JOHNNY CRAPAUD AS GREEDY AS JOHNNY BULL. 221
CHAPTER XXVII.—BUSINESS SCAMS—JOHN LAW—THE MISSISSIPPI PLAN—JOHNNY CRAPAUD AS GREEDY AS JOHNNY BULL. 221
CHAPTER XXVIII.—DOCTORS AND IMAGINATION.—FIRING A JOKE OUT OF A CANNON.—THE PARIS EYE WATER.—MAJENDIE ON MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE.—OLD SANDS OF LIFE. 232
CHAPTER XXVIII.—DOCTORS AND IMAGINATION.—LAUNCHING A JOKE FROM A CANNON.—THE PARIS EYE WATER.—MAJENDIE ON MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE.—OLD SANDS OF LIFE. 232
CHAPTER XXIX.—THE CONSUMPTIVE REMEDY.—E. ANDREWS, M. D.—BORN WITHOUT BIRTHRIGHTS.—HASHEESH CANDY.—ROBACK THE GREAT.—A CONJUROR OPPOSED TO LYING. 237
CHAPTER XXIX.—THE CONSUMPTIVE REMEDY.— E. ANDREWS, M.D.— BORN WITHOUT RIGHTS.— HASHEESH CANDY.— ROBACK THE GREAT.— A CONJUROR WHO OPPOSES LYING. 237
CHAPTER XXX.—MONSIGNORE CRISTOFORO RISCHIO; OR IL CRESO, THE NOSTRUM-VENDER OF FLORENCE.—A MODEL FOR OUR QUACK DOCTORS. 242
CHAPTER XXX.—MONSIGNOR CRISTOFORO RISCHIO; OR THE CROESUS, THE REMEDY-SALESMAN OF FLORENCE.—AN EXAMPLE FOR OUR CHARLATAN DOCTORS. 242
CHAPTER XXXI.—THE TWENTY-SEVENTH STREET GHOST.—SPIRITS ON THE RAMPAGE. 251
CHAPTER XXXI.—THE TWENTY-SEVENTH STREET GHOST.—SPIRITS ON THE RAMPAGE. 251
CHAPTER XXXII.—THE MOON HOAX. 259
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—THE MOON HOAX. 259
CHAPTER XXXIII.—THE MISCEGENATION HOAX.—A GREAT LITERARY SELL.—POLITICAL HUMBUGGING.—TRICKS OF THE WIRE-PULLERS.—MACHINERY EMPLOYED TO RENDER THE PAMPHLET NOTORIOUS.—WHO WERE SOLD AND HOW IT WAS DONE. 273
CHAPTER XXXIII.—THE MISCEGENATION HOAX.—A MAJOR LITERARY SCAM.—POLITICAL DECEIT.—MANIPULATIONS BY THE PUPPETEERS.—SYSTEMS USED TO MAKE THE PAMPHLET FAMOUS.—WHO GOT FOOLED AND HOW IT WAS DONE. 273
CHAPTER XXXIV.—HAUNTED HOUSES.—A NIGHT SPENT ALONE WITH A GHOST.—KIRBY THE ACTOR.—COLT’S PISTOLS VERSUS HOBGOBLINS.—THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 284
CHAPTER XXXIV.—HAUNTED HOUSES.—A NIGHT ALONE WITH A GHOST.—KIRBY THE ACTOR.—COLT’S PISTOLS AGAINST HOBGOBLINS.—THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 284
CHAPTER XXXV.—HAUNTED HOUSES.—GHOSTS.—GHOULS.—PHANTOMS.—VAMPIRES.—CONJURORS.—DIVINING—GOBLINS.—FORTUNE-TELLING.—MAGIC.—WITCHES.—SORCERY.—OBI.—DREAMS.—SIGNS.—SPIRITUAL MEDIUMS.—FALSE PROPHETS.—DEMONOLOGY.—DEVILTRY GENERALLY. 293
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—HAUNTED HOUSES.—GHOSTS.—GHOULS.—PHANTOMS.—VAMPIRES.—CONJURORS.—DIVINING—GOBLINS.—FORTUNE-TELLING.—MAGIC.—WITCHES.—SORCERY.—OBI.—DREAMS.—SIGNS.—SPIRITUAL MEDIUMS.—FALSE PROPHETS.—DEMONOLOGY.—DEVILRY GENERALLY. 293
CHAPTER XXXVI.—MAGICAL HUMBUGS.—VIRGIL.—A PICKLED SORCERER.—CORNELIUS AGRIPPA, HIS STUDENTS AND HIS BLACK DOG.—DOCTOR FAUSTUS.—HUMBUGGING HORSE-JOCKEYS.—ZIITO AND HIS LARGE SWALLOW.—DEVIL TAKE THE HINDERMOST. 300
CHAPTER XXXVI.—MAGICAL HUMBUGS.— VIRGIL.— A PICKLED SORCERER.— CORNELIUS AGRIPPA, HIS STUDENTS, AND HIS BLACK DOG.— DOCTOR FAUSTUS.— HUMBUGGING HORSE JOCKEYS.— ZIITO AND HIS LARGE SWALLOW.— DEVIL TAKE THE HINDERMOST. 300
CHAPTER XXXVII.—WITCHCRAFT.—NEW YORK WITCHES.—THE WITCH MANIA.—HOW FAST THEY BURNED THEM.—THE MODE OF TRIAL.—WITCHES TO-DAY IN EUROPE. 308
CHAPTER XXXVII.—WITCHCRAFT.—NEW YORK WITCHES.—THE WITCH HYSTERIA.—HOW FAST THEY BURNED THEM.—THE TRIAL PROCESS.—WITCHES TODAY IN EUROPE. 308
CHAPTER XXXVIII.—CHARMS AND INCANTATIONS.—HOW CATO CURED SPRAINS.—THE SECRET NAME OF GOD.—SECRET NAMES OF CITIES.—ABRACADABRA CURES FOR CRAMP.—MR. WRIGHT’S SIGIL.—WHISKERIFUSTICUS.—WITCHES’ HORSES.—THEIR CURSES.—HOW TO RAISE THE DEVIL. 314
CHAPTER XXXVIII.—CHARMS AND SPELLS.—HOW CATO HEALED SPRAINS.—THE HIDDEN NAME OF GOD.—HIDDEN NAMES OF CITIES.—ABRACADABRA REMEDIES FOR CRAMPS.—MR. WRIGHT’S SIGNATURE.—WHISKERIFUSTICUS.—WITCHES’ HORSES.—THEIR CURSES.—HOW TO SUMMON THE DEVIL. 314
CHAPTER XXXIX.—THE PRINCESS CARIBOO. 323
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—THE PRINCESS CARIBOO. 323
CHAPTER XL.—COUNT CAGLIOSTRO, ALIAS JOSEPH BALSAMO, KNOWN ALSO AS “CURSED JOE.” 330
CHAPTER XL.—Count Cagliostro, also known as Joseph Balsamo, also referred to as “Cursed Joe.” 330
CHAPTER XLI.—THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 338
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 338
CHAPTER XLII.—THE COUNT DE ST. GERMAIN, SAGE, PROPHET, AND MAGICIAN. 354
CHAPTER XLII.—THE COUNT DE ST. GERMAIN, A WISE MAN, SEER, AND MAGICIAN. 354
CHAPTER XLIII.—RIZA BEY, THE PERSIAN ENVOY TO LOUIS XIV. 361
CHAPTER XLIII.—Riza Bey, the Persian envoy to Louis XIV. 361
CHAPTER XLIV.—DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.—MATTHIAS THE IMPOSTOR.—NEW YORK FOLLIES THIRTY YEARS AGO. 370
CHAPTER XLIV.—DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.—MATTHIAS THE IMPOSTOR.—NEW YORK FOLLIES THIRTY YEARS AGO. 370
CHAPTER XLV.—A RELIGIOUS HUMBUG ON JOHN BULL.—JOANNA SOUTHCOTT.—THE SECOND SHILOH. 380
CHAPTER XLV.—A RELIGIOUS SCAM ON JOHN BULL.—JOANNA SOUTHCOTT.—THE SECOND SHILOH. 380
CHAPTER XLVI.—THE FIRST HUMBUG IN THE WORLD.—ADVANTAGES OF STUDYING THE IMPOSITIONS OF FORMER AGES.—HEATHEN HUMBUGS.—THE ANCIENT MYSTERIES.—THE CABIRI.—ELEUSIS.—ISIS. 386
CHAPTER XLVI.—THE FIRST HUMBUG IN THE WORLD.—BENEFITS OF STUDYING PAST DECEPTIONS.—HEATHEN FRAUDS.—THE ANCIENT MYSTERIES.—THE CABIRI.—ELEUSIS.—ISIS. 386
CHAPTER XLVII.—HEATHEN HUMBUGS NO. 2.—HEATHEN STATED SERVICES.—ORACLES.—SIBYLS.—AUGURIES. 392
CHAPTER XLVII.—HEATHEN HUMBUGS NO. 2.—HEATHEN RITUALS.—ORACLES.—SIBYLS.—AUGURIES. 392
CHAPTER XLVIII.—MODERN HEATHEN HUMBUGS. 401
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—MODERN HEATHEN HUMBUGS. 401
CHAPTER XLIX.—ORDEALS. 408
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—CHALLENGES. 408
CHAPTER L.—APOLLONIUS OF TYANA. 415
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—APOLLONIUS OF TYANA. 415
HUMBUGS OF THE WORLD.
I. PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.
CHAPTER I.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE SUBJECT.—HUMBUG UNIVERSAL.—IN RELIGION.—IN POLITICS.—IN BUSINESS.—IN SCIENCE.—IN MEDICINE.—HOW IS IT TO CEASE.—THE GREATEST HUMBUG OF ALL.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE SUBJECT.—HUMBUG UNIVERSAL.—IN RELIGION.—IN POLITICS.—IN BUSINESS.—IN SCIENCE.—IN MEDICINE.—HOW CAN IT BE STOPPED.—THE BIGGEST HUMBUG OF ALL.
A little reflection will show that humbug is an astonishingly wide-spread phenomenon—in fact almost universal. And this is true, although we exclude crimes and arrant swindles from the definition of it, according to the somewhat careful explanation which is given in the beginning of the chapter succeeding this one.
A little reflection will show that humbug is an astonishingly widespread phenomenon—in fact, almost universal. And this is true, even if we exclude crimes and blatant scams from the definition, according to the somewhat careful explanation provided at the beginning of the chapter that follows this one.
I apprehend that there is no sort of object which men seek to attain, whether secular, moral or religious, in which humbug is not very often an instrumentality. Religion is and has ever been a chief chapter of human life. False religions are the only ones known to two thirds of the human race, even now, after nineteen centuries of Christianity; and false religions are perhaps the most monstrous, complicated and thorough-going specimens of humbug that can be found. And even within the pale of Christianity, how unbroken has been the succession of impostors, hypocrites and pre[12]tenders, male and female, of every possible variety of age, sex, doctrine and discipline!
I understand that there isn't a single goal that people strive for—whether it's material, ethical, or spiritual—where deception isn't often a tool. Religion has always been a major part of human life. For two-thirds of humanity, even now, after nineteen centuries of Christianity, false religions are the only ones they recognize; and these false religions are probably the most outrageous, intricate, and thorough examples of deception that exist. Even within Christianity itself, the history has been filled with a steady stream of frauds, hypocrites, and pretenders, both male and female, of every imaginable age, gender, belief, and practice!
Politics and government are certainly among the most important of practical human interests. Now it was a diplomatist—that is, a practical manager of one kind of government matters—who invented that wonderful phrase—a whole world full of humbug in half-a-dozen words—that “Language was given to us to conceal our thoughts.” It was another diplomatist, who said “An ambassador is a gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.” But need I explain to my own beloved countrymen that there is humbug in politics? Does anybody go into a political campaign without it? are no exaggerations of our candidate’s merits to be allowed? no depreciations of the other candidate? Shall we no longer prove that the success of the party opposed to us will overwhelm the land in ruin? Let me see. Leaving out the two elections of General Washington, eighteen times that very fact has been proved by the party that was beaten, and immediately we have not been ruined, notwithstanding that the dreadful fatal fellows on the other side got their hands on the offices and their fingers into the treasury.
Politics and government are definitely among the most important aspects of practical human interests. It was a diplomat—essentially, a practical manager of government affairs—who coined that brilliant phrase, which sums up a whole lot of nonsense in just a few words: “Language was given to us to conceal our thoughts.” Another diplomat said, “An ambassador is a gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.” But do I really need to remind my fellow countrymen that there's a lot of nonsense in politics? Does anyone enter a political campaign without it? Are there no exaggerations about our candidate’s strengths allowed? No belittling of the other candidate? Should we no longer demonstrate that the success of the opposing party will plunge the nation into disaster? Let’s see. Excluding the two elections of General Washington, that very idea has been proved eighteen times by the losing party, and yet, here we are, not ruined, despite those dreadful people on the other side taking over the offices and getting their hands on the treasury.
Business is the ordinary means of living for nearly all of us. And in what business is there not humbug? “There’s cheating in all trades but ours,” is the prompt reply from the boot-maker with his brown paper soles, the grocer with his floury sugar and chicoried coffee, the butcher with his mysterious sausages and queer veal, the dry goods man with his “damaged goods wet at the great fire” and his “selling at a ruinous loss,[13]” the stock-broker with his brazen assurance that your company is bankrupt and your stock not worth a cent (if he wants to buy it,) the horse jockey with his black arts and spavined brutes, the milkman with his tin aquaria, the land agent with his nice new maps and beautiful descriptions of distant scenery, the newspaper man with his “immense circulation,” the publisher with his “Great American Novel,” the city auctioneer with his “Pictures by the Old Masters”—all and every one protest each his own innocence, and warn you against the deceits of the rest. My inexperienced friend, take it for granted that they all tell the truth—about each other! and then transact your business to the best of your ability on your own judgment. Never fear but that you will get experience enough, and that you will pay well for it too; and towards the time when you shall no longer need earthly goods, you will begin to know how to buy.
Business is the normal way of life for almost all of us. And in which business isn't there some nonsense? “There’s cheating in all industries but ours,” is the quick reply from the shoemaker with his cheap soles, the grocer with his sugar mixed with flour and coffee made from chicory, the butcher with his strange sausages and odd veal, the fabric merchant with his “damaged goods from the big fire” and his “selling at a huge loss,[13]” the stockbroker with his bold assurance that your company is bankrupt and your stock is worthless (if he wants to buy it), the horse jockey with his shady tricks and lame horses, the milkman with his tin containers, the real estate agent with his nice new maps and enticing descriptions of faraway landscapes, the newspaper guy with his “huge circulation,” the publisher with his “Great American Novel,” and the city auctioneer with his “Pictures by the Old Masters”—each and every one insists on their innocence and warns you about the scams of the others. My inexperienced friend, assume they all speak the truth—about each other! and then handle your business to the best of your ability based on your own judgment. Don't worry; you'll gain enough experience, and you'll pay dearly for it too; and as the time comes when you no longer need material things, you'll begin to know how to buy.
Literature is one of the most interesting and significant expressions of humanity. Yet books are thickly peppered with humbug. “Travellers’ stories” have been the scoff of ages, from the “True Story” of witty old Lucian the Syrian down to the gorillarities—if I may coin a word—of the Frenchman Du Chaillu. Ireland’s counterfeited Shakspeare plays, Chatterton’s forged manuscripts, George Psalmanazar’s forged Formosan language, Jo Smith’s Mormon Bible, (it should be noted that this and the Koran sounded two strings of humbug together—the literary and the religious,) the more recent counterfeits of the notorious Greek Simonides—such literary humbugs as these are equal[14] in presumption and in ingenuity too, to any of a merely business kind, though usually destitute of that sort of impiety which makes the great religious humbugs horrible as well as impudent.
Literature is one of the most interesting and significant expressions of humanity. Yet books are full of nonsense. “Travellers’ stories” have been mocked for ages, from the “True Story” of witty old Lucian the Syrian down to the ridiculous claims—if I may invent a word—of the Frenchman Du Chaillu. Ireland’s fake Shakespeare plays, Chatterton’s forged manuscripts, George Psalmanazar’s made-up Formosan language, Jo Smith’s Mormon Bible (it’s worth noting that this and the Koran combine two types of nonsense—the literary and the religious), and the more recent forgeries of the infamous Greek Simonides—such literary deceptions are as bold and clever as any purely commercial scams, although they usually lack the kind of impiety that makes the major religious deceptions not only outrageous but also appalling.[14]
Science is another important field of human effort. Science is the pursuit of pure truth, and the systematizing of it. In such an employment as that, one might reasonably hope to find all things done in honesty and sincerity. Not at all, my ardent and inquiring friends, there is a scientific humbug just as large as any other. We have all heard of the Moon Hoax. Do none of you remember the Hydrarchos Sillimannii, that awful Alabama snake? It was only a little while ago that a grave account appeared in a newspaper of a whole new business of compressing ice. Perpetual motion has been the dream of scientific visionaries, and a pretended but cheating realization of it has been exhibited by scamp after scamp. I understand that one is at this moment being invented over in Jersey City. I have purchased more than one “perpetual motion” myself. Many persons will remember Mr. Paine—“The Great Shot-at” as he was called, from his story that people were constantly trying to kill him—and his water-gas. There have been other water gases too, which were each going to show us how to set the North River on fire, but something or other has always broken down just at the wrong moment. Nobody seems to reflect, when these water gases come up, that if water could really be made to burn, the right conditions would surely have happened at some one of the thousands of city fires, and that the very stuff with which[15] our stout firemen were extinguishing the flames, would have itself caught and exterminated the whole brave wet crowd!
Science is another crucial area of human endeavor. Science seeks pure truth and organizes it. In such a pursuit, one might reasonably expect everything to be conducted with honesty and sincerity. Not at all, my enthusiastic and curious friends; there is just as much scientific deception as in any other field. We've all heard of the Moon Hoax. Does anyone remember the Hydrarchos Sillimannii, that infamous Alabama snake? It wasn't long ago that a serious article appeared in a newspaper about a whole new industry focused on compressing ice. Perpetual motion has been the dream of scientific dreamers, and countless frauds have pretended to achieve it. I hear one is currently being invented over in Jersey City. I've bought more than one "perpetual motion" device myself. Many people will recall Mr. Paine—known as "The Great Shot-at" because he claimed people were always trying to kill him—and his water-gas. There have been other water gases too, each promising to show us how to set the North River on fire, but something has always malfunctioned at the worst possible moment. Nobody seems to consider that if water could truly burn, the right conditions would surely have occurred during one of the many city fires, and the very substance that our brave firefighters were using to extinguish the flames would have ignited and wiped out the entire resilient wet crowd!
Medicine is the means by which we poor feeble creatures try to keep from dying or aching. In a world so full of pain it would seem as if people could not be so foolish, or practitioners so knavish, as to sport with men’s and women’s and children’s lives by their professional humbugs. Yet there are many grave M. D.’s who, if there is nobody to hear, and if they speak their minds, will tell you plainly that the whole practice of medicine is in one sense a humbug. One of its features is certainly a humbug, though so innocent and even useful that it seems difficult to think of any objection to it. This is the practice of giving a placebo; that is, a bread pill or a dose of colored water, to keep the patient’s mind easy while imagination helps nature to perfect a cure. As for the quacks, patent medicines and universal remedies, I need only mention their names. Prince Hohenlohe, Valentine Greatrakes, John St. John Long, Doctor Graham and his wonderful bed, Mesmer and his tub, Perkins’ metallic tractors—these are half a dozen. Modern history knows of hundreds of such.
Medicine is how we weak beings try to avoid dying or suffering. In a world so full of pain, it seems like people wouldn’t be foolish, or practitioners so deceitful, as to toy with the lives of men, women, and children through their professional tricks. Yet there are many serious M.D.s who, when there’s no one around to hear them, will tell you outright that the whole practice of medicine is, in one way, a scam. One aspect of it definitely is a scam, although it’s so innocent and even helpful that it’s hard to find any real objections to it. This is the practice of giving a placebo; basically, a sugar pill or a dose of colored water to keep the patient calm while their imagination helps nature do its job in healing. As for the quacks, patent medicines, and all-purpose cures, I just need to mention their names. Prince Hohenlohe, Valentine Greatrakes, John St. John Long, Doctor Graham and his amazing bed, Mesmer and his tub, Perkins’ metallic tractors—these are just a few. Modern history has hundreds more like them.
It would almost seem as if human delusions became more unreasoning and abject in proportion as their subject is of greater importance. A machine, a story, an animal skeleton, are not so very important. But the humbugs which have prevailed about that wondrous machine, the human body, its ailments and its cures, about the unspeakable mystery of human life, and still[16] more about the far greater and more awful mysteries of the life beyond the grave, and the endless happiness and misery believed to exist there, the humbugs about these have been infinitely more absurd, more shocking, more unreasonable, more inhuman, more destructive.
It almost seems like human delusions become more irrational and extreme when the subject is more significant. A machine, a story, or an animal skeleton aren’t that important. But the nonsense that has surrounded that amazing machine, the human body—its illnesses and treatments—along with the unspeakable mystery of human life, and even more about the much greater and more terrifying mysteries of what happens after death, as well as the endless happiness and suffering thought to exist there, has been infinitely more absurd, more shocking, more unreasonable, more inhumane, and more destructive.
I can only allude to whole sciences (falsely so called) which are unmingled humbugs from beginning to end. Such was Alchemy, such was Magic, such was and still is Astrology, and above all, Fortune-telling.
I can only hint at entire fields of study (misnamed as such) that are pure nonsense from start to finish. This includes Alchemy, Magic, Astrology, and especially, Fortune-telling.
But there is a more thorough humbug than any of these enterprises or systems. The greatest humbug of all is the man who believes—or pretends to believe—that everything and everybody are humbugs. We sometimes meet a person who professes that there is no virtue; that every man has his price, and every woman hers; that any statement from anybody is just as likely to be false as true, and that the only way to decide which, is to consider whether truth or a lie was likely to have paid best in that particular case. Religion he thinks one of the smartest business dodges extant, a firstrate investment, and by all odds the most respectable disguise that a lying or swindling business man can wear. Honor he thinks is a sham. Honesty he considers a plausible word to flourish in the eyes of the greener portion of our race, as you would hold out a cabbage leaf to coax a donkey. What people want, he thinks, or says he thinks, is something good to eat, something good to drink, fine clothes, luxury, laziness, wealth. If you can imagine a hog’s mind in a man’s body—sensual, greedy, selfish, cruel, cunning, sly,[17] coarse, yet stupid, short-sighted, unreasoning, unable to comprehend anything except what concerns the flesh, you have your man. He thinks himself philosophic and practical, a man of the world; he thinks to show knowledge and wisdom, penetration, deep acquaintance with men and things. Poor fellow! he has exposed his own nakedness. Instead of showing that others are rotten inside, he has proved that he is. He claims that it is not safe to believe others—it is perfectly safe to disbelieve him. He claims that every man will get the better of you if possible—let him alone! Selfishness, he says, is the universal rule—leave nothing to depend on his generosity or honor; trust him just as far as you can sling an elephant by the tail. A bad world, he sneers, full of deceit and nastiness—it is his own foul breath that he smells; only a thoroughly corrupt heart could suggest such vile thoughts. He sees only what suits him, as a turkey-buzzard spies only carrion, though amid the loveliest landscape. I pronounce him who thus virtually slanders his father and dishonors his mother and defiles the sanctities of home and the glory of patriotism and the merchant’s honor and the martyr’s grave and the saint’s crown—who does not even know that every sham shows that there is a reality, and that hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue—I pronounce him—no, I do not pronounce him a humbug, the word does not apply to him. He is a fool.
But there’s a bigger con than any of these schemes or systems. The biggest con of all is the person who believes—or pretends to believe—that everything and everyone is a con. Sometimes we encounter someone who claims that there's no virtue; that every man has his price, and every woman does too; that any statement from anyone is just as likely to be false as true, and that the only way to determine which is to consider whether the truth or a lie would likely benefit someone more in that particular situation. He thinks religion is one of the smartest business tricks around, a top-notch investment, and by far the most respectable mask a dishonest or deceitful businessperson can wear. He believes honor is a joke. He sees honesty as a convenient word to parade in front of the more gullible among us, like dangling a cabbage leaf to lure a donkey. He thinks what people want is good food, good drinks, nice clothes, luxury, laziness, and wealth. If you can picture a pig's mind in a man's body—sensual, greedy, selfish, cruel, cunning, sly, coarse, yet dumb, short-sighted, and unreasonable, unable to grasp anything except what relates to the physical—you’ve got him. He sees himself as philosophical and practical, a worldly person; he thinks he’s showcasing knowledge and wisdom, insight, deep understanding of people and things. Poor guy! He’s just laid bare his own shortcomings. Instead of proving that others are rotten to the core, he’s shown that he is. He says it’s dangerous to trust others—it’s perfectly safe to distrust him. He claims that every man will try to take advantage of you if he can—just leave him be! He asserts that selfishness is the universal norm—don’t expect anything from his generosity or honor; trust him only as much as you can throw an elephant by the tail. A bad world, he scoffs, full of deceit and filth—it’s his own foul breath he’s detecting; only a thoroughly corrupt heart could come up with such disgusting ideas. He only sees what fits his narrative, like a turkey buzzard that only spots dead animals, even in the most beautiful scenery. I say this person, who effectively slanders his father, dishonors his mother, and defiles the sanctity of home, the honor of patriotism, the merchant’s integrity, the martyr’s grave, and the saint’s crown—who doesn’t even realize that every sham indicates a reality, and that hypocrisy is the respect that vice pays to virtue—I don’t label him a con, that word doesn’t fit him. He’s a fool.
Looked at on one side, the history of humbug is truly humiliating to intellectual pride, yet the long silly story is less absurd during the later ages of history,[18] and grows less and less so in proportion to the spread of real Christianity. This religion promotes good sense, actual knowledge, contentment with what we cannot help, and the exclusive use of intelligent means for increasing human happiness and decreasing human sorrow. And whenever the time shall come when men are kind and just and honest; when they only want what is fair and right, judge only on real and true evidence, and take nothing for granted, then there will be no place left for any humbugs, either harmless or hurtful.
From one perspective, the history of deception is truly embarrassing for intellectual pride, yet this long, ridiculous tale feels less absurd in later periods of history,[18] and it becomes increasingly less so as true Christianity spreads. This religion encourages good sense, genuine knowledge, acceptance of what we can't change, and the use of reasoned methods to enhance human happiness and reduce suffering. When the day arrives that people are kind, fair, and honest; when they seek only what is just and right, judge solely based on real evidence, and don't make assumptions, then there will be no room left for any deceivers, whether harmless or harmful.
CHAPTER II.
DEFINITION OF THE WORD HUMBUG.—WARREN OF LONDON.—GENIN, THE HATTER.—GOSLING’S BLACKING.
DEFINITION OF THE WORD HUMBUG.—WARREN OF LONDON.—GENIN, THE HATTER.—GOSLING’S BLACKING.
Upon a careful consideration of my undertaking to give an account of the “Humbugs of the World,” I find myself somewhat puzzled in regard to the true definition of that word. To be sure, Webster says that humbug, as a noun, is an “imposition under fair pretences;” and as a verb, it is “to deceive; to impose on.” With all due deference to Doctor Webster, I submit that, according to present usage, this is not the only, nor even the generally accepted definition of that term.
Upon carefully thinking about my task to report on the “Humbugs of the World,” I find myself a bit confused about the true meaning of that word. Sure, Webster says that humbug, as a noun, is an “imposition under fair pretenses;” and as a verb, it means “to deceive; to impose on.” With all due respect to Doctor Webster, I suggest that, based on how it’s used today, this isn’t the only, nor even the most common definition of that term.
We will suppose, for instance, that a man with “fair pretences” applies to a wholesale merchant for credit on a large bill of goods. His “fair pretences” compre[19]hend an assertion that he is a moral and religious man, a member of the church, a man of wealth, etc., etc. It turns out that he is not worth a dollar, but is a base, lying wretch, an impostor and a cheat. He is arrested and imprisoned “for obtaining property under false pretences” or, as Webster says, “fair pretences.” He is punished for his villainy. The public do not call him a “humbug;” they very properly term him a swindler.
We will assume, for example, that a man with "fair pretenses" goes to a wholesale merchant to get credit for a large order of goods. His "fair pretenses" include claiming that he is a moral and religious man, a church member, and wealthy, among other things. It turns out he isn't worth a dollar and is actually a deceitful liar, an impostor, and a cheat. He is arrested and jailed "for obtaining property under false pretenses," or as Webster puts it, "fair pretenses." He is punished for his wrongdoing. The public doesn't call him a "humbug;" they appropriately label him a swindler.
A man, bearing the appearance of a gentleman in dress and manners, purchases property from you, and with “fair pretences” obtains your confidence. You find, when he has left, that he paid you with counterfeit bank-notes, or a forged draft. This man is justly called a “forger,” or “counterfeiter;” and if arrested, he is punished as such; but nobody thinks of calling him a “humbug.”
A man who looks like a gentleman in his clothes and behavior buys property from you and, with "good intentions," earns your trust. After he leaves, you discover that he paid with fake banknotes or a forged check. This man is rightly labeled a "forger" or "counterfeiter," and if caught, he faces punishment for it; yet, no one thinks to call him a "humbug."
A respectable-looking man sits by your side in an omnibus or rail-car. He converses fluently, and is evidently a man of intelligence and reading. He attracts your attention by his “fair pretences.” Arriving at your journey’s end, you miss your watch and your pocket-book. Your fellow passenger proves to be the thief. Everybody calls him a “pickpocket,” and not withstanding his “fair pretences,” not a person in the community calls him a “humbug.”
A well-dressed man sits next to you on a bus or train. He talks confidently and clearly knows his stuff. He catches your eye with his “good looks.” When you reach your destination, you realize your watch and wallet are gone. Your fellow passenger turns out to be the thief. Everyone calls him a “pickpocket,” but despite his “good looks,” no one in the community calls him a “fraud.”
Two actors appear as stars at two rival theatres. They are equally talented, equally pleasing. One advertises himself simply as a tragedian, under his proper name—the other boasts that he is a prince, and wears decorations presented by all the potentates of the world,[20] including the “King of the Cannibal Islands.” He is correctly set down as a “humbug,” while this term is never applied to the other actor. But if the man who boasts of having received a foreign title is a miserable actor, and he gets up gift-enterprises and bogus entertainments, or pretends to devote the proceeds of his tragic efforts to some charitable object, without, in fact, doing so—he is then a humbug in Dr. Webster’s sense of that word, for he is an “impostor under fair pretences.”
Two actors shine as stars at two competing theaters. They are equally talented and entertaining. One promotes himself simply as a tragedian, using his real name—while the other brags that he is a prince and flaunts decorations given to him by powerful leaders from around the world,[20] including the “King of the Cannibal Islands.” The former is rightly labeled a “humbug,” a label that doesn’t apply to the other actor. However, if the guy who claims to have a foreign title is a terrible actor and organizes sham events or fake shows, claiming that the money goes to charity when it really doesn’t—then he is truly a humbug in Dr. Webster’s definition of the term, as he is an “impostor under fair pretenses.”
Two physicians reside in one of our fashionable avenues. They were both educated in the best medical colleges; each has passed an examination, received his diploma, and been dubbed an M. D. They are equally skilled in the healing art. One rides quietly about the city in his gig or brougham, visiting his patients without noise or clamor—the other sallies out in his coach and four, preceded by a band of music, and his carriage and horses are covered with handbills and placards, announcing his “wonderful cures.” This man is properly called a quack and a humbug. Why? Not because he cheats or imposes upon the public, for he does not, but because, as generally understood, “humbug” consists in putting on glittering appearances—outside show—novel expedients, by which to suddenly arrest public attention, and attract the public eye and ear.
Two doctors live on one of our trendy streets. They both went to the best medical schools, have passed their exams, received their diplomas, and earned the title M.D. They are equally skilled in medicine. One quietly drives around the city in his carriage, visiting his patients without fuss or noise—while the other goes out in a flashy carriage pulled by four horses, preceded by a marching band, with his vehicle and horses covered in flyers boasting about his “amazing cures.” This guy is rightly called a quack and a fraud. Why? Not because he deceives or takes advantage of people, because he doesn’t, but because, in the common understanding, “humbug” means putting on a flashy show—superficial displays and new tricks meant to grab public attention and attract an audience.
Clergymen, lawyers, or physicians, who should resort to such methods of attracting the public, would not, for obvious reasons, be apt to succeed. Bankers, insurance-agents, and others, who aspire to become the[21] custodians of the money of their fellow-men, would require a different species of advertising from this; but there are various trades and occupations which need only notoriety to insure success, always provided that when customers are once attracted, they never fail to get their money’s worth. An honest man who thus arrests public attention will be called a “humbug,” but he is not a swindler or an impostor. If, however, after attracting crowds of customers by his unique displays, a man foolishly fails to give them a full equivalent for their money, they never patronize him a second time, but they very properly denounce him as a swindler, a cheat, an impostor; they do not, however, call him a “humbug.” He fails, not because he advertises his wares in an outre manner, but because, after attracting crowds of patrons, he stupidly and wickedly cheats them.
Clergymen, lawyers, or doctors who use such tactics to draw in the public likely won't succeed for obvious reasons. Bankers, insurance agents, and others who want to be the[21] custodians of people's money need a different kind of advertising. However, there are various trades and professions that just need some notoriety to ensure success, as long as they provide customers with good value once they've attracted them. An honest person who grabs public attention might be labeled a “humbug,” but they are not a con artist or a fraud. On the other hand, if someone foolishly fails to deliver proper value after drawing in a crowd with their unique displays, they won't get repeat customers and will rightly be labeled a swindler, cheat, or fraud; they won't be called a “humbug.” They fail not because they market their products in an outlandish way, but because they foolishly and wrongfully deceive customers after attracting them.
When the great blacking-maker of London dispatched his agent to Egypt to write on the pyramids of Ghiza, in huge letters, “Buy Warren’s Blacking, 30 Strand, London,” he was not “cheating” travelers upon the Nile. His blacking was really a superior article, and well worth the price charged for it, but he was “humbugging” the public by this queer way of arresting attention. It turned out just as he anticipated, that English travelers in that part of Egypt were indignant at this desecration, and they wrote back to the London Times (every Englishman writes or threatens to “write to the Times,” if anything goes wrong,) denouncing the “Goth” who had thus disfigured these ancient pyramids by writing on them in monstrous[22] letters: “Buy Warren’s Blacking, 30 Strand, London.” The Times published these letters, and backed them up by several of those awful, grand and dictatorial editorials peculiar to the great “Thunderer,” in which the blacking-maker, “Warren, 30 Strand,” was stigmatized as a man who had no respect for the ancient patriarchs, and it was hinted that he would probably not hesitate to sell his blacking on the sarcophagus of Pharaoh, “or any other”—mummy, if he could only make money by it. In fact, to cap the climax, Warren was denounced as a “humbug.” These indignant articles were copied into all the Provincial journals, and very soon, in this manner, the columns of every newspaper in Great Britain were teeming with this advice: “Try Warren’s Blacking, 30 Strand, London.” The curiosity of the public was thus aroused, and they did “try” it, and finding it a superior article, they continued to purchase it and recommend it to their friends, and Warren made a fortune by it. He always attributed his success to his having “humbugged” the public by this unique method of advertising his blacking in Egypt! But Warren did not cheat his customers, nor practice “an imposition under fair pretences.” He was a humbug, but he was an honest upright man, and no one called him an impostor or a cheat.
When the famous blacking-maker of London sent his agent to Egypt to write in big letters on the pyramids of Giza, “Buy Warren’s Blacking, 30 Strand, London,” he wasn’t trying to deceive travelers on the Nile. His blacking was genuinely a high-quality product and worth the price he charged for it, but he was misleading the public through this bizarre method of grabbing attention. Just as he expected, English travelers in that area of Egypt were outraged by this vandalism, and they wrote back to the London Times (every Englishman writes or threatens to “write to the Times” if something goes wrong), condemning the “Goth” who had marred these ancient pyramids with those enormous[22] letters: “Buy Warren’s Blacking, 30 Strand, London.” The Times published these letters, backing them up with several of those grand and authoritative editorials typical of the great “Thunderer,” in which the blacking-maker, “Warren, 30 Strand,” was labeled a man who disrespected the ancient patriarchs, and it was suggested that he wouldn’t think twice about selling his blacking on Pharaoh’s sarcophagus, “or any other”—mummy, if it meant making a profit. In fact, to add to the outrage, Warren was called a “humbug.” These furious articles were reprinted in all the Provincial journals, and soon enough, the columns of every newspaper in Great Britain were filled with the advice: “Try Warren’s Blacking, 30 Strand, London.” The public's curiosity was piqued, and they did “try” it, finding it to be a superior product, which led them to continue buying it and recommending it to their friends, resulting in Warren making a fortune. He always credited his success to his having “humbugged” the public with this unique method of marketing his blacking in Egypt! But Warren didn't cheat his customers or engage in “an imposition under fair pretenses.” He was a humbug, but he was an honest man, and no one called him an impostor or a fraud.
When the tickets for Jenny Lind’s first concert in America were sold at auction, several business-men, aspiring to notoriety, “bid high” for the first ticket. It was finally knocked down to “Genin, the hatter,” for $225. The journals in Portland (Maine) and Houston (Texas,) and all other journals throughout the United[23] States, between these two cities, which were connected with the telegraph, announced the fact in their columns the next morning. Probably two millions of readers read the announcement, and asked, “Who is Genin, the hatter?” Genin became famous in a day. Every man involuntarily examined his hat, to see if it was made by Genin; and an Iowa editor declared that one of his neighbors discovered the name of Genin in his old hat and immediately announced the fact to his neighbors in front of the Post Office. It was suggested that the old hat should be sold at auction. It was done then and there, and the Genin hat sold for fourteen dollars! Gentlemen from city and country rushed to Genin’s store to buy their hats, many of them willing to pay even an extra dollar, if necessary, provided they could get a glimpse of Genin himself. This singular freak put thousands of dollars into the pocket of “Genin, the hatter,” and yet I never heard it charged that he made poor hats, or that he would be guilty of an “imposition under fair pretences.” On the contrary, he is a gentleman of probity, and of the first respectability.
When tickets for Jenny Lind’s first concert in America were auctioned off, several ambitious businesspeople competed to get the first ticket. In the end, it went to “Genin, the hatter,” for $225. Newspapers in Portland (Maine), Houston (Texas), and all other papers across the United[23] States, connected by telegraph, reported the news the next morning. Probably around two million readers saw the announcement and wondered, “Who is Genin, the hatter?” Genin became famous overnight. Every man instinctively checked his hat to see if it was made by Genin, and an Iowa editor claimed that one of his neighbors found Genin’s name in his old hat and immediately shared the news with his neighbors in front of the Post Office. Someone suggested selling the old hat at auction. So it was done on the spot, and the Genin hat sold for fourteen dollars! Men from both the city and country rushed to Genin’s store to buy hats, many willing to pay an extra dollar if it meant they could catch a glimpse of Genin himself. This unusual trend made Genin thousands of dollars, yet I’ve never heard anyone say that he made bad hats or that he was trying to deceive anyone. On the contrary, he is a respectable and honest gentleman.
When the laying of the Atlantic Telegraph was nearly completed, I was in Liverpool. I offered the company one thousand pounds sterling ($5,000) for the privilege of sending the first twenty words over the cable to my Museum in New York—not that there was any intrinsic merit in the words, but that I fancied there was more than $5,000 worth of notoriety in the operation. But Queen Victoria and “Old Buck” were ahead of me. Their messages had the preference, and I was compelled to “take a back seat.”
When the laying of the Atlantic Telegraph was almost done, I was in Liverpool. I offered the company one thousand pounds sterling ($5,000) for the chance to send the first twenty words over the cable to my Museum in New York—not because the words were anything special, but because I thought there was more than $5,000 worth of publicity in the whole thing. But Queen Victoria and “Old Buck” got priority. Their messages came first, and I had to “take a back seat.”
[24]By thus illustrating what I believe the public will concede to be the sense in which the word “humbug” is generally used and understood at the present time, in this country as well as in England, I do not propose that my letters on this subject shall be narrowed down to that definition of the word. On the contrary, I expect to treat of various fallacies, delusions, and deceptions in ancient and modern times, which, according to Webster’s definition, may be called “humbugs,” inasmuch as they were “impositions under fair pretences.”
[24]By illustrating what I think the public will agree is the way the word “humbug” is commonly used and understood today, both here and in England, I don't intend for my letters on this topic to be limited to just that definition. On the contrary, I plan to discuss various misconceptions, delusions, and deceptions from ancient and modern times that, according to Webster’s definition, can be considered “humbugs,” as they are “impositions under fair pretenses.”
In writing of modern humbugs, however, I shall sometimes have occasion to give the names of honest and respectable parties now living, and I felt it but just that the public should fully comprehend my doctrine, that a man may, by common usage, be termed a “humbug,” without by any means impeaching his integrity.
In discussing modern phonies, I will occasionally need to mention the names of honest and respectable people currently living, and I think it's only fair that the public fully understands my point: a person can be labeled a “humbug” by common usage without it necessarily questioning their integrity.
Speaking of “blacking-makers,” reminds me that one of the first sensationists in advertising whom I remember to have seen, was Mr. Leonard Gosling, known as “Monsieur Gosling, the great French blacking-maker.” He appeared in New York in 1830. He flashed like a meteor across the horizon; and before he had been in the city three months, nearly everybody had heard of “Gosling’s Blacking.” I well remember his magnificent “four in hand.” A splendid team of blood bays, with long black tails, was managed with such dexterity by Gosling himself, who was a great “whip,” that they almost seemed to fly. The carriage was emblazoned with the words “Gosling’s Blacking,” in large gold letters, and the whole turnout was so elaborately ornamented and bedizened that everybody stopped and[25] gazed with wondering admiration. A bugle-player or a band of music always accompanied the great Gosling, and, of course, helped to attract the public attention to his establishment. At the turning of every street-corner your eyes rested upon “Gosling’s Blacking.” From every show-window gilded placards discoursed eloquently of the merits of “Gosling’s Blacking.” The newspapers teemed with poems written in its praise, and showers of pictorial handbills, illustrated almanacs, and tinseled souvenirs, all lauding the virtues of “Gosling’s Blacking,” smothered you at every point.
Speaking of “black-makers,” it reminds me that one of the first sensationists in advertising I remember seeing was Mr. Leonard Gosling, known as “Monsieur Gosling, the great French black-maker.” He showed up in New York in 1830. He dazzled like a meteor across the skyline; and within three months of arriving, almost everyone had heard of “Gosling’s Blacking.” I clearly remember his magnificent “four-in-hand.” A stunning team of blood bay horses, with long black tails, was handled so skillfully by Gosling himself, who was a great “whip,” that they seemed to almost fly. The carriage was adorned with the words “Gosling’s Blacking” in large gold letters, and the entire setup was so elaborately decorated that everyone stopped and[25] stared in wonder. A bugler or a music band always accompanied the great Gosling, which of course helped to draw the public's attention to his business. At every street corner, your eyes fell on “Gosling’s Blacking.” From every shop window, golden placards eloquently praised the benefits of “Gosling’s Blacking.” The newspapers were filled with poems written in its honor, and an avalanche of illustrated handbills, fancy almanacs, and shiny souvenirs, all celebrating the virtues of “Gosling’s Blacking,” surrounded you at every turn.
The celebrated originator of delineations, “Jim Crow Rice,” made his first appearance at Hamblin’s Bowery Theatre at about this time. The crowds which thronged there were so great that hundreds from the audience were frequently admitted upon the stage. In one of his scenes, Rice introduced a negro boot-blacking establishment. Gosling was too “wide awake” to let such an opportunity pass unimproved, and Rice was paid for singing an original black Gosling ditty, while a score of placards bearing the inscription, “Use Gosling’s Blacking,” were suspended at different points in this negro boot polishing hall. Everybody tried “Gosling’s Blacking;” and as it was a really good article, his sales in city and country soon became immense; Gosling made a fortune in seven years, and retired but, as with thousands before him, it was “easy come easy go.” He engaged in a lead-mining speculation, and it was generally understood that his fortune was, in a great measure, lost as rapidly as it was made.
The famous creator of performances, “Jim Crow Rice,” made his debut at Hamblin’s Bowery Theatre around this time. The crowds there were so huge that often hundreds from the audience were allowed on stage. In one of his acts, Rice featured a black boot-blacking shop. Gosling was too “sharp” to miss such an opportunity, and Rice was paid to perform an original black Gosling song while several signs reading, “Use Gosling’s Blacking,” were displayed at various spots in the boot polishing area. Everyone tried “Gosling’s Blacking,” and since it was a really good product, his sales in both the city and countryside skyrocketed; Gosling made a fortune in seven years and retired, but like many before him, it was “easy come easy go.” He got involved in a lead-mining venture, and it was generally known that his wealth was mostly lost as quickly as it was earned.
[26]Here let me digress, in order to observe that one of the most difficult things in life is for men to bear discreetly sudden prosperity. Unless considerable time and labor are devoted to earning money, it is not appreciated by its possessor; and, having no practical knowledge of the value of money, he generally gets rid of it with the same ease that marked its accumulation. Mr. Astor gave the experience of thousands when he said that he found more difficulty in earning and saving his first thousand dollars than in accumulating all the subsequent millions which finally made up his fortune. The very economy, perseverance, and discipline which he was obliged to practice, as he gained his money dollar by dollar, gave him a just appreciation of its value, and thus led him into those habits of industry, prudence, temperance, and untiring diligence so conducive and necessary to his future success.
[26]Let me take a moment to point out that one of the hardest things in life is for people to handle sudden wealth discreetly. If someone hasn’t spent a significant amount of time and effort earning money, they often don’t fully appreciate it; lacking practical knowledge about its value, they tend to spend it just as easily as they came by it. Mr. Astor reflected the experience of many when he remarked that he found it much harder to earn and save his first thousand dollars than to accumulate all the subsequent millions that made up his fortune. The very skills of frugality, perseverance, and discipline that he had to practice as he earned money bit by bit helped him truly understand its value, leading him to develop habits of hard work, caution, moderation, and relentless effort that were essential for his future success.
Mr. Gosling, however, was not a man to be put down by a single financial reverse. He opened a store in Canajoharie, N. Y., which was burned, and on which there was no insurance. He came again to New York in 1839, and established a restaurant, where, by devoting the services of himself and several members of his family assiduously to the business, he soon reveled in his former prosperity, and snapped his fingers in glee at what unreflecting persons term “the freaks of Dame Fortune.” He is still living in New York, hale and hearty at the age of seventy. Although called a “French” blacking-maker, Mr. Gosling is in reality a Dutchman, having been born in the city of Amsterdam, Holland. He is the father of twenty-four child[27]ren, twelve of whom are still living, to cheer him in his declining years, and to repay him in grateful attentions for the valuable lessons of prudence, integrity, and industry through the adoption of which they are honored as respectable and worthy members of society.
Mr. Gosling, however, wasn’t someone who could be knocked down by a single financial setback. He opened a store in Canajoharie, N.Y., which burned down, and there was no insurance. He returned to New York in 1839 and started a restaurant, where, by dedicating himself and several family members to the business, he quickly enjoyed his previous success and laughed at what careless people call “the whims of Lady Luck.” He is still living in New York, healthy and strong at the age of seventy. Although referred to as a “French” blacking-maker, Mr. Gosling is actually Dutch, having been born in Amsterdam, Holland. He is the father of twenty-four children, twelve of whom are still alive to support him in his later years and show him gratitude for the important lessons of prudence, integrity, and hard work that have helped them become respected and worthy members of society.
I cannot however permit this chapter to close without recording a protest in principle against that method of advertising of which Warren’s on the Pyramid is an instance. Not that it is a crime or even an immorality in the usual sense of the words; but it is a violent offence against good taste, and a selfish and inexcusable destruction of other people’s enjoyments. No man ought to advertise in the midst of landscapes or scenery, in such a way as to destroy or injure their beauty by introducing totally incongruous and relatively vulgar associations. Too many transactions of the sort have been perpetrated in our own country. The principle on which the thing is done is, to seek out the most attractive spot possible—the wildest, the most lovely, and there, in the most staring and brazen manner to paint up advertisements of quack medicines, rum, or as the case may be, in letters of monstrous size, in the most obtrusive colors, in such a prominent place, and in such a lasting way as to destroy the beauty of the scene both thoroughly and permanently.
I cannot let this chapter end without recording a protest against the kind of advertising exemplified by Warren’s on the Pyramid. It’s not that it’s a crime or even immoral in the usual sense; rather, it’s a blatant offense against good taste and a selfish, inexcusable way of ruining other people’s enjoyment. No one should advertise in the middle of beautiful landscapes or scenery in a manner that damages their beauty by introducing totally out-of-place and generally tacky associations. Too much of this has happened in our own country. The idea behind this practice is to find the most appealing spot possible—the wildest, the most picturesque—and then, in the most obvious and garish way, to plaster advertisements for dubious medicines, rum, or whatever else, in letters that are enormous, in colors that are too loud, in a prominent location, and in a way that permanently mars the beauty of the scene.
Any man with a beautiful wife or daughter would probably feel disagreeably, if he should find branded indelibly across her smooth white forehead, or on her snowy shoulder in blue and red letters such a phrase as this: “Try the Jigamaree Bitters!” Very much like this is the sort of advertising I am speaking of. It is[28] not likely that I shall be charged with squeamishness on this question. I can readily enough see the selfishness and vulgarity of this particular sort of advertising, however.
Any guy with a beautiful wife or daughter would probably feel uncomfortable if he found a phrase like “Try the Jigamaree Bitters!” permanently stamped across her smooth white forehead or on her snowy shoulder in blue and red letters. This is very similar to the type of advertising I'm talking about. It is[28] unlikely that anyone would accuse me of being overly sensitive on this topic. I can easily see the selfishness and tackiness of this specific kind of advertising, though.
It is outrageously selfish to destroy the pleasure of thousands, for the sake of a chance of additional gain. And it is an atrocious piece of vulgarity to flaunt the names of quack nostrums, and of the coarse stimulants of sots, among the beautiful scenes of nature. The pleasure of such places depends upon their freedom from the associations of every day concerns and troubles and weaknesses. A lovely nook of forest scenery, or a grand rock, like a beautiful woman, depends for much of its attractiveness upon the attendant sense of freedom from whatever is low; upon a sense of purity and of romance. And it is about as nauseous to find “Bitters” or “Worm Syrup” daubed upon the landscape, as it would be upon the lady’s brow.
It’s incredibly selfish to ruin the enjoyment of thousands just for a shot at extra profit. It's also tasteless to display the names of useless remedies and cheap fixes alongside the stunning beauty of nature. The joy of these places relies on their escape from the everyday issues, troubles, and weaknesses. A beautiful spot in the forest or a majestic rock, much like a gorgeous woman, gains much of its charm from the surrounding sense of freedom from anything base; it evokes feelings of purity and romance. Spotting “Bitters” or “Worm Syrup” plastered across the landscape is just as unpleasant as seeing it on a lady’s brow.
Since writing this I observe that two legislatures—those of New Hampshire and New York—have passed laws to prevent this dirty misdemeanor. It is greatly to their credit, and it is in good season. For it is matter of wonder that some more colossal vulgarian has not stuck up a sign a mile long on the Palisades. But it is matter of thankfulness too. At the White Mountains, many grand and beautiful views have been spoiled by these nostrum and bedbug souled fellows.
Since writing this, I see that two legislatures—New Hampshire and New York—have passed laws to stop this disgusting behavior. They deserve a lot of credit, and it's a timely move. It's surprising that some even larger rude person hasn't put up a huge sign a mile long on the Palisades. But it's also something to be thankful for. At the White Mountains, many stunning and beautiful views have been ruined by these quack and bedbug-infested people.
It is worth noticing that the chief haunts of the city of New York, the Central Park, has thus far remained unviolated by the dirty hands of these vulgar advertisers. Without knowing anything about it, I have[29] no doubt whatever that the commissioners have been approached often by parties desiring the privilege of advertising within its limits. Among the advertising fraternity it would be thought a gigantic opportunity to be able to flaunt the name of some bug-poison, fly-killer, bowel-rectifier, or disguised rum, along the walls of the Reservoir; upon the delicate stone-work of the Terrace, or the graceful lines of the Bow Bridge; to nail up a tin sign on every other tree, to stick one up right in front of every seat; to keep a gang of young wretches thrusting pamphlet or handbill into every person’s palm that enters the gate, to paint a vulgar sign across every gray rock; to cut quack words in ditch-work in the smooth green turf of the mall or ball-ground. I have no doubt that it is the peremptory decision and clear good taste of the Commissioners alone, which have kept this last retreat of nature within our crowded city from being long ago plastered and daubed with placards, handbills, sign-boards and paint, from side to side and from end to end, over turf, tree, rock, wall, bridge, archway, building and all.
It's important to note that the main spots in New York City, like Central Park, have so far remained untouched by the dirty hands of those tacky advertisers. Without knowing much about it, I have[29] no doubt that the commissioners have often been approached by people wanting the chance to advertise within its boundaries. In the advertising world, it would be seen as a massive opportunity to display the name of some bug spray, fly killer, digestive aid, or disguised liquor along the walls of the Reservoir; on the delicate stonework of the Terrace, or the elegant curves of the Bow Bridge; to slap up a sign on every other tree, to put one right in front of every bench; to have a group of young kids shoving pamphlets or flyers into the hands of everyone who enters the gate, to paint a garish sign across every gray rock; to carve cheesy slogans into the smooth green grass of the mall or playing field. I believe it is only the firm decision and good taste of the Commissioners that have prevented this last bit of nature amidst our crowded city from becoming coated with posters, flyers, signs, and paint, from one end to the other, over turf, trees, rocks, walls, bridges, archways, buildings, and more.
CHAPTER III.
MONSIEUR MANGIN, THE FRENCH HUMBUG.
Monsieur Mangin, the French fake.
One of the most original, unique, and successful humbugs of the present day was the late Monsieur Mangin, the blacklead pencil maker of Paris. Few persons who have visited the French capital within the last ten[30] or twelve years can have failed to have seen him, and once seen he was not to be forgotten. While passing through the public streets, there was nothing in his personal appearance to distinguish him from any ordinary gentlemen. He drove a pair of bay horses, attached to an open carriage with two seats, the back one always occupied by his valet. Sometimes he would take up his stand in the Champs Elysées; at other times, near the column in the Place Vendôme; but usually he was seen in the afternoon in the Place de la Bastille, or the Place de la Madeleine. On Sundays, his favorite locality was the Place de la Bourse. Mangin was a well-formed, stately-looking individual, with a most self-satisfied countenance, which seemed to say: “I am master here; and all that my auditors have to do is, to listen and obey.” Arriving at his destined stopping-place, his carriage halted. His servant handed him a case from which he took several large portraits of himself, which he hung prominently upon the sides of his carriage, and also placed in front of him a vase filled with medals bearing his likeness on one side and a description of his pencils on the other. He then leisurely commenced a change of costume. His round hat was displaced by a magnificent burnished helmet, mounted with rich plumes of various brilliant colors. His overcoat was laid aside, and he donned in its stead a costly velvet tunic with gold fringes. He then drew a pair of polished steel gauntlets upon his hands, covered his breast with a brilliant cuirass, and placed a richly-mounted sword at his side. His servant watched him closely, and upon receiving a sign[31] from his master, he too put on his official costume, which consisted of a velvet robe and a helmet. The servant then struck up a tune on the richly-toned organ which always formed a part of Mangin’s outfit. The grotesque appearance of these individuals, and the music, soon drew together an admiring crowd.
One of the most original, unique, and successful scams of today was the late Monsieur Mangin, the blacklead pencil maker from Paris. Few people who have visited the French capital in the last ten or twelve years could have missed seeing him, and once seen, he was hard to forget. While walking through the streets, there was nothing in his looks to set him apart from any ordinary gentleman. He drove a pair of bay horses pulling an open carriage with two seats, the back one always taken by his valet. Sometimes he would set up in the Champs Élysées; at other times, near the column in the Place Vendôme; but usually, he was seen in the afternoon at the Place de la Bastille or the Place de la Madeleine. On Sundays, his favorite spot was the Place de la Bourse. Mangin was a well-built, stately-looking man with a self-satisfied expression that seemed to say, “I’m in charge here; all my audience has to do is listen and obey.” When he reached his chosen stop, his carriage came to a halt. His servant handed him a case from which he took several large portraits of himself, displaying them prominently on the sides of his carriage, while also placing in front of him a vase filled with medals featuring his likeness on one side and a description of his pencils on the other. He then leisurely began changing his outfit. His round hat was replaced by a magnificent burnished helmet adorned with rich plumes of vibrant colors. His overcoat was set aside, and he put on an expensive velvet tunic with gold fringes. He then pulled on a pair of polished steel gauntlets, covered his chest with a striking cuirass, and attached an ornate sword to his side. His servant watched closely, and upon receiving a signal from his master, he also donned his official outfit, which consisted of a velvet robe and a helmet. The servant then started playing a tune on the richly-toned organ that was always part of Mangin's setup. The comical appearance of these two figures, along with the music, quickly attracted an admiring crowd.
Then the great charlatan stood upon his feet. His manner was calm, dignified, imposing, indeed almost solemn, for his face was as serious as that of the chief mourner at a funeral. His sharp, intelligent eye scrutinized the throng which was pressing around his carriage, until it rested apparently upon some particular individual, when he gave a start; then, with a dark, angry expression, as if the sight was repulsive, he abruptly dropped the visor of his helmet and thus covered his face from the gaze of the anxious crowd. This bit of coquetry produced the desired effect in whetting the appetite of the multitude, who were impatiently waiting to hear him speak. When he had carried this kind of by-play as far as he thought the audience would bear it, he raised his hand, and his servant understanding the sign, stopped the organ. Mangin then rang a small bell, stepped forward to the front of the carriage, gave a slight cough indicative of a preparation to speak, opened his mouth, but instantly giving a more fearful start and assuming a more sudden frown than before, he took his seat as if quite overcome by some unpleasant object which his eyes had rested upon. Thus far he had not spoken a word. At last the prelude ended, and the comedy commenced. Stepping forward again to the front of his carriage where[32] all the gaping crowd could catch every word, he exclaimed:
Then the great charlatan stood up. His demeanor was calm, dignified, and impressive—almost solemn, as his face looked as serious as a chief mourner at a funeral. His sharp, intelligent eyes scanned the crowd pressing around his carriage until they seemed to focus on a particular individual, prompting him to start. With a dark, angry look, as if he found the sight repulsive, he abruptly lowered the visor of his helmet, shielding his face from the eager crowd. This little bit of showmanship ignited the crowd's curiosity as they impatiently waited to hear him speak. After playing this game for as long as he thought the audience could stand, he raised his hand, and his servant, understanding the signal, stopped the organ. Mangin then rang a small bell, stepped forward to the front of the carriage, cleared his throat to signal he was ready to speak, opened his mouth, but then suddenly gave another fearful start, frowning even more than before, and took his seat as if he was overwhelmed by something unpleasant he had seen. He still hadn’t said a word. Finally, when the prelude ended, the show began. Stepping forward again to the front of his carriage where[32] all the wide-eyed crowd could hear every word, he exclaimed:
“Gentlemen, you look astonished! You seem to wonder and ask yourselves who is this modern Quixote. What mean this costume of by-gone centuries—this golden chariot—these richly caparisoned steeds? What is the name and purpose of this curious knight-errant? Gentlemen, I will condescend to answer your queries. I am Monsieur Mangin, the great charlatan of France! Yes, gentlemen, I am a charlatan—a mountebank; it is my profession, not from choice, but from necessity. You, gentlemen, created that necessity! You would not patronize true, unpretending, honest merit, but you are attracted by my glittering casque, my sweeping crest, my waving plumes. You are captivated by din and glitter, and therein lies my strength. Years ago, I hired a modest shop in the Rue Rivoli, but I could not sell pencils enough to pay my rent, whereas, by assuming this disguise—it is nothing else—I have succeeded in attracting general attention, and in selling literally millions of my pencils; and I assure you there is at this moment scarcely an artist in France or in Great Britain who don’t know that I manufacture by far the best blacklead pencils ever seen.”
“Gentlemen, you look surprised! You seem to be wondering and asking yourselves who this modern Quixote is. What does this outfit from past centuries mean—this golden chariot—these beautifully adorned horses? What’s the name and purpose of this unusual knight-errant? Gentlemen, I will gladly answer your questions. I am Monsieur Mangin, the great charlatan of France! Yes, gentlemen, I am a charlatan—a con artist; it’s my profession, not by choice, but by necessity. You gentlemen created that necessity! You wouldn’t support true, genuine, honest talent, but you are drawn to my shiny helmet, my sweeping crest, my waving feathers. You’re enchanted by noise and sparkle, and that’s where my power lies. Years ago, I rented a small shop on Rue Rivoli, but I couldn’t sell enough pencils to cover my rent. However, by taking on this disguise—it’s nothing more—I’ve been able to draw attention, selling literally millions of my pencils; and I assure you, there’s hardly an artist in France or in Great Britain who doesn’t know that I make the best graphite pencils ever made.”
And this assertion was indeed true. His pencils were everywhere acknowledged to be superior to any other.
And this statement was definitely true. His pencils were widely recognized as better than any others.
While he was thus addressing his audience, he would take a blank card, and with one of his pencils would pretend to be drawing the portrait of some man standing[33] near him; then showing his picture to the crowd, it proved to be the head of a donkey, which, of course, produced roars of laughter.
While he was talking to his audience, he would grab a blank card and use one of his pencils to pretend to draw the portrait of a man standing[33] nearby; then, when he showed his drawing to the crowd, it turned out to be the head of a donkey, which of course caused a huge laugh.
“There, do you see what wonderful pencils these are? Did you ever behold a more striking likeness?”
“There, do you see how amazing these pencils are? Have you ever seen a more impressive likeness?”
A hearty laugh would be sure to follow, and then he would exclaim: “Now who will have the first pencil—only five sous.” One would buy, and then another; a third and a fourth would follow; and with the delivery of each pencil he would rattle off a string of witticisms which kept his patrons in capital good-humor; and frequently he would sell from two hundred to five hundred pencils in immediate succession. Then he would drop down in his carriage for a few minutes and wipe the perspiration from his face, while his servant played another overture on the organ. This gave his purchasers a chance to withdraw, and afforded a good opportunity for a fresh audience to congregate. Then would follow a repetition of his previous sales, and in this way he would continue for hours. To those disposed to have a souvenir of the great humbug he would sell six pencils, a medal and a photograph of himself for a franc (twenty cents.) After taking a rest he would commence a new speech.
A hearty laugh would definitely follow, and then he would shout, “Who wants the first pencil—only five sous!” Someone would buy one, then another; a third and a fourth would join in, and with each pencil sold, he would come out with a stream of jokes that kept his customers in great spirits. Often, he would sell two hundred to five hundred pencils one after the other. Then he would take a seat in his carriage for a few minutes to wipe the sweat off his face, while his servant played another tune on the organ. This gave his buyers a chance to leave and created a good opportunity for a new crowd to gather. He would then repeat his previous sales, continuing this way for hours. For those wanting a souvenir of the great showman, he would sell six pencils, a medal, and a photograph of himself for a franc (twenty cents). After taking a break, he would start a new speech.
“When I was modestly dressed, like any of my hearers, I was half starved. Punch and his bells would attract crowds, but my good pencils attracted nobody. I imitated Punch and his bells, and now I have two hundred depots in Paris. I dine at the best cafés, drink the best wine, live on the best of everything, while my defamers get poor and lank, as they[34] deserve to be. Who are my defamers? Envious swindlers! Men who try to ape me, but are too stupid and too dishonest to succeed. They endeavor to attract notice as mountebanks, and then foist upon the public worthless trash, and hope thus to succeed. Ah! defamers of mine, you are fools as well as knaves. Fools, to think that any man can succeed by systematically and persistently cheating the public. Knaves, for desiring the public’s money without giving them an equivalent. I am an honest man. I have no bad habits; and I now declare, if any trader, inventor, manufacturer, or philanthropist will show me better pencils than mine, I will give him 1,000f.—no, not to him, for I abhor betting—but to the poor of the Thirty-first Arrondissement, where I live.”
“When I was dressed pretty simply, just like anyone in my audience, I was almost starving. Punch and his bells drew in crowds, but my good pencils didn’t attract anyone. I copied Punch and his bells, and now I have two hundred locations in Paris. I eat at the best cafés, drink the finest wine, and enjoy the best of everything, while my critics grow poor and thin, as they[34] deserve. Who are my critics? Jealous con artists! Men who try to imitate me but are too foolish and dishonest to succeed. They try to grab attention as tricksters, then push worthless junk onto the public, hoping to make it big that way. Ah! my detractors, you are both fools and crooks. Fools, to think that anyone can succeed by constantly cheating the public. Crooks, for wanting the public’s money without offering anything of value in return. I’m an honest man. I have no bad habits; and I now declare, if any merchant, inventor, manufacturer, or philanthropist can show me better pencils than mine, I will give him 1,000f.—no, not to him, because I hate betting—but to the poor of the Thirty-first Arrondissement, where I live.”
Mangin’s harangues were always accompanied by a peculiar play of feature and of voice, and with unique and original gestures, which seemed to excite and captivate his audience.
Mangin's speeches were always paired with a distinct expression and tone of voice, along with unique and original gestures that seemed to engage and enthrall his audience.
About seven years ago, I met him in one of the principal restaurants in the Palais Royale. A mutual friend introduced me.
About seven years ago, I met him at one of the main restaurants in the Palais Royale. A mutual friend introduced us.
“Ah!” said he, “Monsieur Barnum, I am delighted to see you. I have read your book with infinite satisfaction. It has been published here in numerous editions. I see you have the right idea of things. Your motto is a good one—‘we study to please.’ I have much wanted to visit America; but I cannot speak English, so I must remain in my dear belle France.”
“Ah!” he said, “Mr. Barnum, I'm so glad to see you. I’ve read your book with great pleasure. It’s been published here in many editions. I can see you really understand things. Your motto is a good one—‘we study to please.’ I’ve always wanted to visit America, but I can’t speak English, so I have to stay in my beautiful France.”
I remarked that I had often seen him in public, and bought his pencils.
I mentioned that I had often seen him in public and bought his pencils.
[35]“Aha! you never saw better pencils. You know I could never maintain my reputation if I sold poor pencils. But sacre bleu, my miserable would-be imitators do not know our grand secret. First, attract the public by din and tinsel, by brilliant sky-rockets and Bengola lights, then give them as much as possible for their money.”
[35]“Aha! You've never seen better pencils. I could never keep my reputation if I sold bad pencils. But sacre bleu, my pathetic imitators have no idea about our great secret. First, grab the public's attention with noise and show, with flashy fireworks and bright lights, then give them as much as possible for their money.”
“You are very happy,” I replied, “in your manner of attracting the public. Your costume is elegant, your chariot is superb, and your valet and music are sure to draw.”
“You’re really happy,” I replied, “in how you attract the public. Your outfit is stylish, your carriage is amazing, and your attendant and music are definitely going to grab attention.”
“Thank you for your compliment, Mr. B., but I have not forgotten your Buffalo-hunt, your Mermaid, nor your Woolly Horse. They were a good offset to my rich helmet and sword, my burnished gauntlets and gaudy cuirass. Both are intended as advertisements of something genuine, and both answer the purpose.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Mr. B., but I haven't forgotten your Buffalo hunt, your Mermaid, or your Woolly Horse. They were a nice counter to my fancy helmet and sword, my shiny gauntlets and flashy armor. Both are meant to advertise something real, and both serve their purpose.”
After comparing notes in this way for an hour, we parted, and his last words were:
After talking for an hour, we said goodbye, and his last words were:
“Mr. B., I have got a grand humbug in my head, which I shall put in practice within a year, and it shall double the sale of my pencils. Don’t ask me what it is, but within one year you shall see it for yourself, and you shall acknowledge Monsieur Mangin knows something of human nature. My idea is magnifique, but it is one grand secret.”
“Mr. B., I have a big scheme in my mind that I'll put into action within a year, and it will double my pencil sales. Don’t ask me what it is, but in a year, you'll see it for yourself, and you’ll realize that Monsieur Mangin knows a thing or two about human nature. My idea is fantastic, but it's a big secret.”
I confess my curiosity was somewhat excited, and I hoped that Monsieur Mangin would “add another wrinkle to my horns.” But, poor fellow! within four months after I bade him adieu, the Paris newspapers announced his sudden death. They added that he had[36] left two hundred thousand francs, which he had given in his will to charitable objects. The announcement was copied into nearly all the papers on the Continent and in Great Britain, for almost everybody had seen or heard of the eccentric pencil maker.
I admit my curiosity was a bit piqued, and I was hoping that Monsieur Mangin would “add another wrinkle to my horns.” But, poor guy! Just four months after I said goodbye to him, the Paris newspapers reported his sudden death. They mentioned that he had[36] left two hundred thousand francs, which he had bequeathed to charitable causes in his will. The announcement was picked up by nearly all the papers across the Continent and in Great Britain, as almost everyone had seen or heard of the quirky pencil maker.
His death caused many an honest sigh, and his absence seemed to cast a gloom over several of his favorite halting-places. The Parisians really loved him, and were proud of his genius.
His death brought many heartfelt sighs, and his absence seemed to create a shadow over several of his favorite hangouts. The Parisians truly admired him and were proud of his talent.
“Well,” people in Paris would remark, “Mangin was a clever fellow. He was shrewd, and possessed a thorough knowledge of the world. He was a gentleman and a man of intelligence, extremely agreeable and witty. His habits were good; he was charitable. He never cheated anybody. He always sold a good article, and no person who purchased from him had cause to complain.”
“Well,” people in Paris would say, “Mangin was a smart guy. He was sharp and had a solid understanding of the world. He was a gentleman and an intelligent man, very pleasant and funny. He had good habits; he was generous. He never ripped anyone off. He always sold quality goods, and no one who bought from him had any reason to complain.”
I confess I felt somewhat chagrined that the Monsieur had thus suddenly taken “French leave” without imparting to me the “grand secret” by which he was to double the sales of his pencils. But I had not long to mourn on that account; for after Monsieur Mangin had been for six months—as they say of John Brown—“mouldering in his grave” judge of the astonishment and delight of all Paris at his reappearance in his native city in precisely the same costume and carriage as formerly, and heralded by the same servant and organ that had always attended him. It now turned out that Monsieur Mangin had lived in the most rigid seclusion for half a year, and that the extensively-circulated announcements of his sudden[37] death had been made by himself, merely as an “advertising dodge” to bring him still more into notice, and give the public something to talk about. I met Mangin in Paris soon after this event.
I admit I felt a bit annoyed that the guy had suddenly taken “French leave” without sharing the “big secret” about how he was going to double his pencil sales. But I didn’t have to dwell on it for long; after Monsieur Mangin had been gone for six months—like they say about John Brown—imagine the shock and joy of everyone in Paris when he showed up in his hometown looking just as he always did, and accompanied by the same servant and musician he always had. It turned out that Monsieur Mangin had been living in complete seclusion for half a year, and the widely circulated announcements of his sudden[37] death were made by him as an “advertising trick” to grab more attention and give people something to talk about. I ran into Mangin in Paris soon after this happened.
“Aha, Monsieur Barnum!” he exclaimed, “did I not tell you I had a new humbug that would double the sales of my pencils? I assure you my sales are more than quadrupled, and it is sometimes impossible to have them manufactured fast enough to supply the demand. You Yankees are very clever, but by gar, none of you have discovered you should live all the better if you would die for six months. It took Mangin to teach you that.”
“Aha, Mr. Barnum!” he exclaimed, “didn’t I tell you I had a new trick that would double the sales of my pencils? I assure you my sales have more than quadrupled, and sometimes it’s impossible to produce them quickly enough to meet the demand. You Americans are really clever, but by gosh, none of you have figured out that you would live even better if you took a break for six months. It took Mangin to teach you that.”
The patronizing air with which he made this speech, slapping me at the same time familiarly upon the back, showed him in his true character of egotist. Although good-natured and social to a degree, he was really one of the most self-conceited men I ever met.
The condescending way he delivered this speech, casually slapping me on the back at the same time, revealed his true self as an egotist. Even though he was friendly and sociable to a fault, he was genuinely one of the most self-absorbed people I've ever encountered.
CHAPTER IV.
James C. Adams, or “Grizzly Adams,” as he was generally termed, from the fact of his having captured[38] so many grizzly bears, and encountered such fearful perils by his unexampled daring, was an extraordinary character. For many years a hunter and trapper in the Rocky and Sierra Nevada Mountains, he acquired a recklessness which, added to his natural invincible courage, rendered him truly one of the most striking men of the age. He was emphatically what the English call a man of “pluck.” In 1860, he arrived in New York with his famous collection of California animals, captured by himself, consisting of twenty or thirty immense grizzly bears, at the head of which stood “Old Sampson”—now in the American Museum—wolves, half a dozen other species of bear, California lions, tigers, buffalo, elk, etc., and Old Neptune, the great sea-lion, from the Pacific.
James C. Adams, known as “Grizzly Adams” because of how many grizzly bears he had captured[38] and the incredible dangers he faced with his unmatched bravery, was an extraordinary figure. For many years, he was a hunter and trapper in the Rocky and Sierra Nevada Mountains, developing a reckless spirit that, along with his natural, unbeatable courage, made him one of the most remarkable men of his time. He was clearly what the English refer to as a man of “pluck.” In 1860, he arrived in New York with his famous collection of California animals, captured by him, which included twenty or thirty huge grizzly bears led by “Old Sampson”—now housed in the American Museum—along with wolves, several other bear species, California lions, tigers, buffalo, elk, and Old Neptune, the great sea-lion from the Pacific.
Old Adams had trained all these monsters so that with him they were as docile as kittens, while many of the most ferocious among them would attack a stranger without hesitation, if he came within their grasp. In fact, the training of these animals was no fool’s play, as Old Adams learned to his cost; for the terrific blows which he received from time to time, while teaching them “docility,” finally cost him his life.
Old Adams had trained all these animals so that with him they were as gentle as kittens, while many of the most dangerous among them would attack a stranger without thinking, if he got too close. In fact, training these creatures was no joke, as Old Adams found out the hard way; the brutal blows he received now and then while teaching them to be “gentle” eventually cost him his life.
When Adams and his other wild beasts (for he was nearly as wild as any of them) arrived in New York, he called immediately at the Museum. He was dressed in his hunter’s suit of buckskin, trimmed with the skins and bordered with the hanging tails of small Rocky Mountain animals; his cap consisting of the skin of a wolf’s head and shoulders, from which depended several tails as natural as life, and under which appeared his[39] stiff bushy gray hair and his long white grizzly beard. In fact, Old Adams was quite as much of a show as his bears. They had come around Cape Horn on the clipper-ship Golden Fleece, and a sea-voyage of three and a half months had probably not added much to the beauty or neat appearance of the old bear-hunter.
When Adams and his other wild animals (because he was nearly as wild as any of them) arrived in New York, he immediately stopped by the Museum. He was wearing his hunter's outfit made of buckskin, decorated with animal skins and bordered with the dangling tails of small Rocky Mountain creatures; his cap was made from the skin of a wolf's head and shoulders, with several tails hanging from it that looked completely natural, under which his[39] stiff, bushy gray hair and long white grizzly beard were visible. In fact, Old Adams was just as much of a spectacle as his bears. They had traveled around Cape Horn on the clipper ship Golden Fleece, and a sea journey of three and a half months probably hadn't done much for the old bear-hunter's appearance or neatness.
During our conversation, Grizzly Adams took off his cap, and showed me the top of his head. His skull was literally broken in. It had on various occasions been struck by the fearful paws of his grizzly students; and the last blow, from the bear called “General Fremont,” had laid open his brain, so that its workings were plainly visible. I remarked that I thought that was a dangerous wound, and might possibly prove fatal.
During our conversation, Grizzly Adams took off his cap and showed me the top of his head. His skull was literally caved in. It had been hit multiple times by the terrifying paws of his grizzly students, and the last blow, from the bear named “General Fremont,” had cracked his skull open, making his brain clearly visible. I commented that I thought that was a serious injury and could possibly be fatal.
“Yes,” replied Adams, “that will fix me out. It had nearly healed; but old Fremont opened it for me, for the third or fourth time, before I left California, and he did his business so thoroughly, I’m a used-up man. However, I reckon I may live six months or a year yet.”
“Yes,” replied Adams, “that will take care of me. It was almost healed, but old Fremont reopened it for me, for the third or fourth time, before I left California, and he did such a thorough job that I’m pretty much finished. Still, I guess I might have six months to a year left.”
This was spoken as coolly as if he had been talking about the life of a dog.
This was said as casually as if he were discussing a dog's life.
The immediate object of “Old Adams” in calling upon me was this. I had purchased one-half interest in his California menagerie from a man who had come by way of the Isthmus from California, and who claimed to own an equal interest with Adams in the show. Adams declared that the man had only advanced him some money, and did not possess the right to sell half of the concern. However, the man held a bill of sale for one-half of the “California Menagerie,” and Old[40] Adams finally consented to accept me as an equal partner in the speculation, saying that he guessed I could do the managing part, and he would show up the animals. I obtained a canvas tent, and erecting it on the present site of Wallack’s Theatre, Adams there opened his novel California Menagerie. On the morning of opening, a band of music preceded a procession of animal-cages, down Broadway and up the Bowery; Old Adams dressed in his hunting costume, heading the line, with a platform-wagon on which were placed three immense grizzly bears, two of which he held by chains, while he was mounted on the back of the largest grizzly, which stood in the centre, and was not secured in any manner whatever. This was the bear known as “General Fremont;” and so docile had he become that Adams said he had used him as a packbear to carry his cooking and hunting apparatus through the mountains for six months, and had ridden him hundreds of miles. But apparently docile as were many of these animals, there was not one among them that would not occasionally give even Adams a sly blow or a sly bite when a good chance offered; hence Old Adams was but a wreck of his former self, and expressed pretty nearly the truth when he said:
The main reason "Old Adams" came to see me was this: I had bought a half-interest in his California menagerie from a guy who had traveled from California via the Isthmus and claimed he also owned half of the show with Adams. Adams insisted that the guy had only lent him some money and didn't have the right to sell half of the business. However, the man had a bill of sale for half of the “California Menagerie,” and Old[40] Adams eventually agreed to take me on as an equal partner in the venture, saying that I could handle the management part while he took care of the animals. I got a canvas tent and set it up on what is now the site of Wallack’s Theatre, where Adams launched his new California Menagerie. On opening morning, a band played as a parade of animal cages marched down Broadway and up the Bowery, with Old Adams in his hunting outfit leading the way. He was on a platform wagon with three huge grizzly bears, two of which he held by chains while he rode on the back of the largest one, who stood in the middle and wasn’t secured in any way. This bear was known as “General Fremont,” and he had become so tame that Adams claimed he had used him as a packbear to carry his camping gear through the mountains for six months and had ridden him hundreds of miles. But despite their seemingly docile nature, every one of these animals would occasionally sneak in a sly hit or bite at Adams whenever they got the chance; that’s why Old Adams was a shadow of his former self, and he pretty much told the truth when he said:
“Mr. Barnum, I am not the man I was five years ago. Then I felt able to stand the hug of any grizzly living, and was always glad to encounter, single-handed, any sort of an animal that dared present himself. But I have been beaten to a jelly, torn almost limb from limb, and nearly chawed up and spit out by these treacherous grizzly bears. However, I am good for a[41] few months yet, and by that time I hope we shall gain enough to make my old woman comfortable, for I have been absent from her some years.”
“Mr. Barnum, I'm not the same man I was five years ago. Back then, I felt like I could handle any grizzly bear out there and was always ready to face any animal that dared to show up. But I've been beaten to a pulp, almost torn apart, and nearly chewed up and spit out by these deceptive grizzly bears. However, I still have a[41] few months left in me, and by that time, I hope we’ll earn enough to make my wife comfortable, since I've been away from her for a few years.”
His wife came from Massachusetts to New York, and nursed him. Dr. Johns dressed his wounds every day, and not only told Adams he could never recover, but assured his friends that probably a very few weeks would lay him in his grave.
His wife came from Massachusetts to New York and took care of him. Dr. Johns treated his wounds every day and not only told Adams he would never recover, but also assured his friends that he would probably be in his grave within a few weeks.
But Adams was as firm as adamant and as resolute as a lion. Among the thousands who saw him dressed in his grotesque hunter’s suit, and witnessed the apparent vigor with which he “performed” the savage monsters, beating and whipping them into apparently the most perfect docility, probably not one suspected that this rough, fierce-looking, powerful demi-savage, as he appeared to be, was suffering intense pain from his broken skull and fevered system, and that nothing kept him from stretching himself on his deathbed but that most indomitable and extraordinary will of his.
But Adams was as tough as nails and as determined as a lion. Among the thousands who saw him in his bizarre hunting outfit, putting on a show of strength against the savage creatures, beating and whipping them into what seemed like perfect submission, probably no one suspected that this rough, fierce-looking, powerful half-wild man was actually in intense pain from his fractured skull and burning fever, and that the only thing keeping him from lying down on his deathbed was his incredible and unyielding will.
After the exhibition had been open six weeks, the Doctor insisted that Adams should sell out his share in the animals and settle up all his worldly affairs; for he assured him that he was growing weaker every day, and his earthly existence must soon terminate.
After the exhibition had been open for six weeks, the Doctor insisted that Adams sell his share in the animals and wrap up all his personal matters; he assured him that he was getting weaker every day and that his time on earth would soon come to an end.
“I shall live a good deal longer than you doctors think for,” replied Adams, doggedly; and then, seeming after all to realize the truth of the Doctor’s assertion, he turned to me and said: “Well, Mr. B., you must buy me out.” He named his price for his half of the “show,” and I accepted his offer. We had arranged to exhibit the bears in Connecticut and Massa[42]chusetts during the summer, in connection with a circus, and Adams insisted that I should hire him to travel for the summer, and exhibit the bears in their curious performances. He offered to go for $60 per week and traveling expenses of himself and wife.
“I’m going to live a lot longer than you doctors think,” Adams said stubbornly. Then, as if finally grasping the truth of the Doctor’s statement, he turned to me and said, “Well, Mr. B., you need to buy me out.” He stated his price for his half of the “show,” and I agreed to it. We had planned to showcase the bears in Connecticut and Massachusetts during the summer alongside a circus, and Adams insisted that I hire him to travel for the summer and display the bears in their unique performances. He offered to do it for $60 a week and cover his and his wife’s travel expenses.
I replied that I would gladly engage him as long as he could stand it, but I advised him to give up business and go to his home in Massachusetts; “for,” I remarked, “you are growing weaker every day, and at best cannot stand it more than a fortnight.”
I said that I would happily engage with him as long as he could handle it, but I suggested he quit business and go back home to Massachusetts; “because,” I noted, “you’re getting weaker every day, and at most you can’t keep this up for more than two weeks.”
“What will you give me extra if I will travel and exhibit the bears every day for ten weeks?” asked old Adams, eagerly.
“What will you give me extra if I travel and show the bears every day for ten weeks?” old Adams asked eagerly.
“Five hundred dollars,” I replied, with a laugh.
“Five hundred dollars,” I said, laughing.
“Done!” exclaimed Adams. “I will do it; so draw up an agreement to that effect at once. But mind you, draw it payable to my wife, for I may be too weak to attend to business after the ten weeks are up, and if I perform my part of the contract, I want her to get the $500 without any trouble.”
“Done!” shouted Adams. “I’ll do it; so go ahead and write up an agreement for that right away. But make sure it’s payable to my wife, because I might be too weak to handle things once the ten weeks are over, and if I fulfill my part of the contract, I want her to receive the $500 without any hassle.”
I drew up a contract to pay him $60 per week for his services, and if he continued to exhibit the bears for ten consecutive weeks I was then to hand him, or his wife $500 extra.
I created a contract to pay him $60 a week for his services, and if he kept displaying the bears for ten weeks in a row, I was supposed to give him or his wife an extra $500.
“You have lost your $500!” exclaimed Adams on taking the contract; “for I am bound to live and earn it.”
“You've lost your $500!” Adams shouted as he took the contract. “I’m committed to living and earning it.”
“I hope you may, with all my heart, and a hundred years more if you desire it,” I replied.
“I truly hope you do, with all my heart, and for another hundred years if you want it,” I replied.
“Call me a fool if I don’t earn the $500!” exclaimed Adams, with a triumphant laugh.
“Call me a fool if I don’t make that $500!” Adams exclaimed with a triumphant laugh.
[43]The “show” started off in a few days, and at the end of a fortnight I met it at Hartford, Connecticut.
[43]The “show” kicked off in a few days, and by the end of two weeks, I met it in Hartford, Connecticut.
“Well,” says I, “Adams, you seem to stand it pretty well. I hope you and your wife are comfortable?”
“Well,” I said, “Adams, you seem to be handling it pretty well. I hope you and your wife are doing okay?”
“Yes,” he replied, with a laugh; “and you may as well try to be comfortable too, for your $500 is a goner.”
“Yes,” he said with a laugh; “and you might as well try to be comfortable too, because your $500 is gone.”
“All right,” I replied; “I hope you will grow better every day.”
"Okay," I responded; "I hope you get better every day."
But I saw by his pale face, and other indications, that he was rapidly failing.
But I could tell by his pale face and other signs that he was quickly getting worse.
In three weeks more, I met him again at New Bedford, Mass. It seemed to me, then, that he could not live a week, for his eyes were glassy and his hands trembled, but his pluck was great as ever.
In three weeks, I saw him again in New Bedford, Mass. It looked to me then like he couldn’t last a week, because his eyes were glassy and his hands shook, but his courage was as strong as ever.
“This hot weather is pretty bad for me,” he said, “but my ten weeks are half expired, and I am good for your $500, and, probably, a month or two longer.”
“This hot weather is really tough for me,” he said, “but I’ve got half of my ten weeks left, and I can handle your $500, and probably a month or two more.”
This was said with as much bravado as if he was offering to bet upon a horse-race. I offered to pay him half of the $500 if he would give up and go home; but he peremptorily declined making any compromise whatever.
This was said with as much confidence as if he were betting on a horse race. I offered to pay him half of the $500 if he would just give up and go home, but he flatly refused to make any compromise at all.
I met him the ninth week in Boston. He had failed considerably since I last saw him, but he still continued to exhibit the bears and chuckled over his almost certain triumph. I laughed in return, and sincerely congratulated him on his nerve and probable success. I remained with him until the tenth week was finished, and handed him his $500. He took it with a leer of satisfaction, and remarked, that he was sorry I was a teetotaller, for he would like to stand treat!
I met him in the ninth week in Boston. He had really slipped since I last saw him, but he still kept showing off the bears and laughed about his almost certain victory. I laughed back and genuinely congratulated him on his courage and likely success. I stayed with him until the tenth week was over and handed him his $500. He took it with a smug smile and said he wished I wasn't a teetotaler because he would have liked to buy me a drink!
[44]Just before the menagerie left New York, I had paid $150 for a new hunting-suit, made of beaver-skins similar to the one which Adams had worn. This I intended for Herr Driesbach, the animal-tamer, who was engaged by me to take the place of Adams whenever he should be compelled to give up.
[44]Just before the zoo left New York, I paid $150 for a new hunting suit made of beaver skins, similar to the one Adams had worn. I intended this for Herr Driesbach, the animal tamer I hired to take Adams' place whenever he had to step down.
Adams, on starting from New York, asked me to loan this new dress to him to perform in once in a while in a fair day when we had a large audience, for his own costume was considerably soiled. I did so, and now when I handed him his $500 he remarked:
Adams, when leaving New York, asked me to lend him this new dress to wear occasionally on nice days when we had a big crowd, since his own costume was pretty dirty. I agreed, and now, as I gave him his $500, he said:
“Mr. B., I suppose you are going to give me this new hunting-dress.”
“Mr. B., I guess you're going to give me this new hunting outfit.”
“Oh no,” I replied. “I got that for your successor, who will exhibit the bears to-morrow; besides, you have no possible use for it.”
“Oh no,” I replied. “I got that for your successor, who will show the bears tomorrow; besides, you have no use for it.”
“Now, don’t be mean, but lend me the dress, if you won’t give it to me, for I want to wear it home to my native village.”
“Now, don’t be rude, but let me borrow the dress if you won’t give it to me because I want to wear it home to my hometown.”
I could not refuse the poor old man anything, and I therefore replied:
I couldn't say no to the poor old man about anything, so I answered:
“Well, Adams, I will lend you the dress; but you will send it back to me.”
“Well, Adams, I’ll lend you the dress, but you need to send it back to me.”
“Yes, when I have done with it,” he replied, with an evident chuckle of triumph.
“Yes, when I’m done with it,” he replied, with a clear chuckle of triumph.
I thought to myself, he will soon be done with it, and replied:
I thought to myself, he’ll finish that up soon, and replied:
“That’s all right.”
"That's okay."
A new idea evidently seized him, for, with a brightening look of satisfaction, he said:
A new idea clearly struck him, because, with a look of satisfaction brightening his face, he said:
“Now, Barnum, you have made a good thing out of[45] the California menagerie, and so have I; but you will make a heap more. So, if you won’t give me this new hunter’s dress, just draw a little writing, and sign it, saying that I may wear it until I have done with it.”
“Now, Barnum, you’ve really done well with the California menagerie, and so have I; but you’re going to make a lot more. So, if you won’t give me this new hunter’s outfit, just jot down a little note and sign it, saying that I can wear it until I’m done with it.”
Of course, I knew that in a few days at longest he would be “done” with this world altogether, and, to gratify him, I cheerfully drew and signed the paper.
Of course, I knew that in just a few days at the most, he would be “done” with this world entirely, and to please him, I happily filled out and signed the paper.
“Come, old Yankee, I’ve got you this time—see if I hain’t!” exclaimed Adams, with a broad grin, as he took the paper.
“Come on, old Yankee, I’ve got you this time—let’s see if I haven’t!” Adams exclaimed with a big grin as he took the paper.
I smiled, and said:
I smiled and said:
“All right, my dear fellow; the longer you live, the better I shall like it.”
“All right, my friend; the longer you live, the more I’ll appreciate it.”
We parted, and he went to Neponset, a small town near Boston, where his wife and daughter lived. He took at once to his bed, and never rose from it again. The excitement had passed away, and his vital energies could accomplish no more.
We said goodbye, and he went to Neponset, a small town near Boston, where his wife and daughter lived. He immediately went to bed and never got up again. The excitement had faded, and his vital energies could do no more.
The fifth day after arriving home, the physician told him he could not live until the next morning. He received the announcement in perfect calmness, and with the most apparent indifference; then, turning to his wife, with a smile, he requested her to have him buried in the new hunting suit.
The fifth day after getting home, the doctor told him he wouldn’t make it to the next morning. He took the news with complete calm and clear indifference; then, turning to his wife with a smile, he asked her to bury him in the new hunting suit.
“For,” said he, “Barnum agreed to let me have it until I have done with it, and I was determined to fix his flint this time. He shall never see that dress again.”
“For,” he said, “Barnum agreed to let me keep it until I’m done with it, and I was set on fixing his flint this time. He’ll never see that dress again.”
His wife assured him that his request should be complied with. He then sent for the clergyman, and they spent several hours in communing together.
His wife assured him that his request would be fulfilled. He then called for the clergyman, and they spent several hours talking together.
Adams told the clergyman he had told some pretty[46] big stories about his bears, but he had always endeavored to do the straight thing between man and man. “I have attended preaching every day, Sundays and all,” said he, “for the last six years. Sometimes an old grizzly gave me the sermon, sometimes it was a panther; often it was the thunder and lightning, the tempest, or the hurricane on the peaks of the Sierra Nevada, or in the gorges of the Rocky Mountains; but whatever preached to me, it always taught me the majesty of the Creator, and revealed to me the undying and unchanging love of our kind Father in heaven. Although I am a pretty rough customer,” continued the dying man, “I fancy my heart is in about the right place, and look with confidence to the blessed Saviour for that rest which I so much need, and which I have never enjoyed upon earth.” He then desired the clergyman to pray with him, after which he grasped him by the hand, thanked him for his kindness, and bade him farewell.
Adams told the clergyman that he had shared some pretty[46] big stories about his bears, but he always tried to be honest with everyone. “I have gone to church every day, Sundays included,” he said, “for the last six years. Sometimes an old grizzly gave me my lesson, sometimes it was a panther; often it was the thunder and lightning, the storm, or the hurricane on the peaks of the Sierra Nevada, or in the gorges of the Rocky Mountains; but whatever preached to me, it always showed me the greatness of the Creator, and revealed to me the everlasting and unchanging love of our Heavenly Father. Even though I’m a pretty tough guy,” continued the dying man, “I believe my heart is in the right place, and I look to the blessed Savior for the peace I so desperately need, and which I’ve never found on earth.” He then asked the clergyman to pray with him, after which he shook his hand, thanked him for his kindness, and said goodbye.
In another hour his spirit had taken its flight; and it was said by those present that his face lighted up into a smile as the last breath escaped him, and that smile he carried into his grave. Almost his last words were: “Won’t Barnum open his eyes when he finds I have humbugged him by being buried in his new hunting-dress?” That dress was indeed the shroud in which he was entombed.
In another hour, he passed away; and those there said his face lit up with a smile as he took his last breath, a smile he took with him to the grave. Almost his last words were: “Won’t Barnum be surprised when he discovers I tricked him by being buried in my new hunting outfit?” That outfit was indeed the shroud in which he was buried.
And that was the last on earth of “Old Grizzly Adams.”
And that was the last on earth of “Old Grizzly Adams.”
[37-*] Although the subject of the following sketch can hardly be classed under the head of “Humbugs,” he was an original genius, and a knowledge of some of his prominent traits seems appropriate in connection with one or two other passages of this book.
[37-*] Although the topic of the following sketch doesn’t really fit into the category of “Humbugs,” he was a true original, and understanding some of his key characteristics seems relevant in relation to a few other sections of this book.
CHAPTER V.
“Old Grizzly Adams” was quite candid when, in his last hours, he confessed to the clergyman that he had “told some pretty large stories about his bears.” In fact, these “large stories” were Adam’s “besetting sin.” To hear him talk, one would suppose that he had seen and handled everything ever read or heard of. In fact, according to his story, California contained specimens of all things, animate and inanimate, to be found in any part of the globe. He talked glibly about California lions, California tigers, California leopards, California hyenas, California camels, and California hippopotami. He furthermore declared he had, on one occasion, seen a California elephant, “at a great distance,” but it was “very shy,” and he would not permit himself to doubt that California giraffes existed somewhere in the neighborhood of the “tall trees.”
“Old Grizzly Adams” was pretty honest when, in his final hours, he admitted to the clergyman that he had “told some pretty tall tales about his bears.” In fact, these “tall tales” were Adams’ “weakness.” If you listened to him, you’d think he had seen and interacted with everything he ever read or heard about. According to his story, California had examples of all things, both living and non-living, found anywhere in the world. He spoke freely about California lions, California tigers, California leopards, California hyenas, California camels, and California hippopotamuses. He even claimed that he had, on one occasion, spotted a California elephant “from a great distance,” but it was “very shy,” and he wouldn’t let himself doubt that California giraffes were somewhere near the “tall trees.”
I was anxious to get a chance of exposing to Adams his weak point, and of showing him the absurdity of telling such ridiculous stories. A fit occasion soon presented itself. One day, while engaged in my office at the Museum, a man with marked Teutonic features and accent approached the door and asked if I would like to buy a pair of living golden pigeons.
I was eager to find a way to show Adams his weak point and prove how silly it was to tell such ridiculous stories. An opportunity soon came up. One day, while I was working in my office at the Museum, a man with distinct German features and accent approached the door and asked if I wanted to buy a pair of live golden pigeons.
“Yes,” I replied, “I would like a flock of ‘golden[48] pigeons,’ if I could buy them for their weight in silver; for there are no ‘golden’ pigeons in existence, unless they are made from the pure metal.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I would like a flock of ‘golden[48] pigeons,’ if I could buy them for their weight in silver; because there are no ‘golden’ pigeons out there, unless they’re made from pure metal.”
“You shall see some golden pigeons alive,” he replied, at the same time entering my office and closing the door after him. He then removed the lid from a small basket which he carried in his hand, and sure enough there were snugly ensconced a pair of beautiful living ruff-necked pigeons, as yellow as saffron and as bright as a double eagle fresh from the mint.
“You're going to see some live golden pigeons,” he said, stepping into my office and shutting the door behind him. He then opened a small basket he was holding, and sure enough, there were a pair of stunning ruff-necked pigeons, as yellow as saffron and as shiny as a freshly minted double eagle.
I confess I was somewhat staggered at this sight, and quickly asked the man where those birds came from.
I admit I was a bit shocked by this sight, and I quickly asked the man where those birds came from.
A dull, lazy smile crawled over the sober face of my German visitor, as he replied in a slow, guttural tone of voice:
A dull, lazy smile spread across the serious face of my German visitor as he answered in a slow, deep voice:
“What you think yourself?”
“What do you think of yourself?”
Catching his meaning, I quickly answered:
Catching what he meant, I quickly replied:
“I think it is a humbug?”
"I think it’s a scam."
“Of course, I know you will say so; because you ‘forstha’ such things better as any man living, so I shall not try to humbug you. I have color them myself.”
“Of course, I know you’ll say that; because you understand such things better than anyone else, so I won’t try to fool you. I colored them myself.”
On further inquiry, I learned that this German was a chemist, and that he possessed the art of coloring birds any hue desired, and yet retain a natural gloss on the feathers, which gave every shade the appearance of reality.
On further investigation, I found out that this German was a chemist and that he had the skill to dye birds any color you wanted while keeping a natural sheen on the feathers, making each shade look realistic.
“I can paint a green pigeon or a blue pigeon, a gray pigeon or a black pigeon, a brown pigeon or a pigeon half blue and half green,” said the German; “and if you prefer it, I can paint them pink or purple, or give[49] you a little of each color, and make you a rainbow pigeon.”
“I can paint a green pigeon or a blue pigeon, a gray pigeon or a black pigeon, a brown pigeon or a pigeon half blue and half green,” said the German; “and if you’d like, I can paint them pink or purple, or give[49] you a little bit of each color, and make you a rainbow pigeon.”
The “rainbow pigeon” did not strike me as particularly desirable; but, thinking here was a good chance to catch “Grizzly Adams,” I bought the pair of golden pigeons for ten dollars, and sent them up to the “Happy Family,” marked “Golden Pigeons from California.” Mr. Taylor the great pacificator, who has charge of the Happy Family, soon came down in a state of perspiration.
The “rainbow pigeon” didn’t seem very appealing to me; however, considering it was a good opportunity to catch “Grizzly Adams,” I bought the two golden pigeons for ten dollars and sent them up to the “Happy Family,” labeled “Golden Pigeons from California.” Mr. Taylor, the great peacemaker in charge of the Happy Family, soon came down looking very sweaty.
“Really, Mr. Barnum,” said he, “I could not think of putting those elegant golden pigeons into the Happy Family—they are too valuable a bird—they might get injured—they are by far the most beautiful pigeons I ever saw; and as they are so rare, I would not jeopardize their lives for anything.”
“Honestly, Mr. Barnum,” he said, “I can’t imagine putting those elegant golden pigeons into the Happy Family—they’re too valuable. They could get hurt—they’re the most beautiful pigeons I’ve ever seen; since they’re so rare, I wouldn’t risk their lives for anything.”
“Well,” I replied, “you may put them in a separate cage, properly labeled.”
“Well,” I replied, “you can put them in a separate cage, clearly labeled.”
Monsieur Guillaudeu, the naturalist and taxidermist of the Museum, has been attached to that establishment since the year it was founded, 1810. He is a Frenchman, and has read everything upon Natural History that was ever published in his own or in the English language. He is now seventy-five years old, but is lively as a cricket, and takes as much interest in Natural History as he ever did. When he saw the “golden pigeons from California,” he was considerably astonished! He examined them with great delight for half an hour, expatiating upon their beautiful color, and the near resemblance which every feature bore to the Amer[50]ican ruff-neck pigeon. He soon came to my office and said:
Monsieur Guillaudeu, the naturalist and taxidermist at the Museum, has been with the establishment since it was founded in 1810. He’s French and has read everything ever published about Natural History, both in French and English. Now seventy-five years old, he’s as lively as ever and remains as passionate about Natural History as he always has been. When he saw the “golden pigeons from California,” he was quite amazed! He spent half an hour examining them with great joy, talking about their beautiful colors and how closely their features resembled those of the American ruff-neck pigeon. He soon came to my office and said:
“Mr. B., these golden pigeons are superb, but they cannot be from California. Audubon mentions no such bird in his work upon American Ornithology.”
“Mr. B., these golden pigeons are amazing, but they can't be from California. Audubon doesn’t mention any such bird in his work on American Ornithology.”
I told him he had better take Audubon home with him that night, and perhaps by studying him attentively he would see occasion to change his mind.
I told him he should take Audubon home with him that night, and maybe by paying close attention to him, he would find reasons to change his mind.
The next day, the old naturalist called at my office and remarked:
The next day, the old naturalist came by my office and said:
“Mr. B., those pigeons are a more rare bird than you imagine. They are not mentioned by Linnæus, Cuvier, Goldsmith, or any other writer on Natural History, so far as I have been able to discover. I expect they must have come from some unexplored portion of Australia.”
“Mr. B., those pigeons are rarer than you think. They’re not mentioned by Linnæus, Cuvier, Goldsmith, or any other natural history writer that I can find. I believe they must have come from some unexplored part of Australia.”
“Never mind,” I replied, “we may get more light on the subject, perhaps, before long. We will continue to label them ‘California Pigeons’ until we can fix their nativity elsewhere.”
“Don't worry about it,” I replied, “we might learn more about the subject soon. We'll keep calling them ‘California Pigeons’ until we can determine their true origin.”
The next, morning, “Old Grizzly Adams,” whose exhibition of bears was then open in Fourteenth street, happened to be passing through the Museum, when his eyes fell on the “Golden California Pigeons.” He looked a moment and doubtless admired. He soon after came to my office.
The next morning, “Old Grizzly Adams,” whose bear exhibit was currently running on Fourteenth Street, happened to walk through the Museum when he spotted the “Golden California Pigeons.” He paused for a moment and clearly admired them. Shortly after, he came to my office.
“Mr. B,” said he, “you must let me have those California pigeons.”
“Mr. B,” he said, “you have to let me have those California pigeons.”
“I can’t spare them,” I replied.
“I can’t spare them,” I said.
“But you must spare them. All the birds and animals from California ought to be together. You own[51] half of my California menagerie, and you must lend me those pigeons.”
“But you have to spare them. All the birds and animals from California should be together. You own[51] half of my California collection, and you need to lend me those pigeons.”
“Mr. Adams, they are too rare and valuable a bird to be hawked about in that manner; besides, I expect they will attract considerable attention here.”
“Mr. Adams, they're too rare and valuable to be sold like that; plus, I expect they'll get a lot of attention here.”
“Oh, don’t be a fool,” replied Adams. “Rare bird, indeed! Why, they are just as common in California as any other pigeon! I could have brought a hundred of them from San Francisco, if I had thought of it.”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” replied Adams. “Rare bird, really! They’re just as common in California as any other pigeon! I could have brought a hundred of them from San Francisco if I had thought about it.”
“But why did you not think of it?” I asked, with a suppressed smile.
“But why didn't you think of it?” I asked, holding back a smile.
“Because they are so common there,” said Adams. “I did not think they would be any curiosity here. I have eaten them in pigeon-pies hundreds of times, and shot them by the thousand!”
“Because they are so common there,” said Adams. “I didn’t think they would be a curiosity here. I’ve eaten them in pigeon pies hundreds of times and shot them by the thousand!”
I was ready to burst with laughter to see how readily Adams swallowed the bait, but maintaining the most rigid gravity, I replied:
I was almost bursting with laughter seeing how easily Adams took the bait, but keeping a serious face, I replied:
“Oh well, Mr. Adams, if they are really so common in California, you had probably better take them, and you may write over and have half a dozen pairs sent to me for the Museum.”
“Oh well, Mr. Adams, if they’re really that common in California, you’d better take them, and you can write to have half a dozen pairs sent to me for the Museum.”
“All right,” said Adams; “I will send over to a friend in San Francisco, and you shall have them here in a couple of months.”
“All right,” said Adams; “I’ll reach out to a friend in San Francisco, and you’ll have them here in a couple of months.”
I told Adams that, for certain reasons, I would prefer to change the label so as to have it read: “Golden Pigeons from Australia.”
I told Adams that, for a few reasons, I would rather change the label to say: “Golden Pigeons from Australia.”
“Well, call them what you like,” replied Adams; “I suppose they are probably about as plenty in Australia as they are in California.”
“Well, call them what you want,” replied Adams; “I guess there are probably just as many in Australia as there are in California.”
[52]I fancied I could discover a sly smile lurking in the eye of the old bear-hunter as he made this reply.
[52]I thought I could see a cunning smile hiding in the eyes of the old bear-hunter as he said this.
The pigeons were labeled as I suggested, and this is how it happened that the Bridgeport non-believing lady, mentioned in the next chapter, was so much attracted as to solicit some of their eggs in order to perpetuate the species in old Connecticut.
The pigeons were tagged as I suggested, and this is how it happened that the Bridgeport skeptic, mentioned in the next chapter, was so intrigued that she requested some of their eggs to help them thrive in old Connecticut.
Six or eight weeks after this incident, I was in the California Menagerie, and noticed that the “Golden Pigeons” had assumed a frightfully mottled appearance. Their feathers had grown out, and they were half white. Adams had been so busy with his bears that he had not noticed the change. I called him up to the pigeon cage, and remarked:
Six or eight weeks after this incident, I was at the California Menagerie and noticed that the “Golden Pigeons” had taken on a really odd, mottled look. Their feathers had grown out, and they were half white. Adams had been so caught up with his bears that he hadn’t noticed the change. I called him over to the pigeon cage and said:
“Mr. Adams, I fear you will lose your Golden Pigeons; they must be very sick; I observe they are turning quite pale!”
“Mr. Adams, I'm worried you'll lose your Golden Pigeons; they seem really sick; I can see they're getting quite pale!”
Adams looked at them a moment with astonishment; then turning to me, and seeing that I could not suppress a smile, he indignantly exclaimed:
Adams stared at them for a moment in disbelief; then, turning to me and noticing that I couldn't hide a smile, he exclaimed angrily:
“Blast the Golden Pigeons! You had better take them back to the Museum. You can’t humbug me with your painted pigeons!”
“Forget the Golden Pigeons! You better return them to the Museum. You can’t trick me with your fake pigeons!”
This was too much, and “I laughed till I cried” to witness the mixed look of astonishment and vexation which marked the “grizzly” features of old Adams.
This was overwhelming, and “I laughed until I cried” at the stunned and annoyed expression on old Adams’ rugged face.
“These Golden Pigeons,” I remarked, “are very common in California, I think I heard you say? When do you expect my half-dozen pairs will arrive?”
“These Golden Pigeons,” I said, “are pretty common in California, right? When do you think my six pairs will get here?”
“You go to thunder, you old humbug!” replied Adams, as he marched off indignantly, and soon disappeared behind the cages of his grizzly bears.
“You can go to hell, you old fraud!” replied Adams, as he marched off angrily and soon disappeared behind the cages of his grizzly bears.
[53]From that time, Adams seemed to be more careful about telling his large stories. Perhaps he was not cured altogether of his habit, but he took particular pains when making marvelous statements to have them of such a nature that they could not be disproved so easily as was that regarding the “Golden California Pigeons.”
[53]From then on, Adams appeared to be more cautious about sharing his grand stories. Maybe he hadn't completely shaken off the habit, but he made a conscious effort with his incredible claims to ensure they were structured in a way that couldn't be easily disproven, unlike the one about the “Golden California Pigeons.”
CHAPTER VI.
THE WHALE, THE ANGEL FISH, AND THE GOLDEN PIGEON.
THE WHALE, THE ANGEL FISH, AND THE GOLDEN PIGEON.
If the fact could be definitely determined, I think it would be discovered that in this “wide awake” country there are more persons humbugged by believing too little than too much. Many persons have such a horror of being taken in, or such an elevated opinion of their own acuteness, that they believe everything to be a sham, and in this way are continually humbugging themselves.
If the truth could be clearly understood, I believe it would show that in this “wide awake” country, there are more people fooled by believing too little than by believing too much. Many individuals have such a fear of being deceived or such a high opinion of their own cleverness that they think everything is fake, and in this way, they keep fooling themselves.
Several years since, I purchased a living white whale, captured near Labrador, and succeeded in placing it, “in good condition,” in a large tank, fifty feet long, and supplied with salt water, in the basement of the American Museum. I was obliged to light the basement with gas, and that frightened the sea-monster to such an extent that he kept at the bottom of the tank, except when he was compelled to stick his nose above the surface in order to breathe or “blow,” and then[54] down he would go again as quick as possible. Visitors would sometimes stand for half an hour, watching in vain to get a look at the whale; for, although he could remain under water only about two minutes at a time, he would happen to appear in some unlooked for quarter of the huge tank, and before they could all get a chance to see him, he would be out of sight again. Some impatient and incredulous persons after waiting ten minutes, which seemed to them an hour, would sometimes exclaim:
A few years ago, I bought a living white whale that was captured near Labrador and managed to place it, “in good condition,” in a large tank, fifty feet long, filled with salt water, in the basement of the American Museum. I had to light the basement with gas, which scared the sea monster so much that it stayed at the bottom of the tank, except when it had to stick its nose above the surface to breathe or “blow,” and then[54] it would quickly dive back down again. Visitors would sometimes stand for half an hour, hoping to catch a glimpse of the whale, because although it could only stay underwater for about two minutes at a time, it would pop up unexpectedly in some corner of the huge tank, and before everyone could see it, it would disappear again. Some impatient and skeptical people, after waiting ten minutes, which felt like an hour to them, would sometimes shout:
“Oh, humbug! I don’t believe there is a whale here at all!”
“Oh, nonsense! I don’t think there’s a whale here at all!”
This incredulity often put me out of patience, and I would say:
This disbelief often tried my patience, and I would say:
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a living whale in the tank. He is frightened by the gaslight and by visitors; but he is obliged to come to the surface every two minutes, and if you will watch sharply, you will see him. I am sorry we can’t make him dance a hornpipe and do all sorts of wonderful things at the word of command; but if you will exercise your patience a few minutes longer, I assure you the whale will be seen at considerably less trouble than it would be to go to Labrador expressly for that purpose.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a live whale in the tank. He’s scared of the lights and the visitors, but he has to come up for air every two minutes, and if you look closely, you’ll spot him. I wish we could make him dance or do all sorts of amazing tricks on command, but if you can be patient for just a few more minutes, I promise you’ll see the whale with a lot less effort than it would take to travel to Labrador just for that.”
This would usually put my patrons in good humor; but I was myself often vexed at the persistent stubbornness of the whale in not calmly floating on the surface for the gratification of my visitors.
This usually put my customers in a good mood; but I often felt frustrated by the whale's stubbornness in not just floating calmly on the surface for my visitors' enjoyment.
One day, a sharp Yankee lady and her daughter, from Connecticut, called at the Museum. I knew them well; and in answer to their inquiry for the locality of[55] the whale, I directed them to the basement. Half an hour afterward, they called at my office, and the acute mother, in a half-confidential, serio-comic whisper, said:
One day, a clever Yankee woman and her daughter from Connecticut visited the Museum. I recognized them right away, and when they asked about the location of [55] the whale, I pointed them to the basement. About half an hour later, they came by my office, and the sharp mother, speaking in a half-confidential, jokingly serious whisper, said:
“Mr. B., it’s astonishing to what a number of purposes the ingenuity of us Yankees has applied india-rubber.”
“Mr. B., it’s amazing how many uses we Yankees have found for rubber.”
I asked her meaning, and was soon informed that she was perfectly convinced that it was an india-rubber whale, worked by steam and machinery, by means of which he was made to rise to the surface at short intervals, and puff with the regularity of a pair of bellows. From her earnest, confident manner, I saw it would be useless to attempt to disabuse her mind on the subject. I therefore very candidly acknowledged that she was quite too sharp for me, and I must plead guilty to the imposition; but I begged her not to expose me, for I assured her that she was the only person who had discovered the trick.
I asked her what she meant, and she quickly explained that she was completely convinced it was a rubber whale powered by steam and machinery, making it rise to the surface at regular intervals and puff just like a pair of bellows. Given her serious and confident tone, I realized it would be pointless to try to change her mind. So, I honestly admitted that she was too clever for me, and I had to confess to the deception; however, I asked her not to reveal it, assuring her that she was the only one who had figured out the trick.
It was worth more than a dollar to see with what a smile of satisfaction she received the assurance that nobody else was as shrewd as herself; and the patronizing manner in which she bade me be perfectly tranquil, for the secret should be considered by her as “strictly confidential,” was decidedly rich. She evidently received double her money’s worth in the happy reflection that she could not be humbugged, and that I was terribly humiliated in being detected through her marvelous powers of discrimination! I occasionally meet the good lady, and always try to look a little sheepish, but she invariably assures me that she has never divulged my secret and never will!
It was worth way more than a dollar to see the satisfied smile on her face when she got the reassurance that nobody else was as clever as she was; and the condescending
[56]On another occasion, a lady equally shrewd, who lives neighbor to me in Connecticut, after regarding for a few minutes the “Golden Angel Fish” swimming in one of the Aquaria, abruptly addressed me with:
[56]On another occasion, a clever lady who lives next door to me in Connecticut, after watching the “Golden Angel Fish” swimming in one of the aquariums for a few minutes, suddenly said to me:
“You can’t humbug me, Mr. Barnum; that fish is painted!”
“You can’t trick me, Mr. Barnum; that fish is painted!”
“Nonsense!” said I, with a laugh; “the thing is impossible!”
“Nonsense!” I said with a laugh, “that's impossible!”
“I don’t care, I know it is painted; it is as plain as can be.”
“I don’t care, I know it’s painted; it’s as obvious as it can be.”
“But, my dear Mrs. H., paint would not adhere to a fish while in the water; and if it would, it would kill him. Besides,” I added, with an extra serious air, “we never allow humbugging here!”
“But, my dear Mrs. H., paint wouldn’t stick to a fish while it’s in the water; and even if it could, it would kill him. Besides,” I added, with an extra serious tone, “we don’t allow any nonsense here!”
“Oh, here is just the place to look for such things,” she replied with a smile; “and I must say I more than half believe that Angel Fish is painted.”
“Oh, this is definitely the spot to find things like that,” she said with a smile; “and I have to admit I really believe that the Angel Fish is painted.”
She was finally nearly convinced of her error, and left. In the afternoon of the same day, I met her in Old Adams’ California Menagerie. She knew that I was part-proprietor of that establishment, and seeing me in conversation with “Grizzly Adams,” she came up to me in some haste, and with her eyes glistening with excitement, she said:
She was finally almost convinced she was wrong and walked away. Later that afternoon, I ran into her at Old Adams’ California Menagerie. She knew I had a stake in that place, and seeing me talking to “Grizzly Adams,” she hurried over to me, her eyes shining with excitement, and said:
“O, Mr. B., I never saw anything so beautiful as those elegant ‘Golden Pigeons’ from Australia. I want you to secure some of their eggs for me, and let my pigeons hatch them at home. I should prize them beyond all measure.”
“O, Mr. B., I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as those elegant ‘Golden Pigeons’ from Australia. I want you to get some of their eggs for me, so my pigeons can hatch them at home. I would treasure them more than anything.”
[57]“No, they are not painted,” said she, with a laugh, “but I half think the Angel Fish is.”
[57]“No, they aren't painted,” she said with a laugh, “but I kind of think the Angel Fish is.”
I could not control myself at the curious coincidence, and I roared with laughter while I replied:
I couldn't help but laugh at the strange coincidence, and I burst out laughing as I replied:
“Now, Mrs. H., I never let a good joke be spoiled, even if it serves to expose my own secrets. I assure you, upon honor, that the Golden Australian Pigeons, as they are labeled, are really painted; and that in their natural state they are nothing more nor less than the common ruff-necked white American pigeons!”
“Now, Mrs. H., I never let a good joke go to waste, even if it reveals my own secrets. I promise you, on my honor, that the Golden Australian Pigeons, as they're called, are actually painted; and that in their natural state, they are nothing more or less than ordinary ruff-necked white American pigeons!”
And it was a fact. How they happened to be exhibited under that auriferous disguise was owing to an amusing circumstance, explained in another chapter.
And it was true. The reason they were displayed under that golden disguise was due to a funny circumstance, explained in another chapter.
Suffice it at present to say, that Mrs. H. to this day “blushes to her eyebrows” whenever an allusion is made to “Angel Fish” or “Golden Pigeons.”
Suffice it to say for now that Mrs. H. still “blushes to her eyebrows” whenever anyone mentions “Angel Fish” or “Golden Pigeons.”
CHAPTER VII.
In the year 1842, a new style of advertising appeared in the newspapers and in handbills which arrested public attention at once on account of its novelty. The thing advertised was an article called “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy;” a very good specific for coughs and colds. It was put up in twenty-five cent packages, and was eventually sold wholesale and retail in enormous quantities. Mr. Pease’s system of advertising was one[58] which, I believe, originated with him in this country, although many have practiced it since, but of course, with less success—for imitations seldom succeed. Mr. Pease’s plan was to seize upon the most prominent topic of interest and general conversation, and discourse eloquently upon that topic in fifty to a hundred lines of a newspaper-column, then glide off gradually into a panegyric of “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy.” The consequence was, every reader was misled by the caption and commencement of his article, and thousands of persons had “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy” in their mouths long before they had seen it! In fact, it was next to impossible to take up a newspaper and attempt to read the legitimate news of the day without stumbling upon a package of “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy.” The reader would often feel vexed to find that, after reading a quarter of a column of interesting news upon the subject uppermost in his mind, he was trapped into the perusal of one of Pease’s hoarhound candy advertisements. Although inclined sometimes to throw down the newspaper in disgust, he would generally laugh at the talent displayed by Mr. Pease in thus captivating and capturing the reader. The result of all this would generally be, a trial of the candy on the first premonitory symptoms of a cough or influenza. The degree to which this system of advertising has since been carried has rendered it a bore and a nuisance. The usual result of almost any great and original achievement is, the production of a shoal of brainless imitators, who are “neither useful nor ornamental.”
In 1842, a new style of advertising emerged in newspapers and flyers that immediately caught the public's attention because it was so different. The product being advertised was “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy,” a really effective remedy for coughs and colds. It was sold in twenty-five cent packages and eventually distributed in huge quantities both wholesale and retail. Mr. Pease’s advertising strategy was one[58] that I believe he originated in this country, although many have tried it since, but with less success—imitations rarely work. Mr. Pease's approach was to focus on the most talked-about topic and eloquently discuss it in fifty to a hundred lines of a newspaper column before smoothly transitioning into a praise of “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy.” As a result, every reader was misled by the headline and beginning of his article, and thousands of people had “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy” on their lips long before they actually saw it! In fact, it was nearly impossible to pick up a newspaper and read the real news of the day without coming across a package of “Pease’s Hoarhound Candy.” Readers often felt frustrated to discover that after reading a quarter of a column of engaging news about what was most important to them, they were trapped into reading one of Pease’s candy advertisements. Although they sometimes felt like tossing the newspaper in annoyance, they usually ended up laughing at Mr. Pease's skill in captivating and ensnaring the reader. The outcome of all this was generally that people would try the candy at the first signs of a cough or cold. The extent to which this advertising method has been adopted since then has made it tedious and annoying. The usual result of any major and original innovation is a flood of mindless imitators who are “neither useful nor decorative.”
In the same year that Pease’s hoarhound candy ap[59]peared upon the commercial and newspaper horizon, the “Governor Dorr Rebellion” occurred in Rhode Island. As many will remember, this rebellion caused a great excitement throughout the country. Citizens of Rhode Island took up arms against each other, and it was feared by some that a bloody civil war would ensue.
In the same year that Pease's hoarhound candy appeared on the commercial and newspaper scene, the “Governor Dorr Rebellion” happened in Rhode Island. As many will recall, this rebellion stirred up a lot of excitement across the country. People in Rhode Island fought against each other, and some feared that a bloody civil war would break out.
At about this time a municipal election was to come off in the city of Philadelphia. The two political parties were pretty equally divided there, and there were some special causes why this was regarded as an unusually important election. Its near approach caused more excitement in the “Quaker City” than had been witnessed there since the preceding Presidential election. The party-leaders began to lay their plans early, and the wire-pullers on both sides were unusually busy in their vocation. At the head of the rabble upon which one of the parties depended for many votes, was a drunken and profane fellow, whom we will call Tom Simmons. Tom was great at electioneering and stump-spouting in bar-rooms and rum-caucuses, and his party always looked to him, at each election, to stir up the subterraneans “with a long pole”—and a whiskey-jug at the end of it.
At that time, a municipal election was coming up in the city of Philadelphia. The two political parties were nearly evenly split, and there were specific reasons why this election was seen as particularly significant. Its impending date created more excitement in the “Quaker City” than had been seen since the last Presidential election. The party leaders started planning early, and the behind-the-scenes operatives on both sides were especially active in their roles. Leading the unruly crowd that one of the parties relied on for votes was a drunken and foul-mouthed guy we’ll call Tom Simmons. Tom was known for his electioneering and public speaking in bars and informal meetings, and his party always looked to him at every election to rally the grassroots “with a long pole”—and a whiskey jug at the end of it.
The exciting election which was now to come off for Mayor and Aldermen of the good city of Brotherly Love soon brought several of the “ring” to Tom.
The upcoming election for Mayor and Aldermen of the good city of Brotherly Love quickly attracted several members of the "ring" to Tom.
“Now, Tom,” said the head wire-puller, “this is going to be a close election, and we want you to spare neither talent nor liquor in arousing up and bringing to the polls every voter within your influence.”
“Now, Tom,” said the main organizer, “this is going to be a tight election, and we want you to use all your skills and resources to motivate and get every voter within your reach to the polls.”
“Well, Squire,” replied Tom carelessly, “I’ve con[60]cluded I won’t bother myself with this ’lection—it don’t pay!”
“Well, Squire,” replied Tom casually, “I’ve decided I won’t trouble myself with this election—it’s not worth it!”
“Don’t pay!” exclaimed the frightened politician. “Why, Tom, are you not a true friend to your party? Haven’t you always been on hand at the primary meetings, knocked down interlopers, and squelched every man who talked about conscience, or who refused to support regular nominations, and vote the entire clean ticket straight through? And as for ‘pay,’ haven’t you always been supplied with money enough to treat all doubtful voters, and in fact to float them up to the polls in an ocean of whiskey? I confess Tom, I am almost petrified with astonishment at witnessing your present indifference to the alarming crisis in which our country and our party are involved, and which nothing on earth can avert, except our success at the coming election.”
“Don’t pay!” the terrified politician shouted. “Why, Tom, aren’t you a true friend to your party? Haven’t you always been there for the primary meetings, taken down outsiders, and shut down anyone who brought up conscience or refused to back the regular nominations and vote straight down the clean ticket? And about ‘pay,’ haven't you always had enough money to treat all the undecided voters and even to float them to the polls in a sea of whiskey? I must admit, Tom, I’m almost shocked by your current indifference to the serious crisis facing our country and our party, which nothing can prevent except our success in the upcoming election.”
“Oh, tell that to the marines,” said Tom. “We never yet had an election that there wasn’t a ‘crisis,’ and yet, whichever party gained, we somehow managed to live through it, crisis or no crisis. In fact, my curiosity has got a little excited, and I would like to see this ‘crisis’ that is such a bugaboo at every election; so trot out your crisis—let us see how it looks. Besides, talking of pay, I acknowledge the whiskey, and that is all. While I and my companions lifted you and your companions into fat offices that enabled you to roll in your carriages, and live on the fat of the land, we got nothing—or, at least, next to nothing—all we got was—well—we got drunk! Now, Squire, I will go for the other party this ’lection if you don’t give me an office.”
“Oh, tell that to the marines,” said Tom. “We've never had an election without some kind of ‘crisis,’ and yet, no matter which party wins, we somehow manage to get through it, crisis or no crisis. In fact, my curiosity is really piqued, and I want to see this ‘crisis’ that everyone seems to worry about during every election; so show us your crisis—let's see how it looks. Besides, speaking of pay, I admit to the whiskey, and that's it. While my friends and I helped you and your friends into cushy jobs that let you ride around in fancy carriages and live the high life, we got nothing—or at least, almost nothing—all we got was—well—we got drunk! Now, Squire, I’m going to support the other party in this election if you don’t give me a job.”
[61]“Give you an office!” exclaimed the “Squire,” raising his hands and rolling his eyes in utter amazement; “why, Tom, what office do you want?”
[61]“An office for you!” said the “Squire,” throwing up his hands and rolling his eyes in complete disbelief; “come on, Tom, what office are you looking for?”
“I want to be Alderman!” replied Tom, “and I can control votes enough to turn the ’lection either way; and if our party don’t gratefully remember my past services and give me my reward, t’other party will be glad to run me on their ticket, and over I go.”
“I want to be Alderman!” Tom replied. “I have enough influence to swing the election in either direction; and if my party doesn’t appreciate my past contributions and reward me, the other party will be happy to put me on their ticket, and I’ll go with them.”
The gentleman of the “ring” saw by Tom’s firmness and clenched teeth that he was immovable; that his principles, like those of too many others, consisted of “loaves and fishes;” they therefore consented to put Tom’s name on the municipal ticket; and the worst part of the story is, he was elected.
The guy from the “ring” noticed from Tom’s determination and gritted teeth that he wasn't going to budge; his principles, like too many others, were all about “loaves and fishes;” so they agreed to add Tom’s name to the municipal ticket; and the worst part is, he actually got elected.
In a very short time, Tom was duly installed into the Aldermanic chair, and, opening his office on a prominent corner, he was soon doing a thriving business. He was generally occupied throughout the day in sitting as a judge in cases of book debt and promissory notes which were brought before him, for various small sums ranging from two to five, six, eight, and ten dollars. He would frequently dispose of thirty or forty of these cases in a day, and as imprisonment for debt was permitted at that time, the poor defendants would “shin” around and make any sacrifice almost, rather than go to jail. The enormous “costs” went into the capacious pocket of the Alderman; and this dignitary, as a natural sequence, “waxed fat” and saucy, exemplifying the truth of the adage “Put a beggar on horseback,” etc.
In no time at all, Tom was officially in the Alderman's chair, and after setting up his office on a busy corner, he quickly started thriving. He spent most of his day acting as a judge in cases involving unpaid debts and promissory notes brought to him for various small amounts, usually between two and ten dollars. He often handled thirty or forty of these cases in a single day, and since debtors could be imprisoned at that time, the unfortunate defendants would go to great lengths, even sacrificing a lot, to avoid jail. The hefty “costs” went straight into the deep pockets of the Alderman, who, as a result, became quite prosperous and arrogant, proving the saying “Put a beggar on horseback,” and so on.
As the Alderman grew rich, he became overbearing,[62] headstrong, and dictatorial. He began to fancy that he monopolized the concentrated wisdom of his party, and that his word should be law. Not a party-caucus or a political meeting could be held without witnessing the vulgar and profane harangues of the self-conceited Alderman, Tom Simmons. As he was one of the “ring,” his fingers were in all the “pickings and stealings;” he kept his family-coach, and in his general swagger exhibited all the peculiarities of “high life below stairs.”
As the Alderman got richer, he became arrogant, stubborn, and controlling. He started to believe that he had all the wisdom of his party and that his word was law. No party caucus or political meeting could happen without the loud and vulgar speeches of the self-important Alderman, Tom Simmons. Being part of the “ring,” he was involved in all the shady deals; he had his family coach and, with his overall demeanor, showed all the traits of “high life below stairs.”
But after Tom had disgraced his office for two years, a State election took place and the other party were successful. Among the first laws which they passed after the convening of the Legislature, was one declaring that from that date imprisonment for debt should not be permitted in the State of Pennsylvania for any sum less than ten dollars.
But after Tom had brought shame to his position for two years, a state election happened and the other party won. Among the first laws they enacted after the Legislature convened was one stating that from that date, imprisonment for debt would not be allowed in the State of Pennsylvania for any amount less than ten dollars.
This enactment, of course, knocked away the chief prop which sustained the Alderman, and when the news of its passage reached Philadelphia, Tom was the most indignant man that had been seen there for some years.
This law, of course, took away the main support that held up the Alderman, and when the news of its passage got to Philadelphia, Tom was the most furious man anyone had seen there in years.
Standing in front of his office the next morning, surrounded by several of his political chums, Tom exclaimed:
Standing in front of his office the next morning, surrounded by a few of his political friends, Tom exclaimed:
“Do you see what them infernal tories have done down there at Harrisburg? They have been and passed an outrageous, oppressive, barbarous, and unconstitutional law! A pretty idea, indeed, if a man can’t put a debtor in jail for a less sum than ten dollars! How am I going to support my family, I should like[63] to know, if this law is allowed to stand? I tell you, gentlemen, this law is unconstitutional, and you will see blood running in our streets, if them tory scoundrels try to carry it out!”
“Do you see what those terrible tories have done down in Harrisburg? They’ve passed a ridiculous, oppressive, barbaric, and unconstitutional law! What a crazy idea, honestly, if a man can’t throw a debtor in jail for less than ten dollars! How am I supposed to support my family, I’d like to know, if this law stays in place? I’m telling you, gentlemen, this law is unconstitutional, and you’ll see blood in our streets if those tory crooks try to enforce it!”
His friends laughed, for they saw that Tom was reasoning from his pocket instead of his head; and, as he almost foamed at the mouth in his impotent wrath they could not suppress a smile.
His friends laughed because they realized Tom was thinking with his wallet instead of his brain; and as he nearly shouted in his helpless anger, they couldn't help but smile.
“Oh, you may laugh, gentlemen—you may laugh; but you will see it. Our party will never disgrace itself a permitting the tories to rob them of their rights by passing unconstitutional laws; and I say, the sooner we come to blood, the better!”
“Oh, you can laugh, gentlemen—you can laugh; but you will see it. Our party will never shame itself by letting the tories take away our rights through unconstitutional laws; and I say, the sooner we resort to bloodshed, the better!”
At this moment, a gentleman stepped up, and addressing the Alderman, said:
At that moment, a man approached and spoke to the Alderman, saying:
“Alderman, I want to bring a case of book debt before you this morning.”
“Alderman, I want to present a case of book debt to you this morning.”
“How much is your claim?” asked Tom.
“How much is your claim?” Tom asked.
“Four dollars,” replied the rumseller—for such he proved to be—and his debt was for drinks chalked up against one of his “customers.”
“Four bucks,” replied the rumseller—for that’s who he turned out to be—and his debt was for drinks recorded for one of his “customers.”
“You can’t have your four dollars, Sir,” replied the excited Alderman. “You are robbed of your four dollars, Sir. Them legislative tories at Harrisburg, Sir, have cheated you out of your four dollars, Sir. I undertake to say, Sir, that fifty thousand honest men in Philadelphia have been robbed of their four dollars by these bloody tories and their cursed unconstitutional law! Ah, gentlemen, you will see blood running in our streets before you are a month older. (A laugh.) Oh, you may laugh; but you will see it—see if you don’t!”
“You can't have your four dollars, Sir,” replied the excited Alderman. “You've been cheated out of your four dollars, Sir. Those legislative tories in Harrisburg, Sir, have scammed you out of your four dollars, Sir. I can assure you, Sir, that fifty thousand honest men in Philadelphia have been robbed of their four dollars by these bloody tories and their damn unconstitutional law! Ah, gentlemen, you will see blood running in our streets before the month is over. (A laugh.) Oh, you may laugh; but you will see it—just wait and see!”
“Here, boy, give me the Morning Ledger,” said the Alderman, at the same time taking the paper and handing the boy a penny. “Let us see what them blasted cowboys are doing down at Harrisburg now. Ah!—what is this?” (Reading:) “‘Blood, blood, blood!’ Aha! laugh, will you, gentlemen? Here it is.” Reads:
“Here, kid, give me the Morning Ledger,” said the Alderman, while he took the paper and handed the boy a penny. “Let’s see what those damn cowboys are up to in Harrisburg now. Ah!—what’s this?” (Reading:) “‘Blood, blood, blood!’ Aha! You think that’s funny, gentlemen? Here it is.” Reads:
“‘Blood, blood, blood! The Dorrites have got possession of Providence. The military are called out. Father is arrayed against father, and son against son. Blood is already running in our streets.’
“‘Blood, blood, blood! The Dorrites have taken control of Providence. The military has been called in. Fathers are turning against fathers, and sons against sons. Blood is already spilling in our streets.’”
“Now laugh, will you, gentlemen? Blood is running in the streets of Providence; blood will be running in the streets of Philadelphia before you are a fortnight older! The tories of Providence and the tories of Harrisburg must answer for this blood, for they and their unconstitutional proceedings are the cause of its flowing! Let us see the rest of this tragic scene.” Reads:
“Now laugh, will you, gentlemen? Blood is running in the streets of Providence; blood will be running in the streets of Philadelphia before you’re two weeks older! The loyalists of Providence and the loyalists of Harrisburg must answer for this blood, because they and their illegal actions are the reason it’s pouring out! Let’s see the rest of this tragic scene.” Reads:
“‘Is there any remedy for this dreadful state of things?’”
“‘Is there any solution for this terrible situation?’”
Alderman.—“Of course not, except to hang every rascal of them for trampling on our g-l-orious Constitution.” Reads:
Councilmember.—“Of course not, except to hang every one of them for trampling on our glorious Constitution.” Reads:
“‘Is there any remedy for this dreadful state of things? Yes, there is.’”
“‘Is there any solution for this terrible situation? Yes, there is.’”
Alderman.—“Oh, there is, is there? What is it? Let me see.” Reads:
Council member.—“Oh, really? What is it? Let me see.” Reads:
“‘Buy two packages of Pease’s hoarhound candy.’”
“‘Get two packs of Pease’s hoarhound candy.’”
[65]“Blast the infernal Ledger!” exclaimed the now doubly incensed and indignant Alderman, throwing the paper upon the pavement with the most ineffable disgust, amid the shouts and hurrahs of a score of men who by this time had gathered around the excited Alderman Tom Simmons.
[65]“Damn the cursed Ledger!” shouted the now even more furious and outraged Alderman, tossing the paper onto the ground with the utmost disgust, amid the cheers and yells of a group of men who had gathered around the agitated Alderman Tom Simmons.
As I before remarked, the “candy” was a very good article for the purposes for which it was made; and as Pease was an indefatigable man, as well as a good advertiser, he soon acquired a fortune. Mr. Pease, Junior, is now living in affluence in Brooklyn, and is bringing up a “happy family” to enjoy the fruits of his industry, probity, good habits, and genius.
As I mentioned earlier, the “candy” was a great product for its intended purpose; and since Pease was a tireless worker and a smart marketer, he quickly made a fortune. Mr. Pease, Junior, is now living comfortably in Brooklyn and is raising a “happy family” to enjoy the rewards of his hard work, honesty, good habits, and talent.
The “humbug” in this transaction, of course consisted solely in the manner of advertising. There was no humbug or deception about the article manufactured.
The “humbug” in this deal, of course, was only in the way it was advertised. There was no dishonesty or trickery about the product itself.
CHAPTER VIII.
BRANDRETH’S PILLS.—MAGNIFICENT ADVERTISING.—POWER OF IMAGINATION.
BRANDRETH'S PILLS.—AMAZING ADVERTISING.—IMAGINATION POWER.
In the year 1834, Dr. Benjamin Brandreth commenced advertising in the city of New York, “Brandreth’s Pills specially recommended to purify the blood.” His office consisted of a room about ten feet square, located in what was then known as the Sun building, an edifice ten by forty feet, situated at the corner of Spruce and Nassau streets, where the Tribune is now published. His “factory” was at his residence in Hudson street.[66] He put up a large gilt sign over the Sun office, five or six feet wide by the length of the building, which attracted much attention, as at that time it was probably the largest sign in New York. Dr. Brandreth had great faith in his pills, and I believe not without reason; for multitudes of persons soon became convinced of the truth of his assertions, that “all diseases arise from impurity or imperfect circulation of the blood, and by purgation with Brandreth’s Pills all disease may be cured.”
In 1834, Dr. Benjamin Brandreth started advertising in New York City, “Brandreth’s Pills specially recommended to purify the blood.” His office was a room about ten feet square, located in what was then called the Sun building, a structure ten by forty feet, at the corner of Spruce and Nassau streets, where the Tribune is now published. His “factory” was at his home on Hudson Street.[66] He put up a large gold sign above the Sun office, five or six feet wide and the length of the building, which drew a lot of attention, as it was probably the largest sign in New York at that time. Dr. Brandreth had a lot of confidence in his pills, and I believe he had good reason to; because many people soon became convinced of the truth of his claims that “all diseases come from impurities or poor circulation of the blood, and that by cleansing with Brandreth’s Pills, all diseases can be cured.”
But great and reasonable as might have been the faith of Dr. Brandreth in the efficacy of his pills, his faith in the potency of advertising them was equally strong. Hence he commenced advertising largely in the Sun newspaper—paying at least $5,000 to that paper alone, for his first year’s advertisements. That may not seem a large sum in these days, when parties have been known to pay more than five thousand dollar for a single day’s advertising in the leading journals; but, at the time Brandreth started, his was considered the most liberal newspaper-advertising of the day.
But as strong and reasonable as Dr. Brandreth's belief in the effectiveness of his pills was, his confidence in the power of advertising them was just as firm. So, he began investing heavily in advertisements in the Sun newspaper—spending at least $5,000 just for his first year of ads. That might not seem like a lot today, when some companies are known to pay more than five thousand dollars for a single day's advertising in major publications; however, when Brandreth launched his campaign, that amount was seen as the most generous newspaper advertising of the time.
Advertising is to a genuine article what manure is to land,—it largely increases the product. Thousands of persons may be reading your advertisement while you are eating, or sleeping, or attending to your business; hence public attention is attracted, new customers come to you, and, if you render them a satisfactory equivalent for their money, they continue to patronize you and recommend you to their friends.
Advertising is to a genuine product what fertilizer is to soil—it significantly boosts the output. Thousands of people might be seeing your ad while you’re eating, sleeping, or doing your work; as a result, public interest is piqued, new customers come your way, and if you provide them with good value for their money, they’ll keep coming back and recommend you to their friends.
At the commencement of his career, Dr. Brandreth[67] was indebted to Mr. Moses Y. Beach, proprietor of the New York Sun, for encouragement and means of advertising. But this very advertising soon caused his receipts to be enormous. Although the pills were but twenty-five cents per box, they were soon sold to such a great extent, that tons of huge cases filled with the “purely vegetable pill” were sent from the new and extensive manufactory every week. As his business increased, so in the same ratio did he extend his advertising. The doctor engaged at one time a literary gentleman to attend, under the supervision of himself, solely to the advertising department. Column upon column of advertisements appeared in the newspapers, in the shape of learned and scientific pathological dissertations, the very reading of which would tempt a poor mortal to rush for a box of Brandreth’s Pills; so evident was it (according to the advertisement) that nobody ever had or ever would have “pure blood,” until from one to a dozen boxes of the pills had been taken as “purifiers.” The ingenuity displayed in concocting these advertisements was superb, and was probably hardly equaled by that required to concoct the pills.
At the start of his career, Dr. Brandreth[67] was grateful to Mr. Moses Y. Beach, the owner of the New York Sun, for his support and for helping him advertise. However, this advertising quickly led to huge profits. Even though the pills were only twenty-five cents a box, they sold so well that tons of large cases filled with the “purely vegetable pill” were shipped every week from the new and large factory. As his business grew, he increased his advertising accordingly. At one point, the doctor hired a writer to focus solely on advertising under his supervision. Columns of ads filled the newspapers, appearing as learned and scientific essays on pathology, so compelling that they would make someone rush out for a box of Brandreth’s Pills; it was clear from the ads that no one ever had or would have “pure blood” without taking between one and a dozen boxes of the pills as “purifiers.” The creativity put into crafting these ads was impressive and likely rivaled the effort put into creating the pills themselves.
No pain, ache, twinge, or other sensation, good, bad, or indifferent, ever experienced by a member of the human family, but was a most irrefragable evidence of the impurity of the blood; and it would have been blasphemy to have denied the “self-evident” theory, that “all diseases arise from impurity or imperfect circulation of the blood, and that by purgation with Brandreth’s Pills all disease may be cured.”
No pain, ache, twinge, or any other feeling—good, bad, or neutral—ever experienced by a member of humanity was anything but solid proof of dirty blood; denying the “self-evident” belief that “all diseases come from impure or poor circulation of the blood, and that taking Brandreth’s Pills can cure all diseases” would have been considered blasphemous.
The doctor claims that his grandfather first manu[68]factured the pills in 1751. I suppose this may be true; at all events, no living man will be apt to testify to the contrary. Here is an extract from one of Dr. Brandreth’s early advertisements, which will give an idea of his style:
The doctor says that his grandfather first made the pills in 1751. I guess this could be true; anyway, no living person is likely to say otherwise. Here's a quote from one of Dr. Brandreth’s early ads that will give you an idea of his approach:
“‘What has been longest known has been most considered, and what has been most considered is best understood.
“‘What has been known the longest has been thought about the most, and what has been thought about the most is best understood.
“‘The life of the flesh is in the blood.’—Lev. xxii, 2.
“‘The life of the flesh is in the blood.’—Lev. xxii, 2.
“Bleeding reduces the vital powers; Brandreth’s Pills increase them. So in sickness never be bled, especially in Dizziness and Apoplexy, but always use Brandreth’s Pills.
“Bleeding weakens the body's vital powers; Brandreth’s Pills boost them. So in sickness, never get bled, especially for Dizziness and Apoplexy, but always take Brandreth’s Pills."
“The laws of life are written upon the face of Nature. The Tempest, Whirlwind, and Thunder-storm bring health from the Solitudes of God. The Tides are the daily agitators and purifiers of the Mighty World of Waters.
“The laws of life are clear in Nature. The storm, whirlwind, and thunder bring renewal from the solitude of God. The tides are the daily movers and cleansers of the vast world of water.
“What these Providential means are as purifiers of the Atmosphere or Air, Brandreth’s Pills are to man.”
“What these Providential means are as purifiers of the atmosphere or air, Brandreth’s Pills are to people.”
This splendid system of advertising, and the almost reckless outlay which was required to keep it up, challenged the admiration of the business community. In the course of a few years, his office was enlarged; and still being too small, he took the store 241 Broadway, and also opened a branch at 187 Hudson street. The doctor continued to let his advertising keep pace with his patronage; and he was finally, in the year 1836, compelled to remove his manufactory to Sing Sing, where such perfectly incredible quantities of Brandreth’s Pills have been manufactured and sold that it would hardly be safe to give the statistics. Suffice it to say, that the only “humbug” which I suspect in connection with the pills was, the very harmless and unobjectionable yet novel method of advertising them;[69] and as the doctor amassed a great fortune by their manufacture, this very fact is prima facie evidence that the pill was a valuable purgative.
This impressive advertising system and the almost reckless spending required to maintain it grabbed the attention of the business community. Within a few years, his office expanded, but it was still too small, so he took the store at 241 Broadway and also opened a branch at 187 Hudson Street. The doctor kept his advertising in line with his growing customer base, and by 1836, he had to move his factory to Sing Sing, where an astonishing amount of Brandreth’s Pills were produced and sold that it’s hard to even convey the statistics. It’s enough to say that the only “humbug” I suspect regarding the pills was the very harmless and completely acceptable yet innovative way of advertising them;[69] and since the doctor built a significant fortune from their production, this alone is prima facie evidence that the pill was an effective purgative.
A funny incident occurred to me in connection with this great pill. In the year 1836, while I was travelling through the States of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, I became convinced by reading Doctor Brandreth’s advertisements that I needed his pills. Indeed, I there read the proof that every symptom that I experienced, either in imagination or in reality, rendered their extensive consumption absolutely necessary to preserve my life. I purchased a box of Brandreth’s Pills in Columbus, Miss. The effect was miraculous! Of course, it was just what the advertisement told me it would be. In Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I purchased half a dozen boxes. They were all used up before my perambulating show reached Vicksburg, Miss., and I was a confirmed disciple of the blood theory. There I laid in a dozen boxes. In Natchez, I made a similar purchase. In New Orleans, where I remained several months, I was a profitable customer, and had become thoroughly convinced that the only real “greenhorns” in the world were those who preferred meat or bread to Brandreth’s Pills. I took them morning, noon, and night. In fact, the advertisements announced that one could not take too many; for if one box was sufficient to purify the blood, eleven extra boxes would have no injurious effect.
A funny incident happened to me involving this great pill. In 1836, while I was traveling through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, I became convinced by reading Dr. Brandreth’s ads that I needed his pills. I read all the claims that every symptom I had, whether real or imagined, made it absolutely necessary to take them to stay alive. I bought a box of Brandreth’s Pills in Columbus, Mississippi. The result was amazing! Of course, it was exactly what the ad said it would be. In Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I bought half a dozen boxes. I used them all up before my traveling show reached Vicksburg, Mississippi, and I had become a true believer in the blood theory. There, I stocked up on a dozen boxes. In Natchez, I made a similar purchase. In New Orleans, where I stayed for several months, I was a loyal customer, completely convinced that the only real “suckers” in the world were those who preferred meat or bread to Brandreth’s Pills. I took them morning, noon, and night. In fact, the ads claimed that you couldn’t take too many; if one box was enough to purify the blood, then eleven extra boxes wouldn’t have any harmful effects.
I arrived in New York in June 1838, and by that time I had become such a firm believer in the efficacy of Brandreth’s Pills, that I hardly stopped long enough[70] to speak with my family, before I hastened to the “principal office” of Doctor Brandreth to congratulate him on being the greatest public benefactor of the age.
I got to New York in June 1838, and by then I was such a strong believer in the effectiveness of Brandreth’s Pills that I barely paused long enough[70] to chat with my family before rushing over to the "main office" of Doctor Brandreth to congratulate him on being the greatest public benefactor of his time.
I found the doctor “at home,” and introduced myself without ceremony. I told him my experiences. He was delighted. I next heartily indorsed every word stated in his advertisements. He was not surprised, for he knew the effects of his pills were such as I described. Still he was elated in having another witness whose extensive experiments with his pills were so eminently satisfactory. The doctor and myself were both happy—he in being able to do so much good to mankind; I in being the recipient of such untold benefits through his valuable discovery.
I found the doctor at home and introduced myself without any fuss. I shared my experiences with him. He was thrilled. Next, I wholeheartedly supported everything he claimed in his advertisements. He wasn't shocked because he knew that the effects of his pills were exactly as I described. Still, he was excited to have another person vouch for the impressive results of his pills. We were both happy—he for being able to benefit humanity, and I for receiving such incredible advantages from his valuable discovery.
At last, the doctor chanced to say that he wondered how I happened to get his pills in Natchez, “for,” said he, “I have no agent there as yet.”
At last, the doctor happened to mention that he was curious how I got his pills in Natchez, "because," he said, "I don't have an agent there yet."
“Oh!” I replied, “I always bought my pills at the drug stores.”
“Oh!” I replied, “I always got my pills at the pharmacies.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed the doctor, “then they are were all counterfeits! vile impositions! poisonous compounds! I never sell a pill to a druggist—I never permit an apothecary to handle one of my pills. But they counterfeit them by the bushel; the unprincipled, heartless, murderous impostors!”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the doctor, “then they were all fakes! terrible scams! harmful mixtures! I never sell a pill to a pharmacist—I never let a druggist touch one of my pills. But they counterfeit them by the bushel; those unprincipled, heartless, murderous frauds!”
I need not say I was surprised. Was it possible, then, that my imagination had done all this business, and that I had been cured by poisons which I supposed were Brandreth’s Pill? I confess I laughed heartily; and told the doctor that, after all, it seemed the coun[71]terfeits were as good as the real pills, provided the patient had sufficient faith.
I don’t need to say I was surprised. Was it possible that my imagination had created all this, and that I had been cured by the poisons I thought were Brandreth’s Pill? I have to admit I laughed a lot, and I told the doctor that, after all, it seemed the counterfeits were just as effective as the real pills, as long as the patient had enough faith.
The doctor was puzzled as well as vexed, but an idea struck him that soon enabled him to recover his usual equanimity.
The doctor was confused and annoyed, but suddenly an idea hit him that quickly helped him regain his usual calm.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” said he, “those Southern druggists have undoubtedly obtained the pills from me under false pretences. They have pretended to be planters, and have purchased pills from me in large quantities for use on the plantations, and then they have retailed the pills from their drug-shops.”
“I’ll tell you what it is,” he said, “those Southern pharmacists definitely got the pills from me by tricking me. They acted like they were farmers and bought pills in bulk for use on their farms, and then they sold the pills from their pharmacies.”
I laughed at this shrewd suggestion, and remarked: “This may be so, but I guess my imagination did the business!”
I laughed at this clever suggestion and said, “That might be true, but I think my imagination handled it!”
The doctor was uneasy, but he asked me as a favor to bring him one of the empty pill boxes which I had brought from the South. The next day, I complied with his request, and I will do the doctor justice to say that, on comparison, it proved as he had suspected; the pills were genuine, and although he had advertised that no druggist should sell them, they were so popular that druggists found it necessary to get them “by hook or by crook;” and the consequence was, I had the pleasure of a glorious laugh, and Doctor Brandreth experienced “a great scare.”
The doctor was feeling uneasy, but he asked me as a favor to bring him one of the empty pill boxes I had brought back from the South. The next day, I fulfilled his request, and I have to give the doctor credit; upon comparison, it turned out he was right—the pills were legitimate. Even though he had claimed no druggist should sell them, they were so popular that druggists felt the need to acquire them “by hook or by crook.” As a result, I had a good laugh, and Doctor Brandreth faced “a big scare.”
The doctor “made his pile” long ago, although he still devotes his personal attention to the “entirely vegetable and innocent pills, whose life-giving power no pen can describe.”
The doctor "made his fortune" a while back, but he still personally focuses on the "completely plant-based and harmless pills, whose life-giving properties no one can fully express."
In 1849, the doctor was elected President of the Village of Sing Sing, N. Y. (where he still resides,)[72] and was re-elected to the same office for seven consecutive years. In the same year, he was elected to the New York State Senate, and in 1859 was again elected.
In 1849, the doctor was elected President of the Village of Sing Sing, N.Y. (where he still lives),[72] and he was re-elected to the same position for seven straight years. That same year, he was also elected to the New York State Senate, and he was re-elected in 1859.
Dr. Brandreth is a liberal man and a pleasant, entertaining, and edifying companion. He deserves all the success he has ever received. “Long may he wave!”
Dr. Brandreth is an open-minded person and a friendly, amusing, and insightful companion. He deserves all the success he's achieved. “Long may he wave!”
II. THE SPIRITUALISTS.
CHAPTER IX.
THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS, THEIR RISE AND PROGRESS.—SPIRITUAL ROPE-TYING.—MUSIC PLAYING.—CABINET SECRETS.—“THEY CHOOSE DARKNESS RATHER THAN LIGHT,” ETC.—THE SPIRITUAL HAND.—HOW THE THING IS DONE.—DR. W. F. VAN VLECK.
THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS, THEIR RISE AND PROGRESS.—SPIRITUAL ROPE-TYING.—MUSIC PLAYING.—CABINET SECRETS.—“THEY CHOOSE DARKNESS RATHER THAN LIGHT,” ETC.—THE SPIRITUAL HAND.—HOW THE THING IS DONE.—DR. W. F. VAN VLECK.
The Davenport Brothers are natives of Buffalo, N. Y., and in that city commenced their career as “mediums” about twelve years ago. They were then mere lads. For some time, their operations were confined to their own place, where, having obtained considerable notoriety through the press, they were visited by people from all parts of the country. But, in 1855, they were induced by John F. Coles, a very worthy spiritualist of New York City, to visit that metropolis, and there exhibit their powers. Under the management of Mr. Coles, they held “circles” afternoon and evening, for several days, in a small hall at 195 Bowery. The audience were seated next the walls, the principal space being required for the use of “the spirits.” The “manifestations” mostly consisted in the thrumming and seemingly rapid movement about the hall of several stringed instruments, the room having been made entirely dark, while the boys were supposed or asserted to[74] be quietly seated at the table in the centre. Two guitars, with sometimes a banjo, were the instruments used, and the noise made by “the spirits” was about equal to the united honking of a large flock of wild geese. The manifestations were stunning as well as astonishing; for not only was the sense of hearing smitten by the dreadful sounds, but, sometimes, a member of the circle would get a “striking demonstration” over his head!
The Davenport Brothers are from Buffalo, NY, and started their careers as "mediums" about twelve years ago when they were just kids. For a while, they only performed in their local area, gaining significant attention from the press, which brought visitors from all over the country. However, in 1855, they were encouraged by John F. Coles, a dedicated spiritualist from New York City, to showcase their abilities in the big city. Under Mr. Coles' management, they held "circles" both afternoon and evening for several days in a small hall at 195 Bowery. The audience sat against the walls, leaving the main space for "the spirits." The "manifestations" mainly involved the thrumming and seemingly quick movement of several stringed instruments around the darkened hall, while the boys were supposed to be quietly seated at a table in the center. They typically used two guitars and sometimes a banjo, and the noise made by "the spirits" resembled the collective honking of a large flock of wild geese. The manifestations were both stunning and astonishing; not only was the sense of hearing overwhelmed by the terrible sounds, but occasionally, a member of the circle would receive a "striking demonstration" directly above their head!
At the request of the “controlling spirit,” made through a horn, the hall was lighted at intervals during the entertainment, at which times the mediums could be seen seated at the table, looking very innocent and demure, as if they had never once thought of deceiving anybody. On one of these occasions, however, a policeman suddenly lighted the hall by means of a dark lantern, without having been specially called upon to do so; and the boys were clearly seen with instruments in their hands. They dropped them as soon as they could, and resumed their seats at the table. Satisfied that the thing was a humbug, the audience left in disgust; and the policeman was about to march the boys to the station-house on the charge of swindling, when he was prevailed upon to remain and farther test the matter. Left alone with them, and the three seated together at the table on which the instruments had been placed, he laid, at their request, a hand on each medium’s head; they then clasped both his arms with their hands. While they remained thus situated (as he supposed,) the room being dark, one of the instruments, with an infernal twanging of its strings, rose from the[75] table and hit the policeman several times on the head; then a strange voice through the trumpet advised him not to interfere with the work of the spirits by persecuting the mediums! Considerably astonished, if not positively scared, he took his hat and left, fully persuaded that there was “something in it!”
At the request of the "controlling spirit," communicated through a horn, the hall was lit up at intervals during the event, allowing the mediums to be seen sitting at the table, looking very innocent and shy, as if they had never considered tricking anyone. However, on one of these occasions, a policeman unexpectedly lit up the hall with a dark lantern, without being specifically called to do so; and the boys were clearly seen holding instruments. They dropped them as quickly as they could and went back to their seats at the table. Convinced that it was all a scam, the audience left in disgust; and the policeman was about to take the boys to the station for swindling when he was persuaded to stay and investigate further. Left alone with them, and the three of them sitting together at the table where the instruments had been placed, he put a hand on each medium’s head at their request; they then grabbed both of his arms with their hands. While they were in that position (as he thought), with the room dark, one of the instruments, making a creepy twanging sound with its strings, lifted off the table and hit the policeman several times on the head; then a strange voice through the trumpet warned him not to interfere with the spirits’ work by harassing the mediums! Quite astonished, if not genuinely frightened, he took his hat and left, fully convinced that there was "something to it!"
The boys produced the manifestations by grasping the neck of the instrument, swinging it around, and thrusting it into different parts of the open space of the room, at the same time vibrating the strings with the fore-finger. The faster the finger passed over the strings, the more rapidly the instrument seemed to move. Two hands could thus use as many instruments.
The boys created sounds by holding the neck of the instrument, swinging it around, and pushing it into different areas of the open room, while also strumming the strings with their index fingers. The quicker their fingers moved over the strings, the faster the instrument appeared to move. With two hands, they could use multiple instruments.
When sitting with a person at the table, as they did with the policeman, one hand could be taken off the investigator’s arm without his knowing it, by gently increasing, at the same time, the pressure of the other hand. It was an easy matter then to raise and thrum the instrument or talk through the horn.
When sitting with someone at the table, like they did with the policeman, you could quietly take one hand off the investigator's arm without him realizing it, while gently increasing the pressure with the other hand. It was then easy to play the instrument or speak through the horn.
About a dozen gentlemen—several of whom were members of the press—had a private séance with the boys one afternoon, on which occasion “the spirits” ventured upon an extra “manifestation.” All took seats at one side of a long, high table—the position of the mediums being midway of the row. This time, a little, dim, ghostly gaslight was allowed in the room. What seemed to be a hand soon appeared, partly above the edge of the vacant side of the table, and opposite the “mediums.” One excited spiritualist present said he could see the finger-nails.
About a dozen gentlemen—some of whom were from the press—had a private séance with the boys one afternoon, during which “the spirits” made an extra “appearance.” They all took seats on one side of a long, high table, with the mediums positioned in the center of the row. This time, a faint, ghostly gaslight was allowed in the room. What looked like a hand soon emerged, partly over the edge of the empty side of the table, facing the “mediums.” One enthusiastic spiritualist present claimed he could see the fingernails.
John F. Coles—who had for several days, sus[76]pected the innocence of the boys—sprang from his seat, turned up the gaslight, and pounced on the elder boy, who was found to have a nicely stuffed glove drawn partly on to the toe of his boot. That, then, was the spirit-hand! The nails that the imaginative spiritualist thought he saw were not on the fingers. The boy alleged that the spirits made him attempt the deception.
John F. Coles—who had suspected the boys were innocent for several days—jumped from his seat, turned up the gaslight, and confronted the older boy, who had a stuffed glove partially pulled onto the toe of his boot. That was the "spirit-hand"! The nails that the imaginative spiritualist thought he saw weren’t on the fingers. The boy claimed that the spirits made him try to fool everyone.
The father of these boys, who had accompanied them to New York, took them home immediately after that exposure. In Buffalo, they continued to hold “circles,” hoping to retrieve their lost reputation as good mediums—by being, not more honest, but more cautious. To prevent any one getting hold of them while operating, they hit upon the plan of passing a rope through a button-hole of each gentleman’s coat, the ends to be held by a trusty person—assigning, as a reason for that arrangement, that it would then be known no one in the circle could assist in producing the manifestations. The plan did not always work well, however; for a skeptic would sometimes cut the rope, and then pounce upon “the spirit”—that is, if he didn’t happen to miss that individual, on account of the darkness and while trying to avoid a collision with the instruments.
The father of these boys, who had taken them to New York, brought them home right after that incident. In Buffalo, they kept holding “circles,” hoping to recover their lost reputation as good mediums—by being, not more honest, but more careful. To stop anyone from interfering while they were performing, they came up with the idea of passing a rope through a buttonhole of each gentleman’s coat, with the ends held by a reliable person—saying it was so that no one in the circle could help create the phenomena. However, the plan didn’t always work out well; sometimes a skeptic would cut the rope and then try to catch “the spirit”—that is, if he didn’t end up missing that person due to the darkness and while trying to dodge the instruments.
To secure greater immunity from detection, and to enable them to exhibit in large halls which could not easily be darkened, the boys finally fixed upon a “cabinet” as the best thing in which to work. They had, some time before, made the “rope-test” a feature of their exhibitions; and in their cabinet-show they de[77]pended for success in deceiving entirely upon the presumption of the audience that their hands were so secured with ropes as to prevent their playing upon the musical instruments, or doing whatever else the spirits were assumed to do.
To avoid getting caught and to perform in large venues that were hard to darken, the boys decided that a “cabinet” was the best option for their act. Some time earlier, they had made the “rope-test” a highlight of their shows, and in their cabinet performance, they relied completely on the audience's assumption that their hands were tied with ropes, preventing them from playing the musical instruments or doing anything else the spirits were believed to do.
Their cabinet is about six feet high, six feet long, and two and a half feet deep, the front consisting of three doors, opening outward. In each end is a seat, with holes through which the ropes can be passed in securing the mediums. In the upper part of the middle door is a lozenge-shaped aperture, curtained on the inside with black muslin or oilcloth. The bolts are on the inside of the doors.
Their cabinet measures about six feet tall, six feet wide, and two and a half feet deep, with the front featuring three doors that open outward. There's a seat at each end, with holes for passing ropes to secure the mediums. At the top of the middle door, there's a diamond-shaped opening, which is lined on the inside with black muslin or oilcloth. The bolts are located on the inside of the doors.
The mediums are generally first tied by a committee of two gentlemen appointed from the audience. The doors of the cabinet are then closed, those at the ends first, and then the middle one, the bolt of which is reached by the manager through the aperture.
The mediums are usually first secured by a committee of two men selected from the audience. The doors of the cabinet are then closed, starting with the ones at the ends and then the middle one, which the manager bolts through the opening.
By the time the end doors are closed and bolted, the Davenports, in many instances, have succeeded in loosening the knots next their wrists, and in slipping their hands out, the latter being then exhibited at the aperture. Lest the hands should be recognized as belonging to the mediums, they are kept in a constant shaking motion while in view; and to make the hands look large or small, they spread or press together the fingers. With that peculiar rapid motion imparted to them, four hands in the aperture will appear to be half-a-dozen. A lady’s flesh colored kid glove, nicely stuffed with cotton, is sometimes exhibited as a female hand—a critical observation of it never being allowed. It does[78] not take the medium long to draw the knots close to their wrists again. They are then ready to be inspected by the Committee, who report them tied as they were left. Supposing them to have been securely bound all the while, those who witness the show are very naturally astonished.
By the time the end doors are closed and locked, the Davenports have often managed to loosen the knots around their wrists and slip their hands out, which they then display at the opening. To prevent the hands from being recognized as the mediums', they constantly shake them while visible; they also spread or press together their fingers to make the hands look larger or smaller. With that unique quick movement, four hands at the opening can appear to be six. A lady's flesh-colored kid glove, stuffed with cotton, is sometimes shown as a female hand—close inspection of it is never allowed. It doesn’t take long for the medium to pull the knots back tight to their wrists. They are then ready to be checked by the Committee, who report them tied as they were initially found. Assuming they were securely bound the whole time, those who watch the show are understandably amazed.
Sometimes, after being tied by a committee, the mediums cannot readily extricate their hands and get them back as they were; in which case they release themselves entirely from the ropes before the doors are again opened, concluding to wait till after “the spirits” have bound them, before showing hands or making music.
Sometimes, after being tied up by a committee, the mediums can’t easily free their hands and get them back to normal; in which case, they completely untie themselves from the ropes before the doors are opened again, deciding to wait until after “the spirits” have bound them before showing their hands or making music.
It is a common thing for these impostors to give the rope between their hands a twist while those limbs are being bound; and that movement, if dexterously made, while the attention of the committee-men is momentarily diverted, is not likely to be detected. Reversing that movement will let the hand out.
It’s common for these fakes to twist the rope between their hands while their limbs are being tied. If done skillfully, this movement can go unnoticed while the committee members are briefly distracted. Reversing that movement will free the hand.
The great point with the Davenports in tying themselves is, to have a knot next their wrists that looks solid, “fair and square,” at the same time that they can slip it and get their hands out in a moment. There are several ways of forming such a knot, one of which I will attempt to describe. In the middle of a rope a square knot is tied, loosely at first, so that the ends of the rope can be tucked through, in opposite directions, below the knot, and the latter is then drawn tight. There are then two loops—which should be made small—through which the hands are to pass after the rest of the tying is done. Just sufficient slack is left to admit of the hands passing through the loops, which,[79] lastly, are drawn close to the wrists, the knot coming between the latter. No one, from the appearance of such a knot, would suspect it could be slipped. The mediums thus tied can, immediately after the committee have inspected the knots, and closed the doors, show hands or play upon musical instruments, and in a few seconds be, to all appearance, firmly tied again.
The main point for the Davenports when tying themselves up is to create a knot near their wrists that looks solid, “fair and square,” but can be slipped to free their hands in an instant. There are several ways to make such a knot, and I’ll describe one method. Start by tying a square knot in the middle of a rope, but do it loosely at first so that the ends can be threaded through in opposite directions below the knot, which is then pulled tight. This leaves two small loops for the hands to pass through once the rest of the tying is finished. Just enough slack is left so the hands can go through the loops, which, [79] are finally pulled close to the wrists, with the knot positioned between them. No one looking at this knot would suspect it can be slipped. The performers tied in this way can, right after the committee has checked the knots and closed the doors, show their hands or play musical instruments, and within seconds appear to be securely tied again.
If flour has been placed in their hands, it makes no difference as to their getting those members out of or into the ropes; but, to show hands at the aperture, or to make a noise on the musical instruments, it is necessary that they should get the flour out of one hand into the other. The moisture of the hand and squeezing, packs the flour into a lump, which can be laid into the other hand and returned without losing any. The little flour that adheres to the empty hand can be wiped off in the pantaloons pocket. The mediums seldom if ever take flour in their hands while they are in the bonds put upon them by the committee. The principal part of the show is after the tying has been done in their own way. Wm. Fay, who accompanies the Davenports, is thus fixed when the hypothetical spirits take the coat off his back.
If flour has been put into their hands, it doesn't matter whether they get their hands out of or into the ropes; however, to show their hands at the opening or make noise on the musical instruments, they need to transfer the flour from one hand to the other. The moisture from their hands and the squeezing packs the flour into a lump, which can be moved to the other hand and back without losing any. The little flour that sticks to the empty hand can be wiped off in their pants pocket. The mediums rarely, if ever, handle flour while bound by the committee's restraints. The main part of the show happens after the tying has been done in their own way. Wm. Fay, who works with the Davenports, is bound in this way when the imaginary spirits take his coat off.
As I before remarked, there are several ways in which the mediums tie themselves. They always do it, however, in such a manner that, though the tying looks secure, they can immediately get one or both hands out. Let committees insist upon untying the knots of the spirits, whether the mediums are willing or not. A little critical observation will enable them to learn the trick.
As I mentioned earlier, there are several ways the mediums bind themselves. However, they always do it in a way that, while it appears secure, they can quickly get one or both hands free. Let committees insist on untying the knots of the spirits, whether the mediums like it or not. A bit of careful observation will help them figure out the trick.
[80]To make this subject of tying clearer, I will repeat that the Davenports always untie themselves by using their hands; as they are able in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, however impossible it may seem, to release their hands by loosening the knots next their wrists. Sometimes they do this by twisting the rope between their wrists; sometimes it is by keeping their muscles as tense as possible during the tying, so that when relaxed there shall be some slack. Most “committees” know so little about tying, that anybody, by a little pulling, slipping, and wriggling, could slip his hands out of their knots.
[80]To clarify this topic of tying, I want to reiterate that the Davenports always manage to untie themselves using their hands. In fact, in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases, no matter how impossible it may seem, they can free their hands by loosening the knots near their wrists. Sometimes they achieve this by twisting the rope between their wrists; other times, they keep their muscles as tense as possible while being tied, so that when they relax, there’s some slack. Most “committees” know so little about tying that anyone can slip their hands out of these knots with just a bit of pulling, slipping, and wriggling.
A violin, bell, and tambourine, with perhaps a guitar and drum, are the instruments used by the Davenports in the cabinet. The one who plays the violin holds the bell in his hand with the bow. The other chap beats the tambourine on his knee, and has a hand for something else.
A violin, bell, and tambourine, along with maybe a guitar and drum, are the instruments used by the Davenports in the cabinet. The person playing the violin holds the bell in one hand while using the bow. The other guy taps the tambourine on his knee and has a hand free for something else.
The “mediums” frequently allow a person to remain with them, providing he will let his hands be tied to their knees, the operators having previously been tied by “the spirits.” The party who ventures upon that experiment is apt to be considerably “mussed up,” as “the spirits” are not very gentle in their manipulations.
The “mediums” often let someone stay with them, as long as that person allows their hands to be tied to the mediums' knees, the operators having been previously tied by “the spirits.” The person who tries this experiment is likely to get quite “messed up,” as “the spirits” aren’t very gentle in how they handle things.
To expose all the tricks of these impostors would require more space than I can afford at present. They have exhibited throughout the Northern States and the Canadas; but never succeeded very well pecuniarily until about two years ago, when they employed an agent, who advertised them in such a way as to attract public[81] attention. In September last, they went to England, where they have since created considerable excitement.
To reveal all the tricks of these frauds would take more space than I can currently provide. They've performed throughout the Northern States and Canada, but they didn't do very well financially until about two years ago, when they hired an agent who promoted them in a way that grabbed public[81] attention. Last September, they went to England, where they have since generated quite a bit of excitement.
If the hands of these boys were tied close against the side of their cabinet, the ropes passing through holes and fastened on the outside, I think “the spirits” would always fail to work.
If these boys' hands were tied tightly against the side of their cabinet, with ropes going through holes and secured on the outside, I believe “the spirits” would consistently be unable to function.
Dr. W. F. Van Vleck, of Ohio, to whom I am indebted for some of the facts contained in this chapter, can beat the Davenport brothers at their own game. In order that he might the better learn the various methods pursued by the professed “mediums” in deceiving the public, Dr. Van Vleck entered into the medium-business himself, and by establishing confidential relations with those of the profession whose acquaintance he made, he became duly qualified to expose them.
Dr. W. F. Van Vleck from Ohio, to whom I owe some of the information in this chapter, can outdo the Davenport brothers at their own game. To better understand the different techniques used by so-called “mediums” to fool the public, Dr. Van Vleck entered the medium business himself. By building confidential relationships with the professionals he encountered, he was well-equipped to reveal their tricks.
He was accepted and indorsed by leading spiritualists in different parts of the country, as a good medium, who performed the most remarkable spiritual wonders. As the worthy doctor practiced this innocent deception on the professed mediums solely in order that he might thus be able to expose their blasphemous impositions, the public will scarcely dispute that in this case the end justified the means. I suppose it is not possible for any professed medium to puzzle or deceive the doctor. He is up to all their “dodges,” because he has learned in their school. Mediums always insist upon certain conditions, and those conditions are just such as will best enable them to deceive the senses and pervert the judgment.
He was recognized and supported by prominent spiritualists across the country as a skilled medium who performed incredible spiritual feats. The good doctor engaged in this harmless deception on the so-called mediums solely to expose their outrageous scams, and the public would hardly argue that, in this case, the end justified the means. I doubt any self-proclaimed medium could confuse or trick the doctor. He knows all their tricks because he learned them firsthand. Mediums always insist on specific conditions, and those conditions are designed to help them mislead the senses and distort judgment.
Anderson “the Wizard of the North,” and other[82] conjurers in England, gave the Davenports battle, but the “prestidigitators” did not reap many laurels. Conjurers are no more likely to understand the tricks of the mediums than any other person is. Before a trick can be exposed it must be learned. Dr. Van Vleck, having learned “the ropes,” is competent to expose them; and he is doing it in many interesting public lectures and illustrations.
Anderson, “the Wizard of the North,” and other[82] magicians in England gave the Davenports a run for their money, but the “prestidigitators” didn’t earn many accolades. Magicians are just as unlikely to understand the tricks of the mediums as anyone else. Before a trick can be revealed, it has to be learned. Dr. Van Vleck, having learned “the ropes,” is now able to expose them, and he’s doing so in many engaging public lectures and demonstrations.
If the Davenports were exhibiting simply as jugglers, I might admire their dexterity, and have nothing to say against them; but when they presumptuously pretend to deal in “things spiritual,” I consider it my duty, while treating of humbugs, to do this much at least in exposing them.
If the Davenports were just performing as jugglers, I might appreciate their skill and have nothing negative to say about them; but when they arrogantly pretend to be involved in “spiritual matters,” I feel it's my responsibility, while discussing frauds, to at least do this much to expose them.
CHAPTER X.
THE SPIRIT-RAPPING AND MEDIUM HUMBUGS.—THEIR ORIGIN.—HOW THE THING IS DONE.—$500 REWARD.
THE SPIRIT-RAPPING AND MEDIUM SCAMS.—THEIR ORIGIN.—HOW IT'S DONE.—$500 REWARD.
The “spirit-rapping” humbug was started in Hydesville, New York, about seventeen years ago, by several daughters of a Mr. Fox, living in that place. These girls discovered that certain exercises of their anatomy would produce mysterious sounds—mysterious to those who heard them, simply because the means of their production were not apparent. Reports of this wonder soon went abroad, and the Fox family were daily visited by people from different sections of the country—all having a greed for the marvelous. Not long after[83] the strange sounds were first heard, some one suggested that they were, perhaps, produced by spirits; and a request was made for a certain number of raps, if that suggestion was correct. The specified number were immediately heard. A plan was then proposed by means of which communications might be received from “the spirits.” An investigator would repeat the alphabet, writing down whatever letters were designated by the “raps.” Sentences were thus formed—the orthography, however, being decidedly bad.
The “spirit-rapping” craze started in Hydesville, New York, about seventeen years ago, by several daughters of a Mr. Fox who lived there. These girls found out that certain movements of their bodies could create mysterious sounds—mysterious to those who heard them, simply because the way they were made wasn't obvious. News of this wonder quickly spread, and the Fox family was visited daily by people from different parts of the country—all eager for something extraordinary. Not long after[83] the strange sounds were first heard, someone suggested that they might be caused by spirits; and a request was made for a specific number of raps to confirm that idea. The specified number was immediately heard. A method was then proposed to receive messages from “the spirits.” An investigator would go through the alphabet, noting whatever letters were indicated by the “raphs.” This way, sentences were formed—though the spelling was definitely poor.
What purported to be the spirit of a murdered peddler, gave an account of his “taking off.” He said that his body was buried beneath that very house, in a corner of the cellar; that he had been killed by a former occupant of the premises. A peddler really had disappeared, somewhat mysteriously, from that part of the country some time before; and ready credence was given the statements thus spelled out through the “raps.” Digging to the depth of eight feet in the cellar did not disclose any “dead corpus,” or even the remains of one. Soon after that, the missing peddler reappeared in Hydesville, still “clothed with mortality,” and having a new assortment of wares to sell.
What claimed to be the spirit of a murdered peddler described how he was killed. He said his body was buried right under that house, in a corner of the cellar; that he had been killed by someone who used to live there. A peddler really did disappear, quite mysteriously, from that area some time earlier, and people readily believed the messages communicated through the “raps.” Digging eight feet down in the cellar didn’t reveal any “dead body,” or even any remains. Soon after, the missing peddler showed up in Hydesville, still very much alive, and with a new selection of goods to sell.
That the “raps” were produced by disembodied spirits many firmly believed. False communications were attributed to evil spirits. The answers to questions were as often wrong as right; and only right when the answer could be easily guessed, or inferred from the nature of the question itself.
That many people firmly believed the "raps" were made by disembodied spirits. False messages were blamed on evil spirits. The answers to questions were just as likely to be wrong as they were to be right; and they were only right when the answer was easy to guess or could be figured out from the question itself.
The Fox family moved to Rochester, New York, soon after the rapping-humbug was started; and it was[84] there that their first public effort was made. A committee was appointed to investigate the matter, most of whom reported adversely to the claims of the “mediums;” though all of them were puzzled to know how the thing was done. In Buffalo, where the Foxes subsequently let their spirits flow, a committee of doctors reported that these loosely-constructed girls produced the “raps” by snapping their toe and knee joints. That theory, though very much ridiculed by the spiritualists then and since, was correct, as further developments proved.
The Fox family moved to Rochester, New York, soon after the rapping-humbug started; and it was[84] there that they made their first public effort. A committee was formed to look into the situation, and most of them reported negatively on the claims of the “mediums,” though all were puzzled by how it was done. In Buffalo, where the Foxes later let their spirits flow, a committee of doctors reported that these loosely constructed girls created the “raps” by snapping their toe and knee joints. That theory, although heavily ridiculed by spiritualists then and since, was accurate, as further developments showed.
Mrs. Culver, a relative of the Fox girls, made a solemn deposition before a magistrate, to the effect that one of the girls had instructed her how to produce the “raps,” on condition that she (Mrs. C.) should not communicate a knowledge of the matter to any one. Mrs. Culver was a good Christian woman, and she felt it her duty—as the deception had been carried so far—to expose the matter. She actually produced the “raps,” in presence of the magistrate, and explained the manner of making them.
Mrs. Culver, a relative of the Fox girls, gave a serious statement to a magistrate, saying that one of the girls had taught her how to create the “raps,” with the agreement that she (Mrs. C.) would not tell anyone about it. Mrs. Culver was a good Christian woman, and she felt it was her responsibility—as the deception had gone on for so long—to reveal the truth. She even demonstrated the “raps” in front of the magistrate and explained how she made them.
Doctor Von Vleck—to whom I referred in connection with my exposition of the Davenport imposture—produces very loud “raps” before his audiences, and so modulates them that they will seem to be at any desired point in his vicinity; yet not a movement of his body betrays the fact that the sounds are caused by him.
Doctor Von Vleck—who I mentioned in relation to my explanation of the Davenport fake—creates very loud “knocks” for his audiences, and adjusts them so they appear to come from any desired spot near him; yet not a movement of his body gives away that he is the source of the sounds.
The Fox family found that the rapping business would be made to pay; and so they continued it, with varying success, for a number of years, making New York city their place of residence and principal field of[85] operation. I believe that none of them are now in the “spiritual line.” Margaret Fox, the youngest of the rappers, has for some time been a member of the Roman Catholic Church.
The Fox family discovered that the rapping business was profitable, so they kept it going with mixed results for several years, making New York City their home and main area of[85] operation. I believe that none of them are currently involved in the “spiritual line.” Margaret Fox, the youngest of the rappers, has been a member of the Roman Catholic Church for some time now.
From the very commencement of spiritualism, there has been a constantly increasing demand for “spiritual” wonders, to meet which numerous “mediums” have been “developed.”
From the very start of spiritualism, there has been a growing demand for "spiritual" wonders, leading to the emergence of many "mediums."
Many, who otherwise would not be in the least distinguished, have become “mediums” in order to obtain notoriety, if nothing more.
Many people, who otherwise wouldn’t stand out at all, have become “mediums” just to gain some fame, if nothing else.
Communicating by “raps” was a slow process; so some of the mediums took to writing spasmodically; others talked in a “trance”—all under the influence of spirits!
Communicating through "raps" was a slow process, so some of the mediums began to write sporadically, while others spoke in a "trance"—all under the influence of spirits!
Mediumship has come to be a profession steadily pursued by quite a number of persons, who get their living by it.
Mediumship has become a profession that many people actively pursue to make a living.
There are various classes of “mediums,” the operations of each class being confined to a particular department of “spiritual” humbuggery.
There are different types of “mediums,” with each type focused on a specific area of “spiritual” deception.
Some call themselves “test mediums;” and, by insisting upon certain formulas, they succeed in astonishing, if they don’t convince most of them who visit them. It is by this class that the public is most likely to be deceived.
Some refer to themselves as “test mediums,” and by adhering to specific formulas, they manage to amaze, even if they don’t truly convince most of the people who come to see them. This group is the one most likely to mislead the public.
There is a person by the name of J. V. Mansfield, who has been called by spiritualists the “Great Spirit Postmaster,” his specialty being the answering of sealed letters addressed to spirits. The letters are returned—some of them at least—to the writers without appear[86]ing to have been opened, accompanied by answers purporting to be written through Mansfield by the spirits addressed. Such of these letters as are sealed with gum-arabic merely, can be steamed open, and the envelopes resealed and reglazed as they were before. If sealing-wax has been used, a sharp, thin blade will enable the medium to nicely cut off the seal by splitting the paper under it; and then, after a knowledge of the contents of the letter is arrived at, the seal can be replaced in its original position, and made fast with gum-arabic. Not more than one out of a hundred would be likely to observe that the seal had ever been tampered with. The investigator opens the envelope, when returned to him, at the end, preserving the sealed part intact, in order to show his friends that the letter was answered without being opened!
There’s a person named J. V. Mansfield, who’s been dubbed by spiritualists the “Great Spirit Postmaster.” His specialty is answering sealed letters sent to spirits. The letters are sent back, at least some of them, to the writers without looking like they’ve been opened, along with answers that claim to be written through Mansfield by the spirits addressed. Letters sealed with gum arabic can be steamed open, and the envelopes resealed and reglazed just like they were before. If sealing wax is used, a sharp, thin blade can be used to carefully cut off the seal by splitting the paper underneath it. Then, once the contents of the letter are known, the seal can be replaced and secured with gum arabic. No more than one in a hundred people would likely notice that the seal had been tampered with. The investigator opens the envelope when it’s returned to him, keeping the sealed part intact, to show his friends that the letter was answered without being opened!
Another method of the medium is, to slit open the envelope at the end with a sharp knife, and afterward stick it together again with gum, rubbing the edge slightly as soon as the gum is dry. If the job is nicely done, a close observer would hardly perceive it.
Another way the medium does it is by carefully cutting open the envelope at the end using a sharp knife, and then sticking it back together with glue, gently rubbing the edge as soon as the glue is dry. If it’s done well, a close observer would hardly notice it.
Mr. Mansfield does not engage to answer all letters; those unanswered being too securely sealed for him to open without detection. To secure the services of the “Great Spirit-Postmaster,” a fee of five dollars must accompany your letter to the spirits; and the money is retained whether an answer is returned or not.
Mr. Mansfield doesn’t promise to respond to all letters; the ones he doesn’t answer are too securely sealed for him to open without being caught. To get the help of the “Great Spirit-Postmaster,” you need to include a fee of five dollars with your letter to the spirits; and the money is kept regardless of whether you get a reply or not.
Rather high postage that!
That's quite a high postage!
Several years since, a gentleman living in Buffalo, N. Y., addressed some questions to one of his spirit-friends, and inclosed them, together with a single hair[87] and a grain of sand, in an envelope, which he sealed so closely that no part of the contents could escape while being transmitted by mail. The questions were sent to Mr. Mansfield and answers requested through his “mediumship.” The envelope containing the questions was soon returned, with answers to the letter. The former did not appear to have been opened. Spreading a large sheet of blank paper on a table before him, the gentleman opened the envelope and placed its contents on the table. The hair and grain of sand were not there.
Several years later, a man living in Buffalo, N.Y., sent some questions to one of his spirit friends, along with a single hair[87] and a grain of sand, all sealed tightly in an envelope to ensure nothing could escape during mailing. He sent the questions to Mr. Mansfield and asked for answers through his “mediumship.” The envelope with the questions was soon returned, with responses to the letter. It didn’t seem to have been opened. He laid a large sheet of blank paper on a table in front of him, opened the envelope, and placed its contents on the table. The hair and grain of sand were missing.
Time and again has Mansfield been convicted of imposture, yet he still prosecutes his nefarious business.
Time and again, Mansfield has been found guilty of fraud, yet he continues with his shady dealings.
The “Spirit-Postmaster” fails to get answers to such questions as these:
The “Spirit-Postmaster” doesn’t get answers to questions like these:
“Where did you die?”
“Where did you pass away?”
“When?”
"When's that?"
“Who attended you in your last illness?”
“Who took care of you during your last illness?”
“What were your last words?”
“What were your final words?”
“How many were present at your death?”
“How many people were there when you died?”
But if the questions are of such a nature as the following, answers are generally obtained:
But if the questions are like the following, answers are usually obtained:
“Are you happy?”
"Are you feeling happy?"
“Are you often near me?”
“Are you often around me?”
“And can you influence me?”
“Can you persuade me?”
“Have you changed your religious notions since entering the spirit-world?”
“Have you changed your beliefs about religion since entering the spirit world?”
It is to be observed that the questions which the “Spirit-Postmaster” can answer require no knowledge of facts about the applicant, while those which he cannot answer, do require it.
It should be noted that the questions the “Spirit-Postmaster” can answer don’t require any knowledge of facts about the applicant, while those he cannot answer do require it.
[88]Address, for instance, your spirit-father without mentioning his name, and the name will not be given in connection with the reply purporting to come from him—unless the medium knows your family.
[88]Talk to your spirit-father without using his name, and the name won’t be mentioned in the response that supposedly comes from him—unless the medium is familiar with your family.
I will write a series of questions addressed to one of my spirit-friends, inclose them in an envelope, and if Mr. Mansfield or any other professed medium will answer those questions pertinently in my presence, and without touching the envelope, I will give to such party five hundred dollars, and think I have got the worth of my money.
I will write a series of questions for one of my spirit friends, put them in an envelope, and if Mr. Mansfield or any other claimed medium can answer those questions accurately in front of me, without touching the envelope, I will give that person five hundred dollars and feel like I got my money's worth.
CHAPTER XI.
THE “BALLOT-TEST.”—THE OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS “DISEASED” RELATIVES.—A “HUNGRY SPIRIT.”—“PALMING” A BALLOT.—REVELATIONS ON STRIPS OF PAPER.
THE “BALLOT-TEST.”—THE OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS “SICK” RELATIVES.—A “HUNGRY SPIRIT.”—“PALMING” A BALLOT.—REVELATIONS ON STRIPS OF PAPER.
An aptitude for deception is all the capital that a person requires in order to become a “spirit-medium;” or, at least, to gain the reputation of being one. Backing up the pretence to mediumship with a show of something mysterious, is all-sufficient to enlist attention, and insure the making of converts.
An ability to deceive is all a person needs to become a "spirit medium" or at least to be seen as one. Supporting the act of mediumship with a display of something mysterious is enough to grab attention and ensure that converts are made.
One of the most noted of the mediumistic fraternity—whose name I do not choose to give at present—steadily pursued his business, for several years, in a room in Broadway, in this city, and succeeded not only in humbugging a good many people, but in what was[89] more important to him—acquiring quite an amount of money. His mode of operating was “the ballot-test,” and was as follows:
One of the most well-known figures in the mediumistic community—whose name I won’t reveal right now—consistently conducted his business for several years in a room on Broadway in this city. He managed not only to deceive many people, but also, which was[89] more important to him, to acquire a significant amount of money. His method of operation was the “ballot-test,” and it worked like this:
Medium and investigator being seated opposite each other at a table, the latter was handed several slips of blank paper, with the request that he write the first (or Christian) names—one on each paper—of several of his deceased relatives, which being done, he was desired to touch the folded papers, one after the other, till one should be designated, by three tips of the table, as containing the name of the spirit who would communicate. The selected paper was laid aside, and the others thrown upon the floor, the investigator being further requested to write on as many different pieces of paper as contained the names, and the relation (to himself) of the spirits bearing them. Supposing the names written were Mary, Joseph, and Samuel, being, respectively, the investigator’s mother, father, and brother. The last-named class would be secondly written, and one of them designated by three tips of the table, as in the first instance. The respective ages of the deceased parties, at the time of their decease, would also be written, and one of them selected. The first “test” consisted in having the selected name, relationship, and age correspond—that is, refer to the same party; to ascertain which the investigator was desired to look at them, and state if it was the case. If the correspondence was affirmed, a communication was soon given, with the selected name, relationship, and age appended. Questions, written in the presence of the medium, were answered relevantly, if not perti[90]nently. Investigators generally did their part of the writing in a guarded manner, interposing their left hand between the paper on which they wrote and the medium’s eyes; and they were very much astonished when they received a communication, couched in affectionate terms, with the names of their spirit-friends attached.
Medium and investigator sat across from each other at a table. The investigator was given several slips of blank paper and asked to write the first (or Christian) names—one on each paper—of several of his deceased relatives. After doing this, he was requested to touch the folded papers, one by one, until one was indicated, by three taps on the table, as containing the name of the spirit who would communicate. The chosen paper was set aside, and the others discarded on the floor. The investigator was then asked to write on as many different pieces of paper as there were names, along with the relationship to himself of the spirits with those names. For example, if the written names were Mary, Joseph, and Samuel—his mother, father, and brother respectively—the last group would be written next, and one of them tapped out, just like the first time. The respective ages of the deceased at the time of their death would also be noted, and one selected. The first "test" involved confirming that the selected name, relationship, and age all referred to the same person; to confirm this, the investigator was asked to look at them and say if it was correct. If the correspondence was acknowledged, a communication was soon provided, featuring the selected name, relationship, and age. Questions written in the presence of the medium were answered appropriately, if not always exactly. Investigators generally wrote carefully, shielding the paper with their left hand from the medium’s view; they were often quite surprised when they received messages, expressed in affectionate language, with the names of their spirit friends attached.
By long practice, the medium was enabled to determine what the investigator wrote, by the motion of his hand in writing. Nine out of ten wrote the relationship first that corresponded with the first name they had written. Therefore, if the medium selected the first that was written of each class, they in most cases referred to the same spirit. He waited till the investigator had affirmed the coincidence, before proceeding; for he did not like to write a communication, appending to it, for instance, “Your Uncle John,” when it ought to be “Your Father John.” The reason he did not desire inquirers to write the surnames of their spirit-friends, was this: almost all Christian names are common, and he was familiar with the motions which the hand must make in writing them; but there are comparatively few people who have the same surnames, and to determine them would have been more difficult. No fact was communicated that had not been surreptitiously gleaned from the investigator.
Through extensive experience, the medium was able to figure out what the investigator was writing just by noticing the movement of their hand. Nine out of ten people wrote down the connection that matched the first name they had written. So, if the medium picked the first one written in each category, they usually referred to the same spirit. He waited until the investigator confirmed the match before continuing; he didn’t want to write a message that said, for example, “Your Uncle John,” when it should have been “Your Father John.” The reason he preferred not to have inquirers write the last names of their spirit-friends was that almost all first names are common, and he recognized the motions required to write them; however, there are relatively few people with the same last names, making it harder to identify them. No information was shared that hadn’t been secretly picked up from the investigator.
An old gentleman, apparently from the country, one day entered the room of this medium and expressed a desire for a “sperit communication.”
An old man, seemingly from the countryside, walked into this medium's room one day and asked for a "spirit communication."
He was told to take a seat at the table, and to write the names of his deceased relatives. The medium, like many others, incorrectly pronounced the term “de[91]ceased,” the same as “diseased”—sounding the s like z.
He was asked to sit at the table and write down the names of his dead relatives. The medium, like many others, mistakenly pronounced the term “de[91]ceased” the same way as “diseased”—sounding the s like a z.
The old gentleman carefully adjusted his “specs” and did what was required of him. A name and relationship having been selected from those written, the investigator was desired to examine and state if they referred to one party.
The old gentleman carefully adjusted his glasses and did what was needed. After choosing a name and relationship from those listed, the investigator was asked to check and declare if they referred to one person.
“Wal, I declare they do!” said he. “But I say Mister, what has them papers to do with a sperit communication?”
“Wow, I can’t believe they do!” he said. “But I’ve got to ask, mister, what do those papers have to do with a spirit communication?”
“You will see, directly,” replied the medium.
“You'll see for yourself,” replied the medium.
Whereupon the latter spasmodically wrote a “communication,” which read somewhat as follows:
Whereupon the latter suddenly wrote a “message,” which read something like this:
“My Dear Husband:—I am very glad to be able to address you through this channel. Keep on investigating, and you will soon be convinced of the great fact of spirit-intercourse. I am happy in my spirit-home; patiently awaiting the time when you will join me here, etc. Your loving wife, Betsey.”
“Dear Husband:—I’m really happy to be able to communicate with you this way. Keep looking into it, and you’ll soon realize the truth about communicating with spirits. I’m content in my spirit-home, patiently waiting for when you’ll join me here, etc. Your loving wife, Betsey.”
“Good gracious! But my old woman can’t be dead,” said the investigator, “for I left her tu hum!”
"Good grief! But my wife can't be dead," said the investigator, "because I left her too busy!"
“Not dead!” exclaimed the medium. “Did I not tell you to write the names of deceazed relatives?”
“Not dead!” the medium exclaimed. “Didn’t I tell you to write down the names of deceased relatives?”
“Diseased!” returned the old man; “Wal, she ain’t anything else, for she’s had the rumatiz orfully for six months!”
“Diseased!” the old man replied. “Well, she isn’t anything else, because she’s had the rheumatism terribly for six months!”
Saying which, he took his hat and left, concluding that it was not worth while to “keep on investigating” any longer at that time.
Saying that, he took his hat and left, deciding it wasn't worth it to "keep investigating" any longer at that moment.
[92]In one of the cities of Scotland, some shrewd investigator divined that he was able to nearly guess from the motion of the hand what questions were written.
[92]In one of the cities in Scotland, a clever investigator figured out that he could almost tell from the movement of the hand what questions were written.
“Are you happy?” being a question commonly asked the “spirits,” one of these gentlemen varied it by asking:
“Are you happy?” is a question often posed to the “spirits,” but one of these gentlemen changed it slightly by asking:
“Are you hungry?”
“Feeling hungry?”
The reply was, an emphatic affirmative.
The response was a strong yes.
They tricked the trickster in other ways; one of which was to write the names of mortals instead of spirits. It made no difference, however, as to getting a “communication.”
They outsmarted the trickster in different ways; one of which was writing down the names of humans instead of spirits. It didn’t matter, though, when it came to receiving a “communication.”
To tip the table without apparent muscular exertion, this impostor placed his hands on it in such a way that the “pisiform bone” (which may be felt projecting at the lower corner of the palm, opposite the thumb) pressed against the edge. By pushing, the table tipped from him, it being prevented from sliding by little spikes in the legs of the side opposite the operator.
To tilt the table without showing any effort, this trickster positioned his hands so that the “pisiform bone” (which can be felt sticking out at the lower corner of the palm, opposite the thumb) pressed against the edge. By pushing, the table tilted away from him, held in place by small spikes on the legs on the side opposite him.
There are other “ballot-test mediums,” as they are called, who have a somewhat different method of cheating. They, too, require investigators to write the names—in full, however—of their spirit-friends; the slips of paper containing the names, to be folded and placed on a table. The medium then seizes one of the “ballots,” and asks:
There are other "ballot-test mediums," as they’re called, who have a slightly different way of cheating. They also need investigators to write the full names of their spirit friends; the slips of paper with the names are folded and placed on a table. The medium then picks one of the "ballots" and asks:
“Is the spirit present whose name is on this?”
“Is the spirit here whose name is on this?”
Dropping that and taking another:
Dropping that and grabbing another:
“On this?”
"About this?"
So he handles all the papers without getting a response. During this time, however, he has dexterously[93] “palmed” one of the ballots, which—while telling the investigator to be patient, as the spirits would doubtless soon come—he opens with his left hand, on his knee, under the edge of the table.
So he deals with all the paperwork without getting a reply. Meanwhile, though, he has skillfully[93] “palmed” one of the ballots, which—while telling the investigator to hang tight, since the spirits would probably show up soon—he opens with his left hand, on his knee, under the edge of the table.
A mere glance enables him to read the name. Refolding the paper, and retaining it in his hand, he remarks:
A quick look lets him see the name. He folds the paper back up and keeps it in his hand, saying:
“I will touch the ballots again, and perhaps one of them will be designated this time.”
“I'll handle the ballots again, and maybe one of them will be chosen this time.”
Dropping among the rest the one he had “palmed,” he soon picks it up again, whereat three loud “raps” are heard.
Dropping the one he had "palmed" among the others, he quickly picks it up again, at which point three loud "raps" are heard.
“That paper,” says he to the investigator, “probably contains the name of the spirit who rapped; please hold it in your hand.”
“That paper,” he says to the investigator, “probably has the name of the spirit that knocked; please hold it in your hand.”
Then seizing a pencil, he writes a name, which the investigator finds to be the one contained in the selected paper.
Then grabbing a pencil, he writes a name, which the investigator discovers to be the one on the chosen paper.
If the ballots are few in number, a blank is put with the pile, when the medium “palms” one, else the latter might be missed.
If there aren't many ballots, a blank one is added to the stack so the medium can "palm" one; otherwise, it might get overlooked.
It seems the spirits can never give their names without being reminded of them by the investigator, and then they are so doubtful of their own identity that they have but little to say for themselves.
It seems the spirits can never say their names unless the investigator prompts them, and even then, they doubt their own identity so much that they have very little to say for themselves.
One medium to whom I have already alluded, after a sojourn of several years in California—whither he went from Boston, seeking whom he might humbug—has now returned to the East, and is operating in this city. Besides answering sealed letters, he furnishes written “communications” to parties visiting him at[94] his rooms—a “sitting,” however, being granted to but one person at a time. His terms are only five dollars an hour.
One medium I mentioned earlier, after spending several years in California—where he moved from Boston to find people to con—has now come back to the East and is working in this city. In addition to responding to sealed letters, he provides written "messages" to people who visit him at[94] his rooms—but he only allows one person at a time for a "session." His fee is just five dollars an hour.
Seated at a table in a part of the room where is the most light, he hands the investigator a strip of blank, white paper, rather thin and light of texture, about a yard long and six inches wide, requesting him to write across one end of it a single question, addressed to a spirit-friend, then to sign his own name, and fold the paper once or twice over what he has written. For instance:
Seated at a table in the brightest part of the room, he hands the investigator a strip of thin, lightweight white paper, about a yard long and six inches wide. He asks him to write a single question at one end, directed to a spirit-friend, then to sign his name and fold the paper once or twice over what he has written. For example:
“Brother Samuel:—Will you communicate with me through this medium? William Franklin.”
“Brother Sam:—Will you talk to me through this medium? William Franklin.”
To learn what has been written, the medium lays the paper down on the table, and repeatedly rubs the fingers of his right hand over the folds made by the inquirer. If that does not render the writing visible through the one thickness of paper that covers it, he slightly raises the edge of the folds with his left hand while he continues to rub with his right; and that admits of the light shining through, so that the writing can be read. The other party is so situated that the writing is not visible to him through the paper, and he is not likely to presume that it is visible to the medium; the latter having assigned as a reason for his manipulations that spirits were able to read the questions only by means of the odylic, magnetic, or some other emanation from the ends of his fingers!
To find out what's been written, the medium places the paper on the table and runs his right fingers over the folds created by the questioner. If that doesn’t make the writing visible through the single layer of paper covering it, he slightly lifts the edge of the folds with his left hand while still rubbing with his right. This lets light shine through, making it possible to read the writing. The other person is positioned so that they can't see the writing through the paper, and they are unlikely to think it’s visible to the medium. The medium explains his actions by saying that spirits can only read the questions through some kind of energy or emanation from the tips of his fingers!
Having learned the question, of course the medium can reply to it, giving the name of the spirit addressed;[95] but before doing so, he doubles the two folds made by the inquirer, and, for a show of consistency, again rubs his fingers over the paper. Then more folds and more rubbing—all the folding, additional to the inquirer’s, being done to keep the latter from observing, when he comes to read the answer, that it was possible for the medium to read the question through the two folds of paper. The answer is written upon the same strip of paper that accompanies the question.
Having learned the question, the medium can definitely respond to it by naming the spirit being addressed;[95] but before doing that, he folds the paper twice as the inquirer did, and to appear consistent, he rubs his fingers over the paper again. Then he makes more folds and more rubbing—all this extra folding on top of what the inquirer did is meant to prevent him from noticing, when he reads the answer, that the medium could see the question through the two folds of paper. The answer is written on the same piece of paper that goes along with the question.
The medium requires the investigator to write his questions each on a different strip of paper; and before answering, he every time manipulates the paper in the way I have described. When rubbing his fingers over the question, he often shuts the eye which is toward the inquirer—which prevents suspicion; but the other eye is open wide enough to enable him to read the question through the paper.
The medium needs the investigator to write each of his questions on a separate strip of paper; and before answering, he always manipulates the paper in the way I've described. When he rubs his fingers over the question, he often closes the eye that’s facing the inquirer—this helps to avoid raising suspicion; but the other eye is open wide enough for him to read the question through the paper.
Should a person write a test-question, the medium could not answer it correctly even if he did see it. In his “communications” he uses many terms of endearment, and if possible flatters the recipient out of his common-sense, and into the belief that “after all there may be something in it!”
Should someone write a test question, the medium wouldn’t be able to answer it correctly even if they saw it. In their “communications,” they use a lot of terms of endearment and often flatter the recipient to the point of losing their common sense, making them believe that “after all, there might be something to it!”
Should the inquirer “smell a rat,” and take measures to prevent the medium from learning, in the way I have stated, what question is written, he (the medium) gets nervous and discontinues the “sitting,” alleging that conditions are unfavorable for spirit-communication.
Should the person asking the question “smell something fishy,” and take steps to keep the medium from finding out what question is written, he (the medium) becomes anxious and stops the “sitting,” claiming that the conditions aren’t right for communicating with spirits.
CHAPTER XII.
SPIRITUAL “LETTERS ON THE ARM.”—HOW TO MAKE THEM YOURSELF.—THE TAMBOURINE AND RING FEATS.—DEXTER’S DANCING HATS.—PHOSPHORESCENT OIL.—SOME SPIRITUAL SLANG.
SPIRITUAL “LETTERS ON THE ARM.”—HOW TO MAKE THEM YOURSELF.—THE TAMBOURINE AND RING FEATS.—DEXTER’S DANCING HATS.—PHOSPHORESCENT OIL.—SOME SPIRITUAL SLANG.
The mediums produce “blood-red letters on the arm” in a very simple way. It is done with a pencil, or some blunt-pointed instrument, it being necessary to bear on hard while the movement of writing is being executed. The pressure, though not sufficient to abrade the skin, forces the blood from the capillary vessels over which the pencil passes, and where, when the reaction takes place, an unusual quantity of blood gathers and becomes plainly visible through the cuticle. Gradually, as an equilibrium of the circulation is restored, the letters pass away.
The mediums create “blood-red letters on the arm” in a straightforward manner. They use a pencil or some blunt object, applying pressure while writing. This pressure, while not strong enough to break the skin, pushes blood from the tiny vessels beneath the skin as the pencil moves. When this happens, a noticeable amount of blood collects and becomes clearly visible through the skin. Gradually, as blood circulation returns to normal, the letters fade away.
This “manipulation” is generally produced by the medium in connection with the ballot-test. Having learned the name of an investigator’s spirit-friend, in the manner stated in a previous article, the investigator is set to writing some other names. While he is thus occupied, the medium quickly slips up his sleeve under the table, and writes on his arm the name he has learned.
This "manipulation" usually happens with the medium during the ballot-test. After finding out the name of an investigator's spirit-friend, as explained in a previous article, the investigator begins to write down other names. While he's doing this, the medium discreetly reaches under the table and writes the name he learned on his arm.
Try the experiment yourself, reader. Hold out your left arm; clench the fist so as to harden the muscle a little, and write your name on the skin with a blunt[97] pencil or any similar point, in letters say three-quarters of an inch long, pressing firmly enough to feel a little pain. Rub the place briskly a dozen times; this brings out the letters quickly, in tolerably-distinct red lines.
Try the experiment yourself, reader. Extend your left arm; make a fist to tense the muscle a bit, and write your name on your skin with a blunt[97] pencil or something similar, in letters around three-quarters of an inch long, pressing hard enough to feel a little pain. Rub the area quickly a dozen times; this will reveal the letters quickly, in fairly distinct red lines.
On thick, tough skins it is difficult to produce letters in this way. They might also be outlined more deeply by sharply pricking in dots along the lines of the desired letters.
On thick, tough skins, it's hard to create letters this way. You could also make the outlines more pronounced by sharply pricking dots along the lines of the letters you want.
Among others who seek to gain money and notoriety by the exercise of their talents for “spiritual” humbuggery, is a certain woman, whom I will not further designate, but whose name is at the service of any proper person, and who exhibited not long since in Brooklyn and New York. This woman is accompanied by her husband, who is a confederate in the playing of her “little game.”
Among others who try to gain money and fame by showing off their talents for "spiritual" nonsense, there's a certain woman, whom I won't name, but whose name is available to anyone who needs it, and who recently performed in Brooklyn and New York. This woman is joined by her husband, who is complicit in her "little game."
She seats herself at a table, which has been placed against the wall of the room. The audience is so seated as to form a semicircle, at one end of which, and near enough to the medium to be able to shake hands with her, or nearly so, sits her husband, with perhaps an accommodating spiritualist next to him. Then the medium, in an assumed voice, engages in a miscellaneous talk, ending with a request that some one sit by her and hold her hand.
She sits down at a table that's been positioned against the wall of the room. The audience is arranged in a semicircle, with her husband sitting at one end, close enough to the medium to shake hands with her, or almost so, and maybe an accommodating spiritualist next to him. Then the medium, using an affected voice, starts chatting about random topics, ending with a request for someone to sit next to her and hold her hand.
A skeptic is permitted to do that. When thus placed, skeptic is directly between the medium and her husband, and with his back to the latter. The husband plays spirit, and with his right hand—which is free, the other only being held by the accommodating spiritualist—pats the investigator on the head, thumps[98] him with a guitar and other instruments, and may be pulls his hair.
A skeptic can do that. When positioned this way, the skeptic is right between the medium and her husband, with his back to the husband. The husband pretends to be a spirit and, using his free right hand—the other hand is held by the accommodating spiritualist—he pats the investigator on the head, hits him with a guitar and other instruments, and might even pull his hair.
The medium assumes all this to be done by a spirit, because her hands are held and she could not do it! Profound reasoning! If any one suggests that the husband had better sit somewhere else, the medium will not hear to it—“he is a part of the battery,” and the necessary conditions must not be interfered with. Sure enough! Accommodating spiritualist also says he holds husband fast.
The medium believes all of this is done by a spirit because her hands are restrained, so she can't do it! Such deep thinking! If anyone suggests that the husband should sit somewhere else, the medium refuses to consider it—“he is part of the battery,” and the required conditions can’t be disrupted. Of course! The accommodating spiritualist also claims he’s holding the husband tight.
A tambourine-frame, without the head, and an iron ring, large enough to pass over one’s arm, are exhibited to the audience. Medium says the spirits have such power over matter as to be able to put one or both those things on to her arm while some one holds her hands.
A tambourine frame without the head and a large iron ring that can fit over one's arm are shown to the audience. The medium claims that the spirits have the ability to manipulate matter, allowing them to place one or both of these items onto her arm while someone holds her hands.
The party who is privileged to hold her hands on such occasion, has to grope his way to her in the dark. Having reached her, she seizes his hands, and passes one of them down her neck and along her arm, saying:
The person lucky enough to hold her hands on such an occasion has to find his way to her in the dark. Once he gets to her, she grabs his hands and moves one of them down her neck and along her arm, saying:
“Now you know there is no ring already there!”
“Now you know there’s no ring there already!”
Soon after he feels the tambourine-frame or ring slide over his hand and on to his arm. A light is produced in order that he may see it is there.
Soon after, he feels the tambourine frame slide over his hand and onto his arm. A light is turned on so he can see that it's there.
When he took her hands he felt the frame or ring—or at any rate, a frame or ring—under his elbow on the table, from which place it was pulled by some power just before it went on to his arm. Such is his report to the audience. But in fact, the medium has two frames, or else a tambourine, and a tambourine-frame. She allows the investigator to feel one of these.
When he took her hands, he felt the frame or ring—or at least, a frame or ring—under his elbow on the table, which was pulled away by some force just before it moved onto his arm. That’s what he tells the audience. But in reality, the medium has two frames, or possibly a tambourine and a tambourine frame. She lets the investigator feel one of these.
[99]She has, however, previous to his taking her hands, put one arm and head through the frame she uses; so that of course he does not feel it when she passes his hand down one side of her neck and over one of her arms, as it is under that arm. Her husband pulls the tambourine from under the investigator’s elbow; then the medium gets her head back through the frame, leaving it on her arm, or sliding it on to his, and the work is done!
[99]She has, before he takes her hands, put one arm and her head through the frame she uses; so, of course, he doesn't feel it when she moves his hand down one side of her neck and over one of her arms, since it's under that arm. Her husband pulls the tambourine from under the investigator’s elbow; then the medium gets her head back through the frame, leaving it on her arm or sliding it onto his, and the work is done!
She has also two iron rings. One of them she puts over her arm and the point of her shoulder, where it snugly remains, covered with a cape which she persists in wearing on these occasions, till the investigator takes her hands (in the dark) and feels the other ring under his elbows; then the husband disposes of the ring on the table, and the medium works the other one down on to her arm. The audience saw but one ring, and the person sitting with the medium thought he had that under his elbow till it was pulled away and put on the arm!
She also has two iron rings. One of them she puts over her arm and onto her shoulder, where it stays snugly covered by a cape that she insists on wearing during these moments, until the investigator takes her hands (in the dark) and feels the other ring under his elbows; then the husband puts the ring on the table, and the medium slides the other one onto her arm. The audience only saw one ring, and the person sitting with the medium thought he had it under his elbow until it was pulled away and placed on the arm!
Some years ago, a man by the name of Dexter, who kept an oyster and liquor saloon on Bleecker street, devised a somewhat novel exhibition for the purpose of attracting custom. A number of hats, placed on the floor of his saloon, danced (or bobbed up and down) in time to music. His place was visited by a number of the leading spiritualists of New York, several of whom were heard to express a belief that the hats were moved by spirits! Dexter, however, did not claim to be a medium, though he talked vaguely of “the power of electricity,” when questioned with regard to his ex[100]hibition. Besides making the hats dance, he would (apparently) cause a violin placed in a box on the floor to sound, by waving his hands over it.
Some years ago, a man named Dexter, who ran an oyster and liquor bar on Bleecker Street, came up with a unique display to attract customers. A bunch of hats on the floor of his bar danced (or bobbed up and down) to the music. His place was visited by several prominent spiritualists from New York, some of whom claimed the hats were being moved by spirits! However, Dexter didn’t say he was a medium, although he vaguely talked about “the power of electricity” when asked about his ex[100]hibition. In addition to making the hats dance, he would (apparently) make a violin placed in a box on the floor play by waving his hands over it.
The hats were moved by a somewhat complicated arrangement of wires, worked by a confederate, out of sight. These wires were attached to levers, and finally came up through the floor, through small holes hidden from observation by the sawdust strewn there, as is common in such places.
The hats were controlled by a slightly complicated setup of wires, operated by an accomplice who was out of view. These wires were connected to levers and eventually came up through the floor, through small holes concealed by the sawdust scattered around, as is typical in such places.
The violin in the box did not sound at all. It was another violin, under the floor, that was heard. It is not easy for a person to exactly locate a sound when the cause is not apparent. In short, Mr. Dexter’s operations may be described as only consisting of a little well-managed Dexterity!
The violin in the box didn't make a sound at all. It was another violin, underneath the floor, that could be heard. It's tough for someone to pinpoint a sound when the source isn't obvious. In short, Mr. Dexter's activities could be summed up as just a bit of clever skill!
A young man “out West,” claiming to be influenced by spirits, astonished people by reading names, telling time by watches, etc., in a dark room. He sat at a centre-table, which was covered with a cloth, in the middle of the room. Investigators sat next the walls. The name of a spirit, for instance, would be written and laid on a table, when in a short time he pronounced it. To tell the time by a watch, he required it to be placed on the table, or in his hand. With the tablecloth over his head, a bottle of phosphorated oil enabled him to see, when not the least glimmer of light was visible to others in the room.
A young man "out West," claiming to be influenced by spirits, amazed people by reading names, telling time with watches, and more, all in a dark room. He sat at a center table, covered with a cloth, in the middle of the room. Investigators sat next to the walls. For example, a spirit's name would be written and placed on the table, and soon he would pronounce it. To tell the time with a watch, he needed it to be placed on the table or in his hand. With the tablecloth over his head, a bottle of phosphorescent oil allowed him to see when there was no light at all visible to others in the room.
If any of the “spiritualist” philosophers were to be asked what is the philosophy of these proceedings, he would probably reply with a mess of balderdash pretty much like the following:
If any of the “spiritualist” philosophers were asked what the philosophy behind these proceedings is, he would probably respond with a bunch of nonsense pretty much like this:
[101]“There is an infinitesimal influence of sympathy between mind and matter, which permeates all beings, and pervades all the delicate niches and interstices of human intelligence. This sympathetic influence working upon the affined intelligence of an affinity, coagulates itself into a corporiety, approximating closely to the adumbration of mortality in its highest admensuration, at last accuminating in an accumination.”
[101]“There’s an almost unnoticeable influence of sympathy between the mind and matter that affects all beings and fills every subtle corner of human intelligence. This sympathetic influence, acting on the connected intelligence of a relationship, solidifies into a body, closely resembling the shadow of mortality at its greatest measure, eventually culminating in an accumulation.”
On these great philosophic principles it will not be difficult to comprehend the following actual quotation from the Spiritual Telegraph:
On these important philosophical principles, it will be easy to understand the following actual quote from the Spiritual Telegraph:
“In the twelfth hour, the holy procedure shall crown the Triune Creator with the most perfect disclosive illumination. Then shall the creation in the effulgence above the divine seraphemal, arise into the dome of the disclosure in one comprehensive revolving galaxy of supreme created beatitudes.”
“In the final hour, the sacred ritual will surround the Triune Creator with the most complete enlightening revelation. Then, creation in the radiant light above the divine seraphim will rise into the dome of revelation in one unified rotating galaxy of ultimate created joys.”
That those not surcharged with the divine afflatus may be able to get at the meaning of the above paragraph, it is translated thus:
That those not filled with divine inspiration may be able to understand the meaning of the above paragraph, it is translated as follows:
“Then shall all the blockheads in the nincompoopdome of disclosive procedure above the all-fired leather-fungus of Peter Nephninnygo, the gooseberry grinder, rise into the dome of the disclosure until coequaled and coexistensive and conglomerate lumuxes in one comprehensive mux shall assimilate into nothing, and revolve like a bob-tailed pussy cat after the space where the tail was.”
“Then all the fools in the silly realm of revealing processes above the ridiculous leather fungus of Peter Nephninnygo, the manipulator, will rise into the dome of disclosure until they’re all equal, coexisting, and merged into one complete entity that will blend into nothing and spin like a tailless cat after the spot where its tail used to be.”
What power there is in spiritualism!
What power there is in spiritualism!
I shall be glad to receive, for publication, authentic information, from all parts of the world in regard to[102] the doings of pretended spiritualists, especially those who perform for money. It is high time that the credulous portion of our community should be saved from the deceptions, delusions, and swindles of these blasphemous mountebanks and impostors.
I would be happy to receive genuine information for publication from all around the world regarding[102] the actions of fake spiritualists, especially those who charge for their services. It’s about time that the gullible members of our society are protected from the tricks, falsehoods, and scams of these shameless frauds and con artists.
CHAPTER XIII.
DEMONSTRATIONS BY “SAMPSON” UNDER A TABLE.—A MEDIUM WHO IS HANDY WITH HER FEET.—EXPOSÉ OF ANOTHER OPERATOR IN DARK CIRCLES.
DEMONSTRATIONS BY “SAMPSON” UNDER A TABLE.—A MEDIUM WHO IS SKILLED WITH HER FEET.—REVELATION OF ANOTHER OPERATOR IN DARK CIRCLES.
Considerable excitement has been created in various parts of the West by a young woman, whose name need not here be given, who pretends to be a “medium for physical manifestations.” She is rather tall and quite muscular, her general manner and expression indicating innocence and simplicity.
Considerable excitement has been generated in various parts of the West by a young woman, whose name isn't necessary here, who claims to be a "medium for physical manifestations.” She is fairly tall and quite fit, and her overall demeanor and expression suggest innocence and simplicity.
The “manifestations” exhibited by her purport to be produced by Samson, the Hebrew champion and anti-philistine.
The "manifestations" shown by her are said to be caused by Samson, the Hebrew hero and enemy of the Philistines.
In preparing for her exhibition, she has a table placed sideways against the wall of the room, and covered with a thick blanket that reaches to the floor. A large tin dishpan, with handles (or ears,) a German accordeon, and a tea-bell are placed under the table, at the end of which she seats herself in such a way that her body is against the top, and her lower limbs underneath, her skirts being so adjusted as to fill the space between the end legs of the table, and at the[103] same time allow free play for her pedal extremities. The blanket, at the end where she sits, comes to her waist and hangs down to the floor on each side of her chair. The space under the table is thus made dark—a necessary condition, it is claimed—and all therein concealed from view. The “medium” then folds her arms, looks careless, and the “manifestations” commence. The accordeon is sounded, no music being executed upon it, and the bell rung at the same time. Then the dishpan receives such treatment that it makes a terrible noise. Some one is requested to go to the end of the table opposite the “medium,” put his hand under the blanket, take hold of the dishpan, and pull. He does so, and finds that some power is opposing him, holding the dishpan to one place. Not being rude, he forbears to jerk with all his force, but retires to his seat. The table rises several inches and comes down “kerslap,” then it tips forward a number of times; then one end jumps up and down in time to music, if there is any one present to play; loud raps are heard upon it, and the hypothetical Samson has quite a lively time generally. Some of the mortals present, one at a time, put their fingers, by request, against the blankets, through which those members are gingerly squeezed by what might be a hand, if there was one under the table. A person being told to take hold of the top of the table at the ends, he does so, and finds it so heavy that he can barely lift it. Setting it down, he is told to raise it again several inches; and at the second lifting it is no heavier than one would naturally judge such a piece of furniture to be. Another person is asked to lift the[104] end furthest from the medium; having done so, it suddenly becomes quite weighty, and, relaxing his hold, it comes down with much force upon the floor. Thus, by the power—exercised beneath the table—of an assumed spirit, that piece of cabinet-ware becomes heavy or light, and is moved in various ways, the medium not appearing to do it.
In preparing for her exhibition, she sets up a table sideways against the wall of the room, covered with a thick blanket that touches the floor. Under the table, there’s a large tin dishpan with handles, a German accordion, and a tea bell. She sits at one end of the table so that her body is against the top, and her legs are underneath, with her skirts arranged to fill the space between the table legs while allowing her feet to move freely. The blanket at her end reaches her waist and hangs down to the floor on either side of her chair, creating a dark space underneath the table — a necessary condition, it is said — keeping everything hidden from view. The "medium" then folds her arms, appears relaxed, and the "manifestations" begin. The accordion plays, though no actual music is made, while the bell rings at the same time. The dishpan is treated in such a way that it creates a loud noise. Someone is asked to go to the end of the table opposite the "medium," reach under the blanket, grab the dishpan, and pull it. When he does, he finds that something is resisting him, holding the dishpan in place. Not wanting to be rude, he doesn’t pull too hard and goes back to his seat. The table lifts several inches and slams down, then tips forward a few times; one end jumps up and down to the music if someone is playing. Loud knocks are heard on it, and the hypothetical Samson has quite an active time overall. Some of the people present, one at a time, put their fingers against the blanket by request, feeling those fingers squeezed gently by what could be a hand if there’s one under the table. When someone is told to hold the top of the table at the ends, he does so and finds it so heavy that he can barely lift it. After setting it down, he's asked to raise it again a few inches; the second lift feels as light as you would expect such a piece of furniture to be. Another person is asked to lift the end furthest from the medium; as he does, it suddenly becomes quite heavy, and when he lets go, it crashes down hard onto the floor. Thus, through the power exercised beneath the table by an assumed spirit, that piece of furniture becomes heavy or light and is moved in various ways, seemingly without the medium’s assistance.
In addition to her other “fixins,” this medium has a spirit-dial, so called, on which are letters of the alphabet, the numerals, and such words as “Yes,” “No,” and “Don’t know.” The whole thing is so arranged that the pulling of a string makes an index hand go the circuit of the dial-face, and it can be made to stop at any of the characters or words thereon. This “spirit-dial” is placed on the table, near the end furthest from the medium, the string passing through a hole and hanging beneath. In the end of the string there is a knot. While the medium remains in the same position in which she sat when the other “manifestations” were produced, communications are spelled out through the dial, the index being moved by some power under the table that pulls the string. A coil-spring makes the index fly back to the starting-point, when the power is relaxed at each indication of a character or word. The orthography of these “spirits” is “bad if not worse.”
In addition to her other “fixins,” this medium has a spirit dial, which has letters of the alphabet, numbers, and words like “Yes,” “No,” and “Don’t know.” The setup is such that pulling a string makes an index hand move around the dial, and it can stop at any of the characters or words on it. This “spirit dial” is placed on the table, at the end farthest from the medium, with the string going through a hole and hanging underneath. There’s a knot at the end of the string. While the medium stays in the same position as when the other “manifestations” were produced, communications are spelled out through the dial, with the index being moved by some force under the table that pulls the string. A coil spring makes the index snap back to the starting point when the force is released after each indication of a character or word. The spelling from these “spirits” is “bad if not worse.”
Now for an explanation of the various “manifestations” that I have enumerated.
Now, let me explain the different "manifestations" that I've listed.
The medium is simply handy with her feet. To sound the accordeon and ring the bell at the same time, she has to take off one of her shoes or slippers, the[105] latter being generally worn by her on these occasions. That done, she gets the handle of the tea-bell between the toes of her right foot, through a hole in the stocking, then putting the heel of the same foot on the keys of the accordeon, and the other foot into the strap on the bellows part of that instrument, she easily sounds it, the motion necessary to do this also causing the bell to ring. She can readily pass her heels over the keys to produce different notes. She is thus able to make sounds on the accordeon that approximate to the very simple tune of “Bounding Billows,” and that is the extent of her musical ability when only using her “pedals.”
The medium is really skilled with her feet. To play the accordion and ring the bell at the same time, she has to take off one of her shoes or slippers, which she usually wears during these performances. Once that's done, she gets the handle of the tea bell between the toes of her right foot, through a hole in her stocking, then places the heel of that same foot on the keys of the accordion, and puts the other foot in the strap on the bellows part of the instrument. This allows her to easily play it, and the motion also makes the bell ring. She can easily move her heels over the keys to create different notes. As a result, she can produce sounds on the accordion that come close to the very simple tune of “Bounding Billows,” and that's the limit of her musical skill when only using her “pedals.”
To get a congress-gaiter off the foot without using the hands is quite easy; but how to get one on again, those members not being employed to do it, would puzzle most people. It is not difficult to do, however, if a cord has been attached to the strap of the gaiter and tied to the leg above the calf. The cord should be slack, and that will admit of the gaiter coming off. To get it on, the toe has to be worked into the top of it, and then pulling on the cord with the toe of the other foot will accomplish the rest.
Taking off a congress-gaiter without using your hands is pretty easy; however, putting one back on without help can stump most people. It’s not that hard, though, if you attach a cord to the strap of the gaiter and tie it to the leg just above the calf. The cord should be loose, which allows the gaiter to come off easily. To put it back on, you need to slide your toe into the top of the gaiter, and then pulling on the cord with the toe of your other foot will do the trick.
The racket with the dishpan is made by putting the toe of the foot into one of the handles or ears, and beating the pan about. By keeping the toe in this handle and putting the other foot into the pan, the operator can “stand a pull” from an investigator, who reaches under the blanket and takes hold of the other handle.
The racket with the dishpan is created by slipping the toe of one foot into one of the handles and banging the pan around. By keeping that toe in the handle and placing the other foot inside the pan, the person can "hold on" against someone who reaches under the blanket and grabs the other handle.
To raise the table, the “medium” puts her knees[106] under and against the frame of it, then lifts her heels, pressing the toes against the floor, at the same time bearing with her arms on the end. To make the table tip forward, one knee only is pressed against the frame at the back side. The raps are made with the toe of the medium’s shoe against the leg, frame, or top of the table.
To lift the table, the "medium" places her knees[106] under and against its frame, then raises her heels while pushing her toes against the floor, all while pushing down with her arms on the end. To tilt the table forward, only one knee is pressed against the back side of the frame. The knocks are made with the toe of the medium's shoe against the leg, frame, or top of the table.
What feels like a hand pressing the investigator’s fingers when he puts them against the blanket, is nothing more than the medium’s feet, the big toe of one foot doing duty for a thumb, and all the toes of the other foot being used to imitate fingers. The pressure of these, through a thick blanket, cannot well be distinguished from that of a hand. When this experiment is to be made, the medium wears slippers that she can readily get off her feet.
What feels like a hand pressing against the investigator’s fingers when he puts them on the blanket is actually just the medium’s feet, with the big toe of one foot acting like a thumb, and all the toes of the other foot pretending to be fingers. The pressure from these, through a thick blanket, is hard to tell apart from that of a hand. When this experiment is set up, the medium wears slippers that she can easily remove.
To make the table heavy, the operator presses her knees outwardly against the legs of the table, and then presses down in opposition to the party who is lifting, or she presses her knees against that surface of the legs of the table that is toward her, while her feet are hooked around the lower part of the legs; that gives her a leverage, by means of which she can make the whole table or the end furthest from her seem quite heavy, and if the person lifting it suddenly relaxes his hold, it will come down with a forcible bang to the floor.
To make the table feel heavy, the operator pushes her knees outward against the table legs, then presses down against the person lifting it, or she presses her knees against the side of the table legs closest to her while hooking her feet around the lower part of the legs. This gives her leverage, allowing her to make the entire table or the end farthest from her feel really heavy. If the person lifting it suddenly lets go, it will drop with a loud thud to the floor.
To work the “spirit-dial,” the medium has only to press the string with the toe of her foot against the top of the table, and slide it (the string) along till the index points at the letter or word she wishes to indicate.[107] The frame of the dial is beveled, the face declining toward the medium, so that she has no difficulty in observing where the index points.
To use the “spirit-dial,” the medium just needs to press the string with her toe against the top of the table and slide it along until the index points to the letter or word she wants to indicate.[107] The frame of the dial is angled, with the face leaning toward the medium, making it easy for her to see where the index points.
After concluding her performances under the table, this medium sometimes moves her chair about two feet back and sits with her side toward the end of the table, with one leg of which, however, the skirt of her dress comes in contact. Under cover of the skirt she then hooks her foot around the leg of the table and draws it toward her. This is done without apparent muscular exertion, while she is engaged in conversation; and parties present are humbugged into the belief that the table was moved without “mortal contact”—so they report to outsiders.
After finishing her performances under the table, this medium occasionally shifts her chair about two feet back and sits sideways to the end of the table, with the skirt of her dress brushing against one of its legs. Under the cover of her skirt, she then wraps her foot around the table leg and pulls it toward her. She does this without any visible effort while chatting, and the people present are fooled into thinking that the table moved without any "human contact"—as they later tell others.
This medium has a “manager,” and he does his best in managing the matter, to prevent “Samson being caught” in the act of cheating. The medium, too, is vigilant, notwithstanding her appearance of carelessness and innocent simplicity. A sudden rising of the blanket once exposed to view her pedal extremities in active operation.
This medium has a “manager,” and he does his best to handle things to prevent “Samson from getting caught” cheating. The medium herself is also watchful, despite her seemingly careless and innocent demeanor. Once, a sudden lifting of the blanket revealed her feet actively at work.
Another of the “Dark Circle” mediums gets a good deal of sympathy on account of her “delicate health.” Her health is not so delicate, however, as to prevent her from laboring hard to humbug people with “physical demonstrations.” She operates only in private, in presence of a limited number of people.
Another of the "Dark Circle" mediums receives a lot of sympathy because of her "delicate health." However, her health isn't so delicate that it stops her from working hard to deceive people with "physical demonstrations." She only works in private, in front of a small group of people.
A circle being formed, the hands of all the members are joined except at one place where a table intervenes. Those sitting next to this table place a hand upon it, the other hand of each of these parties being joined[108] with the circle. The medium takes a position close by the table, and during the manifestations is supposed to momentarily touch with her two hands the hands of those parties sitting next to the table. Of course, she could accomplish little or nothing if she allowed her hands to be constantly held by investigators; so she hit upon the plan mentioned above, to make the people present believe that the musical instruments are not sounded by her. These instruments are within her reach; and instead of touching the hands of those next the table with both her hands, as supposed, she touches, alternately, their hands with but one of hers, the other she expertly uses in sounding the instruments.
A circle is formed, with the hands of all the members joined except at one point where a table is in the way. Those sitting next to the table put one hand on it, while their other hand is connected with the circle[108]. The medium stands close to the table, and during the events, she is expected to briefly touch with both her hands the hands of those seated next to the table. Obviously, she wouldn’t be able to do much if she let her hands be held constantly by the people around her, so she came up with the idea to make the audience believe that the musical instruments aren’t being played by her. These instruments are within her reach; instead of touching the hands of those next to the table with both hands as thought, she alternates, using just one hand to touch them while skillfully using her other hand to play the instruments.
Several years ago, at one of the circles of this medium, in St. John’s, Mich., a light was suddenly introduced, and she was seen in the act of doing what she had asserted to be done by the “spirits.” She has also been exposed as an impostor in other places.
Several years ago, at one of the gatherings of this medium in St. John’s, Mich., a light was suddenly turned on, and she was caught in the act of doing what she had claimed was done by the “spirits.” She has also been revealed as a fraud in other locations.
As I have said before, the mediums always insist on having such “conditions” as will best enable them to deceive the senses and mislead the judgment.
As I’ve mentioned before, the mediums always insist on having “conditions” that will best help them deceive the senses and mislead judgment.
If there were a few more “detectives” like Doctor Von Vleck, the whole mediumistic fraternity would soon “come to grief.”
If there were a few more "detectives" like Dr. Von Vleck, the entire medium community would quickly find itself in trouble.
CHAPTER XIV.
SPIRITUAL PHOTOGRAPHING.—COLORADO JEWETT AND THE SPIRIT-PHOTOGRAPHS OF GENERAL JACKSON, HENRY CLAY, DANIEL WEBSTER, STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS, NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, ETC.—A LADY OF DISTINCTION SEEKS AND FINDS A SPIRITUAL PHOTOGRAPH OF HER DECEASED INFANT, AND HER DEAD BROTHER WHO WAS YET ALIVE.—HOW IT WAS DONE.
SPIRITUAL PHOTOGRAPHING.—COLORADO JEWETT AND THE SPIRIT PHOTOS OF GENERAL JACKSON, HENRY CLAY, DANIEL WEBSTER, STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS, NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, ETC.—A DISTINGUISHED LADY SEEKS AND FINDS A SPIRITUAL PHOTO OF HER DECEASED INFANT AND HER DEAD BROTHER WHO WAS STILL ALIVE.—HOW IT WAS DONE.
In answer to numerous inquiries and several threats of prosecution for libel in consequence of what I have written in regard to impostors who (for money) perform tricks of legerdemain and attribute them to the spirits of deceased persons, I have only to say, I have no malice or antipathies to gratify in these expositions. In undertaking to show up the “Ancient and Modern Humbugs of the World,” I am determined so far as in me lies, to publish nothing but the truth. This I shall do, “with good motives and for justifiable ends,” and I shall do it fearlessly and conscientiously. No threats will intimidate, no fawnings will flatter me from publishing everything that is true which I think will contribute to the information or to the amusement of my readers.
In response to numerous questions and several threats of legal action for libel regarding what I've written about frauds who perform tricks for money and claim they are connected to the spirits of the deceased, I want to make it clear that I have no malice or personal grudges to settle in these exposes. In my effort to reveal the “Ancient and Modern Humbugs of the World,” I am committed, as much as I can, to publish only the truth. I will do this “with good motives and for justifiable ends,” and I will do it boldly and with integrity. No threats will scare me, and no flattery will sway me from sharing everything that is true that I believe will inform or entertain my readers.
Some correspondents ask me if I believe that all [110]pretensions to intercourse with departed spirits are impositions. I reply, that if people declare that they privately communicate with or are influenced to write or speak by invisible spirits, I cannot prove that they are deceived or are attempting to deceive me—although I believe that one or the other of these propositions is true. But when they pretend to give me communications from departed spirits, to tie or untie ropes—to read sealed letters, or to answer test-questions through spiritual agencies, I pronounce all such pretensions ridiculous impositions, and I stand ready at any time to prove them so, or to forfeit five hundred dollars, whenever these pretended mediums will succeed in producing their “wonderful manifestations” in a room of my selecting, and with apparatus of my providing; they not being permitted to handle the sealed letters or folded ballots which they are to answer, nor to make conditions in regard to the manner of rope tying, etc. If they can answer my test-questions relevantly and truly, without touching the envelopes in which they are sealed—or even when given to them by my word of mouth, I will hand over the $500. If they can cause invisible agencies to perform in open daylight many of the things which they pretend to accomplish by spirits in the dark, I will promptly pay $500 for the sight. In the mean time, I think I can reasonably account for and explain all pretended spiritual gymnastic performances—throwings of hair-brushes—dancing pianos—spirit-rapping—table-tipping—playing of musical instruments, and flying through the air (in the dark,) and a thousand other “wonderful manifestations[111]” which, like most of the performances of modern “magicians,” are “passing strange” until explained, and then they are as flat as dish-water. Dr. Von Vleck publicly produces all of these pretended “manifestations” in open daylight, without claiming spiritual aid.
Some correspondents ask me if I think that all [110] claims of communicating with spirits are scams. I respond that if people say they privately talk to or are inspired by invisible spirits, I can’t prove they’re either mistaken or trying to fool me—though I believe one of those is true. But when they claim to relay messages from spirits, to tie or untie ropes, to read sealed letters, or to answer test questions through spiritual means, I find those claims utterly ridiculous and I’m willing to prove so or forfeit five hundred dollars whenever these supposed mediums can deliver their “amazing demonstrations” in a room I choose, using equipment I provide; they won’t be allowed to handle the sealed letters or ballots they’re supposed to respond to, nor can they dictate how the rope tying, etc., happens. If they can answer my test questions accurately and truthfully, without touching the sealed envelopes—or even when I state the questions—I'll give them the $500. If they can make invisible forces do many of the things they claim to do with spirits in the dark, I’ll promptly pay $500 to see it. In the meantime, I believe I can explain all the supposed spiritual performances—throwing hairbrushes, dancing pianos, spirit rapping, table tipping, playing instruments, and flying in the dark, among countless other “incredible manifestations”[111]—which, like many tricks of modern “magicians,” seem “strange” until you figure them out, and then they’re as dull as dishwater. Dr. Von Vleck demonstrates all these so-called “manifestations” in broad daylight, without claiming any spiritual help.
Among the number of humbugs that owe their existence to various combinations of circumstances and the extreme gullibility of the human race, the following was related to me by a gentleman whose position and character warrant me in announcing that it may be implicitly relied upon as correct in every particular.
Among the many scams that exist due to different circumstances and the extreme gullibility of people, the following story was shared with me by a gentleman whose position and character ensure that it can be fully trusted as accurate in every detail.
Some time before the Presidential election, a photographer residing in one of our cities (an ingenious man and a scientific chemist,) was engaged in making experiments with his camera, hoping to discover some new combination whereby to increase the facility of “picturing the human form divine,” etc. One morning, his apparatus being in excellent order, he determined to photograph himself. No sooner thought of, than he set about making his arrangements. All being ready, he placed himself in a position, remained a second or two, and then instantly closing his camera, surveyed the result of his operation. On bringing the picture out upon the plate, he was surprised to find a shadowy representation of a human being, so remarkably ghostlike and supernatural, that he became amused at the discovery he had made. The operation was repeated, until he could produce similar pictures by a suitable arrangement of his lenses and reflectors known to no other than himself. About this time he became acquainted with one of the most famous spiritualist-[112]writers, and in conversation with him, showed him confidentially one of those photographs, with also the shadow of another person, with the remark, mysteriously whispered:
Some time before the Presidential election, a photographer living in one of our cities (a clever guy and a scientific chemist) was busy experimenting with his camera, hoping to find a new way to enhance the ability to “capture the divine human form,” and so on. One morning, with his equipment in great shape, he decided to take a self-portrait. As soon as he thought of it, he started making his preparations. Once everything was set, he positioned himself, waited a moment, and then quickly closed his camera to check the results. When he developed the photo on the plate, he was shocked to see a shadowy image of a person that looked so ghostly and otherworldly that he found the discovery amusing. He repeated the process until he could create similar images using a specific arrangement of his lenses and reflectors that only he knew about. Around this time, he met one of the most renowned spiritualist-[112]writers, and during a conversation, he confidentially showed him one of those photographs, along with the shadow of another person, remarking mysteriously:
“I assure you, Sir, upon my word as a gentleman, and by all my hopes of a hereafter, that this picture was produced upon the plate as you see it, at a time when I had locked myself in my gallery, and no other person was in the room. It appeared instantly, as you see it there; and I have long wished to obtain the opinion of some man, like yourself, who has investigated these mysteries.”
"I promise you, Sir, on my word as a gentleman and everything I hope for in the future, that this image was created on the plate exactly as you see it, while I was locked in my gallery, and there was no one else in the room. It appeared right away, just like that; and I've wanted to get the opinion of someone like you, who understands these mysteries."
The spiritualist listened attentively, looked upon the picture, heard other explanations, examined other pictures, and sagely gave it as his opinion that the inhabitants of the unknown sphere had taken this mode of re-appearing to the view of mortal eyes, that this operator must be a “medium” of especial power. The New York Herald of Progress, a spiritualist paper, printed the first article upon this man’s spiritual photograph.
The spiritualist listened carefully, studied the picture, heard more explanations, looked at other images, and wisely stated that the beings from the unknown realm had chosen this way to appear before human eyes, suggesting that this operator must be a “medium” with exceptional abilities. The New York Herald of Progress, a spiritualist publication, featured the first article about this man’s spiritual photograph.
The acquaintance thus begun was continued, and the photographer found it very profitable to oblige his spiritual friend, by the reproduction of ghost-like pictures, ad infinitum, at the rate of five dollars each. Mothers came to the room of the artist, and gratefully retired with ghostly representations of departed little ones. Widows came to purchase the shades of their departed husbands. Husbands visited the photographer and procured the spectral pictures of their dead wives. Parents wanted the phantom-portraits of their deceased child[113]ren. Friends wished to look upon what they believed to be the lineaments of those who had long since gone to the spirit-land. All who sought to look on those pictures were satisfied with what had been shown them, and, by conversation on the subject, increased the number of visitors. In short, every person who heard about this mystery determined to verify the wonderful tales related, by looking upon the ghostly lineaments of some person, who, they believed, inhabited another sphere. And here I may as well mention that one of the faithful obtained a “spirit” picture of a deceased brother who had been dead more than five years, and said that he recognized also the very pattern of his cravat as the same that he wore in life. Can human credulity go further than to suppose that the departed still appear in the old clo’ of their earthly wardrobe? and the fact that the appearance of “the shade” of a young lady in one of the fashionable cut Zouave jackets of the hour did not disturb the faith of the believers, fills us indeed with wonder.
The friendship that began continued, and the photographer found it very profitable to please his spiritual friend by producing ghost-like pictures endlessly at five dollars each. Mothers came to the artist's studio and happily left with ghostly images of their departed little ones. Widows came to buy the shades of their late husbands. Husbands visited the photographer and got spectral images of their deceased wives. Parents wanted phantom portraits of their deceased children. Friends wished to gaze upon what they believed to be the features of those who had long since gone to the afterlife. Everyone who sought these pictures was satisfied with what they were shown, and their conversations on the topic brought in more visitors. In short, every person who heard about this phenomenon was determined to see the amazing stories for themselves by looking at the ghostly likeness of someone they believed inhabited another realm. Interestingly, one of the devoted customers obtained a "spirit" picture of a brother who had been dead for over five years and claimed he recognized the exact pattern of his cravat as the one he wore in life. Can human gullibility stretch any further than to think that the deceased still appear in their old attire? The fact that the image of "the shade" of a young lady was in one of the trendy Zouave jackets of the time didn't shake the faith of the believers, which is truly astonishing.
The fame of the photographer spread throughout the “spiritual circles,” and pilgrims to this spiritual Mecca came from remote parts of the land, and before many months, caused no little excitement among some persons, inclined to believe that the demonstrations were entirely produced by human agency.
The photographer became well-known in spiritual circles, and pilgrims traveled from far and wide to this spiritual hub. Within a few months, this stirred quite a bit of excitement among some people who were eager to believe that the events were solely the result of human effort.
The demand for “spirit” pictures consequently increased, until the operator was forced to raise his price to ten dollars, whenever successful in obtaining a true “spirit-picture,” or to be overwhelmed with business that now interfered with his regular labors.
The demand for “spirit” pictures grew, leading the operator to raise his price to ten dollars whenever he successfully captured a true “spirit picture,” or he would be swamped with business that disrupted his regular work.
[114]About this time the famous “Peace Conference” had been concluded by the issue of Mr. Lincoln’s celebrated letter, “To whom it may concern,” and William Cornell Jewett (with his head full of projects for restoring peace to a suffering country) heard about the mysterious photographer, and visited the operator.
[114]Around this time, the well-known “Peace Conference” had wrapped up with the release of Mr. Lincoln’s famous letter, “To whom it may concern,” and William Cornell Jewett, eager with ideas for bringing peace to a troubled nation, heard about the mysterious photographer and went to meet the operator.
“Sir,” said he, “I must consult with the spirits of distinguished statesmen. We need their counsel. This cruel war must stop. Brethren slaying brethren, it is horrible, Sir. Can you show me John Adams? Can you show me Daniel Webster? Let me look upon the features of Andrew Jackson. I must see that noble, glorious, wise old statesman, Henry Clay, whom I knew. Could you reproduce Stephen A. Douglas, with whom to counsel at this crisis in our national affairs! I should like to meet the great Napoleon. Such, here obtained, would increase my influence in the political work that I have in hand.”
“Sir,” he said, “I need to consult with the spirits of famous statesmen. We need their guidance. This brutal war has to end. Brothers fighting brothers, it’s awful, Sir. Can you show me John Adams? Can you show me Daniel Webster? I want to see the face of Andrew Jackson. I have to see that noble, glorious, wise old statesman, Henry Clay, whom I knew. Could you bring back Stephen A. Douglas for advice during this crisis in our national affairs? I’d also like to meet the great Napoleon. Having them here would boost my influence in the political work I’m involved in.”
In his own nervous, impetuous, excited way, Colorado Jewett continued to urge upon the photographer the great importance of receiving such communications, or some evidence that the spirits of our deceased statesmen were watching over and counseling those who desire to re-unite the two opposing forces, fighting against each other on the soil of a common country.
In his own anxious, impulsive, and excited way, Colorado Jewett kept pushing the photographer to understand how crucial it was to receive such communications or some proof that the spirits of our late statesmen were observing and advising those who wanted to bring together the two opposing forces that were battling on the land of our shared country.
With much caution, the photographer answered the questions presented. Arranging the camera, he produced some indistinct figures, and then concluded that the “conditions” were not sufficiently favorable to attempt anything more before the next day. On the following morning, Jewett appeared—nervous, garru[115]lous, and excited at the prospect of being in the presence of those great men, whose spirits he desired to invoke. The apparatus was prepared; utter silence imposed, and for some time the heart of the peace-seeker could almost be heard thumping within the breast of him who sought supernatural aid, in his efforts to end our cruel civil war. Then, overcome by his own thoughts, Jewett disturbed the “conditions” by changing his position, and muttering short invocations, addressed to the shades of those he wished to behold. The operator finally declared he could not proceed, and postponed his performance for that day. So, excuses were made, until the mental condition of Mr. Jewett had reached that state which permitted the photographer to expect the most complete success. Everything being prepared, Jewett breathlessly awaited the expected presence. Quietly the operator produced the spectral representation of the elder Adams. Jewett scrutinized the plate, and expressed a silent wonder, accompanied, no doubt, with some mental appeals addressed to the ancient statesman. Then, writing the name of Webster upon a slip of paper, he passed it over to the photographer, who gravely placed the scrap of writing upon the camera, and presently drew therefrom the “ghost-like” but well remembered features of the “Sage of Marshfield.” Colorado Jewett was now thoroughly impressed with the spiritual power producing these images; and in ecstasy breathed a prayer that Andrew Jackson might appear to lend his countenance to the conference he wished to hold with the mighty dead. Jackson’s well known features came out[116] upon call, after due manipulation of the proper instrument. “Glorious trio of departed statesmen!” thought Jewett, “help us by your counsels in this the day of our nation’s great distress.” Next Henry Clay’s outline was faintly shown from the tomb, and here the sitter remarked that he expected him. After him came Stephen A. Douglas, and the whole affair was so entirely satisfactory to Jewett, that, after paying fifty dollars for what he had witnessed, he, the next day, implored the presence of George Washington, offering fifty dollars more for a “spiritual” sight of the “Father of our Country.” This request smote upon the ear of the photographer like an invitation to commit sacrilege. His reverence for the memory of Washington was not to be disturbed by the tempting offer of so many greenbacks. He could not allow the features of that great man to be used in connection with an imposture perpetrated upon so deluded a fanatic as Colorado Jewett. In short, the “conditions” were unfavorable for the apparition of “General Washington;” and his visitor must remain satisfied with the council of great men that had been called from the spirit world to instill wisdom into the noddle of a foolish man on this terrestrial planet. Having failed to obtain, by the agency of the operator, a glimpse of Washington, Jewett clasped his hands together, and sinking upon his knees, said, looking toward Heaven: “O spirit of the immortal Washington! look down upon the warring elements that convulse our country, and kindly let thy form appear, to lend its influence toward re-uniting a nation convulsed with civil war!”
With great care, the photographer answered the questions asked. Setting up the camera, he captured some blurry images and then decided that the “conditions” weren't good enough for anything more until the next day. The following morning, Jewett showed up—nervous, talkative, and excited about being around those great men whose spirits he wanted to contact. The equipment was ready; complete silence was required, and for a while, the heart of the peace-seeker could almost be heard pounding inside the chest of the person seeking supernatural help to end our brutal civil war. Then, caught up in his own thoughts, Jewett disrupted the “conditions” by shifting his position and mumbling brief invocations addressed to the shades of those he wanted to see. The operator finally said he couldn't continue and postponed the session for that day. Excuses were made until Mr. Jewett's mental state was just right, allowing the photographer to hope for the most complete success. With everything set, Jewett waited breathlessly for the expected presence. Quietly, the operator revealed the spectral image of the elder Adams. Jewett examined the plate, silently amazed, undoubtedly coupled with some mental appeals to the ancient statesman. Then, writing the name of Webster on a piece of paper, he handed it to the photographer, who solemnly placed the note on the camera and soon revealed the “ghost-like” but well-remembered features of the “Sage of Marshfield.” Colorado Jewett was now thoroughly convinced of the spiritual power behind these images; in ecstasy, he breathed a prayer that Andrew Jackson might appear to lend his support to the conference he wished to hold with the mighty dead. Jackson’s recognizable features emerged upon request, following the proper handling of the equipment. “Glorious trio of departed statesmen!” Jewett thought, “help us through your advice in this time of our nation’s great distress.” Next, Henry Clay’s outline faintly appeared, to which the sitter noted that he had expected him. After him came Stephen A. Douglas, and the entire experience was so satisfying to Jewett that, after paying fifty dollars for what he had witnessed, he implored the presence of George Washington the next day, offering another fifty dollars for a “spiritual” glimpse of the “Father of our Country.” This request struck the photographer like a call to commit sacrilege. His respect for Washington's memory was not to be shaken by the tempting offer of so much money. He couldn’t allow the image of that great man to be associated with a deception targeting such a misguided fanatic as Colorado Jewett. In short, the “conditions” were not right for the apparition of “General Washington,” and his visitor would have to be content with the council of great men who had been summoned from the spirit world to impart wisdom to a foolish man on this earthly planet. After failing to get a glimpse of Washington through the operator's agency, Jewett clasped his hands together and sank to his knees, saying, looking toward Heaven: “O spirit of the immortal Washington! look down upon the warring elements that convulse our country, and kindly let thy form appear, to lend its influence toward re-uniting a nation convulsed with civil war!”
[117]It is needless to say that this prayer was not answered. The spirit would not come forth; and, although quieted by the explanations and half promises of the photographer, the peace-messenger departed, convinced that he had been in the presence of five great statesmen, and saddened by the reflection that the shade of the immortal Washington had turned away its face from those who had refused to follow the counsels he gave while living.
[117]It goes without saying that this prayer wasn't answered. The spirit didn't appear; and, although the photographer's explanations and vague promises calmed him down, the peace-messenger left feeling that he had been in the presence of five great leaders, and he was saddened by the thought that the spirit of the legendary Washington had turned away from those who refused to follow his advice while he was alive.
Soon after this, Jewett ordered duplicates of these photographs to the value of $20 more. I now have on exhibition in my Museum several of the veritable portraits taken at this time, in which the well-known form and face of Mr. Jewett are plainly depicted, and on one of which appears the shade of Henry Clay, on another that of Napoleon the First, and on others ladies supposed to represent deceased feminines of great celebrity. It is said that Jewett sent one of the Napoleonic pictures to the Emperor Louis Napoleon.
Soon after this, Jewett ordered duplicates of these photographs worth an additional $20. I currently have several of the original portraits displayed in my museum, clearly showing Mr. Jewett's well-known form and face. One of the portraits features the likeness of Henry Clay, another showcases Napoleon the First, and others represent famous deceased women. It’s said that Jewett sent one of the Napoleon pictures to Emperor Louis Napoleon.
Not long after Colorado Jewett had beheld these wonderful pictures, and worked himself up into the belief that he was surrounded by the great and good statesmen of a former generation, a lady, without making herself known, called upon the photographer. I am informed that she is the wife of a distinguished official. She had heard of the success of others, and came to verify their experience under her own bereavement. Completely satisfied by the apparition exhibited, she asked for and obtained a spectral photograph resembling her son, who, some months previously, had gone to the spirit-land. It is said that the same lady[118] asked for and obtained a spiritual photograph of her brother, whom she had recently heard was slain in battle; and when she returned home she found him alive, and as well as could be expected under the circumstances. But this did not shake her faith in the least. She simply remarked that some evil spirit had assumed her brother’s form in order to deceive her. This is a very common method of spiritualists “digging out” when the impositions of the “money-operators” are detected. This same lady has recently given her personal influence in favor of the “medium” Colchester, in Washington. One of these impressions bearing the likeness of this distinguished lady was accidentally recognized by a visitor. This capped the climax of the imposture and satisfied the photographer that he was committing a grave injury upon society by continuing to produce “spiritual pictures,” and subsequently he refused to lend himself to any more “manifestations” of this kind. He had exhausted the fun.
Not long after Colorado Jewett saw these amazing pictures and convinced himself he was surrounded by the great and good statesmen of an earlier time, a woman, without revealing who she was, visited the photographer. I’ve been told she is the wife of a prominent official. She had heard about the success others had experienced and came to see for herself, given her own loss. Completely satisfied with the apparition presented to her, she requested and received a spectral photograph that looked like her son, who had recently passed away. It’s said that the same woman[118] asked for and got a spiritual photograph of her brother, whom she had just learned was killed in battle; yet when she got home, she found him alive and as well as could be expected under the circumstances. However, this did not shake her faith at all. She simply commented that some evil spirit had taken on her brother’s form to trick her. This is a very common tactic among spiritualists when the deceptions of the “money-operators” are exposed. This same woman recently used her personal influence to support the “medium” Colchester in Washington. One of these impressions resembling this distinguished lady was accidentally recognized by a visitor. This revelation exposed the fraud and made the photographer realize he was causing serious harm to society by continuing to create “spiritual pictures,” and he subsequently refused to participate in any more “manifestations” of this sort. He had exhausted the fun.
I need only explain the modus operandi of effecting this illusion, to make apparent to the most ignorant that no supernatural agency was required to produce photographs bearing a resemblance to the persons whose “apparition” was desired. The photographer always took the precaution of inquiring about the deceased, his appearance and ordinary mode of wearing the hair. Then, selecting from countless old “negatives” the nearest resemblance, it was produced for the visitor, in dim, ghostlike outline differing so much from anything of the kind ever produced, that his customers seldom failed to recognize some lineament the dead person pos[119]sessed when living, especially if such relative had deceased long since. The spectral illusions of Adams, Webster, Jackson, Clay, and Douglas were readily obtained from excellent portraits of the deceased statesmen, from which the scientific operator had prepared his illusions for Colorado Jewett.
I just need to explain how this illusion works to show even the least informed that no supernatural force was needed to create photographs that looked like the people whose “ghosts” were wanted. The photographer always made it a point to ask about the deceased, including their appearance and usual hairstyle. Then, by choosing from countless old “negatives,” they picked the one that looked most like the person and presented it to the visitor in a faint, ghostly outline that was so different from anything ever made before that most customers easily recognized some feature of the deceased when they were alive, especially if that person had died a long time ago. The ghostly images of Adams, Webster, Jackson, Clay, and Douglas were easily created from excellent portraits of the deceased politicians, which the skilled operator had used to prepare his illusions for Colorado Jewett.
In placing before my readers this incident of “Spiritual Photography,” I can assure them that the facts are substantially as related; and I am now in correspondence with gentlemen of wealth and position who have signified their willingness to support this statement by affidavits and other documents prepared for the purpose of opening the eyes of the people to the delusions daily practised upon the ignorant and superstitious.
In sharing this incident of “Spiritual Photography,” I can assure my readers that the facts are largely as described; and I am currently in contact with wealthy and influential individuals who have expressed their readiness to back this claim with affidavits and other documents aimed at enlightening people about the deceptions that are continually inflicted on the uninformed and superstitious.
CHAPTER XV.
“The Banner of Light,” a weekly journal of romance, literature, and general intelligence, published in Boston, is the principal organ of spiritualism in this country. Its “general intelligence” is rather questionable, though there is no doubt about its being a “journal of romance,” strongly tinctured with humbug and imposture. It has a “Message Department,” the proprie[120]tors of the paper claiming that “each message in this department of the “Banner” was spoken by the spirit whose name it bears, through the instrumentality of Mrs. J. H. Conant, while in an abnormal condition called the trance.”
“The Banner of Light,” a weekly magazine focusing on romance, literature, and general insights, published in Boston, is the main outlet for spiritualism in this country. Its “general insights” are somewhat questionable, but there's no doubt that it's a “romantic journal,” heavily mixed with nonsense and deception. It includes a “Message Department,” where the owners of the paper assert that “each message in this department of the ‘Banner’ was delivered by the spirit whose name it carries, through the abilities of Mrs. J. H. Conant, while in an unusual state known as the trance.”
I give a few specimens of these “messages.” Thus, for instance, discourseth the Ghost of Lolley:
I provide a few examples of these “messages.” For instance, the Ghost of Lolley speaks:
“How do? Don’t know me, do you? Know George Lolley? [Yes. How do you do?] I’m first rate. I’m dead; ain’t you afraid of me? You know I was familiar with those sort of things, so I wasn’t frightened to go.
“How do? You don’t know me, do you? Know George Lolley? [Yes. How do you do?] I’m doing great. I’m dead; aren’t you scared of me? You know I was used to that kind of stuff, so I wasn’t afraid to go.
“Well, won’t you say to the folks that I’m all right, and happy? that I didn’t suffer a great deal, had a pretty severe wound, got over that all right; went out from Petersburg. I was in the battle before Petersburg; got my discharge from there. Remember me kindly to Mr. Lord.
“Well, won’t you tell everyone that I’m okay and happy? That I didn’t suffer too much, had a pretty serious injury, but I recovered from that just fine; left from Petersburg. I was in the battle before Petersburg; got my discharge from there. Please say hello to Mr. Lord for me.”
“Well, tell ’em as soon as I get the wheels a little greased up and in running order I’ll come back with the good things, as I said I would, George W. Lolley. Good-bye.”
“Well, let them know that as soon as I get the wheels greased up and running smoothly, I’ll come back with the good stuff, just like I promised, George W. Lolley. Goodbye.”
Immediately after a “message” from the spirit of John Morgan, the guerrilla, came one from Charles Talbot, who began as follows with a curious apostrophe to his predecessor:
Immediately after a “message” from the spirit of John Morgan, the guerrilla, came one from Charles Talbot, who started with an interesting address to his predecessor:
“Hi-yah! old grisly. It’s lucky for you I didn’t get in ahead of you.
“Hi-yah! old grumpy. It’s lucky for you I didn’t get in before you.”
“I am Charlie Talbot, of Chambersburg, Pa. Was wounded in action, captured by the Rebels, and ‘died on their hands’ as they say of the horse.”
“I’m Charlie Talbot from Chambersburg, Pa. I got injured in battle, was taken prisoner by the Rebels, and ‘died in their care’ as they say about the horse.”
It seems a little rude for one “spirit” to term another “Old Grisly;” but such may be the style of compliment prevailing in the spirit-world.
It seems a bit rude for one "spirit" to call another "Old Grisly," but that might be the way compliments work in the spirit world.
[121]Here is what Brother Klink said:
Here’s what Brother Klink said:
“John Klink, of the Twenty-fifth South Carolina. I want to open communication with Thomas Lefar, Charleston, S. C. I am deucedly ignorant about this coming back—dead railroad—business. It’s new business to me, as I suppose it will be to some of you when you travel this way. Say I will do the best I can to communicate with my friends, if they will give me an opportunity. I desire Mr. Lefar to send my letter to my family when he receives it—he knows where they are—and then report to this office.
“John Klink, from the Twenty-fifth South Carolina. I want to reach out to Thomas Lefar in Charleston, S.C. I'm really not sure about this return—dead railroad—situation. It’s unfamiliar to me, just like it probably will be for some of you when you come this way. I’ll do my best to get in touch with my friends if I get the chance. I ask Mr. Lefar to send my letter to my family when he gets it—he knows where they are—and then report back to this office."
“Good night, afternoon or morning, I don’t know which. I walked out at Petersburg.”
“Good night, afternoon, or morning, I’m not sure which. I just walked out in Petersburg.”
Here is a message from George W. Gage, with some of the questions which he answered:
Here’s a message from George W. Gage, along with some of the questions he answered:
“[How do you like your new home?] First rate. I likes—heigho!—I likes to come here, for they clears all the truck away before you get round, and fix up so you can talk right off. [Wasn’t you a medium?] No, Sir; I wasn’t afraid, though; nor my mother ain’t, either. Oh, I knew about it; I knew before I come to die, about it. My mother told me about it. I knew I’d be a woman when I come here, too. [Did you?] Yes, sir; my mother told me, and said I musn’t be afraid. Oh, I don’t likes that, but I likes to come.
“[How do you like your new home?] It's great. I like—sigh!—I like coming here because they clear all the stuff away before you get around, so you can start talking right away. [Weren’t you a medium?] No, sir; I wasn’t scared, nor was my mother. Oh, I knew about it; I knew before I died, about it. My mother told me. I knew I’d be a woman when I came here, too. [Did you?] Yes, sir; my mother told me and said I shouldn’t be scared. Oh, I don’t like that, but I do like coming here.”
“I forgot, Sir; my mother’s deaf, and always had to holler. That gentleman says folks ain’t deaf here.”
“I forgot, Sir; my mom is deaf, and I've always had to yell. That guy says people aren't deaf here.”
The observable points are first that he seems to have excused his “hollering” by the habits consequent upon his mother’s deafness. The “hollering” consisted of unusually heavy thumping, I suppose. But the second point is of far greater interest. George intimates that[122] he has changed his “sect,” and become a woman! For this important alteration his good mother had prepared his mind. This style of thing will not seem so strange if we consider that some men become old women before they die!
The noticeable points are that he seems to justify his "hollering" by the habits developed due to his mother's deafness. The "hollering" probably involved unusually loud thumping. However, the second point is much more intriguing. George suggests that[122] he has changed his "sect" and transformed into a woman! His good mother had primed him for this significant change. This won't seem so odd if we think about how some men become like old women before they pass away!
Here is another case of feminification and restitution combined. Hans Von Vleet has become a vrow—what you may call a female Dutchman! It has always been claimed that women are purer and better than men; and accordingly we see that as soon as Hans became a woman he insisted on his widow’s returning to a Jew two thousand dollars that naughty Hans had “Christianed” the poor Hebrew out of. But let Hans tell his own story:
Here is another case of feminization and restitution combined. Hans Von Vleet has become a vrow—what you might call a female Dutchman! It has always been said that women are purer and better than men; and so we see that as soon as Hans became a woman, she insisted on her widow returning two thousand dollars to a Jew that naughty Hans had “Christianed” the poor Hebrew out of. But let Hans tell her own story:
“I was Hans Von Vleet ven I vas here. I vas Von Vleet here; I is one vrow now. I is one vrow ven I comes back; I vas no vrow ven I vas here (alluding to the fact that he was temporarily occupying the form of our medium.) I wish you to know that I first live in Harlem, State of New York. Ven I vos here, I take something I had no right to take, something that no belongs to me. I takes something; I takes two thousand dollars that was no my own; that’s what I come back to say about. I first have some dealings with one Jew; that’s what you call him. He likes to Jew me, and I likes to Christian him. I belongs to the Dutch Reform Church. (Do you think you were a good member?) Vell, I vas. I believes in the creed; I takes the sacrament; I lives up to it outside. I no lives up to it inside, I suppose. (How do you find yourself now, Hans?) Vell, I finds myself—vell, I don’t know; I not feel very happy. Ven I comes to the spirit-land, I first meet that Jew’s brother, and he tells me, ‘Hans, you mus go back and makes some right with my brother.’ So I comes here.
“I was Hans Von Vleet when I was here. I was Von Vleet here; I am a woman now. I am a woman when I come back; I was not a woman when I was here (alluding to the fact that he was temporarily occupying the form of our medium.) I want you to know that I first lived in Harlem, State of New York. When I was here, I took something I had no right to take, something that doesn’t belong to me. I took something; I took two thousand dollars that were not mine; that’s what I came back to talk about. I first had some dealings with a Jewish person; that’s what you’d call him. He liked to Jew me, and I liked to Christian him. I belong to the Dutch Reform Church. (Do you think you were a good member?) Well, I was. I believe in the creed; I take the sacrament; I live up to it outside. I don’t live up to it inside, I suppose. (How do you find yourself now, Hans?) Well, I find myself—well, I don’t know; I don’t feel very happy. When I come to the spirit-land, I first meet that Jewish person’s brother, and he tells me, ‘Hans, you must go back and make things right with my brother.’ So I came here.
“I vants my vrow, what I left in Harlem, to takes that[123] two tousand dollars and gives it back to that Jew’s vrow. That’s what I came for to-day, Sir. (Has your vrow got it?) Vell, my vrow has got it in a tin box. Ven I first go, I takes the money, I gives it to my vrow, and she takes care of it. Now I vants my vrow to give that two tousand dollars to that Jew’s vrow.
“I want my wife, whom I left in Harlem, to take that[123] two thousand dollars and give it back to that Jew's wife. That's why I came here today, Sir. (Does your wife have it?) Well, my wife has it in a tin box. When I first left, I took the money, gave it to my wife, and she took care of it. Now I want my wife to give that two thousand dollars to that Jew's wife.
“(How do you spell your name?) The vrow knows how to spell. (Hans Von Vleet.) There’s a something you cross in it. The vrow spells the rest. Ah, that’s wrong; you makes a blunder. Its V. not F. That’s like all vrows. (Do all vrows make blunders?) Vell, I don’t know; all do sometimes, I suppose. (Didn’t you like vrows here?) Oh, vell, I likes ’em sometimes. I likes mine own vrow. I not likes to be a vrow myself. (Don’t the clothes fit?) Ah, vell, I suppose they fits, but I not likes to wear what not becomes me.”
“(How do you spell your name?) The woman knows how to spell. (Hans Von Vleet.) There’s something you cross in it. The woman spells the rest. Ah, that’s wrong; you made a mistake. It’s V, not F. That’s typical of all women. (Do all women make mistakes?) Well, I don’t know; they all do sometimes, I guess. (Didn’t you like women here?) Oh, well, I like them sometimes. I like my own woman. I don’t want to be a woman myself. (Don’t the clothes fit?) Ah, well, I suppose they fit, but I don’t like to wear what doesn’t suit me.”
It is scarcely necessary to make comments on such horrible nonsense as this. I may recur to the subject in future, should it appear expedient. At present I must drop the subject of female men.
It hardly seems worth commenting on such terrible nonsense as this. I might revisit the topic later if it seems necessary. For now, I need to stop discussing female men.
At the head of the “Message Department” is a standing advertisement, which reads as follows:
At the top of the “Message Department,” there’s a permanent advertisement that says:
“Our free circles are held at No. 158 Washington street, Room No. 4 (up stairs,) on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. The circle-room will be open for visitors at two o’clock; services commence at precisely three o’clock, after which time no one will be admitted. Donations solicited.”
“Our free circles are held at 158 Washington Street, Room 4 (upstairs) on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday afternoons. The circle room will be open for visitors at 2:00 PM; services start exactly at 3:00 PM, after which no one will be allowed in. Donations welcome.”
On the days and at the hour mentioned in the above advertisement, quite an audience assembles to hear the messages Mrs. C. may have to deliver. If a stranger present should request a message from one of his spirit-friends, he would be told that a large number of[124] spirits were seeking to communicate through that “instrument,” and each must await his turn! Having read obituary notices in the files of old newspapers, and the published list of those recently killed in battle, the medium has data for any number of “messages.” She talks in the style that she imagines the person whom she attempts to personate would use, being one of the doctrines of spiritualism that a person’s character and feelings are not changed by death. To make the humbug more complete, she narrates imaginary incidents, asserting them to have occurred in the earth-experience of the spirit who purports to have possession of her at the same time she is speaking. Mediums in various parts of the country furnish her with the names of and facts relative to different deceased people of their acquaintance, and those names and facts are used by her in supplying the “Message Department” of the “Banner of Light.”
On the days and at the time mentioned in the advertisement above, a decent crowd gathers to hear the messages Mrs. C. might deliver. If a newcomer asks for a message from one of their spirit friends, they would be informed that many spirits are trying to communicate through that “instrument,” and each one must wait for their turn! After reading obituary notices in old newspapers and the published list of those recently killed in battle, the medium has enough information for plenty of “messages.” She adopts the style she thinks the person she’s trying to impersonate would use, based on the belief in spiritualism that a person’s character and feelings don’t change after death. To enhance the deception, she tells made-up stories, claiming they happened in the earthly life of the spirit who supposedly possesses her while she speaks. Mediums across the country provide her with names and details about various deceased individuals they know, and she uses that information to supply the “Message Department” of the “Banner of Light.”
If the assumed “mediumship” of this woman was not an imposture, some of the many people who have visited her for the purpose of getting communications from their spirit-friends would have been gratified. In most of the “messages” published in the Banner, the spirits purporting to give them, express a great desire to have their mortal friends receive them; but those mortals who seek to obtain through Mrs. Conant satisfactory messages from their spirit-friends, are not gratified—the medium not being posted. The mediums are as much opposed to “new tests” as a non-committal politician.
If the supposed “mediumship” of this woman isn’t just a trick, some of the many people who have gone to her to connect with their spirit friends would have been satisfied. In most of the “messages” published in the Banner, the spirits claiming to send them express a strong desire for their living friends to receive them; however, those who try to get meaningful messages from their spirit friends through Mrs. Conant are left disappointed—the medium isn’t reliable. The mediums resist “new tests” just like a non-committal politician.
Time and again have leading spiritualists, in various[125] parts of the country, indorsed as “spiritual manifestations,” what was subsequently proved to be an imposture.
Time and again, prominent spiritualists in different[125] parts of the country have endorsed what they called "spiritual manifestations," which later turned out to be a scam.
Several years ago, a man by the name of Paine created a great sensation in Worcester, Mass., by causing a table to move “without contact,” he claiming that it was done by spirits through his “mediumship.” He subsequently came to New York, and exhibited the “manifestation” at the house of a spiritualist—where he boarded—in the upper part of the city. A great many spiritualists and not a few “skeptics” went to see his performance. Paine was a very soft-spoken, “good sort of a fellow,” and appeared to be quite sincere in his claims to “mediumship.” He received no fee from those who witnessed his exhibition; and that fact, in connection with others, tended to disarm people of suspicion. His séances were held in the evening, and each visitor was received by him at the door, and immediately conducted to a seat next the wall of the room.
Several years ago, a man named Paine created a huge stir in Worcester, Mass., by making a table move “without touching it,” claiming it was done by spirits through his “mediumship.” He later came to New York and showcased the “manifestation” at the home of a spiritualist—where he was staying—in the upper part of the city. A lot of spiritualists and a few “skeptics” came to see his performance. Paine was very soft-spoken and seemed like a “good guy,” appearing sincere in his claims of “mediumship.” He didn’t charge anyone who came to watch his exhibition; this, along with other factors, helped to ease people’s suspicions. His séances took place in the evening, and each visitor was greeted by him at the door and immediately shown to a seat next to the wall of the room.
The visitors all in and seated, Mr. Paine took a seat with the rest in the “circle.” In the middle of the room a small table had previously been placed, and the gas had been turned partly off, leaving just enough light to make objects look ghostly.
The visitors all came in and took their seats, while Mr. Paine joined the others in the “circle.” In the middle of the room, a small table had been set up earlier, and the gas was turned down low, leaving just enough light to make things look eerie.
In order to get “harmonized,” singing was indulged in for a short time by members of the “circle.” Soon a number of raps would be heard in the direction of the table, and one side of that piece of furniture would be seen to rise about an inch from the floor. Some very naturally wanted to rush to the table and investigate the matter more closely, but Paine forbade that[126]—the necessary “conditions” must be observed, he said, or there would be no further manifestation of spirit-power. As there was no one nearer to the table than six or eight feet, the fact of its moving, very naturally astonished the skeptics present. Several “seeing mediums” who attended Mr. Paine’s séances, were able to see the spirits—so they declared—who moved the table. One was described as a “big Injun,” who cut various capers, and appeared to be much delighted with the turn of affairs. Believers were wonderfully well-pleased to know that at last a medium was “developed” through whom the inhabitants of another world could manifest their presence to mortals in such a way that no one could gainsay the fact. The “invisibles” freely responded, by raps on the table, to various questions asked by those in the “circle.” They thumped time to lively tunes, and seemed to have a decidedly good time of it in their particular way. When the séance was concluded, Mr. Paine freely permitted an examination of his table.
To get “in sync,” the people in the “circle” sang for a little while. Soon, there were some knocks coming from the table, and it was seen to lift about an inch off the floor. Naturally, some people wanted to rush to the table to check it out, but Paine stopped them—he said the necessary “conditions” had to be maintained, or else there would be no further display of spirit power. Since no one was closer than six or eight feet from the table, the fact that it moved really surprised the skeptics who were there. Several “seeing mediums” who came to Mr. Paine’s séances claimed they could see the spirits moving the table. One was described as a “big Injun,” who was apparently having a great time and performing all sorts of antics. Believers were thrilled to know that at last a medium was “developed,” allowing the spirits from another world to show their presence to mortals in such a way that no one could argue against it. The “invisibles” responded by knocking on the table to various questions from those in the “circle.” They even kept time to lively tunes and seemed to be having a great time in their own way. When the séance was over, Mr. Paine allowed everyone to examine his table.
In the Sunday Spiritual Conferences, then held in Clinton Hall, leading spiritualists gave an account of the “manifestations of the spirits” through Mr. Paine, and, as believers, congratulated themselves upon the existence of such “indubitable facts.” The spiritualist in whose house this exhibition of table-moving “without contact” took place, was well known as a man of strict honesty; and it was reasonably presumed that no mechanical contrivance could be used without his cognizance, in thus moving a piece of his furniture—for the table belonged to him—and that he would countenance a deception was out of the question.
In the Sunday Spiritual Conferences, which were held in Clinton Hall, leading spiritualists shared their experiences of the “manifestations of the spirits” through Mr. Paine, and as believers, they congratulated themselves on the existence of such “undeniable facts.” The spiritualist hosting the table-moving demonstration “without contact” was well-known for his strict honesty, so it was reasonably assumed that no mechanical trick could be used without his knowledge to move his furniture—since the table was his—and the idea that he would support any deception was out of the question.
[127]There were in the city three gentlemen who had, for some time, been known as spiritualists; but they were, at the period of Paine’s début as a medium in New York, very skeptical with regard to “physical manifestations.” They had, a short time before, detected the Davenports and other professed mediums in the practice of imposture; and they determined not to accept, as true, Paine’s pretence to mediumship, till after a thorough investigation of his “manifestations,” they should fail to find a material cause for them. After attending several of his séances, these gentlemen concluded that Paine moved the table by means of a mechanical contrivance fixed under the floor. One of this trio of investigators was a mechanic, and he had conceived a way—and it seemed to him the only way—in which the “manifestation” could be produced under the circumstances that apparently attended it. Paine was a mechanic, and these parties were aware of that fact. They made an appointment with him for a private séance. The evening fixed upon, having arrived, they met with him at his room. The table was raised and raps were made upon it, as had been done on previous occasions. One of the three investigators stepped to the door of the room, locked it, put the key in his pocket, took off his coat, and told Mr. Paine that he was determined to search his (Paine’s) person, and that if he did not find about him a small short iron rod, by means of which, through a hole in the floor, a lever underneath was worked in moving the table, he (the speaker) would beg his (Mr. Paine’s) pardon, and be forever after a firm believer in the power of disembod[128]ied spirits to move ponderable bodies. This impressive little speech had a decided and instant effect upon the “medium.” “Gentlemen,” said the latter, “I might as well own up. Please to be quietly seated, and I will tell you all about it.” And he did tell them all about it; subsequently repeating his confession before quite a number of disgusted and cheaply sold spiritualists at the “New York Spiritual Lyceum.” The theory formed by one of the three investigators referred to, as to Paine’s method of moving the table, was singularly correct.
[127]In the city, there were three men who had been known as spiritualists for a while; however, at the time of Paine’s start as a medium in New York, they were quite skeptical about “physical manifestations.” Not long before, they had caught the Davenports and other self-proclaimed mediums cheating; so they decided not to accept Paine’s claim to mediumship as true until they thoroughly investigated his “manifestations” and found no physical explanation for them. After attending several of his séances, these men concluded that Paine was moving the table using a mechanical device hidden under the floor. One of the trio was a mechanic and believed he had figured out the only way the “manifestation” could occur under the apparent conditions. They knew Paine was a mechanic as well. They set up a private séance with him. When the scheduled evening arrived, they met at his place. The table was lifted, and raps were heard on it, just like before. One of the investigators went to the room's door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, took off his coat, and told Mr. Paine that he was determined to search him and that if he didn't find a small iron rod that allowed him to move the table via a lever under the floor, he would apologize and become a firm believer in the ability of disembodied spirits to move physical objects. This memorable speech had a strong and immediate impact on the “medium.” “Gentlemen,” Paine said, “I might as well confess. Please sit quietly, and I’ll explain everything.” And he did explain it all, later repeating his confession in front of a group of shocked and easily deceived spiritualists at the “New York Spiritual Lyceum.” The theory about Paine’s method of moving the table proposed by one of the three investigators turned out to be remarkably accurate. [128]
Whilst the family with whom Paine boarded was away, one day, in attendance at a funeral, he took up several of the floor boards of the back parlor, and on the under side of them affixed a lever, with a cross-piece at one end of it; and, in the ends of the cross-piece, bits of wire were inserted, the wire being just as far apart as the legs of the table to be moved. Small holes were made in the floor-boards for the wire to come through to reach the table-legs. The other end of the lever came within an inch or two of the wall. When all the arrangements were completed, and the table being properly placed in order to move it, Mr. Paine had only to insert one end of a short iron rod in a hole in the heel of his boot, put the other end of the rod through a hole in the floor, just under the edge of the carpet near the wall, and then press the rod down upon the end of the lever.
While the family with whom Paine was staying was away at a funeral, he decided to take up several floorboards in the back parlor. On the underside of these boards, he attached a lever, with a crosspiece at one end. He inserted bits of wire into the ends of the crosspiece, spaced just far enough apart to match the legs of the table he wanted to move. He made small holes in the floorboards for the wires to go through and reach the table legs. The other end of the lever was positioned only an inch or two from the wall. When everything was set up, and the table was properly placed for movement, Mr. Paine simply had to insert one end of a short iron rod into a hole in the heel of his boot, push the other end of the rod through a hole in the floor just under the edge of the carpet near the wall, and then press the rod down onto the end of the lever.
The movements necessary in fixing the iron rod to its place were executed while he was picking up his handkerchief, that he had purposely dropped.
The movements needed to secure the iron rod in place were carried out while he was picking up the handkerchief he had intentionally dropped.
[129]The middle of the lever was attached to the floor, and the end with the cross-piece, being the heavier, brought the other end close up against the floor, the wires in the cross-piece having their points just within the bottom of the holes in the floor. The room was carpeted, and there were little marks on the carpet, known only to Paine, that enabled him to know just where to place the table. Pressing down the end of the lever nearest the wall, an inch would bring the wires in the cross-piece on the other end of the lever against the legs of the table, and slightly raise the latter. One of the wires would strike the table-leg a very little before the other did, and that enabled the “medium” to very nicely rap time to the tunes that were sung or played. Of course, no holes that any one could observe would be made in the carpet by the passage of the wires through it.
[129]The middle of the lever was secured to the floor, and the end with the cross-piece, which was heavier, brought the other end down to the floor. The wires in the cross-piece were positioned just inside the holes in the floor. The room was carpeted, and there were small marks on the carpet, known only to Paine, that helped him place the table correctly. Pressing down the end of the lever closest to the wall by an inch would push the wires in the cross-piece against the legs of the table, lifting it slightly. One of the wires would tap the table leg just a bit before the other, allowing the “medium” to effectively rap in time with the music that was sung or played. Naturally, no noticeable holes would be made in the carpet by the wires passing through it.
For appearance’ sake, Paine, before his detection, visited, by invitation, the houses of several different spiritualists, for the purpose of holding séances; but he never got a table to move “without contact” in any other than the place where he had properly prepared the conditions.
For appearances, Paine, before he was caught, visited the homes of several different spiritualists by invitation to hold séances. However, he never succeeded in getting a table to move "without contact" anywhere else except where he had set the conditions properly.
CHAPTER XVI.
SPIRITUALIST HUMBUGS WAKING UP.—FOSTER HEARD FROM.—S. B. BRITTAN HEARD FROM.—THE BOSTON ARTISTS AND THEIR SPIRITUAL PORTRAITS.—THE WASHINGTON MEDIUM AND HIS SPIRITUAL HANDS.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS AND THE SEA-CAPTAIN’S WHEAT-FLOUR.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS ROUGHLY SHOWN UP BY JOHN BULL.—HOW A SHINGLE “STUMPED” THE SPIRITS.
SPIRITUALIST FRAUDS AWAKE.—FOSTER HAS BEEN HEARD FROM.—S. B. BRITTAN HAS BEEN HEARD FROM.—THE BOSTON ARTISTS AND THEIR SPIRITUAL PORTRAITS.—THE WASHINGTON MEDIUM AND HIS SPIRITUAL HANDS.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS AND THE SEA CAPTAIN’S WHEAT FLOUR.—THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS EXPOSED BY JOHN BULL.—HOW A SHINGLE “STUMPED” THE SPIRITS.
I hear from spiritualists sometimes. These gentry are much exercised in their minds by my letters about them, and some of them fly out at me very much as bumble-bees do at one who stirs up their nest. For instance, I received, not long ago, from my good friends, Messrs. Cauldwell & Whitney, an anonymous letter to them, dated at Washington, and suggesting that if I would attend what the latter calls “a séance of that celebrated humbug, Foster,” I should see something that I could not explain. Now, this anonymous letter, as I know by a spiritual communication, (or otherwise,) is in a handwriting very wonderfully like that of Mr. Foster himself. And as for the substance of it, it is very likely that Foster has now gotten up some new tricks. He needs them. The exhibiting mediums must, of course, contrive new tricks as fast as Dr. Von Vleck and men like him show up their old ones. It is the universal method of all sorts of impostors to adopt new means of fooling people when their old ones are[131] exposed. And Mr. Foster shall have all the attention he wants if I ever find the leisure to bestow on him, though my time is fully occupied with worthier objects.
I hear from spiritualists sometimes. These folks get really worked up by my letters about them, and some react to me much like bumblebees do when someone disturbs their nest. For example, not long ago, I got an anonymous letter from my good friends, Messrs. Cauldwell & Whitney, dated in Washington, suggesting that if I went to what the latter calls “a séance of that famous charlatan, Foster,” I’d see something I couldn’t explain. Now, this anonymous letter, as I know through a spiritual communication (or whatever), is written in a handwriting that’s strikingly similar to that of Mr. Foster himself. And regarding the content, it’s very likely that Foster has come up with some new tricks. He needs to. The performing mediums have to come up with new tricks just as fast as Dr. Von Vleck and people like him reveal their old ones. It’s the usual strategy of all kinds of frauds to find new ways to deceive people when their old methods are[131] exposed. And Mr. Foster will get all the attention he deserves if I ever have the time to give it to him, though my schedule is full with more important matters.
I have also been complimented with a buzz and an attempt to sting from my old friend S. B. Brittan, the ex-Universalist minister—the very surprisingly efficient “man Friday” of Andrew Jackson Davis, in the production of the “Revelations” of the said Davis, and also ghost-fancier in general; who has gently aired part of his vocabulary in a communication to the “Banner of Light,” with the heading “Exposed for Two Shillings.” I can afford very well to expose friend Brittan and his spiritualist humbugs for two shillings. The honester the cheaper. It evidently vexes the spiritualists to have their ghosts put with the monkeys in the Museum. They can’t help it, though; and it is my deliberate opinion that the monkeys are much the most respectable. I have no wish to displease any honest person; but the more the spiritualists squirm, and snarl, and scold, and call names, the more they show that I am hurting them. Or—does my friend Brittan himself want an engagement at the Museum? Will he produce some “manifestations” there, and get that $500?—the money is ready!
I’ve also received some buzz and an attempt to sting from my old friend S. B. Brittan, the former Universalist minister—the surprisingly effective “man Friday” of Andrew Jackson Davis, known for producing Davis's “Revelations,” and a general ghost enthusiast; who has shared part of his vocabulary in a message to the “Banner of Light,” titled “Exposed for Two Shillings.” I can easily afford to expose friend Brittan and his spiritualist nonsense for two shillings. The more straightforward, the cheaper. It seems to frustrate the spiritualists to have their ghosts compared to the monkeys in the Museum. They can’t help it, though; and I honestly believe the monkeys are far more respectable. I don’t want to upset any honest person; but the more the spiritualists squirm, snap, scold, and throw insults, the more they show that I’m getting to them. Or—does my friend Brittan himself want a spot at the Museum? Will he produce some “manifestations” there and earn that $500?—the money is ready!
A valued friend of mine has furnished me a pleasant and true narrative of a fine “spiritual” humbug which took place in a respectable Massachusetts village not very long ago. I give the story in his own graphic words:
A dear friend of mine shared with me an enjoyable and true story about a great “spiritual” con that happened in a respectable Massachusetts village not too long ago. I present the story in his own vivid words:
“Two artists of Boston, tired of the atmosphere of their studios, resolved themselves, in joint session, into[132] spiritual mediums, as a means of raising the wind—or the devil—and of getting a little fresh air in the rural districts. One of them had learned Mansfield’s trick of answering communications and that of writing on the arms. They had large handbills printed, announcing that “Mr. W. Howard, the celebrated test-medium, would visit the town of ——, and would remain at the —— Hotel during three days.” One of the artists preceded the other by a few hours, engaged rooms, and attended to sundry preliminaries. “Mr. Howard” donned a white choker, put his hair behind his ears, and mounted a pair of plain glass spectacles; and such was his profoundly spiritual appearance on entering his apartments at the hotel, that he had to lock the door and give his partner opportunity to explode, and absolutely roll about on the floor with laughter.
"Two artists from Boston, fed up with the vibe in their studios, decided together to become[132] spiritual mediums as a way to earn some cash—or maybe raise a little hell—and to get some fresh air in the countryside. One of them had picked up Mansfield’s trick of answering messages and even writing on his arms. They had large flyers printed, announcing that “Mr. W. Howard, the famous test-medium, would be visiting the town of —— and would stay at the —— Hotel for three days.” One artist arrived a few hours early, booked the rooms, and took care of a few details. “Mr. Howard” put on a white collar, tucked his hair behind his ears, and slipped on a pair of plain glasses; his intensely spiritual look when he entered his hotel room was so convincing that he had to lock the door to give his partner a chance to burst out laughing and roll around on the floor.
“Well, they rigged a clothes-horse for a screen; and to heighten the effect, the assistant, who was expert in portraiture, covered this screen, and, indeed, the walls of the room, with scraggy outlines of the human countenance upon large sheets of paper. These, they said, were executed by the draftsman, whose right hand, when under spiritual influence, uncontrollably jerked off these likenesses. They added, that the spirits had given information that, before the mediums left town, the people would recognize these pictures as likenesses of persons there deceased within twenty years or so. Price, two dollars each! They absolutely sold quite a large number of these portraits, as they were from time to time recognized by surviving friends! The operation of drawing portraits was also illustrated at certain hours,[133] admission, fifty cents; if not satisfactory, the money returned.
“Well, they set up a clothes-horse as a screen, and to enhance the effect, the assistant, who was skilled in portrait drawing, covered this screen and even the walls of the room with rough sketches of human faces on large sheets of paper. They claimed these were created by the draftsman, whose right hand, when in a spiritual trance, uncontrollably sketched these likenesses. They also mentioned that the spirits had indicated that, before the mediums left town, people would recognize these pictures as portraits of individuals who had passed away within the last twenty years or so. Price, two dollars each! They actually sold quite a few of these portraits as they were recognized by living friends from time to time! The portrait-drawing process was also demonstrated at certain times, [133] with admission costing fifty cents; if you weren't satisfied, your money would be refunded.
“Other tricks of various kinds were performed with pleasure to all parties and profit to the performers. The artists stood it as long as they could, and then departed. But there was every indication that the towns-people would have stood it until this day.”
“Other tricks of different kinds were enjoyed by everyone and were profitable for the performers. The artists endured it for as long as they could, and then they left. However, it was clear that the townspeople would have kept it going to this day.”
Thus far my friend’s curious and truthful account.
Thus far, my friend's interesting and honest story.
A little while ago, there was exhibiting, at Washington, a “test-medium” whose name I would print, were it not that I do not want to advertise him. One of his most impressive feats was, to cause spiritual hands and other parts of the human frame to appear in the air à la Davenport Brothers. A gentleman, whose name I also know very well indeed, but have particular reasons for not mentioning, went one day to see this “test-medium,” along with a friend, and asked to see a hand. “Certainly,” the medium said; and the room was darkened, and the “circle” made round the table in the usual manner. After about five minutes, my friend, who had contrived to place himself pretty near the medium, saw, sure enough, a dim glimmering blue light in the air, a foot or so before and above the head of the medium. In a minute, he could see, dimly outlined in this blue light, the form of a hand, back toward him, fingers together, and no thumb.
A little while ago, there was an exhibition in Washington featuring a “test-medium” whose name I would mention, but I don’t want to promote him. One of his most remarkable tricks was making spiritual hands and other parts of a human body appear in the air like the Davenport Brothers. A gentleman, whose name I know very well but have specific reasons for not sharing, visited this “test-medium” one day with a friend and asked to see a hand. “Of course,” the medium replied; then the room was darkened, and the “circle” gathered around the table as usual. After about five minutes, my friend, who had managed to position himself fairly close to the medium, noticed a faint blue light in the air, about a foot or so in front of and above the medium's head. In a minute, he could see the outline of a hand in this blue light, back facing him, fingers together, and no thumb.
“Why is no thumb visible?” asked my friend of the medium in a solemn manner.
“Why can’t we see a thumb?” my friend asked the medium seriously.
“The reason is,” said the medium, still more solemnly, “that the spirits have not power enough to produce a whole hand and so they exhibit as much as they can.”
“The reason is,” the medium said, even more seriously, “that the spirits don’t have enough power to create a whole hand, so they show as much as they can.”
[134]“And do they always show hands without thumbs?”
[134]“Do they always show hands without thumbs?”
“Yes.”
"Yep."
Here my friend, with a sudden jump, grabbed for the place where the wrist of the mysterious hand ought to be. Strange to relate, he caught it, and held it stoutly, to. A light was quickly had, when, still stranger, the spirit-hand was clearly seen to be the fleshy paw of the medium—and a fat paw it was too. Mr. Medium took the matter with the coolness of a thorough rascal, and, lighting a cigar, merely observed:
Here my friend suddenly jumped and grabbed at the spot where the wrist of the mysterious hand should be. Strangely enough, he actually caught it and held on tight. A light was quickly lit, and, even more oddly, the spirit hand was revealed to be the fleshy paw of the medium—and it was quite a hefty paw too. Mr. Medium took the situation with the nonchalance of a complete trickster and, lighting a cigar, simply said:
“Well gentlemen, you needn’t trouble yourselves to come here any more!”
“Well, gentlemen, you don’t need to bother coming here anymore!”
He also insisted on his usual fee of five dollars, until threatened with a prosecution for swindling.
He also insisted on his usual fee of five dollars until he was threatened with prosecution for fraud.
The secret of this worthy gentleman is simple and soon told. Holding one hand up in the air, he held up with the other, between the thumb and finger, a little pinch of phosphorus and bi-sulphide of carbon, which gave the blue light. If inconvenient to hold up the other hand, he had a reserve pinch of blue-light under that invisible thumb. It is a curious instance of the thorough credulity of genuine spiritualists that a believer in this wretched rogue, on being circumstantially told this whole story, not only steadily and firmly refused to credit it, and continued his faith in the fellow, but absolutely would not go to see the application of any other test. That’s the sort of follower that is worth having!
The secret of this good gentleman is straightforward and quick to explain. With one hand raised in the air, he held a small pinch of phosphorus and carbon disulfide between his thumb and finger, which created the blue light. If it was inconvenient to raise the other hand, he had a backup pinch of blue light hidden under that invisible thumb. It’s a fascinating example of the complete gullibility of true spiritualists that a believer in this deceitful trickster, when told this entire story in detail, not only stubbornly refused to believe it and maintained his faith in the man, but outright refused to witness any other tests. That’s the kind of follower worth having!
Another case was witnessed as follows, by the very same person on whose authority I give the spirit-hand story. He was present—also, this time in Washington, as it happened, at an exhibition by a certain pair of spirit[135]ual brothers, since well known as the “Davenport Brothers.”
Another case was observed by the same person who shared the spirit-hand story. He was also present this time in Washington at an exhibition by a pair of spiritualist brothers, now widely known as the “Davenport Brothers.”
These chaps, after the fashion of their kind, caused themselves to be tied up in a rope, an old sea-captain tying them. This done, their “shop” or cabinet, was shut upon them as usual, and the bangs, throwing of sticks, etc., through a window, and the like, took place. Well, this sly and inconvenient old sea-captain now slipped out of the hall a few minutes, and came back with some wheat flour. Having tied up the “brothers” again, he remarked:
These guys, like usual, had themselves tied up with a rope by an old sea captain. Once that was done, their "shop" or cabinet was closed up on them as always, and the sounds of banging, throwing sticks, and other antics through the window happened. Well, this sneaky and troublesome old sea captain slipped out of the hall for a few minutes and came back with some wheat flour. After tying up the "brothers" again, he said:
“Now, gentlemen, please to take, each, your two hands full of wheat flour.”
“Now, gentlemen, please take a handful of wheat flour with both hands.”
The “brothers” got mad and flatly refused. Then they cooled down and argued, saying it wouldn’t make any difference, and was of no use.
The “brothers” got angry and flat out refused. Then they calmed down and debated, saying it wouldn’t make any difference and was pointless.
“Well,” said the ancient mariner, “if it won’t make any difference you can just as well do it, can’t you?”
“Well,” said the old sailor, “if it doesn’t matter either way, you might as well just do it, right?”
The audience, seeing the point, were so evidently pleased with the old sailor, that the grumbling “brothers” though with a very bad grace, took their fists full of flour, and were shut up.
The audience clearly got the point and were obviously pleased with the old sailor, so the grumbling “brothers,” though very reluctantly, took their handfuls of flour and were silenced.
There was not the least sign of a “manifestation”—no more than if the wheat-flour had shot the “brothers” dead in their tracks. The audience were immensely delighted. The “brothers,” since that time, have learned to perform some tricks with flour in their fists, but only when tied by their own friends.
There wasn’t any sign of a “manifestation”—it was just like if the wheat flour had taken the “brothers” down right then and there. The audience was extremely entertained. Since that time, the “brothers” have learned to do a few tricks with flour in their hands, but only while being tied up by their own friends.
Since these facts came to my knowledge, the Davenport Brothers have suffered an unpleasant exposure in Liverpool, in England, the details of which have been[136] kindly forwarded to me by attentive friends there. The circumstances in question occurred on the evenings of Tuesday and Wednesday, February 14 and 15, 1865. On the first of these evenings, a gentleman named Cummins, selected by the audience as one of the Tying Committee, tied one of the Brothers, and a Mr. Hulley, the other committee-man, the other. But the Brothers saw instantly that they could not wriggle out of these knots. They, therefore, refused to let the tying be finished, saying that it was “brutal” although a surgeon present said it was not; one tied brother was untied by Ferguson, the agent; and then the Brothers went to work and performed their various tricks without the supervision of any committee, but amid a constant fire of derision, laughter, groans, shouts, and epithets from the audience. On the next evening, the audience insisted on having the same committee; the Brothers were very reluctant to allow it, but had to do so after a long time. Ira Davenport refused again, however, instantly to be tied, as soon as he saw what knot Mr. Cummins was going to use. Cummins, however, though Ira squirmed most industriously, got him tied fast, and then Ira called to Ferguson to cut the knot! Ferguson did so, and cut Ira’s hand. Ira now shewed the blood to the audience, and the Brothers, with an immense pretense of indignation, went off the stage. Cummins at once explained; the audience became disgusted, and, enraged at the impudence of the imposture, broke over the foot-lights, knocked Ferguson backward into the “cabinet;” and when the discomfited agent had scrambled out and run away, smashed the thing fairly[137] into kindling-wood, and carried it off, all distributed into splinters and chips. Early next morning, the terrified Davenports ran away out of Liverpool; and a number of the audience were, at last accounts, intending to go to law to get back the money paid for an exhibition which they did not see.
Since I learned about these events, the Davenport Brothers have faced an embarrassing incident in Liverpool, England, the details of which have been[136] kindly shared with me by attentive friends there. The incidents took place on the evenings of Tuesday and Wednesday, February 14 and 15, 1865. On the first night, a gentleman named Cummins, chosen by the audience as one of the Tying Committee, tied one of the Brothers, while Mr. Hulley, the other committee member, tied the other. However, the Brothers quickly realized they couldn’t escape from these knots. They refused to let the tying continue, calling it “brutal,” even though a surgeon present said it wasn’t; one tied brother was freed by Ferguson, the agent; and then the Brothers proceeded to perform their various tricks without the oversight of any committee, all while being met with a barrage of ridicule, laughter, groans, shouts, and insults from the audience. The next evening, the audience demanded the same committee; the Brothers were very hesitant to agree but eventually had to after a long wait. Ira Davenport, however, immediately refused to be tied when he saw what knot Mr. Cummins intended to use. Despite Ira’s desperate squirming, Cummins managed to tie him up securely, and then Ira shouted for Ferguson to cut the knot! Ferguson complied, accidentally cutting Ira’s hand in the process. Ira then showed his bleeding hand to the audience, and the Brothers, feigning immense indignation, left the stage. Cummins quickly explained the situation; the audience grew disgusted and furious at the perceived trickery, stormed across the footlights, knocked Ferguson backward into the “cabinet,” and once the flustered agent scrambled out and ran away, they smashed the apparatus into kindling wood and carried it away in shattered pieces. Early the next morning, a terrified Davenports fled Liverpool; and a number of audience members were, at the last report, planning legal action to recover the money they paid for a show they didn’t get to see.
The very thorough exposure of the Davenports thus made is an additional proof—if such were needed—of the truth of what I have alleged about the impostures perpetrated by them and their “mysterious” brethren of the exhibiting sort.
The detailed exposure of the Davenports serves as further proof—if any more were needed—of the truth of what I've claimed about the frauds committed by them and their “mysterious” counterparts in the exhibition scene.
Once the “spirits” were “stumped” with a shingle—a very proper yankee jaw-bone of an ass to route such disembodied Philistines. One day a certain person was present where some tables were rambling about, and other revolutions taking place in the furniture-business, when he stepped boldly forth like a herald bearing defiance, and cast down a common white pine shingle upon the floor. “There,” said he, coolly, “if you can trot those tables about in that style, do it with that shingle. Make it go about the room. Make it move an inch!” And lo, and behold! the shingle lay perfectly still.
Once the “spirits” were “stumped” with a shingle—a very proper Yankee jawbone of an ass to send off such disembodied Philistines. One day, a certain person was present where some tables were moving around, along with other changes happening in the furniture business, when he stepped forward boldly like a herald challenging everyone and dropped a regular white pine shingle onto the floor. “There,” he said calmly, “if you can bounce those tables around like that, do it with that shingle. Make it move around the room. Make it budge an inch!” And lo and behold! the shingle lay completely still.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS SHOWN UP ONCE MORE.—DR. NEWTON AT CHICAGO.—THE SPIRITUALIST BOGUS BABY.—A LADY BRINGS FORTH A MOTIVE FORCE.—“GUM” ARABIC.—SPIRITUALIST HEBREW.—THE ALLEN BOY.—DR. RANDALL.—PORTLAND EVENING COURIER.—THE FOOLS NOT ALL DEAD YET.
THE DAVENPORT BROTHERS RETURN AGAIN.—DR. NEWTON IN CHICAGO.—THE SPIRITUALIST FAKE BABY.—A LADY REVEALS A MOTIVE FORCE.—“GUM” ARABIC.—SPIRITUALIST HEBREW.—THE ALLEN BOY.—DR. RANDALL.—PORTLAND EVENING COURIER.—NOT ALL THE FOOLS ARE DEAD YET.
Other “spiritual” facts have come to my hand, some of them furnishing additional details about persons to whom I have already alluded, and others being important to illustrate some general tendencies of spiritualism.
Other "spiritual" facts have come my way, some providing more details about people I've already mentioned, and others being important to illustrate some general trends in spiritualism.
And first, about the Davenport Brothers; they have met with another “awful exposure,” at the hands of a merciless Mr. Addison. This gentleman is a London stockbroker, and his cool, sharp business habits seem to have stood him in good stead in taking some fun out of the fools who follow the Davenports. Mr. Addison, it seems, went to work, and, just to amuse his friends, executed all the Davenport tricks. Upon this the spiritualist newspapers in England, which, like the Boston Herald of Progress, claim to believe in the “Brothers,” came out and said that Addison was a very wonderful medium indeed. On this the cold-blooded Addison at once printed a letter, in which he not only said he had done all their tricks without spiritual aid, but he moreover explained exactly how he caught the Davenports[139] in their impositions. He and a long-legged friend went to one of the “dark séances” of the Davenports, during which musical instruments were to fly about over the heads of the audience, bang their pates, thrum, twang, etc. Addison and his friend took a front seat; as soon as the lights were put out they put out their legs too; stretching as far as possible; and, to use the unfeeling language of Mr. Addison, they “soon had the satisfaction of feeling some one falling over them.” They then caught hold of an arm, from which a guitar was forthwith let drop on the floor. In order to be certain who the guitar-carrier was, they waited until the next time the lights were put out, took each a mouthful of dry flour, and blew it out right among the “manifestations.” When the lamps were lighted, lo and behold! there was Fay, the agent and manager of the Davenports, with his back all powdered with flour. Addison showed this to an acquaintance, who said, “Yes, he saw the flour; but he could not understand what made Addison and his friend laugh so excessively at it.”
And first, let's talk about the Davenport Brothers; they've faced another "horrible exposure" courtesy of the ruthless Mr. Addison. This guy is a stockbroker from London, and his cool, sharp business sense has clearly helped him have a laugh at the expense of the fools who follow the Davenports. Mr. Addison decided to entertain his friends by performing all the tricks of the Davenports. Following this, the spiritualist newspapers in England, which, like the Boston Herald of Progress, claim to believe in the "Brothers," announced that Addison was indeed a remarkable medium. In response, the cold-blooded Addison quickly published a letter in which he not only stated that he performed all their tricks without any supernatural assistance, but also explained exactly how he caught the Davenports in their scams. He and a tall friend attended one of the Davenports' "dark séances," where musical instruments were supposed to float above the audience, hitting their heads, strumming, twanging, and so on. Addison and his friend took front-row seats; as soon as the lights went out, they stretched their legs out as far as they could; to use Addison's unfeeling words, they "soon felt someone tripping over them." They then grabbed an arm, from which a guitar promptly fell to the floor. To confirm who was carrying the guitar, they waited until the lights were off again, took a mouthful of dry flour, and blew it into the mix of "manifestations." When the lights came back on, surprise! There was Fay, the agent and manager of the Davenports, with his back completely covered in flour. Addison showed this to a friend who said, "Yes, I saw the flour; but I don't get why Addison and his friend found it so hilarious."
The spiritualist newspapers don’t think Addison is so great a medium as they did!
The spiritualist newspapers don’t think Addison is as great a medium as they used to!
Great accounts have recently come eastward from Chicago, of a certain Doctor Newton, who is said to be working miracles by the hundred in the way of healing diseases. This man operates with exactly the weapons all the miracle-workers, quacks, and impostors, ancient and modern use. All of them have appealed to the imaginations of their patients, and no person acquainted with mental philosophy is ignorant that many a sick[140] man has been cured either by medicine and imagination together, or by imagination alone. Therefore, even if this Newton should really be the cause of the recovery of some persons from their ailments, it would be no more a miracle than if Dr. Mott should do it; nor would Newton be any the less a quack and a humbug.
Recently, there have been amazing reports coming in from Chicago about a Doctor Newton, who is said to be performing hundreds of miraculous healings. This man uses the same tactics that all miracle workers, frauds, and impostors—both old and new—have employed. They all tap into the imaginations of their patients, and anyone familiar with mental psychology knows that many sick individuals have been cured either by a combination of medicine and imagination or by imagination alone. So, even if Newton really is helping some people recover from their illnesses, it wouldn’t be any more miraculous than if Dr. Mott were doing it; nor would Newton be any less of a fraud and a charlatan.
Newton has operated at the East already. He had a career at New Haven and Hartford, and in other places, before he steered westward in the wake of the “Star of Empire.” What he does is simply to ask what is the matter, and where it hurts. Then he sticks his thumb into the seat of the difficulty, or he pokes or strokes or pats it, as the case may be. Then he says, “There—you’re cured! God bless you!—Take yourself off!”
Newton has already worked in the East. He had a career in New Haven and Hartford, and in other locations, before he headed west in the wake of the “Star of Empire.” What he does is simply ask what's wrong and where it hurts. Then he puts his thumb on the problem area, or he pokes, strokes, or pats it, depending on the situation. Then he says, “There—you’re all better! God bless you!—Now, be on your way!”
Chicago must be a credulous place, for we are informed of immense crowds besieging this man, and undergoing his manipulations. One of the Chicago papers, having little faith and a good deal of fun—which in such cases is much better—published some burlesque stories and certificates about “Doctor” Newton, some of them humorous enough. There is a certificate from a woman with fourteen children, all having the measles at once. She says that no sooner had Doctor Newton received one lock of hair of one of them, than the measles left them all, and she now has said measles corked up in a bottle! Another case was that of a merchant who had lost his strength, but went and was stroked by Newton, and the very next day was able to lift a note in bank, which had before been altogether too heavy for him. There was also an old lady, whose[141] story I fear was imitated from Hood’s funny conceit of the deaf woman who bought an ear-trumpet, which was so effective that
Chicago must be a gullible place, because we're hearing about huge crowds flocking to this guy and falling for his tricks. One of the Chicago newspapers, which doesn't take things too seriously and enjoys a good laugh—which is much more refreshing in these situations—published some spoof articles and testimonials about “Doctor” Newton, some of which are pretty funny. There’s a testimonial from a woman with fourteen kids, all of whom had measles at the same time. She claims that as soon as Doctor Newton got a lock of hair from one of them, the measles disappeared from all, and now she has the measles bottled up! Another example is of a merchant who had lost his strength but went to get stroked by Newton, and the very next day, he was able to lift a note at the bank that had previously been way too heavy for him. There was also an old lady, whose[141] story I’m afraid was inspired by Hood’s humorous idea of the deaf woman who bought an ear-trumpet, which worked so well that
——“The very next day
She heard from her husband in Botany Bay!”
"The very next day"
She heard from her husband in Botany Bay!”
The Chicago old lady in like manner, after having had Doctor Newton’s thumbs “jobbed” into her ears, certifies that she heard next morning from her son in California.
The Chicago elderly lady, after having Doctor Newton’s thumbs inserted into her ears, confirms that she heard from her son in California the next morning.
One would think that this ridicule would put the learned Dr. Newton to flight; but it will not until he is through with the fools.
One would think that this mockery would drive the learned Dr. Newton away; but it won’t happen until he’s finished with the idiots.
I have already given an account of some of the messages from the other world in the “Banner of Light,” in which some of the spirits explain that they have turned into women since they died. This is by no means the first remarkable trick that the spirits have performed upon the human organization. Here is what they did at High Rock, in Massachusetts, a number of years ago. It beats Joanna Southcott in funny absurdity, if not in blasphemy.
I have already shared some messages from the other world in the “Banner of Light,” where some spirits explain that they've become women since they died. This is definitely not the first amazing feat that spirits have pulled off regarding humans. Here’s what happened at High Rock, in Massachusetts, years ago. It outdoes Joanna Southcott in sheer ridiculousness, if not in blasphemy.
At High Rock, in the year 1854 or thereabouts, certain spiritualist people were building some mysterious machinery. While this was in process of erection, a female medium, of considerable eminence in those parts, was informed by certain spirits, with great solemnity and pomp, that “she would become the Mary of a new dispensation;” that is, she was going to be a mother. Well, this was all proper, no doubt, and the lady herself—so say the spiritualist accounts—had for some time experienced indications that she was pregnant[142]. These indications continued, and became increasingly obvious, and also, it was observed, a little queer in some particulars.
At High Rock, around 1854, some spiritualist people were constructing some mysterious machinery. While this was being set up, a well-known female medium in the area was told by certain spirits, with great seriousness and flair, that “she would become the Mary of a new dispensation;” meaning, she was going to be a mother. This was undoubtedly fitting, and the lady herself—according to spiritualist accounts—had been sensing signs that she was pregnant[142]. These signs continued, became more evident, and were also noted to be a bit odd in some ways.
After a while, one Spear—a “Reverend Mr. Spear”—who was mixed up, it appears, with the machinery-part of the business, and who was a medium himself, transmitted to the lady a request from the spirits that she would visit said Spear at High Rock on a certain day. She did so, of course; and while there was unexpectedly taken with the pains of childbirth, which the spiritualist authorities say, were “internal”—where should they be, pray?—and “of the spirit rather than of the physical nature; but were, nevertheless, quite as uncontrollable as those of the latter, and not less severe.” The labor proceeded. It lasted two hours. As it went on, lo and behold! one part and another part of the machinery began to move! And when, at the end of the two hours, the parturition was safely over, all the machinery was going!
After a while, one Spear—a “Reverend Mr. Spear”—who was involved, it seems, with the machinery side of the business and who was a medium himself, passed along a request from the spirits that she visit him at High Rock on a specific day. She did, of course; and while she was there, she unexpectedly went into labor, which the spiritualist authorities claim were “internal”—where else would they be?—and “of the spirit rather than of the physical nature; but were, nonetheless, just as uncontrollable as those of the latter and just as intense.” The labor continued. It lasted two hours. As it progressed, surprisingly, one part and then another part of the machinery started to move! And when, after the two hours, the delivery was successfully completed, all the machinery was functioning!
The lady had given birth to a Motive Force. Does anybody suppose I am manufacturing this story? Not a bit of it. It is all told at length in a book published by a spiritualist; and probably a good many of my readers will remember about it.
The lady had given birth to a Motive Force. Does anyone think I'm making this up? Not at all. It's all explained in detail in a book published by a spiritualist, and probably many of my readers will remember it.
Well, the baby had to be nursed—fact! This superhumanly silly female actually went through the motions of nursing the motive force for some weeks. Though how the thing sucked—Excuse me, ladies; I would not discuss such delicate subjects did not the interests of truth require it.
Well, the baby needed to be fed—fact! This ridiculously silly woman actually pretended to nurse the driving force for several weeks. Though how the thing fed—Excuse me, ladies; I wouldn't talk about such sensitive topics if it weren't necessary for the sake of truth.
If I had been the physician, at any rate, I think I[143] should have recommended to hire a healthy female steam-engine for a wet nurse to this young motive force; say a locomotive, for instance. I feel sure the thing would have lived if it could have had a gauge-faucet or something of that sort to draw on. But the medical folks in charge chose to permit the mother to nurse the child, and she not being able to supply proper nutriment, the poor little innocent faded—if that word be appropriate for what couldn’t be seen,—and finally “gin eout;” and the machinery, after some abortive joggles and turns, stood hopelessly still.
If I had been the doctor, I think I[143] would have suggested hiring a healthy female steam engine as a wet nurse for this young power source; like a locomotive, for example. I’m sure it would have survived if it could have had a gauge faucet or something similar to draw from. But the medical staff in charge decided to let the mother nurse the child, and since she couldn’t provide the right nourishment, the poor little thing faded—if that’s the right word for what couldn’t be seen—and eventually “gave out;” and the machinery, after some unsuccessful jolts and turns, came to a complete stop.
This story is true—that is, it is true that the story was told, the pretences were gone through, and the birth was actually believed by a good many people. Some of them were prodigiously enthusiastic about it, and called the invisible brat the New Motive Power, the Physical Savior, Heaven’s Last Best Gift to Man, the New Creation, the Great Spiritual Revelation of the Age, the Philosopher’s Stone, the Act of all Acts, and so on, and so forth.
This story is true—meaning it’s true that the story was told, the pretenses were acted out, and the birth was genuinely believed by quite a few people. Some were extremely enthusiastic about it, referring to the invisible baby as the New Motive Power, the Physical Savior, Heaven’s Last Best Gift to Humanity, the New Creation, the Great Spiritual Revelation of the Age, the Philosopher’s Stone, the Act of all Acts, and so on, and so forth.
The great question of all was, Who was the daddy? I don’t know of anybody’s asking this question, but its importance is extreme and obvious. For if things like this are going to happen, the ladies will be afraid to sleep alone in the house if so much as a sewing-machine or apple-corer be about, and will not dare take solitary walks along any stream where there is a water power.
The big question was, Who was the dad? I don’t know if anyone’s actually asking this, but it’s extremely important and clear. Because if things like this keep happening, women will be afraid to sleep alone in their homes if there’s even a sewing machine or apple corer nearby, and they won’t want to take walks by any stream that has water power.
A couple of miscellaneous anecdotes may not inappropriately be appended to this story of monstrous delusion.
A few random stories can be fittingly added to this tale of huge delusion.
Once a “writing medium” was producing sentences[144] in various foreign languages. One of these was Arabic. An enthusiastic youth, a half-believer, after inspecting the wondrous scroll, handed it to his seat-mate, a professor (as it happened) in one of our oldest colleges, and a man of real learning. The professor scrutinized the document. What was the youth’s delight to hear him at last observe gravely, “It is a kind of Arabic, sure enough!”
Once a “writing medium” was generating sentences[144] in different foreign languages. One of these was Arabic. An eager young man, a bit skeptical, after examining the amazing scroll, passed it to his seatmate, who turned out to be a professor at one of our oldest colleges and someone with genuine knowledge. The professor examined the document closely. The young man's excitement grew when the professor finally said seriously, “It is definitely a kind of Arabic!”
“What kind?” asked the young man with intense interest.
“What kind?” asked the young man, intrigued.
“Gum-arabic,” said the professor.
“Gum arabic,” said the professor.
The spirit of the prophet Daniel came one night into the apartment of a medium named Fowler, and right before his eyes, he said, wrote down some marks on a piece of paper. These were shown to the Reverend George Bush, Professor of Hebrew in the New-York University, who said that they were “a few verses from the last chapter of Daniel” and were learnedly written. Bush was a spiritualist as well as a professor of Hebrew, and he ought to have known better than to indorse spirit-Hebrew; for shortly there came others, who, to use a rustic phrase, “took the rag off the Bush.” These inconvenient personages were three or four persons of learning: one a Jew, who proved that the document was an attempt to copy the verses in question, by some one so ignorant of Hebrew as not to know that it is written backward, that is, from right to left.
The spirit of the prophet Daniel visited a medium named Fowler one night, and right before him, he wrote some marks on a piece of paper. These were shown to Reverend George Bush, a Professor of Hebrew at New York University, who claimed they were "a few verses from the last chapter of Daniel" and were well-written. Bush was both a spiritualist and a Hebrew professor, and he should have known better than to endorse spirit-Hebrew. Soon after, others arrived who, to put it plainly, “took the rag off the Bush.” These inconvenient individuals included three or four educated people: one was a Jew who demonstrated that the document was just an attempt to copy the verses in question, made by someone so unfamiliar with Hebrew that they didn’t realize it's written backward, from right to left.
During the last few months, a “boy medium,” by the name of Henry B. Allen, thirteen years of age, has been astonishing people in various parts of the country by “Physical Manifestations in the Light.” The exhi[145]bitions of this precocious youngster have been “managed” by a Dr. Randall, who also lectures upon Spiritualism, expounding its “beautiful philosophy.” For a number of weeks this couple held forth in Boston, sometimes giving several séances during the day, not more than thirty being allowed to attend at one time, each of whom were required to pay an admission fee of one dollar.
During the last few months, a “boy medium” named Henry B. Allen, who is thirteen years old, has been amazing people in various parts of the country with his “Physical Manifestations in the Light.” The shows of this talented young boy have been “managed” by a Dr. Randall, who also gives lectures on Spiritualism, explaining its “beautiful philosophy.” For several weeks, this duo performed in Boston, sometimes holding multiple séances in one day, with no more than thirty people allowed to attend at a time, each required to pay an admission fee of one dollar.
“The Banner of Light” fully indorsed this Allen boy, and gave lengthy accounts of his manifestations. The arrangements for his exhibition were very simple. A dulcimer, guitar, bell, and small drum being placed on a sofa or several chairs set against the wall, a clothes-horse was set in front of them and covered with a blanket, which came to the floor. To obtain “manifestations,” a person was required to take off his coat and sit with his back to the clothes-horse. The medium then took a seat close to, and facing the investigator’s left side, and grasped the left arm of the latter on the under side, above the elbow, with his (the medium’s) right hand and near the wrist with the other hand. The “manager” then covered with a coat, the arms and left shoulder of the medium including the left arm of the investigator. The medium soon commenced to wriggle and twist—the “manager” said he was always nervous under “influence”—and worked the coat away from the position in which it had been placed. Taking his right hand from the investigator’s arm, he readjusted the coat, and availed himself of that opportunity to get the investigator’s wrist between his (the medium’s) left arm and knee. That brought his left hand in such a position that[146] with it he could grasp the investigator’s arm where he had previously grasped it with his right hand. With the latter he could then reach around the edge of the clothes-horse and make a noise on the instruments. With the drumsticks he thumped on the dulcimer. Taking the guitar by the neck, he could vibrate the strings and show the body of the instrument above the clothes-horse, without any one seeing his hand! All persons present were so seated that they could not see behind the clothes-horse, or have a view of the medium’s right shoulder. When asked why people were not allowed to occupy such a position, that they could have a fair view of the instruments when sounded, the “manager” replied that he did not exactly know, but presumed it was because the magnetic emanations from the eyes of the beholders would prevent the spirits being able to move the instruments at all! What was claimed to be a spirit-hand was often shown above the clothes-horse, where it flickered for an instant and was withdrawn; but it was invariably a right hand with the wrist toward the medium. When the person sitting with the medium was asked if the hands of the latter had constantly hold of his arm, he replied in the affirmative. Of course, he felt what he supposed to be both the medium’s hands; but as I before explained, the pressure on his wrist was from the medium’s left arm—the left hand of whom, by means of a very accommodating crook in the elbow, was grasping the investigator’s arm where the medium’s right hand was supposed to be.
“The Banner of Light” fully endorsed this Allen boy and provided detailed accounts of his manifestations. The setup for his exhibition was quite simple. A dulcimer, guitar, bell, and small drum were arranged on a sofa or several chairs against the wall. A clothes-horse was placed in front of them and covered with a blanket that reached the floor. To get “manifestations,” a person had to remove their coat and sit with their back to the clothes-horse. The medium then sat close to and facing the investigator's left side, grabbing the investigator's left arm under the elbow with his right hand and near the wrist with his other hand. The “manager” then covered the arms and left shoulder of the medium, including the investigator's left arm, with a coat. The medium soon started to wriggle and twist—the “manager” said he was always nervous under “influence”—and pushed the coat away from where it had been placed. By taking his right hand off the investigator’s arm, he adjusted the coat, and seized the opportunity to get the investigator’s wrist between his left arm and knee. This positioned his left hand so that he could grab the investigator’s arm where he had previously held it with his right hand. With his right hand, he could then reach around the edge of the clothes-horse and make noise on the instruments. With the drumsticks, he tapped on the dulcimer. Taking the guitar by its neck, he could vibrate the strings and show the body of the instrument above the clothes-horse without anyone seeing his hand! Everyone present was seated so that they couldn’t see behind the clothes-horse or get a view of the medium’s right shoulder. When asked why people weren’t allowed to sit where they could see the instruments when they were played, the “manager” replied that he wasn’t exactly sure, but assumed it was because the magnetic emanations from the viewers' eyes would prevent the spirits from moving the instruments at all! What was claimed to be a spirit-hand often appeared above the clothes-horse, flickering for a moment before disappearing; but it was always a right hand with the wrist facing the medium. When the person sitting with the medium was asked if the medium's hands constantly held his arm, he answered yes. Of course, he felt what he thought were both of the medium’s hands; but as I explained earlier, the pressure on his wrist was from the medium's left arm—his left hand, thanks to a very convenient bend in the elbow, was grasping the investigator’s arm where the medium’s right hand was supposed to be.
From Boston the Allen boy went to Portland, Maine, where he succeeded “astonishingly,” till some[147] gentleman applied the lampblack test to his assumed mediumship, whereupon he “came to grief.”
From Boston, the Allen boy went to Portland, Maine, where he succeeded “astonishingly,” until some[147] gentleman applied the lampblack test to his supposed mediumship, and then he “came to grief.”
The following is copied from the “Portland Daily Press,” of March 21.
The following is taken from the “Portland Daily Press,” dated March 21.
“Exposed.—The ‘wonderful’ spiritual manifestations of the ‘boy-medium,’ Master Henry B. Allen, in charge of Doctor J. H. Randall, of Boston, were brought to a sad end last evening by the impertinent curiosity and wicked doings of some of the gentlemen present at the seance at Congress Hall.
“Revealed.—The 'amazing' spiritual manifestations of the 'boy-medium,' Master Henry B. Allen, who was working with Doctor J. H. Randall from Boston, were sadly halted last night due to the intrusive curiosity and mischief of some of the gentlemen at the séance at Congress Hall.”
“As usual, one of the company present was selected to sit at the side of the boy, and allowed his hand and arm to be held by both hands of the boy while the manifestations were going on. The boy seized hold of the gentleman’s wrist with his left hand, and his shoulder, or near it, with the right hand. The manifestations then began, and among them was one trick of pulling the gentleman’s hair.
“As usual, one of the people in the group was chosen to sit next to the boy, and allowed to have both of the boy's hands holding his hand and arm while the events unfolded. The boy grabbed the gentleman’s wrist with his left hand, and his shoulder, or close to it, with his right hand. The events then started, and one of the tricks involved the boy pulling the gentleman’s hair.”
“Immediately after this trick was performed, the hand of the boy was discovered to be very black—from lamp-black, of the best quality, with which the gentleman had dressed his head on purpose to detect whose was the ‘spirit-hand’ that pulled his hair. His shirt-sleeve, upon which the boy immediately replaced his hand after pulling his hair, was also black where the hand had been placed. The gentleman stated the facts to the company present, and the seance broke up. Dr. Randall refunded the fifty cents admission fee to those present.”
“Right after this trick was done, it was found that the boy’s hand was really black—from high-quality lamp-black, which the gentleman had used to style his hair intentionally to figure out whose ‘spirit hand’ had tugged at his hair. The shirt sleeve, where the boy quickly put his hand back after tugging at his hair, was also black where the hand had been. The gentleman explained what happened to everyone there, and the seance ended. Dr. Randall gave back the fifty cents admission fee to those who came.”
“Whatever the electrical or ‘spirit-hand’ touches, will inevitably be transferred to the hand of the medium[148] in every instance, unless something occurs to prevent the full operation of the law by which this result is produced. The spirit-hand being composed in part of the magnetic elements drawn from the medium, when it is dissolved again, and the magnetic fluid returns whence it came, it must of necessity carry with it whatever material substance it has touched, and leave it deposited upon the surface or material hand of the medium. This is a scientific question. How many innocent mediums have been wronged? and the invisible have permitted it, until we should discover that it was the natural result of a natural law.”
“Whatever the electrical or ‘spirit-hand’ touches will inevitably be passed on to the hand of the medium[148] in every case, unless something happens to prevent the complete operation of the law that causes this effect. Since the spirit-hand is partly made up of the magnetic elements taken from the medium, when it disintegrates and the magnetic fluid goes back to where it came from, it must carry away whatever material substance it has touched and leave it on the surface or physical hand of the medium. This is a scientific issue. How many innocent mediums have been wronged? And the unseen have allowed it until we realized it was the natural outcome of a natural law.”
What a great discovery! and how lucidly it is set forth! The author (who, by the way, is editor of the “Portland Evening Courier”) of this new discovery, was not so modest but that he hastened to announce and claim full credit for it in the columns of the “Banner of Light”—the editor of which journal congratulates him on having done so much for the cause of spiritualism! Those skeptics who were present when the lamp-black was “transferred” from the gentleman’s hair to the medium’s hand, rashly concluded that the boy was an impostor. It remained for Mr. Hall—that is the philosopher’s name—to make the “electro-magnetic transfer” discovery. The Allen boy ought ever to hold him in grateful remembrance for coming to his rescue at such a critical period, when the spirits would not vouchsafe an explanation that would exculpate him from the grievous charge of imposture. Mr. Hall deserves a leather medal now, and a soapstone monument when he is dead.
What a fantastic discovery! And how clearly it’s explained! The author (who, by the way, is the editor of the “Portland Evening Courier”) of this new finding wasn't shy about announcing it and quickly took full credit for it in the “Banner of Light”—the editor of that journal congratulated him for contributing so much to the cause of spiritualism! Those skeptics who were there when the lamp-black was “transferred” from the man’s hair to the medium’s hand foolishly concluded that the boy was a fraud. It was left to Mr. Hall—that’s the philosopher’s name—to make the “electro-magnetic transfer” discovery. The Allen boy should always be grateful to him for coming to his aid at such a critical moment when the spirits wouldn’t provide an explanation that would clear him of the serious accusation of fraud. Mr. Hall deserves a leather medal now and a soapstone monument when he passes away.
[149]A person, whose initials are the same as the gentleman’s named above, once lived in Aroostook, Maine, and was in the habit of attending “spiritual circles,” in which he was sometimes influenced as a “personating medium,” and to represent the symptoms of the disease which caused the controlling spirit’s translation to another sphere. It having been reported in Aroostook that a certain well-known individual, living further east, had died of cholera, a desire was expressed at the next “circle” to have him “manifest” himself. The medium above referred to got “under influence,” and personated, with an exhibition of all the symptoms of cholera, the gentleman who was reported to have died of that disease. So faithful to the supposed facts was the representation, that the medium had to be cared for as if he was himself a veritable cholera-patient. Several days after, the man who was “personated” appeared in Aroostook, alive and well, never having been attacked with the cholera. The local papers gave a graphic account of the “manifestation” soon after it occurred.
[149]A person, whose initials match those of the gentleman mentioned above, once lived in Aroostook, Maine, and regularly attended “spiritual circles.” Sometimes, he was influenced as a “personating medium,” portraying the symptoms of the illness that caused the controlling spirit’s transition to another realm. It was reported in Aroostook that a well-known individual living further east had died of cholera, and during the next “circle,” there was a request for him to “manifest” himself. The aforementioned medium went “under influence” and impersonated the gentleman who was said to have died, displaying all the symptoms of cholera. The representation was so accurate that he had to be cared for as though he were a real cholera patient. Several days later, the person who was “personated” appeared in Aroostook, alive and well, having never suffered from cholera. The local papers provided a vivid account of the “manifestation” soon after it happened.
But to return to the Allen boy. After his exposure by means of the lamp-black test, and Mr. Hall, of the “Portland Evening Courier,” had announced his new discovery in spiritual science, several of the Portland spiritualists had a private “sitting” with the boy. While he sat with his hands upon the arm of one of their number, they tied a rope to his wrists, and around the person’s arm, covering his hands in the way I have before described. After some wriggling and twisting (the usual amount of “nervousness,”) the bell was[150] heard to ring behind the clothes-horse. The boy’s right hand was then examined, and it was found to be stained with some colored matter that had previously been put upon the handle of the bell. As the boy’s wrists were still tied, and the rope remained upon the man’s arm, the “transfer” theory was considered to be established as a fact, and the previous exposure shown to be not only no exposure at all, but a “stepping-stone to a grand truth in spiritual science.” Again and again did these persistent and infatuated spiritualists try what they call the “transfer test,” varying with each experiment the coloring-material used, and every time the bell was rung the medium’s right hand was found out to be stained with what had been put upon the bell-handle. By having a little slack-rope between his wrist and the man’s arm, it was not a difficult matter for the medium, while his “nervousness” was being manifested, to get hold of the bell and ring it, and to make sounds upon the strings of the dulcimer or guitar, with a drumstick that the “manager” had placed at a convenient distance from his (the boy’s) hand.
But back to the Allen boy. After he was exposed by the lamp-black test, and Mr. Hall from the “Portland Evening Courier” announced his new discovery in spiritual science, several Portland spiritualists had a private “sitting” with the boy. While he sat with his hands on the arm of one of them, they tied a rope to his wrists and around that person’s arm, covering his hands in the way I described earlier. After some wriggling and twisting (the usual amount of “nervousness”), the bell was [150] heard ringing behind the clothes-horse. They then examined the boy’s right hand and found it stained with some colored substance that had been put on the handle of the bell. Since the boy’s wrists were still tied, and the rope remained on the man’s arm, the “transfer” theory was accepted as a fact, and the prior exposure was deemed not only to be no exposure at all, but a “stepping-stone to a grand truth in spiritual science.” Over and over, these persistent and obsessed spiritualists attempted what they called the “transfer test,” changing the coloring material used each time, and every time the bell was rung, the medium’s right hand was found to be stained with whatever had been applied to the bell handle. By having a little slack in the rope between his wrist and the man’s arm, it wasn’t hard for the medium, during his “nervousness,” to grab the bell and ring it, and to make sounds on the strings of the dulcimer or guitar with a drumstick that the “manager” had placed conveniently close to his (the boy’s) hand.
The “Portland Daily Press,” in noticing a lecture against Spiritualism, recently delivered by Dr. Von Vleck, in that city, says:—“He (Dr. V. V.) performed the principal feats of the Allen boy, with his hands tied to the arm of the person with whom he was in communication.”
The “Portland Daily Press,” commenting on a lecture against Spiritualism recently given by Dr. Von Vleck in that city, states: “He (Dr. V. V.) executed the main tricks of the Allen boy while his hands were tied to the arm of the person he was communicating with.”
Horace Greeley says that if a man will be a consummate jackass and fool, he is not aware of anything in the Constitution to prevent it. I believe Mr. Greeley is right; and I think no one can reasonably be expect[151]ed to exercise common sense unless he is known to possess it. It is quite natural, therefore, that many of the spiritualists, lacking common sense, should pretend to have something better.
Horace Greeley says that if a person chooses to be a complete fool, there's nothing in the Constitution that can stop them. I believe Mr. Greeley is correct; and I don't think anyone can realistically expect someone to use common sense unless it's clear they have it. It's quite natural, then, that many spiritualists, who lack common sense, pretend to have something superior.
III. TRADE AND BUSINESS IMPOSITIONS.
CHAPTER XVIII.
ADULTERATIONS OF FOOD.—ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUOR.—THE COLONEL’S WHISKEY.—THE HUMBUGOMETER.
ADULTERATIONS OF FOOD.—ADULTERATIONS OF LIQUOR.—THE COLONEL’S WHISKEY.—THE HUMBUGOMETER.
It was about eight hundred and fifty years before Christ when the young prophet cried out to his master, Elisha, over the pottage of wild gourds, “There is death in the pot!” It was two thousand six hundred and seventy years afterward, in 1820, that Accum, the chemist cried out over again, “There is death in the pot!” in the title page of a book so named, which gave almost everybody a pain in the stomach, with its horrid stories of the unhealthful humbugs sold for food and drink. This excitement has been stirred up more than once since Mr. Accum’s time, with some success; yet nothing is more certain than that a very large proportion of the food we eat, of the liquid we drink—always excepting good well-filtered water—and the medicines we take, not to say a word about the clothes we wear and the miscellaneous merchandise we use, is more or less adulterated with cheaper materials. Sometimes these are merely harmless; as flour, starch, annatto, lard, etc.; sometimes they are vigorous, destructive poisons—as red lead, arsenic, strychnine, oil of vitriol, potash, etc.
It was about 850 years before Christ when the young prophet shouted to his master, Elisha, over the stew made with wild gourds, “There’s death in the pot!” Fast forward 2,670 years to 1820, when Accum, the chemist, again exclaimed, “There’s death in the pot!” on the cover of his book by that name, which caused a lot of people stomach pains with its horrifying stories about the unhealthy scams sold as food and drink. Since Accum’s time, similar alarm has been raised more than once, often with some success; yet it’s clear that a large portion of the food we eat, the liquids we drink—excluding only well-filtered water—and the medicines we take, not to mention the clothes we wear and various products we use, are more or less mixed with cheaper ingredients. Sometimes these additions are harmless, like flour, starch, annatto, or lard; other times they include strong, dangerous poisons like red lead, arsenic, strychnine, oil of vitriol, and potash.
[153]It is not agreeable to find ourselves so thickly beset by humbugs; to find that we are not merely called on to see them, to hear them, to believe them, to invest capital in them, but to eat and drink them. Yet so it is; and, if my short discussion of this kind of humbug shall make people a little more careful, and help them to preserve their health, I shall think myself fortunate.
[153]It's frustrating to be surrounded by so many scams; to realize that we’re not just expected to see, hear, and believe in them, to invest money in them, but also to consume them. Yet that's the reality. If my brief discussion about this type of scam helps people be a bit more cautious and protects their health, I'll feel lucky.
To begin with bread. Alum is very commonly put into it by the bakers, to make it white. Flour of inferior quality, “runny” flour, and even that from wormy wheat—ground-up worms, bugs, and all—is often mixed in as much as the case will bear. Potato flour has been known to be mixed with wheat; and so, thirty years ago, were plaster-of-Paris, bone-dust, white clay, etc. But these are little used now, if at all; and the worst thing in bread, aside from bad flour, which is bad enough, is usually the alum. It is often put in ready mixed with salt, and it accomplishes two things, viz., to make the bread white, and to suck up a good deal of water, and make the bread weigh well. It has been sometimes found that the alum was put in at the mill instead of the bakery.
To start with bread. Bakers often add alum to make it white. They frequently mix in low-quality flour, "runny" flour, and even flour from wormy wheat—ground-up worms, bugs, and all. Potato flour has been known to be combined with wheat; and, thirty years ago, things like plaster of Paris, bone dust, white clay, etc., were also mixed in. But these are hardly used anymore, if at all; and the biggest issue with bread, apart from bad flour—which is already a big problem—is usually the alum. It’s often added already mixed with salt, serving two purposes: making the bread white and absorbing a lot of water to make the bread feel heavier. Sometimes, it’s even been discovered that the alum was added at the mill instead of the bakery.
Milk is most commonly adulterated with cold water; and many are the jokes on the milkmen about their best cow being choked etc., by a turnip in the pump-spout—their “cow with the wooden tail” (i. e., the pump-handle,) and so on. Awful stories are told about the London milkmen, who are said to manufacture a fearful kind of medicine to be sold as milk, the cream being made of a quantity of calf’s brain beaten to a slime. Stories are told around New York, too, of a mysteri[154]ous powder sold by druggists, which with water makes milk; but it is milk that must be used quickly, or it turns into a curious mess. But the worst adulteration of milk is to adulterate the old cow herself; as is done in the swill-milk establishments which received such an exposure a few years ago in a city paper. This milk is still furnished; and many a poor little baby is daily suffering convulsions from its effects. So difficult is it to find real milk for babies in the city, that physicians often prescribe the use of what is called “condensed” milk instead; which, though very different from milk not evaporated, is at least made of the genuine article. A series of careful experiments to develop the milk-humbug was made by a competent physician in Boston within a few years, but he found the milk there (aside from swill-milk) adulterated with nothing worse than water, salt, and burnt sugar.
Milk is most often watered down with cold water, and there are plenty of jokes about milkmen having their best cow get stuck by a turnip in the pump spout—their "cow with the wooden tail" (a.k.a. the pump handle), and so on. Terrible stories circulate about London milkmen, who supposedly make a horrific kind of medicine that gets sold as milk, with the cream made from calf’s brains ground into a paste. Similar stories are told in New York about a mysterious powder sold by drugstores that turns into milk when mixed with water, but it has to be used quickly, or it becomes a weird mess. However, the worst thing is adulterating the cow itself, as seen in the swill-milk factories that were exposed a few years ago in a city newspaper. This milk is still being sold, and many little babies suffer convulsions from its effects daily. It’s so hard to find real milk for babies in the city that doctors often recommend using "condensed" milk instead, which, while very different from regular milk, at least comes from the genuine source. A series of thorough experiments to uncover the milk fraud were conducted by a qualified doctor in Boston a few years back, but he found that the milk there (aside from swill milk) was only watered down with a bit of salt and burnt sugar.
Tea is bejuggled first by John Chinaman, who is a very cunning rascal; and second, by the seller here. Green and black tea are made from the same plant, but by different processes—the green being most expensive. To meet the increased demand for green tea, Master John takes immense quantities of black tea and “paints” it, by stirring into it over a fire a fine powder of plaster Paris and Prussian-blue, at the rate of half a pound to each hundred pounds of tea. John also sometimes takes a very cheap kind, and puts on a nice gloss by stirring it in gum-water, with some stove-polish in it. We may imagine ourselves, after drinking this kind of tea, with a beautiful black gloss on our insides. John moreover, manufactures vast quantities of what he plainly[155] calls “Lie-tea.” This is dust and refuse of tea-leaves and other leaves, made up with dust and starch or gum into little lumps, and used to adulterate better tea. Seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds of this nice stuff were imported into England in one period of eighteen months. It seems to be used in New-York only for green tea.
Tea is first manipulated by John Chinaman, a very clever trickster; and second, by the seller here. Green and black tea come from the same plant but are processed differently—the green being the most expensive. To meet the growing demand for green tea, Master John takes large amounts of black tea and "paints" it by mixing in a fine powder of plaster Paris and Prussian blue over a fire, at half a pound for every hundred pounds of tea. John also sometimes uses a very cheap type and adds a nice gloss by mixing it with gum-water and some stove polish. We can imagine ourselves, after drinking this kind of tea, with a beautiful black shine inside. Additionally, John produces huge quantities of what he straightforwardly calls “Lie-tea.” This is dust and leftover tea leaves, combined with dust and starch or gum into small lumps, used to mix with better tea. Seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds of this nice stuff were imported into England in an eighteen-month period. It seems to be used in New York only for green tea.
Coffee is adulterated with chicory-root (which costs only about one-third as much)—dandelion-root, peas, beans, mangold-wurzel, wheat, rye, acorns, carrots, parsnips, horse-chestnuts, and sometimes with livers of horses and cattle! All these things are roasted or baked to the proper color and consistency, and then mixed in. No great sympathy need be expended on those who suffer from this particular humbug, however; for when it is so easy to buy the real berry, and roast or at least grind it one’s self, it is our own fault if our laziness leaves us to eat all those sorts of stuff.
Coffee is mixed with cheap fillers like chicory root (which costs about a third as much), dandelion root, peas, beans, sugar beets, wheat, rye, acorns, carrots, parsnips, horse chestnuts, and sometimes even the livers of horses and cattle! All of these are roasted or baked to the right color and texture, and then blended in. There's no need to feel too sorry for those who fall for this scam, though; when it’s so easy to buy the real coffee beans and roast or at least grind them ourselves, it’s our own fault if we let our laziness make us consume all this junk.
Cocoa is “extended” with sugar, starch, flour, iron-rust, Venetian-red, grease, and various earths. But it is believed by pretty good authority that the American-made preparations of cocoa are nearly or quite pure. Even if they are not the whole bean can be used instead.
Cocoa is “extended” with sugar, starch, flour, iron oxide, Venetian red, grease, and various soils. However, it's widely believed that American-made cocoa products are nearly or completely pure. Even if they aren't, the whole bean can be used instead.
Butter and lard have one tenth, and sometimes even one-quarter, of water mixed up in them. It is easy to find this out by melting a sample before the fire and putting it away to cool, when the humbug appears by the grease going up, and the water, perhaps turbid with whey, settling below.
Butter and lard contain about ten percent, and sometimes even twenty-five percent, water mixed in. You can easily verify this by melting a sample over a fire and then letting it cool; you'll see the fat rise to the top while the water, which may be cloudy with whey, settles at the bottom.
Honey is humbugged with sugar or molasses. Sugar is not often sanded as the old stories have it. Fine[156] white sugar is sometimes floured pretty well; and brown sugar is sometimes made of a portion of good sugar with a cheaper kind mixed in. Inferior brown sugars are often full of a certain crab-like animalcule or minute bug, often visible without a microscope, in water where the sugar is dissolved. It is believed that this pleasing insect sometimes gets into the skin, and produces a kind of itch. I do not believe there is much danger of adulteration in good loaf or crushed white sugar, or good granulated or brown sugar.
Honey is often mixed with sugar or molasses. Sugar isn't usually sandy like the old stories suggest. Fine white sugar is sometimes dusted with flour, and brown sugar can be made by mixing some good sugar with a cheaper variety. Lower quality brown sugars often contain a tiny, crab-like bug or organism, which can sometimes be seen without a microscope when the sugar is dissolved in water. It's thought that this pesky insect can sometimes get under the skin and cause irritation. However, I don't think there's much risk of contamination in quality loaf or crushed white sugar, or good granulated or brown sugar.
Pepper is mixed with fine dust, dirt, linseed-meal, ground rice, or mustard and wheat-flour; ginger, with wheat flour colored by turmeric and reinforced by cayenne. Cinnamon is sometimes not present at all in what is so called—the stuff being the inferior and cheaper cassia bark; sometimes it is only part cassia; sometimes the humbug part of it is flour and ochre. Cayenne-pepper is mixed with corn-meal and salt, Venetian-red, mustard, brickdust, fine sawdust, and red-lead. Mustard with flour and turmeric. Confectionery is often poisoned with Prussian-blue, Antwerp-blue, gamboge, ultramarine, chrome yellow, red-lead, white-lead, vermilion, Brunswick-green, and Scheele’s green, or arsenite of copper! Never buy any confectionery that is colored or painted. Vinegar is made of whisky, or of oil of vitriol. Pickles have verdigris in them to make them a pretty green. “Pretty green” he must be who will eat bought pickles! Preserved fruits often have verdigris in them, too.
Pepper is mixed with fine dust, dirt, linseed meal, ground rice, or mustard and wheat flour; ginger is combined with wheat flour that’s colored with turmeric and boosted with cayenne. Cinnamon is sometimes completely missing in what's labeled that way—the product being the lower-quality and cheaper cassia bark; sometimes it’s only partially cassia; often the fake part is flour and ochre. Cayenne pepper is mixed with cornmeal and salt, Venetian red, mustard, brick dust, fine sawdust, and red lead. Mustard is combined with flour and turmeric. Candy is often tainted with Prussian blue, Antwerp blue, gamboge, ultramarine, chrome yellow, red lead, white lead, vermilion, Brunswick green, and Scheele’s green, which is arsenite of copper! Never buy any candy that is artificially colored or painted. Vinegar can be made from whiskey or oil of vitriol. Pickles have verdigris in them to give them a nice green color. It’s quite naive to eat store-bought pickles that are labeled "pretty green"! Canned fruits often contain verdigris as well.
An awful list! Imagine a meal of such bewitched food, where the actual articles are named. “Take[157] some of the alum bread.” “Have a cup of pea-soup and chicory-coffee?” “I’ll trouble you for the oil-of-vitriol, if you please.” “Have some sawdust on your meat, or do you prefer this flour and turmeric mustard?” “A piece of this verdigris-preserve gooseberry pie, Madam?” “Won’t you put a few more sugar-bugs in your ash-leaf tea?” “Do you prefer black tea, or Prussian-blue tea?” “Do you like your tea with swill-milk, or without?”
An awful list! Imagine a meal of such cursed food, where the actual items are mentioned. “Take[157] some of the alum bread.” “Would you like a cup of pea soup and chicory coffee?” “I’ll need the oil of vitriol, if you don't mind.” “Do you want some sawdust on your meat, or would you rather have this flour and turmeric mustard?” “A slice of this verdigris-preserved gooseberry pie, madam?” “How about a few more sugar bugs in your ash leaf tea?” “Do you prefer black tea or Prussian blue tea?” “Do you like your tea with swill milk or without?”
I have not left myself space to speak of the tricks played by the druggists and the liquor-dealers; but I propose to devote another chapter exclusively to the adulteration of liquors in this country. It is a subject so fearful and so important that nothing less than a chapter can do it justice. I must now end with a story or two and a suggestion or two.
I haven't left myself room to talk about the tricks pulled by the druggists and the liquor sellers, but I plan to dedicate another chapter solely to the adulteration of alcoholic beverages in this country. It's a topic that's so alarming and so significant that only a full chapter can do it justice. Now, I'll wrap up with a story or two and a few suggestions.
Old Colonel P. sold much whisky; and his manner was to sell by sample out of a pure barrel over night, at a marvelous cheap rate, and then to “rectify” before morning, under pretence of coopering and marking. Certain persons having a grudge against the Colonel, once made an arrangement with a carman, who executed their plan, thus:—He went to the Colonel, and asked to see whisky. The jolly old fellow took him down stairs and showed him a great cellar full. Carman samples a barrel. “Fust rate, Colonel, how d’ye sell it?” Colonel names his price on the rectified basis. “Well, Colonel, how much yer got?” “So many barrels—two or three hundred.” “Colonel, here’s your money. I’ll take the lot.” “All right,” says Colonel P.; “there’s some coopering to be done[158] on it; some of the hoops and heads are a very little loose. You shall have it all in the morning.” “No, colonel, we’ll roll it right out this minnit! My trucks are up there, all ready.” And, sure enough, he had a string of a dozen or more brigaded in the street. The Colonel was sadly dumbfounded; he turned several colors—red mostly—stammered, made excuses. It was no go, the whisky was the customer’s, and the game was up. The humbugged old humbug finally “came down,” and bought his man off by paying him several hundred dollars.
Old Colonel P. sold a lot of whiskey; his way was to sell it by sample from a pure barrel overnight at a really low price, and then “fix” it before morning, pretending to do some coopering and labeling. Some people who had a grudge against the Colonel arranged something with a cart driver, who followed their plan like this: He went to the Colonel and asked to see the whiskey. The jolly old guy took him downstairs and showed him a huge cellar full of it. The cart driver sampled a barrel. “Great stuff, Colonel, what's your price?” The Colonel named his price based on the fixed quality. “Well, Colonel, how much do you have?” “A couple of hundred barrels.” “Colonel, here’s your cash. I’ll take them all.” “All right,” says Colonel P.; “there's some coopering to do[158] on it; some of the hoops and heads are a little loose. You’ll have it all in the morning.” “No, Colonel, we're rolling it out right now! My trucks are up there, all set.” And sure enough, he had a line of a dozen or more ready on the street. The Colonel was completely shocked; he turned several colors—mostly red—stammered, and made excuses. It was no use, the whiskey belonged to the customer, and the game was up. The duped old trickster finally “gave in,” paying the man several hundred dollars to get out of the situation.
There is a much older and better known story about a grocer who was a deacon, and who was heard to call down stairs before breakfast, to his clerk: “John, have you watered the rum?” “Yes, Sir.” “And sanded the sugar?” “Yes, Sir.” “And dusted the pepper?” “Yes, Sir.” “And chicoried the coffee?” “Yes, Sir.” “Then come up to prayers.” Let us hope that the grocers of the present day, while they adulterate less, do not pray less.
There’s a much older and better-known story about a grocer who was a deacon, and who was heard calling downstairs before breakfast to his clerk: “John, have you watered the rum?” “Yes, Sir.” “And sanded the sugar?” “Yes, Sir.” “And dusted the pepper?” “Yes, Sir.” “And chicoried the coffee?” “Yes, Sir.” “Then come up to prayers.” Let’s hope that today’s grocers, while they mix less, also don’t pray less.
Between 1851 and 1854, Mr. Wakley of the “London Lancet” gave an awful roasting to the adulteration-interest in London. He employed an able analyzer, who began by going about without telling what he was at; and buying a great number of samples of all kinds of food, drugs, etc., at a great number of shops. Then he analyzed them; and when he found humbug in any sample, he published the facts, and the seller’s name and place of business. It may be imagined what a terrible row this kicked up. Very numerous and violent threats were made; but the “Lancet,” was never once sued by any of the aggrieved, for it had told the truth.
Between 1851 and 1854, Mr. Wakley from the “London Lancet” gave a serious whooping to the adulteration industry in London. He hired a skilled analyzer who started going around without revealing his purpose and bought a wide variety of samples of food, drugs, and more from many shops. Then he tested them; when he discovered any fraud in a sample, he published the details along with the seller’s name and location. You can imagine the huge uproar this caused. Many angry threats were made, but the “Lancet” was never sued by any of the offended parties because it had reported the truth.
[159]Perhaps some discouraged reader may ask, What can I eat? Well, I don’t pretend to direct people’s diet. Ask your doctor, if you can’t find out. But I will suggest that there are a few things that can’t be adulterated. You can’t adulterate an egg, nor an oyster, nor an apple, nor a potato, nor a salt codfish; and if they are spoiled they will notify you themselves! and when good, they are all good healthy food. In short, one good safeguard is, to use, as far as you can, things with their life in them when you buy them, whether vegetable or animal. The next best rule against these adulteration-humbugs is, to buy goods crude instead of manufactured; coffee, and pepper, and spices, etc., whole instead of ground, for instance. Thus, though you give more work, you buy purity with it. And lastly, there are various chemical processes, and the microscope, to detect adulterations; and milk, in particular, may always be tested by a lactometer,—a simple little instrument which the milkmen use, which costs a few shillings, and which tells the story in an instant. It is a glass bulb, with a stem above and a scale on it, and a weight below. In good average milk, at sixty degrees of heat, the lactometer floats at twenty on its scale; and in poorer milk, at from that figure down. If it floats at fifteen, the milk is one-fourth water; if at ten, one half.
[159]Some discouraged readers might wonder, "What can I eat?" Well, I don't claim to tell people what to eat. If you're unsure, ask your doctor. But I will say that there are a few things that can't be messed with. You can’t change an egg, an oyster, an apple, a potato, or salt cod; if they’re bad, they’ll let you know! When they’re good, they’re all healthy options. In short, a good rule is to choose, whenever you can, items that still have their life in them when you buy them, whether they’re plant or animal-based. The next best tip to avoid these adulteration scams is to buy raw products instead of processed ones—coffee, pepper, spices, etc., whole instead of ground, for example. So, even if it requires more effort, you'll be getting purity in exchange. Lastly, there are various chemical tests and the microscope to spot adulterations, and milk in particular can always be tested with a lactometer—a simple little tool that milk vendors use, costing just a few bucks, which gives you results instantly. It’s a glass bulb with a stem and a scale, plus a weight underneath. In good average milk, at sixty degrees Fahrenheit, the lactometer floats at twenty on the scale; in poorer milk, it will float lower. If it floats at fifteen, that means the milk is one-fourth water; if it floats at ten, it’s half water.
It would be a wonderful thing for mankind if some philosophic Yankee would contrive some kind of “ometer” that would measure the infusion of humbug in anything. A “Humbugometer” he might call it. I would warrant him a good sale.
It would be great for humanity if some thoughtful American could invent a device that measures the amount of nonsense in everything. He could call it a "Humbugometer." I bet it would sell really well.
CHAPTER XIX.
ADULTERATIONS IN DRINKS.—RIDING HOME ON YOUR WINE-BARREL.—LIST OF THINGS TO MAKE RUM.—THINGS TO COLOR IT WITH.—CANAL-BOAT HASH.—ENGLISH ADULTERATION LAW.—EFFECTS OF DRUGS USED.—HOW TO USE THEM.—BUYING LIQUORS UNDER THE CUSTOM-HOUSE LOCK.—A HOMŒOPATHIC DOSE.
ADULTERATIONS IN DRINKS.—RIDING HOME ON YOUR WINE-BARREL.—LIST OF THINGS TO MAKE RUM.—THINGS TO COLOR IT WITH.—CANAL-BOAT HASH.—ENGLISH ADULTERATION LAW.—EFFECTS OF DRUGS USED.—HOW TO USE THEM.—BUYING LIQUORS UNDER THE CUSTOM-HOUSE LOCK.—A HOMEOPATHIC DOSE.
As long as the people of the United States tipple down rum and other liquors at the rate of a good deal more than one hundred million gallons a year, besides what is imported and what is called imported—as long as they pay for their tippling a good deal more than fifty millions, and probably over a hundred millions of dollars a year—so long it will be a great object to manufacture false liquors, and sell them at the price of true ones. When liquor of good quality costs from four to fifteen dollars a gallon, and an imitation can be had that tastes just as good, and has just as much “jizm” in it,—and probably a good deal more,—for from twenty-five cents to one dollar a gallon, somebody will surely make and sell that imitation.
As long as people in the United States are drinking rum and other alcohol at a rate of over one hundred million gallons a year, not including imports and what’s labeled as imported— as long as they spend over fifty million, and likely more than a hundred million dollars a year on their drinking— there will continue to be a strong incentive to produce fake alcohol and sell it at the price of genuine products. When quality liquor costs between four and fifteen dollars a gallon, and you can find a copy that tastes just as good and may even have more “kick” for only twenty-five cents to one dollar a gallon, someone is definitely going to make and sell that imitation.
Adulterating and imitating liquors is a very large business; and I don’t know of anybody who will deny that this particular humbug is very extensively cultivated. There are a great many people, however, who will talk about it as they do in Western towns about fever and ague: “We don’t do anything of the kind here, but those other people over there do!”
Adulterating and faking alcohol is a huge industry; and I don’t think anyone would argue that this particular scam is widely practiced. However, a lot of people talk about it like folks in Western towns do about fever and chills: “We don’t do any of that here, but those other people over there do!”
[161]There is very little pure liquor, either malt or spirituous, to be obtained in any way. The more you pay for it, as a rule, the more the publican gains, but what you drink is none the purer. Importing don’t help you. Port is—or used to be, for very little is now made, comparatively—imitated in immense quantities at Oporto; and in the log-wood trade, the European wine-makers competed with the dyers. It is a London proverb, that if you want genuine port-wine, you have got to go to Oporto and make your own wine, and then ride on the barrel all the way home. It is perhaps possible to get pure wine in France by buying it at the vineyard; but if any dealer has had it, give up the idea!
[161]There's hardly any real liquor, whether it's malt or spirits, available at all. Generally, the more you pay for it, the more the bar owner profits, but that doesn't mean what you're drinking is any purer. Importing it doesn’t help either. Port was—or used to be, since not much is made now—mass-produced in huge quantities at Oporto; and in the logwood trade, European winemakers were competing with dyers. There’s a saying in London that if you want authentic port wine, you have to go to Oporto, make your own wine, and then ride home on the barrel. You might be able to find pure wine in France if you buy it straight from the vineyard, but if any dealer has touched it, forget about it!
As for what is done this side of the water, now for it. I do not rely upon the old work of Mr. “Death-in-the-pot Accum,” printed some thirty years ago, in England. My statements come mostly from a New York book put forth within a few years by a New York man, whose name is now in the Directory, and whose business is said to consist to a great extent in furnishing one kind or another of the queer stuff he talks about, to brewers, or distillers, or wine and brandy merchants.
As for what’s being done over here, let’s get to it. I don’t depend on the old work of Mr. “Death-in-the-pot Accum,” published about thirty years ago in England. My information mainly comes from a New York book released in recent years by a local guy, whose name is now in the Directory, and whose business reportedly involves providing various types of the unusual stuff he discusses to brewers, distillers, or wine and brandy sellers.
This gentleman, in a sweet alphabetical miscellany of drugs, herbs, minerals, and groceries commonly used in manufacturing our best Old Bourbon whisky, Swan gin, Madeira wine, pale ale, London brown stout, Heidsieck, Clicquot, Lafitte, and other nice drinks; names the chief of such ingredients as follows:
This gentleman, in a charming alphabetical collection of drugs, herbs, minerals, and groceries typically used in making our finest Old Bourbon whisky, Swan gin, Madeira wine, pale ale, London brown stout, Heidsieck, Clicquot, Lafitte, and other delightful beverages; lists the main ingredients as follows:
Aloes, alum, calamus (flag-root) capsicum, cocculus indicus, copperas, coriander-seed, gentian-root, ginger,[162] grains-of-paradise, honey, liquorice, logwood, molasses, onions, opium, orange-peel, quassia, salt, stramonium-seed (deadly nightshade), sugar of lead, sulphite of soda, sulphuric acid, tobacco, turpentine, vitriol, yarrow. I have left strychnine out of the list, as some persons have doubts about this poison ever being used in adulterating liquors. A wholesale liquor-dealer in New York city, however, assures me that more than one-half the so-called whisky is poisoned with it.
Aloes, alum, calamus (flag-root), cayenne pepper, cocculus indicus, copperas, coriander seeds, gentian root, ginger,[162] grains of paradise, honey, licorice, logwood, molasses, onions, opium, orange peel, quassia, salt, stramonium seeds (deadly nightshade), lead sugar, sodium sulfate, sulfuric acid, tobacco, turpentine, vitriol, yarrow. I've left out strychnine from the list, as some people have doubts about it ever being used to adulterate alcoholic beverages. However, a wholesale liquor dealer in New York City assures me that more than half of what's called whisky is adulterated with it.
Besides these twenty-seven kinds of rum, here come twenty-three more articles, used to put the right color to it when it is made; by making a soup of one or another, and stirring it in at the right time. I alphabet these, too: alkanet-root, annatto, barwood, blackberry, blue-vitriol, brazil-wood, burnt sugar, cochineal, elderberry, garancine (an extract of madder), indigo, Nicaragua-wood, orchil, pokeberry, potash, quercitron, red beet, red cabbage, red carrots, saffron, sanders-wood, turmeric, whortleberry.
Besides these twenty-seven types of rum, here are twenty-three more ingredients used to give it the right color when it's made; by creating a mixture of one or another and adding it at the right moment. I’ll list these in alphabetical order too: alkanet root, annatto, barwood, blackberry, blue vitriol, brazil wood, burnt sugar, cochineal, elderberry, garancine (an extract of madder), indigo, Nicaragua wood, orchil, pokeberry, potash, quercitron, red beet, red cabbage, red carrots, saffron, sanders wood, turmeric, and whortleberry.
In all, in both lists, just fifty. There are more, however. But that’s enough. Now then, my friend, what did you drink this morning? You called it Bourbon, or Cognac, or Old Otard, very likely, but what was it? The “glorious uncertainty” of drinking liquor under these circumstances is enough to make a man’s head swim without his getting drunk at all. There might, perhaps, be found a consolation like that of the Western traveller about the hash. “When I travel in a canal-boat or steam-boat,” quoth this brave and stout-stomached man, “I always eat the hash, because then I know what I’ve got!”
In total, in both lists, just fifty. There are more, though. But that’s enough. So, my friend, what did you drink this morning? You called it Bourbon, or Cognac, or maybe Old Otard, but what was it really? The “glorious uncertainty” of drinking alcohol in this situation is enough to make a guy’s head spin without even getting drunk. There might be some comfort in that, like the Western traveler who said about the hash, “When I travel on a canal boat or a steam boat, I always eat the hash, because then I know what I’m getting!”
[163]It was a good many years ago that the Parliament of England found it necessary to make a law to prevent sophisticating malt liquors. Here is the list of things they forbid to put into beer: “molasses, honey, liquorice, vitriol, quassia, cocculus indicus, grains-of-paradise, Guinea-pepper, opium.” The penalty was one thousand dollars fine on the brewer, and two thousand five hundred dollars on the druggist who supplied him.
[163]Many years ago, the Parliament of England decided it was necessary to create a law to stop the adulteration of malt liquors. Here’s the list of things they banned from being added to beer: “molasses, honey, licorice, vitriol, quassia, cocculus indicus, grains-of-paradise, Guinea-pepper, opium.” The penalty was a one thousand dollar fine for the brewer and two thousand five hundred dollars for the druggist who supplied him.
I know of no such law in this country. The theory of our government leaves people to take care of themselves as much as possible. But now let us see what some of these fifty ingredients will do. Beets and carrots, honey and liquorice, orange-peel and molasses, will not do much harm; though I should think tipplers would prefer them as the customer at the eating-house preferred his flies, “on a separate plate.” But the case is different with cocculus indicus, and stramonium, and sulphuric acid, and sugar of lead, and the like. I take the following accounts, so far as they are medical, from a standard work by Dr. Dunglison:—Aloes is a cathartic. Cocculus indicus contains picrotoxin, which is an “acrid narcotic poison;” from five to ten grains will kill a strong dog. The boys often call it “cockle-cinders;” they pound it and mix it in dough, and throw it into the water to catch fish. The poor fish eat it, soon become delirious, whirling and dancing furiously about on the top of the water, and then die. Copperas tends to produce nausea, vomiting, griping, and purging. Grains-of-paradise, a large kind of cardamom, is “strongly heating and carminative” (i. e., anti-flatulent and anti-spasmodic.) Opium is known well enough.[164] Stramonium-seed would seem to have been made on purpose for the liquor business. In moderate doses it is a powerful narcotic, producing vertigo, headache, dimness or perversion of vision (i. e., seeing double) and confusion of thought. (N. B. What else does liquor do?) In larger doses (still like liquor,) you obtain these symptoms aggravated; and then a delirium, sometimes whimsical (snakes in your boots) and sometimes furious, a stupor, convulsions, and death. A fine drink this stramonium? Sugar of lead is what is called a cumulative poison; having the quality of remaining in the system when taken in small quantities, and piling itself up, as it were, until there is enough to accomplish something, when it causes debility, paralysis, and other things. Sulphuric acid is strongly corrosive,—a powerful caustic, attacking the teeth, even when very dilute; eating up flesh and bones alike when strong enough; and, if taken in a large enough dose, an awfully tearing and agonizing fatal poison.
I’m not aware of any law like that in this country. The idea behind our government is that people should take care of themselves as much as possible. But let’s look at what some of these fifty ingredients can do. Beets and carrots, honey and licorice, orange peel and molasses won’t do much harm; although I imagine drinkers might prefer them like the diner who wanted his flies “on a separate plate.” But cocculus indicus, stramonium, sulphuric acid, and sugar of lead are another story. I’ll share the following medical insights from a standard book by Dr. Dunglison: Aloe is a laxative. Cocculus indicus contains picrotoxin, which is an “acrid narcotic poison;” five to ten grains can kill a strong dog. The boys often call it “cockle-cinders;” they crush it, mix it in dough, and toss it into the water to catch fish. The poor fish consume it, quickly become delirious, thrashing and spinning wildly on the water’s surface, and then die. Copperas can cause nausea, vomiting, cramping, and diarrhea. Grains-of-paradise, a larger type of cardamom, is “strongly heating and carminative” (i.e., it helps with gas and spasms). Opium is well-known. Stramonium seeds seem designed for the liquor market. In moderate doses, it’s a potent narcotic that can cause dizziness, headaches, blurred or altered vision (i.e., seeing double), and confusion. (N.B. What else does alcohol do?) In larger doses (similar to alcohol), these symptoms worsen, leading to delirium, sometimes bizarre (like seeing snakes in your boots) and sometimes violent, along with stupor, convulsions, and death. Quite a drink, this stramonium? Sugar of lead is what’s known as a cumulative poison; it builds up in the system when taken in small amounts until there's enough to cause damage, leading to weakness, paralysis, and other issues. Sulphuric acid is highly corrosive—a strong caustic that can damage teeth, even when very diluted; it can destroy flesh and bones when concentrated enough; and, if ingested in a large enough quantity, it’s an excruciating and deadly poison.
The way to use these delectable nutriments is in part as follows:—Stir a little sulphuric acid into your beer. This will give you a fine “old ale” in about a quarter of a minute. Take a mixture of alum, salt, and copperas, ground fine, and stir into your beer, and this will make it froth handsomely. Cocculus indicus, tobacco-leaves, and stramonium, cooked in the beer, etc., give it force. Potash is sometimes stirred into wine to correct acidity. Sulphite of soda is now very commonly stirred into cider, to keep it from fermenting further. Sugar of lead is stirred into wines to make them clear, and to keep them sweet. And so on, through the whole long list.
The way to use these delicious ingredients is partly as follows:—Stir a little sulfuric acid into your beer. This will give you a nice “old ale” in about fifteen seconds. Take a mix of alum, salt, and copperas, ground fine, and stir it into your beer to make it froth nicely. Cocculus indicus, tobacco leaves, and stramonium, cooked in the beer, give it strength. Potash is sometimes added to wine to fix acidity. Sodium sulfite is now very commonly added to cider to prevent further fermentation. Lead sugar is mixed into wines to clarify them and keep them sweet. And so on, through the whole long list.
[165]It is a curious instance of people’s quiet acknowledgment of their own foolishness, that a popular form of the invitation to take a drink is, “Come and h’ist in some pizen!”
[165]It’s interesting how people subtly admit their own silliness, as shown by the common way they invite someone for a drink: “Come and have a shot!”
I know of no plan by which anybody can be sure of obtaining pure liquor of any description. Some persons always purchase their wines and liquors while they are under the custom-house lock and consequently before they have reached the hands of the importer. Yet there are scores of men in New York and Philadelphia who have made large fortunes by sending whisky to France, there refining, coloring, flavoring, and doctoring it, then re-shipping it to New York as French brandy, paying the duty, and selling it before it has left the custom-house! There is a locality in France where a certain brand of wine is made. It is adulterated with red-lead, and every year more or less of the inhabitants of that locality are attacked with “lead-colic,” caused by drinking this poisoned wine right at the fountain-head where it is made. There is more bogus champagne drank in any one year, in the city of Paris alone, than there is genuine champagne made in any one year in the world. America ordinarily consumes more so-called champagne annually than is made in the world, and yet nearly all the genuine champagne in the world is taken by the courts of Europe. The genuine Hock wine made at Johannisberg on the Rhine is worth three dollars per bottle by the large quantity, and nearly all of it is shipped to Russia; yet, at any of the hotels in the village of Johannisberg, within half a mile from the wine-presses of the pure article, you can be[166] supplied for a dollar per bottle with what purports to be the genuine Hock wine. Since chemistry has enabled liquor dealers to manufacture any description of wine or liquor for twenty-five cents to a dollar a gallon, there are annually made and sold thousands of gallons of wine and brandy that never smelt a grape.
I don’t know of any way for anyone to be sure they’re getting pure alcohol of any kind. Some people always buy their wines and liquors while they’re still under customs control, which means they get them before they reach the importer. Yet, there are plenty of guys in New York and Philadelphia who have made a lot of money by sending whiskey to France, where it gets refined, colored, flavored, and altered, then shipped back to New York as French brandy, paying the duty, and selling it before it ever leaves customs! There’s a place in France where a certain brand of wine is produced. It’s mixed with red lead, and every year, some of the locals get “lead colic” from drinking this contaminated wine right where it’s made. More fake champagne is consumed in Paris in a single year than genuine champagne produced worldwide. The U.S. usually drinks more so-called champagne each year than what’s actually made globally, and almost all the real champagne goes to courts in Europe. Genuine Hock wine made in Johannisberg on the Rhine costs three dollars per bottle in bulk, and most of it is sent to Russia. However, at any hotel in the village of Johannisberg, less than a mile from the presses of the real stuff, you can get what claims to be authentic Hock wine for a dollar a bottle. Now that chemistry has made it possible for liquor sellers to produce any type of wine or liquor for twenty-five cents to a dollar per gallon, thousands of gallons of wine and brandy are created and sold every year that haven’t even touched a grape.
Suppose a wholesale liquor-merchant imports genuine brandy. He usually “rectifies” and adulterates it by adding eighty-five gallons of pure spirits (refined whisky,) to fifteen gallons of brandy, to give it a flavor; then colors and “doctors” it, and it is ready for sale. Suppose an Albany wholesale-dealer purchases, for pure brandy, ten pipes of this adulterated brandy from a New York importer. The Albany man immediately doubles his stock by adding an equal quantity of pure spirits. There are then seven and a half gallons of brandy in a hundred. A Buffalo liquor-dealer buys from the Albany man, and he in turn adds one-half pure spirits. The Chicago dealer buys from the Buffalo dealer, and as nearly all spirit-dealers keep large quantities of pure spirits on hand, and know how to use it, he again doubles the quantity of his brandy by adding pure spirits; and the Milwaukee liquor-dealer does the same, after purchasing from the Chicago man. So, in the ordinary course of liquor transactions, by the time a hundred gallon pipe of pure brandy reaches Wisconsin, at a cost of five or perhaps ten dollars per gallon, ninety-nine gallons and one pint of it is the identical whisky that was shipped from Wisconsin the same year at fifty cents per gallon. Truly a homœopathic dose of genuine brandy! And even that[167] whisky when it left Wisconsin was only half whisky; for there are men in the whisky-making States who make it a business to take whisky direct from the distillery, add to it an equal quantity of water, and then bring it up to a bead and the power of intoxication, by mixing in a variety of the villainous drugs and deadly poisons enumerated in this chapter. The annual loss of strength, health, and life caused by the adulteration of liquor is truly appalling. Those who have not examined the subject can form no just estimate of the atrocious and extensive effects of this murderous humbug.
Imagine a wholesale liquor merchant importing real brandy. He typically "rectifies" and adulterates it by adding eighty-five gallons of pure spirits (refined whiskey) to fifteen gallons of brandy for flavor; then he colors and "fixes" it, and it's ready to sell. Now, suppose an Albany wholesale dealer buys ten pipes of this adulterated brandy, thinking it’s pure brandy, from a New York importer. The Albany dealer immediately doubles his stock by adding an equal amount of pure spirits. At this point, there's seven and a half gallons of brandy in every hundred. A Buffalo liquor dealer buys from the Albany dealer and also adds half pure spirits. When a Chicago dealer purchases from the Buffalo dealer, he doubles the amount of brandy by adding pure spirits since most liquor dealers have plenty of pure spirits on hand and know how to use them. The Milwaukee liquor dealer does the same after buying from the Chicago dealer. So, in the typical flow of liquor transactions, by the time a hundred-gallon pipe of pure brandy reaches Wisconsin, costing five or maybe ten dollars per gallon, there’s only a pint left of actual brandy; the rest is the same whiskey that was shipped from Wisconsin that year for fifty cents a gallon. It’s really a minuscule amount of genuine brandy! And even that whiskey was only half whiskey when it left Wisconsin, as there are people in whiskey-producing states who take whiskey straight from the distillery, dilute it with an equal amount of water, and then boost its potency and intoxicating effects by mixing in various toxic substances and deadly chemicals listed in this chapter. The annual loss of strength, health, and lives due to liquor adulteration is truly shocking. Those who haven’t looked into this issue can’t grasp the horrific and widespread consequences of this deadly scam.
CHAPTER XX.
THE PETER FUNKS AND THEIR FUNCTIONS.—THE RURAL DIVINE AND THE WATCH.—RISE AND PROGRESS OF MOCK AUCTIONS.—THEIR DECLINE AND FALL.
THE PETER FUNKS AND THEIR FUNCTIONS.—THE RURAL DIVINE AND THE WATCH.—RISE AND PROGRESS OF MOCK AUCTIONS.—THEIR DECLINE AND FALL.
Not many years ago, a dignified and reverend man, whose name is well known to me, was walking sedately down Broadway. He was dressed in clerical garb of black garments and white neckcloth. He was a man of great learning, profound thought, long experience, unaffected piety, and pure and high reputation.
Not long ago, a respected and honorable man, whose name I know well, was calmly walking down Broadway. He was wearing black clothes with a white collar. He was a man of deep knowledge, thoughtful insight, extensive experience, genuine faith, and a spotless reputation.
All at once, a kind of chattering shout smote him fair in the left ear:
All of a sudden, a noisy shout hit him right in the left ear:
“Narfnarfnarf! Three shall I have? Narfnarfnarfnarfnarf! Going at two and a half! Gone!!”
“Narfnarfnarf! I'll have three? Narfnarfnarfnarfnarf! Going at two and a half! Gone!!”
And the grave divine, pausing, beheld a doorway,[168] over which waved a little red flag. Within, a company of eager bidders thronged around an auctioneer’s stand; and the auctioneer himself, a well-dressed man with a highly respectable look, was just handing over to the delighted purchaser a gold watch.
And the serious figure paused to look at a doorway,[168] which had a small red flag waving above it. Inside, a group of excited bidders crowded around an auctioneer's stand; the auctioneer, a neatly dressed man with a very respectable appearance, was just handing a gold watch to a happy buyer.
“It would be cheap at one hundred dollars,” said he, in a despondent tone. “It’s mere robbery to sell it for that price. I’d buy it myself if ’twas legal.”
“It would be a steal at one hundred dollars,” he said, sounding downcast. “It’s outright robbery to sell it for that price. I’d buy it myself if it were legal.”
And while the others, with exclamations of surprise and congratulation, crowded to see this famous purchase, and the buyer exhibited it with a joyful countenance close by the door, the divine, just out of curiosity, stepped in. He owned no watch; he was a country clergyman, and poor in this world’s goods; so poor that, to use a familiar phrase, “if steamboats were selling at a dime a piece, he would hardly be able to buy a gang-plank.” But what if he could, by good luck, buy a good gold watch for two dollars and a half in this wonderful city!
And while the others, filled with surprise and congratulations, crowded around to see this famous purchase, the buyer proudly showed it off with a joyful face close to the door, the divine man, just out of curiosity, stepped inside. He didn’t own a watch; he was a country clergyman and didn’t have much money; so poor that, as the saying goes, “if steamboats were selling for a dime each, he could barely afford a gangplank.” But what if, by some stroke of luck, he could buy a nice gold watch for two dollars and fifty cents in this amazing city!
Somehow, that watch was snapped open and closed again right under his ministerial nose about six times. The auctioneer held up another of exactly the same kind, and began to chatter again.
Somehow, that watch was opened and closed right in front of him about six times. The auctioneer held up another one of the exact same type and started talking again.
“Now gentlemen, what ‘moffered f’this first-class M. I. Tobias gold English lever watch—full jeweled, compensation-balance, anchor-escapement, hunting case? One, did I hear? Say two cents, wont yer? Two and a half! narfnarfnarfnarfnarf and a half! Two and a half, and three quarters. Thank you, Sir,” to a sailor-like man in the corner.
“Now, gentlemen, what am I offering for this first-class M. I. Tobias gold English lever watch—fully jeweled, with a compensation balance, anchor escapement, and a hunting case? Did I hear one? How about two cents, will you? Two and a half! narfnarfnarfnarfnarf and a half! Two and a half, and three quarters. Thank you, sir,” said to a sailor-like man in the corner.
“Three,” said a tall and well-dressed young gentleman with short hair, near the clergyman, adding, in an undertone, “I can sell it for fifty this afternoon.”
“Three,” said a tall and well-dressed young man with short hair, standing near the clergyman, adding quietly, “I can sell it for fifty this afternoon.”
[169]“Three I am offered,” says Mr. Auctioneer, and chattered on as before: “And a half, did you say, Sir? Thank you, Sir. And a halfnarfnarf!”
[169]“I have three,” says the auctioneer, continuing to chat as before: “Did you say a half, Sir? Thank you, Sir. And a halfnarfnarf!”
The reverend divine had said, “And a half.” The Peter Funks had got him! But he didn’t find it out quite yet. The bidding was run up to four dollars; the clergyman took the watch, opened and examined it; was convinced, handed it back, ventured another half, and the watch was knocked down to him. The auctioneer fumbled in some papers, and, in a moment, handed him his bargain neatly done up.
The reverend had said, “And a half.” The Peter Funks had tricked him! But he didn’t realize that just yet. The bidding went up to four dollars; the clergyman took the watch, opened it, and checked it out; he was convinced, handed it back, tried another half, and the watch was sold to him. The auctioneer shuffled through some papers and soon handed him his deal all wrapped up neatly.
“This way to the clerk’s office if you please, Sir,” he added, with a civil bow. The clergyman passed a little further in; and while the sales proceeded behind him, the clerk made out a bill and proffered it.
“This way to the clerk’s office if you please, sir,” he added, with a polite bow. The clergyman moved a little further in; and while the sales continued behind him, the clerk prepared a bill and offered it.
“Fifty-four dollars and a half!” read the country divine, astounded. “Four and a half is what I bid!”
“Fifty-four dollars and fifty cents!” exclaimed the country priest, amazed. “Four and a half is my bid!”
“Four and a half!” exclaimed the clerk, with sarcastic indignation; “Four dollars and a half! A pretty story! A minister to have the face to say he could buy an M. I. Tobias gold watch, full jeweled, for four dollars and a half! Ill thank you for the money, Sir. Fifty-four, fifty, if you please.”
“Four and a half!” the clerk exclaimed, sarcastically outraged. “Four dollars and a half! What a joke! A minister actually thinks he can get a full jeweled M. I. Tobias gold watch for four dollars and a half! I would appreciate the payment, Sir. Fifty-four, fifty, if you don't mind.”
The auctioneer, as if interrupted by the loud tones of the indignant clerk, stopped the sale to see what was the matter. On hearing the statement of the two parties, he cast a glance of angry contempt upon the poor clergyman, who, by this time, was uneasy enough at their scowling faces. Then, as if relenting, he said half-sneeringly:
The auctioneer, clearly disturbed by the loud objections of the angry clerk, paused the sale to find out what was going on. After listening to both sides, he shot a frustrated look of disdain at the poor clergyman, who was already anxious because of their frowning faces. Then, as if softening, he said with a hint of sarcasm:
“I don’t think you look very well in this business,[170] Sir. But you are evidently a clergyman, and we wish everybody to have fair treatment in this office. We won’t be imposed upon, Sir, by any man!” (Here his face darkened, and his fists could be seen to clench with much meaning.) “Pay that money, Sir! This establishment is not to be humbugged. But you needn’t be afraid of losing anything. You may let me take the watch and sell it for you again on the spot. Very likely you can get more for it. You can’t lose. The clergyman hesitated. The tall and well-dressed young man with short hair pushed up and said:
“I don’t think you’re doing very well in this situation, Sir. But you clearly are a clergyman, and we want everyone to be treated fairly in this office. We won’t let anyone take advantage of us, Sir!” (At this, his expression darkened, and his fists tightened with significant intent.) “Pay that money, Sir! This place won’t be tricked. But you don’t have to worry about losing anything. Just let me take the watch and sell it for you right away. You might actually get more for it. You won't lose out. The clergyman hesitated. The tall, well-dressed young man with short hair leaned in and said:
“Don’t want it? Put her up again. G—! I’d like another chance myself!”
“Don’t want it? Put her up again. G—! I’d love another chance myself!”
A heavily-built fellow with one eye, observed over the auctioneer’s shoulder, with an evil look at the divine, “D—d if I don’t believe that cuss is a gambler, come in here to fool us country-folks. They allus wears white neckcloths. I say, search him and boot him out of the shop!”
A burly guy with one eye leaned in over the auctioneer’s shoulder and shot a nasty look at the divine, saying, “Damn if I don’t think that guy is a gambler, here to trick us country folks. They always wear white neckties. I say, search him and kick him out of the shop!”
“You will sell it for me again at once?” asked the poor minister.
“You’ll sell it for me right away again?” asked the poor minister.
“Certainly,” said the mollified auctioneer. And the humbugged divine, with an indistinct sense of something wrong, but not able to tell what, took out forty dollars from his lean wallet and handed it to the clerk.
“Sure,” said the relieved auctioneer. And the deceived clergyman, with a vague feeling that something was off, but unable to pinpoint what, took out forty dollars from his thin wallet and handed it to the clerk.
“It’s all I have to get home with,” he said, simply.
“It’s all I have to get home with,” he said flatly.
“Never fear, old gentleman,” said the clerk, affably; “You’ll be all right in two minutes.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said the clerk in a friendly tone; “You’ll be fine in just two minutes.”
[171]The watch was put up again. The clergyman, scarce able to believe his ears, heard it rapidly run up to sixty dollars and knocked down at that price. The cash was handed to the clerk, and another bill made out; ten per cent., deducted, commission on sales. “Usual terms, Sir,” observed the clerk, handing over the notes just received for the watch. And the divine, very thankful to get off for half a dollar, hurried off as fast as he could.
[171]The watch was auctioned off again. The clergyman, hardly believing what he was hearing, watched it quickly climb to sixty dollars and was sold at that price. The cash was given to the clerk, and a new bill was made out; ten percent was deducted as commission on sales. “Standard terms, Sir,” the clerk said, handing over the cash just received for the watch. The clergyman, very grateful to only have to pay half a dollar, rushed off as quickly as he could.
I need not say that his fifty-four dollars was all counterfeit money. When he went next morning, after endeavoring in vain to part with his new funds, to find the place where he had been humbugged, it was close shut, and he could hardly identify even the doorway. He went to the police, and the shrewd captain told him that it was a difficult business; but sent an officer with him to look up the rascals. Officer found one; demanded redress; clergyman did the same. Rascal asked clergyman’s name; got it; told him he could prosecute if he liked. Clergyman looked at officer; officer, with indifference, observed:
I don't need to say that his fifty-four dollars was all fake money. The next morning, after trying in vain to spend his new cash, he went back to find the place where he had been tricked, but it was completely closed, and he could barely even recognize the entrance. He went to the police, and the clever captain told him it was a tricky situation; however, he sent an officer with him to track down the crooks. The officer found one and demanded compensation; the clergyman did the same. The crook asked for the clergyman's name, got it, and then said he could face charges if he wanted. The clergyman looked at the officer; the officer, indifferent, remarked:
“Means to stick your name in the papers.”
“Ways to get your name in the news.”
Clergyman said he would take further advice; did take it; thought he wouldn’t be shown up as a “greeny” in the police reports; borrowed money enough to get home with, and if he has a gold watch now—which I really hope he has—got it either for its real value, or as a “testimonial.”
The clergyman said he would seek more advice; he did seek it; he thought he wouldn’t appear as a rookie in the police reports; he borrowed enough money to get home, and if he has a gold watch now—which I really hope he does—he got it either for its actual value or as a “testimonial.”
There, that (with many variations) is the whole story of Peter Funk. These “mock auctioneers,” sometimes, as in the case I have mentioned, take advantage[172] of the respectability of their victims, sometimes of their haste to leave the city on business. When they could not possibly avoid it, they disgorged their prey. No instance is known to me of any legal penalty being inflicted on them by a magistrate; but they were always, until 1862, treated by police, by magistrate, and by mayor, just as thieves would be who should always be let off on returning their stealings; so that they could not lose by thieving, and might gain.
There you have it; that's the whole story of Peter Funk, with many variations. These “mock auctioneers” sometimes take advantage of their victims' respectability or their hurry to leave the city for business, as I've mentioned before. When they couldn’t avoid it, they let their victims go. I’m not aware of any legal penalties imposed on them by a magistrate, but they were always treated by the police, magistrates, and mayors just like thieves who got off easy by returning what they stole, so they could benefit from their thievery without any real risk.
These rascally mock-auctioneers, thus protected by the authorities, used to fleece the public out of not less than sixty thousand dollars a year. One of them cleared twelve thousand dollars during the year 1861 alone. And this totally shameless and brazen-faced humbug flourished in New York for twenty-five years!
These sneaky fake auctioneers, backed by the authorities, used to swindle the public for at least sixty thousand dollars a year. One of them made twelve thousand dollars just in 1861 alone. And this completely shameless and bold scam thrived in New York for twenty-five years!
About the first day of June, 1862, the Peter Funks had eleven dens, or traps, in operation in New York; five in Broadway below Fulton street, and the others in Park row, and Courtlandt, Greenwich, and Chatham streets.
About the first day of June 1862, the Peter Funks had eleven dens, or traps, running in New York; five on Broadway below Fulton Street, and the others on Park Row, and Courtlandt, Greenwich, and Chatham Streets.
The name, Peter Funk, is said to have been that of the founder of their system; but I know nothing more of his career. At this date, in 1862, the system was in a high state of organization and success, and included the following constituents:
The name, Peter Funk, is said to have been the founder of their system; but I don’t know anything else about his career. As of now, in 1862, the system was well-organized and successful, and included the following components:
1. Eight chief Funks, or capitalists, and managers, whose names are well enough known. I have them on record.
1. Eight main Funks, or capitalists and managers, whose names are quite familiar. I have them documented.
2. About as many more salesmen, who took turns with the chiefs in selling and clerking.
2. About the same number of other salespeople, who rotated with the managers in selling and handling clerical tasks.
3. Seventy or eighty, rank and file, or ropers-in.[173] These acted the part of buyers, like the purchaser whose delight over his watch helped to deceive the minister and the other bidders on that occasion. These fellows dressed up as countrymen, sailors, and persons of miscellaneous respectability. They bid and talked when that was sufficient, or helped the managers thrash any troublesome person, if necessary. Once in a long time they met their match; as, for instance, when the mate of a ship brought up a squad of his crew, burst into one of their dens, and beat and battered up the whole gang within an inch of their lives. But, in most cases, the reckless infamy of these dregs of city vice gave them an immense advantage over a decent citizen; for they could not be defiled nor made ridiculous, and he could.
3. Seventy or eighty, regulars or plant workers.[173] They played the role of buyers, like the guy who was so thrilled with his watch that he fooled the minister and other bidders at the event. These guys dressed up as farmers, sailors, and other seemingly respectable types. They bid and chatted when it was needed, or helped the managers deal with any troublemakers if necessary. Occasionally, they faced someone who could stand up to them; for example, when a ship’s mate brought his crew into one of their hangouts and beat up the whole gang nearly to death. But most of the time, the brazen wickedness of these bottom-dwellers gave them a huge advantage over a decent citizen; they couldn’t be corrupted or made to look foolish, but he could.
4. Two or three traders in cheap jewelry and fancy-goods supplied the Funks with their wares. One of these fellows used to sell them fifty or a hundred dollars’ worth of this trash a day; and he lamented as much over their untimely end as the Ephesian silversmiths did over the loss of their trade in shrines.
4. Two or three vendors of inexpensive jewelry and novelty items provided the Funks with their products. One of these guys would sell them fifty or a hundred dollars’ worth of this stuff each day; and he complained just as much about their premature demise as the Ephesian silversmiths did about losing their business in shrines.
5. A lawyer received a regular salary of $1,200 a year to defend all the Funk cases.
5. A lawyer was paid a salary of $1,200 a year to handle all the Funk cases.
6. The city politicians, in office and out of it, who were wont to receive the aid of the Funks (a very energetic cohort) at elections, and who in return unscrupulously used both power and influence to keep them from punishment.
6. The city politicians, both in office and out, who were used to getting help from the Funks (a really active group) during elections, and who in return shamelessly wielded their power and influence to shield them from any consequences.
All this cunning machinery was brought to naught and New York relieved of a shame and a pest by the courage, energy, perseverance, and good sense of one Yankee officer—Russell Wells, a policeman. Mr.[174] Wells took about six months to finish up his work. He began it of his own accord, finding that the spirit of the police regulations required it; prosecuted the undertaking without fear or favor, finding not very much support from the judicial authorities, and sometimes actual and direct discouragement. His method was to mount guard over one auction shop at a time, and warn all whom he saw going in, and to follow up all complaints to the utmost until that shop was closed, when he laid siege to another. Various offers of money, direct and indirect, were made him. One fellow offered him $500 to walk on the other side of the street. Another offered him $1,000 to drop the undertaking. Another hinted at a regular salary of hush-money, saying “he had now got these fellows where he could make as much out of them as he wanted to, right along.”
All this clever machinery was made useless, and New York was freed from a disgrace and a nuisance thanks to the bravery, energy, perseverance, and good judgment of one officer—Russell Wells, a policeman. Mr.[174] Wells took about six months to complete his work. He started on his own initiative, realizing that it was necessary according to police regulations; he carried out the task without fear or favoritism, finding little support from the judicial authorities, and sometimes facing actual and direct discouragement. His approach was to monitor one auction shop at a time, warning everyone he saw entering, and to follow up on all complaints diligently until that shop was closed, at which point he focused on another. He received various offers of money, both direct and indirect. One person offered him $500 to walk on the other side of the street. Another offered him $1,000 to abandon his efforts. Someone else suggested a regular salary for silence, claiming “he had now got these guys where he could make as much out of them as he wanted to, consistently.”
Sometimes they threatened him with “murder and sudden death.” Several times they got out an injunction upon him, and several times sued him for slander. One of their complaints charged, with ludicrous hypocrisy, that the defendant, “with malicious intent, stood round the door uttering slanderous charges against the good name, fame, and credit of the defendant,” just as foolish old lawyers used to argue that “the greater the truth the greater the libel.” Sometimes they argued and indignantly denounced. One of them told him, “he was a thief and a murderer, driving men out of employment whose wives and children depended on their business for support.”
Sometimes they threatened him with “murder and sudden death.” Several times they obtained an injunction against him and sued him multiple times for slander. One of their complaints absurdly claimed that the defendant, “with malicious intent, stood by the door making slanderous accusations against the good name, reputation, and credit of the defendant,” just like foolish old lawyers used to argue that “the greater the truth, the greater the libel.” At times, they argued and indignantly condemned him. One of them told him, “you are a thief and a murderer, pushing people out of jobs that their wives and children rely on for support.”
Another contended that their business was just as fair as that of the stock-operators in Wall street. I fear that wasn’t making out much of a case.
Another argued that their business was just as fair as that of the stock traders on Wall Street. I fear that wasn’t making a strong case.
[175]But their threats were idle; their suits, and prosecutions, and injunctions, never came to a head; their bribes did not operate. The officer, imperturbably good-natured, but horribly diligent, watched, and warned, and hunted, and complained, and squeezed back their money at the rate of $500 or $1,000 every month, until they were perfectly sickened. One by one they shut up shop. One went to his farm, another to his merchandise, another to emigrant running, another (known by the elegant surname of Blur-eye Thompson) to raising recruits, several into the bounty jumping business.
[175]But their threats were empty; their lawsuits, prosecutions, and injunctions never materialized; their bribes didn’t work. The officer, unflappably good-natured yet incredibly diligent, watched, warned, hunted, complained, and squeezed back their money at a rate of $500 or $1,000 each month, until they were completely fed up. One by one, they closed their businesses. One went to his farm, another got into merchandise, another took up emigrant running, another (known as Blur-eye Thompson) started recruiting, and several got involved in bounty jumping.
Such was the life and death of an outrageous humbug and nuisance, whose like was not to be found in any other city on earth; and would not have been endured in any except this careless, money-getting, misgoverned one of New York.
Such was the life and death of a ridiculous fraud and annoyance, unlike anyone else in any city on earth; and would not have been tolerated anywhere else except this careless, money-driven, mismanaged one of New York.
CHAPTER XXI.
LOTTERY SHARKS.—BOULT AND HIS BROTHERS.—KENNETH, KIMBALL AND COMPANY.—A MORE CENTRAL LOCATION WANTED FOR BUSINESS.—TWO SEVENTEENTHLIES.—STRANGE COINCIDENCE.
LOTTERY SHARKS.—BOULT AND HIS BROTHERS.—KENNETH, KIMBALL AND COMPANY.—A MORE CENTRAL LOCATION NEEDED FOR BUSINESS.—TWO SEVENTEEN LIARS.—STRANGE COINCIDENCE.
I have before me a mass of letters, printed and lithographed circulars, and the like, which illustrate well two or three of the most foolish and vicious swindles [it is wrong to call them humbugs] now extant. They also prove that there are a good many more fools alive[176] in our Great Republic than some of us would like to admit.
I have in front of me a pile of letters, printed and lithographed flyers, and similar materials that clearly show two or three of the most ridiculous and harmful scams (it's not accurate to call them tricks) currently around. They also demonstrate that there are quite a few more gullible people living[176] in our Great Republic than some of us would prefer to acknowledge.
These letters and papers are signed, respectively, by the following names: Alexander Van Dusen; Thomas Boult & Co.; E. F. Mayo; Geo. P. Harper; Browne, Sherman & Co.; Hammett & Co.; Charles A. Herbert; Geo. C. Kenneth; T. Seymour & Co.; C. W. White, Purchasing Agency; C. J. Darlington; B. H. Robb & Co.; James Conway; S. B. Goodrich; Egerton Brothers; C. F. Miner; E. J. Kimball; E. A. Wilson; and J. T. Small.
These letters and documents are signed by the following individuals: Alexander Van Dusen; Thomas Boult & Co.; E. F. Mayo; Geo. P. Harper; Browne, Sherman & Co.; Hammett & Co.; Charles A. Herbert; Geo. C. Kenneth; T. Seymour & Co.; C. W. White, Purchasing Agency; C. J. Darlington; B. H. Robb & Co.; James Conway; S. B. Goodrich; Egerton Brothers; C. F. Miner; E. J. Kimball; E. A. Wilson; and J. T. Small.
All these productions, with one or two exceptions, are dated during the last three months of 1864, and January 1865. They are mailed from a good many different places, and addressed to respectable people in all directions.
All these productions, with one or two exceptions, are dated during the last three months of 1864 and January 1865. They are sent from a variety of places and addressed to respectable people everywhere.
In particular, should be noticed, however, two lots of them.
In particular, however, two of them should be noticed.
The first lot are signed either by Thomas Boult & Co., Hammett & Co., Egerton Brothers, or T. Seymour & Co. When these four documents are placed together, each with its inclosure, a story is told that seems clear enough to explain itself to the greenest fool in the world.
The first lot is signed either by Thomas Boult & Co., Hammett & Co., Egerton Brothers, or T. Seymour & Co. When these four documents are placed together, each with its enclosure, they tell a story that seems clear enough to explain itself to the biggest fool in the world.
These fellows—Boult and the rest of them, I mean—are lottery sharks. Now, those who buy lottery tickets are very silly and credulous, or very lazy, or both. They want to get money without earning it. This foolish and vicious wish, however, betrays them into the hands of these lottery sharks. I wish that each of these poor foolish, greedy creatures could study on this[177] set of letters awhile. Look at them. You see that the lithographed handwriting in all four is in the same hand. You observe that each of them incloses a printed hand-bill with “scheme,” all looking as like as so many peas. They refer, you see, to the same “Havana scheme,” the same “Shelby College Lottery,” the same “managers,” and the same place of drawing. Now, see what they say. Each knave tells his fool his only object is to put said fool in possession of a handsome prize, so that fool may run round and show the money, and rope in more fools. What an ingenious way to make the fool think he will return value for the prize! Each knave further says to his fool (I copy the words of the knave from his lithograph letter:) “We are so certain that we know how to select a lucky certificate, that if the one we select for you does not, at the very least, draw a $5,000 prize, we will”—what? Pay the money ourselves? Oh no. Knave does not offer to pay half of it. “Will send you another package in one of our extra lotteries for nothing!”
These guys—Boult and the others, I mean—are lottery scammers. People who buy lottery tickets are pretty foolish and gullible, or just lazy, or maybe both. They want to get money without actually working for it. This silly and harmful desire traps them in the hands of these lottery scammers. I wish each of these poor, foolish, greedy people could take a moment to examine this[177] set of letters. Look at them. You can see that the printed handwriting in all four is identical. Each letter includes a printed flyer with “scheme,” all looking just alike. They all refer to the same “Havana scheme,” the same “Shelby College Lottery,” the same “managers,” and the same drawing location. Now, see what they say. Each con artist tells their mark that their only goal is to give them a nice prize, so that the mark can flaunt the money and attract more unsuspecting victims. What a clever way to make the mark believe they’ll get something in return for that prize! Each con artist also tells their mark (I’m quoting the scammer’s words from his printed letter): “We are so sure we know how to pick a winning ticket that if the one we choose for you doesn’t at least win a $5,000 prize, we will”—what? Pay the money ourselves? Oh no. The scammer doesn’t offer to pay a dime. “Will send you another package in one of our extra lotteries for free!”
Observe how particularly every knave is to tell his fool to “give us the name of the nearest bank,” so that the draft for the prize-money can be forwarded instantly.
Observe how every scammer is sure to tell his idiot to “give us the name of the nearest bank,” so that the check for the prize money can be sent immediately.
And in return for all this kindness, what do Messrs. Boult and-so-forth want? Why, almost nothing. “The ridiculously small sum,” as Mr. Montague Tigg observed to Mr. Pecksniff, of $10. You observe that Hammett & Co., in one circular, demand $20, for the same $5,000 prize. But the amount, they would say, is too trifling to be so particular about!
And in return for all this kindness, what do Mr. Boult and the others want? Almost nothing. “The ridiculously small amount,” as Mr. Montague Tigg mentioned to Mr. Pecksniff, is $10. You’ll notice that Hammett & Co. ask for $20 for the same $5,000 prize in one of their flyers. But they would say the amount is too trivial to worry about!
I will suggest a form for answering these gentlemen.[178] Let every one of my readers who receives one of their circulars just copy and date and sign, and send them the following:
I’ll propose a way to respond to these gentlemen.[178] Every reader who gets one of their circulars should simply copy, date, sign, and send them the following:
“Gentlemen:—I thank you for your great kindness in wishing to make me the possessor of a $5,000 prize in your truly rich and splendid Royal Havana Lottery. I fully believe that you know, as you say, all about how to get these prizes, and that you can make it a big thing. But I cannot think of taking all that money from such kind of people as you. I must insist upon your having half of it, and I will not hear of any refusal, I therefore hereby authorize you to invest for me the trifle of $10, which you mention; and when the prize is drawn, to put half of it, and $10 over, right into your own benevolent pantaloons-pocket, and to remit the other half to me, addressed as follows: (Here give the name of the “nearest bank.”)
“Guys:—Thank you for your generosity in wanting to make me the recipient of a $5,000 prize in your truly impressive Royal Havana Lottery. I truly believe you know, as you claim, exactly how to secure these prizes, and that you can make it a significant opportunity. However, I can’t accept all that money from people like you. I must insist that you take half of it, and I will not consider any refusal. Therefore, I authorize you to invest the small sum of $10 that you mentioned; and when the prize is drawn, please put half of it, plus that extra $10, straight into your own charitable pocket, and send the other half to me, addressed as follows: (Here give the name of the “nearest bank.”)
“I have not the least fear that you will cheat me out of my half; and, as you see, I thus place myself confidently in your hands. With many thanks for your great and undeserved kindness, I remain your obliged and obedient servant. Etc., Etc.”
“I’m not worried at all that you’ll take my half from me; and, as you can see, I’m putting my trust in you. Thank you so much for your generous and unexpected kindness. I remain your grateful and obedient assistant. Etc., etc.
My readers will observe that this mode of replying affords full swing to the expansive charities of Boult and his brethren, and is a sure method of saving the expenditure of $10, although Boult is to get that amount back when the prize is drawn.
My readers will notice that this way of responding gives plenty of room for the generous nature of Boult and his friends, and is a reliable way to save the $10 expense, even though Boult will get that amount back when the prize is drawn.
I charge nothing for these suggestions; but will not be so discourteous as to refuse a moderate percentage on all amounts received in pursuance of them from Brother Boult & Co.
I don't charge anything for these suggestions, but I wouldn't be so rude as to turn down a reasonable percentage on all amounts received from Brother Boult & Co. for following them.
Here is the second special lot of letters I spoke of. I lay them out on my desk as before: There are six letters signed respectively by Kimball, Goodrich, Dar[179]lington, Kenneth, Harper, and Herbert. Now notice, first the form, and next the substance.
Here is the second special set of letters I mentioned. I spread them out on my desk like before: There are six letters signed by Kimball, Goodrich, Darlington, Kenneth, Harper, and Herbert. First, take a look at the format, and then the content.
As to form—they are all written, not, lithographed; they are on paper of the same make and size, and out of the same lot, as you observe by the manufacturer’s stamp—a representation of the Capitol in the upper corner. They are in the same hand, an easy legible business-hand, though three of them are written with a backward slope. Those who sent them have not sent me the envelopes with them, except in one case, so that I cannot tell where they were mailed. Neither is any one of them dated inside at any town or post-office. But, by a wonderful coincidence, every one of them is dated at “No. 17 Merchants’ Exchange.” A busy mart that No. 17 must be! And it is a still more curious coincidence that every one of these six industrious chaps has been unable to find a sufficiently central location for transacting his business. Every letter you see, contains a printed slip advising of a removal, as follows:
As for the format—they're all written, not lithographed; they're on paper that's the same brand and size, and from the same batch, as you can tell by the manufacturer's stamp—a picture of the Capitol in the upper corner. They're all written in the same style, a clear and easy-to-read business handwriting, although three of them have a backward slant. Those who sent them didn't include the envelopes, except for one case, so I can't tell where they were mailed from. None of them have a date inside from any town or post office. But, by a strange coincidence, every single one is dated from “No. 17 Merchants’ Exchange.” That No. 17 must be a really busy place! Even more oddly, every one of these six hardworking individuals has found it difficult to find a central spot to conduct their business. Every letter you see includes a printed notice about a move, like this:
“Removal.—Desiring a more central location for transacting my business, I have removed my office to No. 17 Merchants Exchange.” Where? One says to West Troy, New York; another to Patterson, New Jersey; another to Bronxville, New York; another, to Salem, New-York, and so on! It is a new thing to find how central all those places are. Undeveloped metropolises seem to exist in every corner. Well, the slip ends with a notice that in future letters must be directed to the new place.
Delete.—Wanting a more central spot for my business, I’ve moved my office to No. 17 Merchants Exchange. Where? Someone says West Troy, New York; another says Patterson, New Jersey; another says Bronxville, New York; another says Salem, New York, and so on! It’s interesting to see how central all those places are. Undeveloped cities seem to pop up in every corner. Anyway, the message ends with a note that from now on, letters should be sent to the new address.
Next, as to substance. The six letters all tell the[180] same story. They are each the second letter; the first one having been sent to the same person, and having contained a lottery-ticket, as a gift of love or free charity. This second letter is the one which is expected to “fetch.” It says in substance: “Your ticket has drawn a prize of $200,”—the letters all name the same amount—“but you didn’t pay for it; and therefore are not entitled to it. Now send me $10 and I will cheat the lottery-man by altering the post-mark of your letter so that the money shall seem to have been sent before the lottery was drawn. This forgery will enable me to get the $200, which I will send you.”
Next, regarding the substance. The six letters all tell the[180] same story. They are each the second letter; the first one was sent to the same person and included a lottery ticket as a gift of love or charity. This second letter is the one that's supposed to “work.” It essentially says: “Your ticket has won a prize of $200,”—the letters all mention the same amount—“but you didn’t pay for it; so you’re not entitled to it. Now send me $10, and I’ll trick the lottery guy by changing the postmark on your letter so it looks like the money was sent before the lottery was drawn. This forgery will let me get the $200, which I’ll then send to you.”
How cunning that is! It is exactly calculated to hit the notions of a vulgar, ignorant, lazy, greedy, and unprincipled bumpkin. Such a fellow would see just far enough into the millstone to be tickled at the idea of cheating those lottery fellows. And the knave ends his letter with one more touch most delicately adapted to make Master Bumpkin feel certain that his cash is coming. He says, “Be sure to show your prize to all your friends, so as to make them buy tickets at my office.”
How clever that is! It's perfectly designed to appeal to the ideas of a common, clueless, lazy, greedy, and unscrupulous fool. This type of person would just understand enough about the scheme to be excited at the thought of tricking those lottery guys. And the con artist finishes his letter with one last note that's just right to make Master Fool feel certain that his money is on the way. He says, “Be sure to show your prize to all your friends, so they will buy tickets at my office.”
Moreover, these letters inclose each a “report of the seventeenth monthly drawing of the Cosmopolitan Art Union Association.” You may observe that one of these “seventeenth drawings” took place November 7 1864, and another December 5, 1864; so that seventeenthly came twice. What is a far more remarkable coincidence is this; that in each of these “reports” is a list of a hundred and thirty or forty numbers that drew prizes, and it is exactly the same list each time,[181] and the same prize to each number! There is a third coincidence; that one of these two drawings is said to have been at London, New York, and the other at London, New Jersey. And lastly, there is a fourth coincidence, viz., that neither of these places exists.
Moreover, these letters include a “report of the seventeenth monthly drawing of the Cosmopolitan Art Union Association.” You might notice that one of these “seventeenth drawings” happened on November 7, 1864, and the other on December 5, 1864; so, the seventeenth occurred twice. What’s even more remarkable is that each of these “reports” lists a hundred and thirty or forty numbers that won prizes, and it's exactly the same list every time,[181] with the same prize for each number! There’s a third coincidence; one of these two drawings is claimed to have taken place in London, New York, while the other was in London, New Jersey. Lastly, there’s a fourth coincidence: neither of these places actually exists.
Now, what a transparent swindle this is! how plain, how impudent, how rascally! And all done entirely by the use of the Post Office privileges of the United States. Try to catch this fellow. You can find where he mailed his circular; but he probably stopped there over night to do so, and nobody knew it. In each circular, he wrote to his dupes to address him at that new “more central location” that he struggles after so hard; and how is the pursuer to find it? Would anybody naturally go and watch the Post Office at Bronxville, New York, for instance, as a particularly central location for business?
Now, what a clear scam this is! How obvious, how bold, how deceitful! And all done entirely using the privileges of the United States Postal Service. Try to catch this guy. You can see where he mailed his circular; but he probably stayed there overnight to do it, and no one noticed. In each circular, he told his victims to reach him at that new “more central location” he chases after so hard; and how is the investigator supposed to find it? Would anyone naturally think to watch the Post Office in Bronxville, New York, for example, as a particularly central spot for business?
Besides, no one person is cheated out of enough to make him follow up the affair, and probably nobody who sends the cash wants to say much about it afterward. He wants to wait and show the prize!
Besides, no one individual is cheated out of enough to make them pursue the matter, and likely no one who sends the money wants to say much about it afterward. They want to wait and show off the prize!
These dirty sharking traps will always be set, and will always catch silly people, as long as there are any to catch. The only means of stopping such trickery is to diffuse the conviction that the best way to get a living is, to go to work like a man and earn it honestly.
These deceptive shark traps will always be in place and will continue to trap naive people as long as there are those to catch. The only way to put an end to such schemes is to challenge the belief that the best way to make a living is to work hard like a man and earn it honestly.
CHAPTER XXII.
ANOTHER LOTTERY HUMBUG.—TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY RECIPES.—VILE BOOKS.—“ADVANTAGE-CARDS.”—A PACKAGE FOR YOU; PLEASE SEND THE MONEY.—PEDDLING IN WESTERN NEW YORK.
ANOTHER LOTTERY SCAM.—TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY RECIPES.—AWFUL BOOKS.—“ADVANTAGE CARDS.”—A PACKAGE FOR YOU; PLEASE SEND THE MONEY.—SELLING IN WESTERN NEW YORK.
The readiness with which people will send off their money to a swindler is perfectly astounding. It does really seem as if an independent fortune could be made simply by putting forth circulars and advertisements, requesting the receiver to send five dollars to the advertiser, and saying that “it will be all right.”
The ease with which people send their money to a con artist is truly shocking. It really seems like someone could make a decent fortune just by putting out flyers and ads, asking the recipient to send five dollars to the advertiser, and claiming that “everything will be fine.”
I have already given an account of the way in which lottery dealers operate. From among the same pile of documents which I used then, I have selected a few others, as instances in part, of a class of humbugs sometimes of a kind even far more noxious, and which show that their devisers and patrons are not only sharpers or fools, but often also very cold-blooded villains or very nasty ones. Some of them are managed by printed circulars and written letters, such as those before me; some of them by newspaper advertisements. Some are only to cheat you out of money, and others offer in return for money some base gratification. But whatever means are used, and whatever purpose is sought, they are all alike in one thing—they depend entirely on the monstrous number of simpletons who will send money to people they know nothing about.
I’ve already explained how lottery operators work. From the same collection of documents I used before, I’ve picked a few more examples of a type of scam that can be even more harmful. These show that the people behind them—whether they’re con artists or just naive—can often be very cold-hearted or downright nasty. Some are run using printed flyers and letters, like the ones in front of me; others use newspaper ads. Some are just there to swindle you out of your money, while others offer some kind of sleazy reward in exchange for your cash. But no matter the method or the goal, they all have one thing in common—they rely entirely on the staggering number of gullible people who will send money to strangers they know nothing about.
[183]Of the nasty ones, I can give no details. Vile books, pictures, etc., are from time to time advertised, sold, and forwarded, by circular, and through the mails, and for large prices.
[183]Regarding the unpleasant ones, I can't provide any specifics. Disgusting books, images, and so on are occasionally promoted, sold, and sent out via mail and advertisements, often at high prices.
There have been some cases where a funny sort of swindle has been effected by these peddlers of pruriency, by selling some dirty-minded dupe a cheap good book, at the extravagant price of a dear bad one. More than one foolish youth has received, instead of the vile thing that he sent five dollars for, a nice little New Testament. It is obvious that no very loud complaints are likely to be made about such cheating as that. It is, perhaps, one of the safest swindles ever contrived.
There have been some instances where a ridiculous kind of scam has been pulled off by these sellers of sleazy content, by selling some naive buyer a decent book at the outrageous price of a worthless one. More than one foolish young person has ended up with a nice little New Testament instead of the disgusting item he paid five dollars for. It’s clear that not many loud complaints are going to come up about such deceit. It’s probably one of the safest scams ever devised.
The first document which I take from my pile is the announcement of a fellow who operates lottery-wise. His scheme appeals at once to benevolence and to greediness. He says: “The profits of the distribution are to be given to the Sanitary Commission;” and secondly, “Every ticket brings a prize of at least its full value, and some of them $5,000.”
The first document I pull from my stack is an announcement from someone running a lottery. His plan immediately appeals to both generosity and greed. He states, “The proceeds from the lottery will go to the Sanitary Commission,” and adds, “Every ticket guarantees a prize worth at least its full value, with some tickets offering $5,000.”
If, therefore you won’t buy tickets for filthy lucre’s sake, buy for the sake of our soldiers.
If you won't buy tickets just for the sake of making money, then buy for the sake of our soldiers.
“But,” somebody says, “how can you afford this arrangement, which is a direct loss of the whole cost of working your lottery, and moreover of the whole value of all prizes costing more than a ticket?”
“But,” someone asks, “how can you afford this arrangement, which directly results in losing the entire cost of running your lottery, and also the full value of all prizes that cost more than a ticket?”
“Oh,” replies our benevolent friend, “a number of manufacturers in New England have asked me to do this, and the prizes are given by them as friends of the soldier.”
“Oh,” replies our kind friend, “a number of manufacturers in New England have asked me to do this, and the prizes are provided by them as supporters of the soldier.”
[184]One observation will sufficiently show what an impudent mess of lies this story is, namely;—If the manufacturers of New England wanted to give money to the Sanitary Commission, they would give money; if goods, they would give goods. They certainly would not put their gifts through the additional roundabout, useless nonsense of a lottery, which is to turn over only the same amount of funds to the Commission.
[184]One observation clearly demonstrates what a bold mess of lies this story is: If the manufacturers in New England wanted to donate money to the Sanitary Commission, they would just give money; if they wanted to donate goods, they would give goods. They certainly wouldn't complicate their contributions with the unnecessary and ridiculous process of a lottery, which only ends up providing the same amount of funds to the Commission.
The next document is a circular sent from a Western town by a fellow who claims also to be a master of arts, doctor of medicines, and doctor of laws, but whose handwriting and language are those of a stable-boy. This chap sends round a list of two hundred and fifty recipes at various prices, from twenty-five cents to a dollar each. Send him the money for any you wish, and he promises to return you the directions for making the stuff. You are then to go about and peddle it, and swiftly become independently rich. You can begin with a dollar, he says; in two days make fifty dollars, and then sweep on in a grand career of affluence, making from $75 to $200 a day, “if you are industrious.” What is petroleum to this? It is a mercy that we don’t all turn to and peddle to each other; we should all get too rich to speak!
The next document is a circular sent from a Western town by a guy who claims to be a master of arts, doctor of medicine, and doctor of law, but whose handwriting and language are like that of a stable boy. This guy sends out a list of two hundred and fifty recipes at various prices, ranging from twenty-five cents to a dollar each. Send him the money for any you want, and he promises to send back the instructions for making the stuff. You then go around and sell it and quickly become independently wealthy. He says you can start with a dollar; in two days you'll make fifty bucks and then continue on a grand path to wealth, making anywhere from $75 to $200 a day, “if you're hardworking.” What is petroleum compared to this? It’s a blessing we don’t all start selling to one another; we'd all get too rich to even talk!
The fellow, out of pure kindness and desire for your good, recommends you to buy all his recipes, as then you will be sure to sell something to everybody. Most of these recipes are for sufficiently harmless purposes—shaving-soap, cement, inks—“five gallons of good ink for fifteen cents”—tooth-powders, etc. Some of them are arrant nonsense; such as “tea—better than the[185] Chinese,” which is as if he promised something wetter than water; “to make thieves’ vinegar;” “prismatic diamond crystals for windows;” “to make yellow butter”—is the butter blue where the man lives? Others are of a sort calculated to attract foolish rustic rascals who would like to gain an easy living by cheating, if they were only smart enough. Thus, there is “Rothschild’s great secret; or how to make common gold.” My readers shall have a better recipe than this swindler’s—work hard, think hard, be honest, and spend little—this will “make common gold,” and this is all the secret Rothschild ever had. A number of these recipes are barefaced quackeries; such as cures for consumption, cancer, rheumatism, and sundry other diseases; to make whiskers and mustaches grow—ah, boys, you can’t hurry up those things. Greasing your cheeks is just as good as trying to whistle the hair out, but not a bit better. Don’t hurry; you will be old quite soon enough! But this fellow is ready for old fools as well young ones, for he has recipes for curing baldness and removing wrinkles. And last, but not least, quietly inserted among all these fooleries and harmless humbugs, are two or three recipes which promise the safe gratification of the basest vices. Those are what he really hoped to get money for.
The guy, out of pure kindness and a desire to help you, suggests you buy all his recipes, as then you’ll definitely sell something to everyone. Most of these recipes are for pretty harmless things—shaving soap, cement, inks—“five gallons of good ink for fifteen cents”—tooth powders, and so on. Some of them are complete nonsense; like “tea—better than the[185] Chinese,” which is as if he promised something wetter than water; “to make thieves’ vinegar;” “prismatic diamond crystals for windows;” “to make yellow butter”—is the butter blue where he lives? Others are designed to lure foolish country fools who want to make an easy buck by cheating, if they were just clever enough. So there’s “Rothschild’s great secret; or how to make common gold.” My readers will get a better recipe than this scammer’s—work hard, think hard, be honest, and spend little—this will “make common gold,” and that’s all the secret Rothschild ever had. Many of these recipes are blatant scams; like cures for tuberculosis, cancer, rheumatism, and other various diseases; to make whiskers and mustaches grow—oh, boys, you can’t rush those things. Greasing your cheeks is just as effective as trying to whistle the hair out, but no better. Don’t rush; you’ll be old soon enough! But this guy is ready for both old fools and young ones, as he has recipes for curing baldness and getting rid of wrinkles. And last, but not least, quietly mixed in among all these foolishness and harmless scams, are two or three recipes that promise the safe fulfillment of the worst vices. That’s what he really hoped to profit from.
I have carefully refrained from giving any names or information which would enable anybody to address any of these folks. I do not propose to cooperate with them, if I know it.
I have intentionally avoided mentioning any names or details that would allow anyone to contact these people. I have no intention of working with them if I can help it.
The next is a circular only to be very briefly alluded to: it promises to furnish, on receipt of the price, and[186] “by mail or express, with perfect safety, so as to defy detection,” any of twenty-two wholly infamous books, and various other cards and commodities, well suited to the public of Sodom and Gomorrah, etc. The most honest and decent things advertised in this unclean list are “advantage-cards” which enable the player to swindle his adversary by reading off his hand by the backs of the cards.
The next item is a circular that I'll mention only briefly: it promises to provide, upon payment, and[186] “by mail or express, with complete safety, as to avoid detection,” any of twenty-two notorious books, along with various other cards and items, perfectly suited for the audience of Sodom and Gomorrah, etc. The most honest and decent things advertised in this unseemly list are “advantage-cards” that allow the player to cheat his opponent by figuring out his hand by looking at the backs of the cards.
The next paper I can copy verbatim, except some names, etc., is a letter as follows:
The next document I can replicate exactly, except for some names and details, is a letter as follows:
“Dear Sir—There is a Package in My care for a Mrs. preston New Griswold wich thare is 48 cts. fratage. Pleas forward the same. I shall send it Per Express Your recpt.”
“Dear Sir—There is a package in my care for Mrs. Preston New Griswold which there is 48 cents freight. Please forward the same. I shall send it per express your receipt.”
It is some little comfort to know that this gentleman, who is so much opposed to the present prevailing methods of spelling, lost the three cents which he invested in seeking “fratage.” But a good many sensible people have carelessly sent away the small amounts demanded by letters like the above, and have wondered why their prepaid parcels never came.
It’s somewhat comforting to know that this man, who strongly opposes the current mainstream spelling methods, lost the three cents he spent trying to find “fratage.” But a lot of sensible people have carelessly sent off small amounts requested in letters like this one and have wondered why their prepaid packages never arrived.
Next, is an account by a half amused and half indignant eye-witness, of what happened in a well known town in Western New York, on Friday, January 6, 1865. A personage described as “dressed in Yankee style,” drove into the principal street of the place with a horse and buggy, and began to sell what is called in some parts of New England “Attleboro,” that is, imitation jewelry, but promising to return the customers their money, if required, and doing so. After a number of transactions of this kind, he bawls out, like the[187] sorcerer in Aladdin, who went around crying new lamps for old, “Who will give me four dollars for this five-dollar greenback?”
Next, here's a story from a witness who was both amused and a bit outraged about what happened in a well-known town in Western New York on Friday, January 6, 1865. A guy dressed in a typical Yankee outfit drove into the main street with a horse and buggy and started selling what some people in New England call “Attleboro,” which is imitation jewelry. He promised to give customers their money back if they asked for it, and he actually followed through. After several of these transactions, he loudly called out, like the[187] sorcerer in Aladdin who goes around shouting about trading new lamps for old ones, “Who will give me four dollars for this five-dollar bill?”
He found a customer; sold a one-dollar greenback for ninety cents; then sold some half-dollar bills for twenty-five cents each; then flung out among the crowd what a fisherman would call ground bait, in the shape of a handful of “currency.”
He found a customer; sold a one-dollar bill for ninety cents; then sold some fifty-cent bills for twenty-five cents each; then threw out among the crowd what a fisherman would call ground bait, in the form of a handful of “money.”
Everybody scrambled for the money. This liberal trader now drove slowly a little way along, and the crowd pressed after him.
Everybody rushed for the money. This generous trader now moved slowly a short distance ahead, and the crowd followed closely behind him.
He now began, without any further promises, to sell a lot of bogus lockets at five dollars each, and in a few minutes had disposed of about forty. Having, therefore, about two hundred dollars in his pocket, and trade slackening, he coolly observes, with a terseness and clearness of oratory that would not discredit General Sherman:
He now started, without any more promises, to sell a bunch of fake lockets for five dollars each, and in just a few minutes, he had sold around forty. With about two hundred dollars in his pocket and sales slowing down, he calmly remarked, with a straightforwardness and clarity of speech that would impress General Sherman:
“Gentlemen—I have sold you those goods at my price. I am a licensed peddler. If I give you your money back you will think me a lunatic. I wish you all success in your ordinary vocations! Good morning!”
“Gentlemen—I have sold you those goods at my price. I am a licensed vendor. If I refund your money, you will think I’m crazy. I wish you all the best in your everyday jobs! Good morning!”
And sure enough, he drove off. That same cunning chap has actually made a small fortune in this way. He really is licensed as a peddler, and though arrested more than once, has consequently not been found legally punishable.
And sure enough, he drove away. That same clever guy has actually made a small fortune this way. He really is licensed as a street vendor, and even though he’s been arrested more than once, he hasn’t been found legally punishable.
I will specify only one more of my collection, of yet another kind. This is a printed circular appealing to a class of fools, if possible, even shallower, sillier, and[188] more credulous than any I have named yet. It is headed “The Gypsies’ Seven Secret Charms.” These charms consist of a kind of hellbroth or decoction. You are to wet the hands and the forehead with them, and this is to render you able to tell what any person is thinking of; upon taking any one by the hand, you will be able to entirely control the mind and will of such person (it is unnecessary to specify the purpose intended to be believed possible). These charms are also to enable you to buy lucky lottery-tickets, discover things lost or hid, dream correctly of the future, increase the intellectual faculties, secure the affections of the other sex, etc. These precious conceits are set forth in a ridiculous hodge-podge of statements. The “charms,” it says, were used by the “Antedeluvians;” were the secret of the Egyptian enchanters and of Moses, too; of the Pythoness and the heathen conjurors and humbugs generally; and (which will be news to the geographers of to-day) “are used by the Psyli (the swindler mis-spells again) of South America to charm Beasts, Birds, and Serpents.” The way to control the mind, he says, was discovered by a French traveler named Tunear. This Frenchman is perhaps a relative of the equally celebrated Russian traveller, Toofaroff.
I will mention one more item from my collection, of yet another type. This is a printed flyer appealing to a group of fools, likely even shallower, sillier, and[188] more gullible than anyone I've mentioned so far. It’s titled “The Gypsies’ Seven Secret Charms.” These charms consist of a kind of concoction. You're supposed to wet your hands and forehead with it, which is said to allow you to know what anyone is thinking; by shaking hands with someone, you'll be able to completely control their mind and will (it's unnecessary to specify what people are meant to believe this can achieve). These charms are also claimed to help you buy lucky lottery tickets, find lost or hidden things, dream accurately about the future, enhance your intelligence, win the affection of the opposite sex, and more. These ridiculous ideas are presented in a nonsensical mix of claims. The “charms,” it says, were used by the “Antedeluvians;” were the secret of Egyptian magicians and Moses, too; of the Oracle and the general charlatans; and (which will be news to modern geographers) “are used by the Psyli (the swindler mis-spells again) of South America to charm Beasts, Birds, and Serpents.” The method to control the mind, he claims, was discovered by a French traveler named Tunear. This Frenchman is possibly related to the equally famous Russian traveler, Toofaroff.
But here is the point, after all. You send the money, we will say, for one of these charms—for they are for sale separately. You receive in return a second circular, saying that they work a great deal better all together, and so the man will send you all of them when you send the rest of the money. Send it, if you choose!
But here's the thing, after all. You send the money, we'll say, for one of these charms—because they’re sold separately. You get another circular in return, saying they work way better all together, and so the guy will send you all of them when you send the rest of the money. Go ahead and send it, if you want!
[189]Now, how is it possible for people to be living among us here, who are fooled by such wretched balderdash as this? There are such, however, and a great many of them. I do not imagine that there are many of these addlepates among my readers; but there is no harm in giving once more a very plain and easy direction which may possibly save somebody some money and some mortification. Be content with what you can honestly earn. Know whom you deal with. Do not try to get money without giving fair value for it. And pay out no money on strangers’ promises, whether by word of mouth, written letters, advertisements, or printed circulars.
[189]Now, how is it possible for people to be living among us here, who are fooled by such ridiculous nonsense as this? There are such people, and a lot of them. I don’t think there are many of these clueless individuals among my readers; but there’s no harm in repeating a straightforward piece of advice that might save someone some money and embarrassment. Be satisfied with what you can honestly earn. Know who you’re dealing with. Don’t try to get money without providing fair value for it. And don’t pay any money based on strangers' promises, whether spoken, written in letters, advertised, or printed in circulars.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Some twelve years ago or so, in the early days of Californian immigration, a curious little business humbug came off about six miles from Monterey. A United States officer, about the year 1850, was on his way into the interior on a surveying expedition, with a party of men, a portable forge, a load of coal, and sundry other articles. At the place in question, six miles inland, the Lieutenant’s coal wagon “stalled” in a “tulé” swamp. With true military decision the greater part of the coal was thrown out to extricate the team, and[190] not picked up again. The expedition went on and so did time, and the latter, in his progress, had some years afterward dried up the tulé swamp. Some enterprising prospectors, with eyes wide open to the nature of things, now espied one fine morning the lumps of coal, sticking their black noses up out of the mud. It was a clear case—there was a coal mine there! The happy discoverers rushed into town. A company was at once organized under the mining laws of the state of California. The corporators at first kept the whole matter totally secret except from a few particular friends who were as a very great favor allowed to buy stock for cash. A “compromise” was made with the owner of the land, largely to his advantage. When things had thus been set properly at work, specimens of coal were publicly exhibited at Monterey. There was a gigantic excitement; shares went up almost out of sight. Twelve hundred dollars in coin for one share (par $100) was laughed at. About this time a quiet honest Dutchman of the vicinity passing along by the “mine” one evening with his cart, innocently and unconsciously picked up the whole at one single load and carried it home. Prompt was the discovery of the “sell” by the stockholders, and voluble and intense, it is said, their profane expressions of dissatisfaction. But the original discoverers of the mine vigorously protested that they were “sold” themselves, and that it was only a case of common misfortune. It is however reported that a number of persons in Monterey, after the explosion of the speculation, remembered all about the coal-wagon part of the business, which they said, the excite[191]ment of the “company” had put entirely out of their heads.
About twelve years ago, in the early days of California's immigration, a curious little scam took place about six miles from Monterey. A U.S. officer, around the year 1850, was heading into the interior on a surveying mission with a group of men, a portable forge, a load of coal, and various other items. At the location, six miles inland, the Lieutenant's coal wagon got stuck in a tule swamp. With typical military decisiveness, most of the coal was thrown out to free the team, and it was never picked up again. The expedition continued, and so did time, which a few years later dried up the tule swamp. Some enterprising prospectors, with their eyes open to opportunities, noticed one fine morning the lumps of coal sticking up out of the mud. It was clearly a coal mine! The excited discoverers rushed into town. A company was quickly formed under California's mining laws. The founders initially kept the whole situation completely secret except for a few close friends who were generously allowed to buy stock for cash. A “compromise” was made with the landowner, which benefited him greatly. Once things were properly underway, coal samples were publicly displayed in Monterey. Excitement soared; shares skyrocketed. Paying twelve hundred dollars for one share (par value $100) was met with laughter. Around this time, a quiet, honest Dutchman from the area happened to pass by the “mine” one evening with his cart and unknowingly collected a whole load of coal to take home. The stockholders quickly discovered the “theft,” and it is said they expressed their dissatisfaction with quite a bit of colorful language. However, the original discoverers of the mine firmly argued that they were “sold” as well and that it was simply a case of bad luck. It’s reported that many people in Monterey, after the bubble burst, recalled all about the coal wagon part of the story, which they said the excitement from the “company” had completely pushed out of their minds.
An equally unfounded but not quite so barefaced humbug came off a good many years ago in the good old city of Hartford, in Connecticut, according to the account given me by an old gentleman now deceased, who was one of the parties interested. This was a coal mine in the State House yard. It sounds like talking about getting sunbeams out of cucumbers—but something of the sort certainly took place.
An equally baseless but not quite so blatant scam happened many years ago in the good old city of Hartford, Connecticut, according to the story told to me by an elderly gentleman who has since passed away, who was one of the people involved. This was a coal mine in the State House yard. It sounds like the idea of getting sunbeams from cucumbers—but something like that definitely occurred.
Coal is found among rocks of certain kinds, and not elsewhere. Among strata of granite or basalt for instance, nobody expects to find coal. But along with a certain kind of sandstone it may reasonably be expected. Now the Hartford wiseacres found that tremendously far down under their city, there was a sort of sandstone, and they were sure that it was the sort. So they gathered together some money,—there is a vast deal of that in Hartford, coal or no coal—organized a company, employed a Mining Superintendent, set up a boring apparatus, and down went their hole into the ground—an orifice some four or six inches across. Through the surface stratum of earth it went, and bang it came against the sandstone. They pounded away, with good courage, and got some fifties or hundreds of feet further. Indefinable sensations were aroused in their minds at one time by the coming up among the products of boring, of some chips of wood. Now wood, shortly coal, they thought. They might, I imagine, have brought up some pieces of boiled potato or even of fresh shad, provided it had fallen down first. They[192] dug on until they got tired, and then they stopped. If they had gone down ten thousand feet they would have found no coal. Coal is found in the new red sandstone; but theirs was the old red sandstone, which is a very fine old stone itself, but in which no coal was ever found, except what might have been put there on purpose, or possibly some faint indications. The hole they made, however, as my informant gravely observed, was left sticking in the ground, and if he is right is to this day a sort of appendix or tail to the well north-west corner of the State House Square. So, I suppose, any one who chooses can go and poke down there after it and satisfy himself about the accuracy of this account. Such an inquirer ought to find satisfaction, for “truth lies in the bottom of a well” says the proverb. Yet some ill natured skeptics have construed this to mean that all will tell lies sometimes, for—as they accent it, even “Truth lies, at the bottom of a well!”
Coal is found in specific types of rocks, not in others. No one expects to discover coal in granite or basalt, for example. But it can reasonably be found alongside a certain type of sandstone. The smart folks in Hartford discovered that deep beneath their city, there was a kind of sandstone, and they were convinced it was the right kind. So they pooled some money—there’s plenty of that in Hartford, with or without coal—formed a company, hired a Mining Superintendent, set up a drilling rig, and started digging a hole in the ground—about four to six inches wide. They drilled through the top layer of dirt and suddenly hit sandstone. With good spirits, they kept pushing down a few more feet. They even felt a thrill when some wood chips came up from the drilling. They thought, “Wood, and soon coal.” I could imagine they might have pulled up some pieces of boiled potato or even fresh fish, if that had happened to fall down first. They kept digging until they got tired and finally stopped. Even if they had gone down ten thousand feet, they wouldn’t have found any coal. Coal is found in the new red sandstone, but theirs was the old red sandstone, which is a lovely rock itself, but doesn’t have coal, aside from what might have been placed there on purpose or perhaps some faint hints. The hole they created, however, as my informant seriously noted, remains in the ground, and if he's correct, it's still somewhat of a leftover pit at the north-west corner of State House Square. So, anyone who wants can go poke around there and see for themselves if this story holds up. Such an inquirer should find what they’re looking for, as the saying goes, “truth lies in the bottom of a well.” Yet some cynical skeptics twist this to mean that everyone tells lies sometimes, because—as they emphasize—even “Truth lies, at the bottom of a well!”
Still a different sort of business humbug, again, was a wonderful story which went the rounds about fifteen years ago, and which was cooked up to help some one or other of the various enterprises for new routes by Central America to California. This story started, I believe, in the “New Orleans Courier.” It was, that a French Doctor of Vera Paz in Guatemala, while making a canal from his estate to the sea, discovered, away up at the very furthest extremity of the Gulf of Honduras, a vast ancient canal, two hundred and forty feet wide, seventy feet deep, and walled in on both sides with gigantic masses of rough cut stone. The Doctor at once gave up his own trifling modern exca[193]vation, and plunged into an explanation of this vast ancient one, as zealously as if he were probing after some uncertain bullet in a poor fellow’s leg. The monstrous canal carried him in a straight line up the country, to the south-westward. Some twenty miles or so inland it plunged under a volcano!
Still a different kind of business scam, once again, was a fascinating story that circulated about fifteen years ago, which was fabricated to support one of the various ventures for new routes through Central America to California. I think this story originated in the “New Orleans Courier.” It claimed that a French doctor in Vera Paz, Guatemala, while building a canal from his estate to the sea, discovered, far up at the very edge of the Gulf of Honduras, a massive ancient canal, two hundred and forty feet wide, seventy feet deep, and lined on both sides with huge rough-cut stones. The doctor immediately abandoned his own minor modern excavation and eagerly delved into explaining this vast ancient structure, as passionately as if he were searching for an elusive bullet in a poor guy’s leg. The enormous canal led him straight inland to the south-west. About twenty miles or so inland, it disappeared under a volcano!
But see what a French doctor is made of!
But check out what a French doctor is all about!
Cutting down the great, old trees that obstructed the entrance, and procuring a canoe with a crew of Indians, in he went. The canal became a prodigious tunnel, of the same width and depth of water, and vaulted three hundred and thirty five feet high in the living rock. Nothing is said about the bowels of the volcano, so that we must conclude either that such affairs are not planted so deep as is supposed, or that the fire-pot of the concern was shoved one side or bridged over by the canallers, or that the Frenchman had some remarkably good style of Fire Annihilator, or else that there is some mistake!
He cleared away the large, old trees that blocked the entrance and got a canoe with a crew of Native Americans, then he went in. The canal turned into a massive tunnel, with the same width and depth of water, and reached three hundred and thirty-five feet high in the solid rock. Nothing is mentioned about the insides of the volcano, so we have to assume either that such things aren't buried as deeply as thought, or that the fire area was moved aside or covered up by the canal builders, or that the Frenchman had some incredibly effective fire extinguishing method, or maybe there’s some confusion!
Eighteen hours of incessant travel brought our intrepid M.D. safe through to the Pacific Ocean; during which time, if the maps of that country are of any authority, he passed under quite a number of mountains and rivers. The trip was not dark at all, as shafts were sunk every little way, which lighted up the interior quite well, and then the volcano gave—or ought to have given—some light inside. Indeed, if the doctor had only thought of it, I presume he would have noticed double rows of street gas lamps on each side of the canal! The exclusive right to use this excellent transit route has not, to my knowledge, been secured to anybody[194] yet. It will be observed that ships as large as the Great Eastern could easily pass each other in this canal, which renders it a sure thing for any other vessel unless that shrewd and grasping fellow the Emperor Louis Napoleon, has got hold of this canal and is keeping it dark for some still darker purposes of his own—as for instance to run his puppet Maximilian into for refuge, when he is run out of Mexico—it is therefore still in the market. And my publication of the facts effectually disposes of the Emperor’s plan of secrecy, of course.
Eighteen hours of nonstop travel brought our fearless M.D. safely to the Pacific Ocean; during which time, if the maps of that area are accurate, he passed under several mountains and rivers. The journey wasn't dark at all, as tunnels were dug every so often, which lit up the interior quite well, and the volcano provided—or should have provided—some light inside. In fact, if the doctor had thought about it, he would have noticed double rows of street gas lamps on each side of the canal! To my knowledge, no one has secured exclusive rights to use this excellent transit route yet[194]. It can be seen that ships as large as the Great Eastern could easily pass each other in this canal, making it a reliable route for any other vessel unless that shrewd and greedy guy, Emperor Louis Napoleon, has taken control of this canal and is keeping it secret for some even darker purposes of his own—like giving his puppet Maximilian a place to hide when he's ousted from Mexico—so it’s still available. My publication of these facts effectively undermines the Emperor’s plan for secrecy, of course.
IV. MONEY MANIAS.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PETROLEUM HUMBUG.—THE NEW YORK AND RANGOON PETROLEUM COMPANY.
THE PETROLEUM HUMBUG.—THE NEW YORK AND RANGOON PETROLEUM COMPANY.
Every sham, as has often been said, proves some reality. Petroleum exists, no doubt, and is an important addition to our national wealth. But the Petroleum humbug or mania or superstition, or whatever you choose to call it, is a humbug, just as truly, and a big one, whether we use the word in its milder or its bitterer sense.
Every trick, as has often been said, proves some reality. Petroleum exists, no doubt, and is an important addition to our national wealth. But the petroleum hype, craze, or belief—whatever you want to call it—is a fraud, just as much, and a significant one, whether we use the word in its softer or harsher sense.
There are more than six hundred petroleum companies. The capital they call for, is certainly not less than five hundred million dollars. The money invested in the notorious South Sea Bubble was less than two-fifths as much—only about $190,000,000.
There are over six hundred oil companies. The capital they require is definitely not less than five hundred million dollars. The money invested in the infamous South Sea Bubble was less than two-fifths of that—only about $190,000,000.
Now, this petroleum business—very much of it—is just as thorough a gambling business as any faro bank ever set up in Broadway, or any other stock speculation ever conjured up in Wall Street—as much so, for instance, as the well known Parker Vein coal company.
Now, this oil business—much of it—is just as much a gambling operation as any faro bank ever established on Broadway or any stock speculation ever dreamed up on Wall Street—just as much, for example, as the well-known Parker Vein coal company.
I shall here tell exactly how those well known and enterprising financiers, Messrs. Peter Rolleum and Diddle Digwell proceeded in organizing the New-York and[196] Rangoon Petroleum Company, of which all my readers have seen the advertisements everywhere, and of which the former is the Vice President and managing officer, and the latter Secretary. In June 1864, neither of these worthy gentleman was worth a cent. Rolleum shinned up and down in some commission agency or other, and Digwell had a small salary as clerk in some insurance or money concern. They barely earned a living. Now, Rolleum says he is worth $200,000; and Mr. Secretary Digwell, besides about $10,000 worth of stock in the New York and Rangoon, has his comfortable salary and his highly respectable “posish”—to use a little bit of business slang.
I’m going to explain exactly how those well-known and enterprising financiers, Peter Rolleum and Diddle Digwell, went about organizing the New-York and[196] Rangoon Petroleum Company, which everyone has seen advertised everywhere. Rolleum is the Vice President and managing officer, and Digwell is the Secretary. Back in June 1864, neither of these gentlemen had a dime to their names. Rolleum was bouncing around some commission agency, and Digwell was earning a small salary as a clerk at an insurance or finance company. They were barely scraping by. Now, Rolleum claims he’s worth $200,000, and Mr. Secretary Digwell, in addition to about $10,000 worth of stock in the New York and Rangoon, enjoys a comfortable salary and a highly respectable “position”—to use a little business slang.
Mr. Rolleum was the originator of the scheme, and let Digwell into it; and together they went to work. They had a few hundred dollars in cash, no particular credit, an entirely unlimited fund of lies, a good deal of industry, plausibility, talk, and cheek, considerable acquaintance with business, and an instinctive appreciation of some of the more selfish motives commonly influential among men.
Mr. Rolleum came up with the plan and brought Digwell on board; together they got to work. They had a few hundred dollars in cash, no real credit, a limitless supply of lies, a good amount of hard work, charm, conversation, and audacity, a decent understanding of business, and a natural sense of some of the more self-serving motives that often influence people.
First of all, Rolleum made a trip into the oil country. Here, while picking up some of his ordinary agency business, he looked around among the wells and oil lands, talking, and examining and inquiring of everybody about everything, with a busy, solemn face, and the air of one who does not wish it to be supposed that he has important interests in his care. Then he talked with some men at (we will say) Titusville and thereabouts; told all about his valuable business connections in New York City: and after getting a little acquainted, he laid[197] before each of half-a-dozen or so of them, this proposition:
First off, Rolleum took a trip to the oil country. While he was handling some of his usual agency tasks, he looked around at the wells and oil lands, talking, examining, and asking questions of everyone about everything, wearing a busy, serious expression, and seeming like someone who really doesn’t want others to think he has important interests to manage. Then he chatted with a few guys in (let's say) Titusville and the surrounding areas; he shared all about his valuable business connections in New York City. After getting to know them a bit, he presented[197] a proposition to each of half a dozen or so of them:
“You can have a good many shares of a first class new oil company about to be formed just for permitting your name to be used in its interest, and for being a trustee.” A thousand shares apiece, he said; to be valued at five dollars each, the par value however, being ten dollars. Five thousand dollars each man, and to be made ten thousand, as soon as the proposed puffing should enable them to sell out. After a little hesitation, a sufficient number consented. There was nothing to pay, something handsome to get, and all they were asked for it was, to let a man talk about them. What if he did lie? That was his business.
“You can get a good chunk of shares in a top-notch new oil company that’s about to be formed just by letting them use your name and being a trustee.” He mentioned a thousand shares each, valued at five dollars each, although their par value is ten dollars. That’s five thousand dollars for each person, which could be turned into ten thousand as soon as the planned publicity helps them sell off their shares. After some hesitation, enough people agreed. There was nothing to pay upfront, potential for a nice profit, and all they were asked to do was let a guy promote them. What if he lied? That was his problem.
This fixed four out of the nine intended trustees.
This confirmed four out of the nine planned trustees.
Rolleum also obtained memoranda or printed circulars showing the amounts for which a number of oil land owners would sell their holes in the ground or the room for making others, and describing the premises. He now flew back to New York, and went to sundry persons of some means and some position but of no great nobility, and thus he said:
Rolleum also got memos or printed flyers showing how much several oil landowners were asking to sell their land or the opportunity to create more, along with details about the properties. He then flew back to New York and approached various people with some wealth and standing, though not much nobility, and said:
“Here are these wealthy and distinguished oil men right there on the ground who are going to be trustees of my new company.
“Here are these rich and prominent oil executives right here on the ground who are going to be the trustees of my new company.”
“You serve too, won’t you? One thousand shares for your trouble—five thousand dollars. No money to pay—I will see to all that. Here are the lands we can buy,”—and he showed his lists. The bribe, and the names of those already bribed, influenced them, and this secured three more trustees. Two more were[198] needed, namely the President and Vice President. Rolleum himself was to be the latter; his next move was to secure the former.
“You’ll help out too, right? A thousand shares for your trouble—five thousand dollars. No need to worry about payment—I’ll handle that. Here are the lands we can buy,”—and he displayed his lists. The bribe and the names of those already bought off influenced them, securing three more trustees. Two more were[198] needed, specifically the President and Vice President. Rolleum was set to be the latter; his next step was to secure the former.
This, the most critical part of the scheme, was cunningly delayed until this time. Rolleum went to the Honorable A. Bee, a gentleman of a good deal of ability, pretty widely known, not very rich, believed (perhaps for that reason) to be honest, no longer young, and of a reverend yet agreeable presence. Him the plausible Rolleum told all about the new Company; what a respectable board of trustees there was going to be—and he showed the names; all either experienced and substantial men of the oil country, or reputable business men of New York City. And they have agreed to serve, in part because they know what a very honest company this is, and still more because they hope that the Honorable A. Bee will become President.
This, the most important part of the plan, was cleverly postponed until now. Rolleum went to see the Honorable A. Bee, a capable gentleman who was relatively well-known, not very wealthy, but believed (maybe for that reason) to be honest, no longer young, and had a respectable yet pleasant appearance. The convincing Rolleum explained everything about the new Company; he described what a respectable board of trustees it would have—and he showed the names; all were either experienced and reputable figures from the oil industry or respected businesspeople from New York City. They agreed to serve, partly because they recognized how honest this company is, and even more so because they hope the Honorable A. Bee will become President.
“My dear Sir,” urged Rolleum, sweetly, “this legitimate business enterprise must succeed, and must secure wealth, reputation, and influence to all connected with it. We know that you are above pecuniary considerations, and that you do not need our influence, or anybody’s. We need yours. And you need not do any work. I will do that. We only need your name. And merely as a matter of form, because the officers are expected to be interested in their own company, I have set apart two thousand shares, being at half par or $5 a share, $10,000 of stock, to stand in your name. See how respectable all these Trustees are!” And he showed the list and preached upon the items of it.
“My dear Sir,” Rolleum urged sweetly, “this legitimate business venture must succeed and must bring wealth, reputation, and influence to everyone involved. We know you’re above financial concerns and don’t need our connections or anyone else's. We need yours. You won’t have to do any work—I’ll take care of that. We just need your name. And just for the sake of formality, since the officers are expected to show interest in their own company, I’ve set aside two thousand shares at half par, which is $5 a share, amounting to $10,000 in stock to be in your name. Look at how respectable all these Trustees are!” He displayed the list and commented on the details.
[199]“This man is worth so many millions, that man is such an influential editor. Could I have obtained such names if this were not a perfectly square thing?”
[199]“This guy is worth millions, and that guy is a really powerful editor. Could I have gotten these names if this wasn’t a totally legit deal?”
Now to set up the machine.
Now to set up the machine.
In a few days of sharp running and talking, Rolleum and Digwell accomplished this, as follows:
In just a few days of intense running and chatting, Rolleum and Digwell achieved this, as follows:
First, they hired and furnished handsomely, paying cash whenever they couldn’t help it, a couple of pleasant first floor rooms close to Wall Street. No dingy desk-room up in some dark corner or attic, for them. Respectability is the thing for Rolleum.
First, they hired and nicely decorated a couple of pleasant first-floor rooms near Wall Street, paying cash whenever they had to. No cramped little office in a dark corner or attic for them. Respectability is what matters for Rolleum.
Second, they hired a lawyer to draft the proper papers, and had the New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company “Duly incorporated under the mining and statute laws of the State of New York,” with charter, by-laws, seal, officers’ names, and everything fine, new, grand, magnificent, impressive, formal, respectable and business-like.
Second, they hired a lawyer to prepare the necessary documents, and had the New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company “Duly incorporated under the mining and statute laws of the State of New York,” complete with a charter, by-laws, seal, names of officers, and everything professional, polished, impressive, and business-oriented.
Third, they now had every requisite of a powerful, enterprising and highly successful corporation, except the small trifles of money, land and oil. But what are these, to such geniuses as Rolleum and Digwell? Singular if having invented and set the trap, they could not catch the birds!
Third, they now had everything needed for a powerful, ambitious, and highly successful corporation, except for the small details of money, land, and oil. But what are those to geniuses like Rolleum and Digwell? Isn't it strange that having invented and set the trap, they couldn't catch the birds!
They bought about three pints of oil, for one dollar; and that settled one part of the question. They bought it ready sorted and vialled and labelled; some crude[200] and green, some yellowish, some limpid as water, half a dozen or so of different specimens. These, in their tall vials of most respectable appearance, they placed casually on the mantel-piece of the outer office. They were specimens of the oils which the company’s wells are confidently expected to yield—when they get ’em!
They bought about three pints of oil for a dollar, which took care of one part of the issue. They got it all sorted, bottled, and labeled; some was crude[200] and green, some yellowish, and some clear as water, with half a dozen or so different samples. They casually placed these in their tall, respectable-looking vials on the mantelpiece of the outer office. These were samples of the oils that the company’s wells are expected to produce—whenever they actually get them!
Last of all—land and money. Subscriptions to capital stock are to furnish money, money will buy land. And saying we’ve got land will procure subscriptions.
Last but not least—land and money. Investments in capital stock will provide funds, and money can purchase land. And saying we have land will attract investments.
“It’s not much of a lie, after all,” said Rolleum, confidentially, to brother Digwell. “When we’ve said we’ve got it for awhile, we shall get it. It’s not a lie at all. It’s only discounting the truth at sixty days!”
“It’s not really a lie, after all,” Rolleum said confidentially to brother Digwell. “When we’ve said we’ve got it for a while, we will get it. It’s not a lie at all. It’s just bending the truth for sixty days!”
So he and Digwell went to work and made a splendid prospectus and advertisement, the latter an abridged edition of the former. This prospectus was a great triumph of business lying mixed with plums and spices of truth, and all set forth with taking “display lines.”
So he and Digwell got to work and created an impressive prospectus and advertisement, with the latter being a shortened version of the former. This prospectus was a real achievement in business deception, blended with bits of truth, all presented with eye-catching “display lines.”
It began with a stately row of names: New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company; Honorable Abraham Bee, President; Peter Rolleum, Esq., Vice President; Diddle Digwell, Esq., Secretary; and so on. With cool impudence it then gave a list headed “Lands and Property”—not saying “of the Company” for fear of a prosecution for swindling. But the list below began with the words “the oil lands to be conveyed to the Company are as follows:” “that’s exactly it” quoth Rolleum—“no lie there, at any rate. They are to ‘to be conveyed’ to us—if we choose—just as soon as we can pay for them.” And then the list went on from[201] “No. 1” to “No. 43,” giving in a row all those memoranda which Rolleum had obtained in Venango County and the region round about, of the descriptions of the real estate which the landsharks up there would be glad to sell for what they asked for it.
It started with a formal list of names: New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company; Honorable Abraham Bee, President; Peter Rolleum, Esq., Vice President; Diddle Digwell, Esq., Secretary; and so on. Then, with great audacity, it presented a list titled “Lands and Property”—not stating “of the Company” to avoid any potential fraud charges. But the list began with the words “the oil lands to be conveyed to the Company are as follows:” “that’s exactly it,” Rolleum remarked—“no lie there, at least. They are ‘to be conveyed’ to us—if we decide—just as soon as we can afford them.” The list continued from[201] “No. 1” to “No. 43,” detailing all the notes Rolleum had gathered in Venango County and the surrounding area, listing the real estate that the land sharks there would eagerly sell for their asking price.
The Prospectus said the capital of the company was one million dollars, in one hundred thousand shares at ten dollars each. But in order to obtain a WORKING CAPITAL, twenty thousand shares are offered for a limited period at five dollars each, not subject to further assessment.
The Prospectus stated that the company's capital was one million dollars, consisting of one hundred thousand shares priced at ten dollars each. However, to secure a Cash flow, twenty thousand shares are being offered for a limited time at five dollars each, with no additional assessments required.
And it added, though with more phrases, something to the following effect: Hurry! Pay quick! Or you will lose your chance! In conclusion the whole was wound up with many wise and moral observations about legitimate business, interests of stockholders, heavy capitalists, economical management, and other such things; and it bestowed some rather fat compliments upon the honorable Abraham Bee and the Trustees.
And it also added, though with more words, something like this: Hurry! Pay fast! Or you’ll miss your opportunity! In the end, it wrapped up with a bunch of wise and moral points about legitimate business, stockholder interests, wealthy capitalists, smart management, and other stuff like that; and it gave some pretty generous praise to the respected Abraham Bee and the Trustees.
Having concocted this choice morsel of bait, they set it in the great stream of newspapers, there to catch fish. In plain terms, with some cash and some credit—for their means would not even reach to pay in advance the whole of their first advertising bill—they managed to have their advertisement published during several weeks in a carefully chosen group of about thirty of the principal newspapers of the United States.
Having come up with this enticing piece of bait, they placed it in the vast sea of newspapers, hoping to catch some attention. In simple terms, with a bit of cash and some credit—since they couldn't even afford to pay their entire first advertising bill upfront—they managed to get their ad published for several weeks in a carefully selected group of about thirty major newspapers across the United States.
The whole web was now woven; and Rolleum and Digwell, like two hungry spiders, squatted in their den, every nerve thrilling to feel the first buzz of the first fly. It was natural that the scamps should feel a[202] good deal excited: it was life or death with them. If a confiding public, in answer to their impassioned appeal, should generously remit, they were made men for life. If not, instead of being rich and respected gentlemen, they were ridiculous, detected swindlers.
The entire web was now spun; and Rolleum and Digwell, like two eager spiders, crouched in their hideout, each nerve tingling at the thought of the first buzz from a fly. It was only natural for the rogues to feel a[202] bit excited: it was a matter of life or death for them. If a trusting public, in response to their heartfelt plea, generously contributed, they would be set for life. If not, instead of being wealthy and respected gentlemen, they would be laughable, caught frauds.
Well—they succeeded. So truthful is our Great American Nation—so confiding, so sure of the truth of what is said in print, even if only in the advertising columns of a newspaper—so certain of the good faith of people who have their names printed in large capitals and with a handle at one end—that actually these fellows had a hundred thousand dollars in bank within ten weeks—before they owned one foot of land, or one inch of well, or one drop of oil, except those three pints in the vials on the office shelf!
Well—they succeeded. Our Great American Nation is so honest—so trusting, so convinced of the truth of what's in print, even if it’s just in the ads of a newspaper—so sure of the good intentions of people whose names are printed in big letters with a title at one end—that these guys actually had a hundred thousand dollars in the bank within ten weeks—before they owned even a square foot of land, a single inch of well, or a drop of oil, except for those three pints in the vials on the office shelf!
And remember this is no imaginary case. I am giving point by point the exact transactions of a real Petroleum Company.
And keep in mind, this is not a made-up scenario. I'm detailing, step by step, the actual transactions of a real oil company.
Everything I have told was done, only if possible with a more false and baseless impudence than I have described. And scores and scores of other Petroleum Companies have been organized in ways exactly as unprincipled. Some of them may perhaps have proceeded as real business concerns. Some have stopped and disappeared as soon as the managers could get a handsome sum of money into their pockets for stock.
Everything I've mentioned was done, often with even more shamelessness than I've described. And many other Petroleum Companies have been created with just as little integrity. Some of them might have operated like legitimate businesses, while others vanished as soon as the managers were able to pocket a nice sum of money from their stocks.
What the result will be, in the present case, I don’t know. The New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company, when I last knew about it, “still lived.” They had—or said they had—bought some land. I have not heard of their receiving any oil raised from their[203] own wells. They have sent off a monstrous quantity of circulars, prospectuses and advertisements. They caused a portrait and biography of the Honorable A. Bee to be printed in a very respectable periodical, and paid five hundred dollars for it. They had themselves systematically puffed up to the seventh heaven in a long series of articles in another periodical, and paid the owner of it $2,000 or so in stock. They talk very big about a dividend. But although they have received a great deal of money, and paid out a great deal, I do not know of their paying their stockholders any yet. If they should, it would not prove much. For it is sometimes considered “a good dodge” to declare and pay a large dividend before any real profits have been earned; as this is calculated to enhance the price of shares, and to make them “go off like hot cakes.”
I don't know what the outcome will be in this case. The New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company, as far as I last knew, was "still alive." They claimed to have bought some land. I haven't heard about them producing any oil from their[203] own wells. They've sent out a ton of circulars, prospectuses, and ads. They even paid to have a portrait and biography of the Honorable A. Bee published in a reputable magazine, spending five hundred dollars on it. They've promoted themselves to the extreme in a long series of articles in another magazine, paying the owner around $2,000 in stock for that. They talk a big game about dividends. But even though they've brought in a lot of money and spent a lot, I haven’t heard of them paying any dividends to their stockholders yet. If they do, it wouldn't mean much. Sometimes it's seen as "a clever trick" to announce and pay a large dividend before any real profits have been made, as this can boost share prices and make them sell like hotcakes.
I shall not make any “moral” about this story. It teaches its own. It is a very mild statement of what was done to establish an actual specimen,—and far from being of the worst description—of a great part of the Petroleum Company enterprises of the day.
I won't draw any "moral" from this story. It speaks for itself. It's a pretty gentle account of what was done to create a real example—and it's far from the worst depiction—of many of the Petroleum Company's activities at the time.
It is whispered that somehow or other the trustees and officers of the New York and Rangoon do not own so much stock of their company as they did, having managed to have their stock sold to subscribers as if it were company stock. If this is so, those gentlemen have made their reward sure; and Mr. Peter Rolleum, having the cash in hand for that very liberal allotment of stock which he gave himself for his trouble in getting up the New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company, is very likely half or a quarter as rich as he says.
It’s rumored that the trustees and officers of the New York and Rangoon don’t own as much stock in their company as they used to, having arranged to sell their stock to subscribers as if it were company stock. If that’s true, those gentlemen have secured their rewards; and Mr. Peter Rolleum, who has cash in hand for the generous amount of stock he allocated to himself for his efforts in forming the New York and Rangoon Petroleum Company, is probably only half or a quarter as rich as he claims.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE TULIPOMANIA.
TULIP MANIA.
Alboni, the singer, had an exquisitely sweet voice, but was a very big fat woman. Somebody accordingly remarked that she was an elephant that had swallowed a nightingale. About as incongruous is the idea of a nation of damp, foggy, fat, full-figured, broad-sterned, gin-drinking, tobacco-smoking Dutchmen in Holland, going crazy over a flower. But they did so, for three or four years together. Their craze is known in history as the Tulipomania, because it was a mania about tulips.
Alboni, the singer, had an incredibly sweet voice, but she was a very large woman. Someone commented that she looked like an elephant that had swallowed a nightingale. It's just as strange as the idea of a nation of soggy, foggy, plump, broad-shouldered, gin-drinking, tobacco-smoking Dutchmen in Holland going wild over a flower. But they did, for three or four years straight. This obsession is known in history as Tulipomania, because it was a mania about tulips.
Just a word about the Dutchmen first.
Just a quick note about the Dutchmen first.
These stout old fellows were not only hardy navigators, keen discoverers, ingenious engineers, laborious workmen, able financiers, shrewd and rich merchants, enthusiastic patriots and tremendous fighters, but they were eminently distinguished (as they still are to a considerable extent) by a love of elegant literature, poetry, painting, music and other fine arts, including horticulture. It was a Fleming that invented painting in oils. Before him, white of egg was used, or gum-water, or some such imperfect material, for spreading the color. Erasmus, one of the most learned, ready-minded, acute, graceful and witty scholars that ever lived, was a Dutchman. All Holland and Flanders, in days when they were richer, and stronger compared[205] with the rest of the world than they are now, were full of singing societies and musical societies and poetry making societies. The universities of Leyden and Utrecht and Louvain are of highly an ancient European fame. And as for flowers, and bulbs in particular, Holland is a principal home and market of them now, more than two hundred years after the time I am going to tell of.
These sturdy old guys were not just tough navigators, eager explorers, clever engineers, hard-working laborers, capable financiers, savvy and wealthy merchants, passionate patriots, and fierce fighters; they were also notably identified (as they still are to a great extent) by their love for fine literature, poetry, painting, music, and other arts, including gardening. It was a Fleming who invented oil painting. Before that, people used egg whites, gum water, or other lesser materials to spread the color. Erasmus, one of the most knowledgeable, quick-witted, sharp, charming, and humorous scholars ever, was Dutch. Back in the days when Holland and Flanders were wealthier and stronger compared[205] to the rest of the world than they are now, they were filled with singing groups, music clubs, and poetry societies. The universities of Leyden, Utrecht, and Louvain are renowned in ancient European history. And when it comes to flowers, especially bulbs, Holland is a major hub and market for them now, more than two hundred years after the period I'm about to discuss.
Tulips grow wild in Southern Russia, the Crimea and Asia Minor, as potatoes do in Peru. The first tulip in Christian Europe was raised in Augsburg, in the garden of a flower-loving lawyer, one Counsellor Herwart, in the year 1559, thirteen years after Luther died. This tulip bulb was sent to Herwart from Constantinople. For about eighty years after this the flower continually increased in repute and became more and more known and cultivated, until the fantastic eagerness of the demand for fine ones and the great prices that they brought, resulted in a real mania like that about the morus multicaulis, or the petroleum mania of to-day, but much more intense. It began in the year 1635, and went out with an explosion in the year 1837.
Tulips grow wild in Southern Russia, Crimea, and Asia Minor, just like potatoes do in Peru. The first tulip in Christian Europe was cultivated in Augsburg, in the garden of a flower-loving lawyer named Counsellor Herwart, in 1559, thirteen years after Luther died. This tulip bulb was sent to Herwart from Constantinople. For about eighty years after that, the flower steadily gained popularity and became more widely known and grown, until the overwhelming demand for beautiful varieties and the high prices they fetched led to a true craze, similar to the morus multicaulis craze or the oil frenzy of today, but even more intense. It began in 1635 and came to a dramatic end in 1837.
This tulip business is, I believe, the only speculative excitement in history whose subject-matter did not even claim to have any real value. Petroleum is worth some shillings a gallon for actual use for many purposes. Stocks always claim to represent some real trade or business. The morus multicaulis was to be as permanent a source of wealth as corn, and was expected to produce the well known mercantile substance of silk. But[206] nobody ever pretended that tulips could be eaten, or manufactured, or consumed in any way of practical usefulness. They have not one single quality of the kind termed useful. They have nothing desirable except the beauty of a peculiarly short-lived blossom. You can do absolutely nothing with them except to look at them. A speculation in them is exactly as reasonable as one in butterflies would be.
This tulip business is, I believe, the only speculative craze in history that didn’t even pretend to have any real value. Petroleum has a price for actual use in many ways. Stocks usually claim to represent some legitimate trade or business. The morus multicaulis was expected to be as reliable a source of wealth as corn, and was anticipated to produce the well-known commercial product of silk. But[206] nobody ever claimed that tulips could be eaten, manufactured, or used in any practical way. They lack any quality that could be considered useful. They only offer the beauty of a particularly short-lived flower. You can do absolutely nothing with them except admire them. Investing in them is just as sensible as investing in butterflies would be.
In the course of about one year, 1634-5, the tulip frenzy, after having increased for fifteen or twenty years with considerable speed, came to a climax, and poisoned the whole Dutch nation. Prices had at the end of this short period risen from high to extravagant, and from extravagant to insane. High and low, counts, burgomasters, merchants, shop-keepers, servants, shoe-blacks, all were buying and selling tulips like mad. In order to make the commodity of the day accessible to all, a new weight was invented, called a perit, so small that there were about eight thousand of them in one pound avoirdupois, and a single tulip root weighing from half an ounce to an ounce, would contain from 200 to 400 of these perits. Thus, anybody unable to buy a whole tulip, could buy a perit or two, and have what the lawyers call an “undivided interest” in a root. This way of owning shows how utterly unreal was the pretended value. For imagine a small owner attempting to take his own perits and put them in his pocket. He would make a little hole in the tulip-root, would probably kill it, and would certainly obtain a little bit of utterly worthless pulp for himself, and no value at all. There was a whole code of business regulations[207] made to meet the peculiar needs of the tulip business, besides, and in every town were to be found “tulip-notaries,” to conduct the legal part of the business, take acknowledgments of deeds, note protests, &c.
In about a year, from 1634 to 1635, the tulip craze, which had been building for fifteen to twenty years at a rapid pace, peaked and affected the entire Dutch population. Prices during this brief period skyrocketed from high to outrageous, and then from outrageous to absurd. People from all walks of life—nobles, city officials, merchants, shopkeepers, servants, and even street vendors—were buying and selling tulips like crazy. To make this hot commodity available to everyone, a new unit of weight called a perit was created, which was so small that there were about eight thousand of them in a pound. A single tulip bulb, weighing between half an ounce and an ounce, would contain 200 to 400 of these perits. This meant that anyone who couldn't afford a whole tulip could purchase a perit or two and have what lawyers term an “undivided interest” in a bulb. This method of ownership highlights just how unrealistic the claimed value was. Just imagine a small owner trying to take his perits and put them in his pocket. He would create a tiny hole in the tulip bulb, likely damage it, and would end up with nothing but some worthless pulp, which held no value at all. There was an entire set of business regulations[207] established to cater to the unique needs of the tulip trade, and in every town, you could find “tulip notaries” who handled the legal aspects of the transactions, took acknowledgments of deeds, noted protests, and so on.
To say that the tulips were worth their weight in gold would be a very small story. It would not be a very great exaggeration to say that they were worth their size in diamonds. The most valuable species of all was named “Semper Augustus,” and a bulb of it which weighed 200 perits, or less than half an ounce avoirdupois, was thought cheap at 5,500 florins. A florin may be called about 40 cents; so that the little brown root was worth $2,200, or 220 gold eagles, which would weigh, by a rough estimate, eight pounds four ounces, or 132 ounces avoirdupois. Thus this half ounce Semper Augustus was worth—I mean he would bring—two hundred and sixty-four times his weight in gold!
To say that the tulips were worth their weight in gold would be an understatement. It wouldn't be a huge exaggeration to say they were worth their size in diamonds. The most valuable type was called “Semper Augustus,” and a bulb that weighed 200 perits, or just under half an ounce, was considered cheap at 5,500 florins. A florin is roughly 40 cents, so the small brown root was valued at $2,200, or 220 gold eagles, which would roughly weigh about eight pounds four ounces, or 132 ounces. So this half-ounce Semper Augustus was worth—meaning it could fetch—two hundred and sixty-four times its weight in gold!
There were many cases where people invested whole fortunes equal to $40,000 or $50,000 in collections of forty or fifty tulip roots. Once there happened to be only two Semper Augustuses in all Holland, one in Haarlem and one in Amsterdam. The Haarlem one was sold for twelve acres of building lots, and the Amsterdam one for a sum equal to $1,840,00, together with a new carriage, span of grey horses and double harness, complete.
There were many instances where individuals invested entire fortunes, like $40,000 or $50,000, in collections of forty or fifty tulip bulbs. At one point, there were only two Semper Augustuses in all of Holland, one in Haarlem and the other in Amsterdam. The Haarlem bulb was sold for twelve acres of building lots, while the Amsterdam bulb went for an amount equivalent to $1,840,000, along with a new carriage, a team of grey horses, and a full double harness.
Here is the list of merchandise and estimated prices given for one root of the Viceroy tulip. It is interesting as showing what real merchandise was worth in those days by a cash standard, aside from its exhibition of tremendous speculative bedlamism:
Here is the list of merchandise and estimated prices given for one root of the Viceroy tulip. It’s interesting to see what actual merchandise was worth back then in terms of cash, apart from its display of wild speculative craziness:
| 160 bushels wheat | $179,20 |
| 320 bushels rye | 223,20 |
| Four fat oxen | 192,00 |
| Eight fat hogs | 96,00 |
| Twelve fat sheep | 48,00 |
| Two hogsheads wine | 28,00 |
| Four tuns beer | 12,80 |
| Two tuns butter | 76,80 |
| 1000 lbs. cheese | 48,00 |
| A bed all complete | 40,00 |
| One suit clothes | 32,00 |
| A silver drinking cup | 24,00 |
| Total exactly | $1,000,00 |
In 1636, regular tulip exchanges were established in the nine Dutch towns where the largest tulip business was done, and while the gambling was at its intensest, the matter was managed exactly as stock gambling is managed in Wall street to-day. You went out into “the street” without owning a tulip or a perit of a tulip in the world, and met another fellow with just as many tulips as yourself. You talk and “banter” with him, and finally (we will suppose) you “sell short” ten Semper Augustuses, “seller three,” for $2,000 each, in all $20,000. This means in ordinary English, that without having any tulips (i. e., short,) you promise to deliver the ten roots as above in three days from date. Now when the three days are up, if Semper Augustuses are worth in the market only $1,500, you could, if this were a real transaction, buy ten of them for $15,000, and deliver them to the other gambler for $20,000, thus winning from him the difference of $5,000. But if the[209] roots have risen and are worth $2,500 each, then if the transactions were real you would have to pay $25,000 for the ten roots and could only get $20,000 from the other gambler, and he, turning round and selling them at the market price, would win from you this difference of $5,000. But in fact the transaction was not real, it was a stock gambling one; neither party owned tulips or meant to, or expected the other to; and the whole was a pure game of chance or skill, to see which should win and which should lose that $5,000 at the end of three days. When the time came, the affair was settled, still without any tulips, by the loser paying the difference to the winner, exactly as one loses what the other wins at a game of poker or faro. Of course if you can set afloat a smart lie after making your bargain, such as will send prices up or down as your profit requires, you make money by it, just as stock gamblers do every day in New York, London, Paris, and other Christian commercial cities.
In 1636, regular tulip exchanges were set up in the nine Dutch towns where the tulip trade was booming. During the height of the speculation, the process was handled just like stock trading on Wall Street today. You would head out into “the street” without owning a single tulip or even a part of one, and meet someone else who had just as many tulips as you. You would chat and “joke” with him, and eventually (let’s say) you “sell short” ten Semper Augustuses, “seller three,” for $2,000 each, totaling $20,000. This means that without possessing any tulips (i.e., short), you promise to deliver the ten bulbs within three days. When the three days are up, if Semper Augustuses are worth only $1,500 in the market, you could, in a real transaction, buy ten for $15,000 and deliver them to the other trader for $20,000, thus making a profit of $5,000 from him. However, if the[209] bulbs have increased in value to $2,500 each, you would need to pay $25,000 for the ten bulbs while only collecting $20,000 from the other trader. This means he would have a profit of $5,000 from you. But in reality, the transaction wasn’t real; it was a stock gambling operation—neither party owned tulips or intended to, nor did they expect the other to. It was purely a game of chance or skill to see who would win or lose that $5,000 after three days. When it was time to settle, it was done without any tulips, with the loser paying the winner the difference, just like one loses what the other wins at poker or faro. Of course, if you can spread a clever lie after making your deal that drives prices up or down to your advantage, you can profit from it, just like stock traders do every day in New York, London, Paris, and other major commercial cities.
While this monstrous Dutch gambling fury lasted, money was plenty, everybody felt rich and Holland was in a whiz of windy delight. After about three years of fool’s paradise, people began to reflect that the shuttlecock could not be knocked about in the air forever, and that when it came down somebody would be hurt. So first one and then another began quietly to sell out and quit the game, without buying in again. This cautious infection quickly spread like a pestilence, as it always does in such cases, and became a perfect panic or fright. All at once, as it were, rich people all over Holland found themselves with nothing in the world[210] except a pocket full or a garden-bed full of flower roots that nobody would buy and that were not good to eat, and would not have made more than one tureen of soup if they were.
While this crazy Dutch gambling craze lasted, money was everywhere, everyone felt wealthy, and Holland was caught up in a whirlwind of joy. After about three years of this foolish paradise, people started to realize that the fun couldn’t last forever, and when it ended, someone was going to get hurt. So one by one, people began to quietly cash out and leave the game, without jumping back in. This cautious trend quickly spread like a disease, as it always does in these situations, turning into a full-blown panic. Suddenly, rich people all over Holland found themselves with nothing in the world[210] except pockets full or garden beds full of flower bulbs that nobody wanted to buy, which weren’t edible, and wouldn’t even have made more than one pot of soup if they were.
Of course this state of things caused innumerable bankruptcies, quarrels, and refusals to complete bargains, everywhere. The government and the courts were appealed to, but with Dutch good sense they refused to enforce gambling transactions, and though the cure was very severe because very sudden, they preferred to let “the bottom drop out” of the whole affair at once. So it did. Almost everybody was either ruined or impoverished. The very few who had kept any or all of their gains by selling out in season, remained so far rich. And the vast actual business interests of Holland received a damaging check, from which it took many years to recover.
Of course, this situation caused countless bankruptcies, arguments, and refusals to complete deals everywhere. People turned to the government and the courts for help, but with typical Dutch practicality, they refused to enforce gambling agreements. Although the solution was harsh because it was so abrupt, they preferred to let everything “crash” all at once. And that’s exactly what happened. Almost everyone was either ruined or struggling financially. The very few who managed to retain some or all of their profits by selling off in time remained somewhat wealthy. Meanwhile, the significant business interests in Holland took a serious hit, from which it took many years to bounce back.
There were some curious incidents in the course of the tulipomania. They have been told before, but they are worth telling again, as the poet says, “To point the moral or adorn the tale.”
There were some interesting events during the tulipomania. They’ve been shared before, but they’re worth mentioning again, as the poet says, “To point the moral or adorn the tale.”
A sailor brought to a rich Dutch merchant news of the safe arrival of a very valuable cargo from the Levant. The old hunks rewarded the mariner for his good tidings with one red herring for breakfast. Now Ben Bolt (if that was his name—perhaps as he was a Dutchman it was something like Benje Boltje) was very fond of onions, and spying one on the counter as he went out of the store, he slipped it into his pocket, and strolling back to the wharf, sat down to an [211]odoriferous breakfast of onions and herring. He munched away without finding anything unusual in the flavor, until just as he was through, down came Mr. Merchant, tearing along like a madman at the head of an excited procession of clerks, and flying upon the luckless son of Neptune, demanded what he had carried off besides his herring?
A sailor told a wealthy Dutch merchant that a very valuable shipment from the Levant had arrived safely. The old miser rewarded the sailor for his good news with a single red herring for breakfast. Now, Ben Bolt (if that was his name—given that he was Dutch, it might have been something like Benje Boltje) really liked onions. Spotting one on the counter as he left the store, he slipped it into his pocket and wandered back to the wharf, where he sat down to a [211]smelly breakfast of onions and herring. He munched away, not detecting anything unusual in the taste, until just as he finished, Mr. Merchant rushed in like a madman at the head of a frantic group of clerks and confronted the unlucky sailor, demanding to know what else he had taken besides the herring.
“An onion that I found on the counter.”
“An onion I found on the counter.”
“Where is it? Give it back instantly!”
“Where is it? Give it back right now!”
“Just ate it up with my herring, mynheer.”
“Just enjoyed it with my herring, sir.”
Wretched merchant! In a fury of useless grief he apprised the sailor that his sacrilegious back teeth had demolished a Semper Augustus valuable enough, explained the unhappy old fellow, to have feasted the Prince of Orange and the Stadtholder’s whole court. “Thieves!” he cried out—“Seize the rascal!” So they did seize him, and he was actually tried, condemned and imprisoned for some months, all of which however did not bring back the tulip root. It is a question after all in my mind, whether that sailor was really as green as he pretended, and whether he did not know very well what he was taking. It would have been just like a reckless seaman’s trick to eat up the old miser’s twelve hundred dollar root, to teach him not to give such stingy gifts next time.
Wretched merchant! In a fit of pointless grief, he informed the sailor that his sacrilegious back teeth had destroyed a Semper Augustus, worth enough, as the unhappy old man explained, to have treated the Prince of Orange and the entire Stadtholder’s court to a feast. “Thieves!” he shouted—“Capture the scoundrel!” And they did capture him, and he was actually tried, found guilty, and imprisoned for several months; however, none of that brought back the tulip bulb. I'm left wondering if that sailor was really as clueless as he acted, and whether he didn’t know exactly what he was taking. It would have been just like a reckless sailor’s trick to eat up the old miser’s twelve hundred dollar bulb, to teach him not to give such stingy gifts next time.
An English traveller, very fond of botany, was one day in the conservatory of a rich Dutchman, when he saw a strange bulb lying on a shelf. With that extreme coolness and selfishness which too many travellers have exercised, what does he do but take out his[212] penknife and carefully dissect it, peeling off the outer coats, and quartering the innermost part, making all the time a great many wise observations on the phenomena of the strange new root. In came the Dutchman all at once, and seeing what was going on, he asked the Englishman, with rage in his eyes, but with a low bow and that sort of restrained formal civility which sometimes covers the most furious anger, if he knew what he was about?
An English traveler, who was really into botany, was in the greenhouse of a wealthy Dutchman one day when he spotted a strange bulb on a shelf. With a level of nonchalance and selfishness that too many travelers exhibit, he pulled out his[212] pocketknife and started to dissect it, carefully peeling off the outer layers and cutting up the innermost part, all while making many supposedly intelligent comments about the unusual root. Suddenly, the Dutchman walked in and, seeing what was happening, asked the Englishman, with fury in his eyes but a courteous bow and that kind of restrained politeness that can sometimes mask intense anger, if he knew what he was doing.
“Peeling a very curious onion,” answered Mr. Traveller, as calmly as if one had a perfect right to destroy other people’s property to gratify his own curiosity.
“Peeling a very curious onion,” Mr. Traveller replied, as calmly as if he had every right to ruin other people’s property just to satisfy his own curiosity.
“One hundred thousand devils!” burst out the Dutchman, expressing the extent of his anger by the number of evil spirits he invoked—“It is an Admiral van der Eyck!”
“One hundred thousand devils!” exclaimed the Dutchman, showing just how angry he was by the number of evil spirits he called upon—“It’s Admiral van der Eyck!”
“Indeed?” remarked the scientific traveller, “thank you. Are there a good many of these admirals in your country?” and he drew forth his note book to write down the little fact.
“Really?” said the scientific traveler, “thank you. Are there a lot of these admirals in your country?” He pulled out his notebook to jot down the detail.
“Death and the devil!” swore the enraged Dutchman again—“come before the Syndic and you shall find out all about it!” So he collared the astounded onion-peeler, and despite all he could say, dragged him straightway before the magistrate, where his scientific zeal suffered a dreadful quencher in the shape of an affidavit that the “onion” was worth four thousand florins—about $1600—and in the immediate judgment of the Court, which “considered” that the prisoner be forthwith clapt into jail until he should give security for the amount. He had to do so accordingly,[213] and doubtless all his life retained a distaste for Dutchmen and Dutch onions.
“Death and the devil!” the furious Dutchman exclaimed again—“come to the Syndic and you’ll learn everything!” So he grabbed the shocked onion-peeler, and no matter what he said, dragged him straight to the magistrate, where his scientific enthusiasm got a major blow when an affidavit revealed that the “onion” was worth four thousand florins—about $1600. The Court quickly decided that the prisoner should be thrown into jail until he could provide security for that amount. He did so accordingly, [213] and likely spent the rest of his life with a dislike for Dutchmen and Dutch onions.
These stories about such monstrous valuations of flower roots recall to my mind another anecdote which I shall tell, not because it has anything to do with tulips, but because it is about a Dutchman, and shows in striking contrast an equally low valuation of human life. It is this. Once, in time of peace, an English and a Dutch Admiral met at sea, each in his flag ship, and for some reason or other exchanged complimentary salutes. By accident, one of the Englishman’s guns was shotted and misdirected, and killed one of the Dutch crew. On hearing the fact the Englishman at once manned a boat and went to apologize, to inquire about the poor fellow’s family and to send them some money, provide for the funeral, etc., etc., as a kind hearted man would naturally do. But the Dutch commander, on meeting him at the quarter-deck, and learning his errand, at once put all his kindly intentions completely one side, saying in imperfect English:
These stories about such outrageous prices for flower bulbs remind me of another tale I want to share, not because it's related to tulips, but because it involves a Dutchman and highlights a similar low regard for human life. Here it is. Once, during peacetime, an English and a Dutch Admiral encountered each other at sea, each aboard their flagship, and for some reason exchanged courteous salutes. By chance, one of the Englishman’s cannons accidentally fired and killed a member of the Dutch crew. Upon hearing this, the Englishman immediately sent a boat over to apologize, ask about the deceased’s family, and send them some money, as well as cover the funeral costs, etc., etc., just as any compassionate person would do. However, when the Dutch commander met him on the quarter-deck and learned why he came, he completely dismissed all of the Englishman’s kind intentions, saying in broken English:
CHAPTER XXVI.
JOHN BULL’S GREAT MONEY HUMBUG.—THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE IN 1720.
JOHN BULL’S GREAT MONEY SCAM.—THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE IN 1720.
The “South Sea Bubble” is one of the most startling lessons which history gives us of the ease with[214] which the most monstrous, and absurd, and wicked humbugs can be crammed down the throat of poor human nature. It ought also to be a useful warning of the folly of mere “speculation,” as compared with real “business undertakings.” The history of the South Sea Bubble has been told, before, but it is too prominent a case to be entirely passed over. It occupied a period of about eight months, from February 1, 1720, to the end of the following September. It was an unreasonable expansion of the value of the stock of the “South Sea Company.” This Company was formed in 1711; its stock was at first about $30,000,000, subscribed by the public and handed over by the corporators to Government to meet certain troublesome public debts. In return, Government guaranteed the stockholders a dividend of six per cent., and gave the Company sundry permanent important duties and a monopoly of all trade to the South Pacific, or “South Sea.” This matter went on with fair success as a money enterprise, until the birth of the “Bubble,” which was as follows:—In the end of January, 1720, probably in consequence of catching infection from “Law’s Mississippi Scheme” in France, the South Sea Company and the Bank of England made competing propositions to the English Government, to repeat the original South Sea Company financiering plan on a larger scale. The proposition of the Company, which was accepted by Government, was: to assume as before the whole public debt, now amounting to over one hundred and fifty millions of dollars; and to be guaranteed at first a five per cent. dividend, and afterward a four per cent. one, to the[215] stockholders by Government. For this privilege, the Company agreed to pay outright a bonus of more than seventeen million dollars. This plan is said to have been originated and principally carried through by Sir John Blunt, one of the Company’s directors. Parliament adopted it after two months’ discussion—the Bubble having, however, been swelling monstrously all the time.
The “South Sea Bubble” is one of the most shocking lessons history teaches us about how easily the most outrageous, ridiculous, and deceitful scams can be swallowed by people. It should also serve as a warning about the foolishness of mere “speculation” compared to real “business ventures.” The story of the South Sea Bubble has been told before, but it’s too significant to be completely overlooked. It lasted about eight months, from February 1, 1720, to the end of the following September. It was an unreasonable inflation of the stock value of the “South Sea Company.” This Company was established in 1711; its stock was initially around $30 million, subscribed by the public and handed over by the founders to the Government to pay off certain troublesome public debts. In return, the Government guaranteed stockholders a six percent dividend and granted the Company various permanent important duties and a monopoly on all trade in the South Pacific, or “South Sea.” This arrangement continued to be relatively successful as a money-making venture until the emergence of the “Bubble,” which occurred as follows: At the end of January 1720, likely influenced by “Law’s Mississippi Scheme” in France, the South Sea Company and the Bank of England proposed competing plans to the English Government to replicate the original financing strategy of the South Sea Company on a larger scale. The Company’s proposal, which the Government accepted, involved taking on the entire public debt, now exceeding one hundred and fifty million dollars, and being guaranteed a five percent dividend at first, followed by a four percent one, by the Government for the stockholders. In exchange for this privilege, the Company agreed to pay a bonus of more than seventeen million dollars upfront. This plan is said to have been initiated and mainly driven by Sir John Blunt, one of the Company’s directors. Parliament approved it after two months of discussions—though the Bubble had been inflating massively all the while.
It must be remembered that the wonderful profits expected from the Company were to come from their monopoly of the South Sea trade. Tremendous stories were told by Blunt and his friends, who can hardly have believed more than one half of their own talk, about a free trade with all the Spanish Pacific colonies, the importation of silver and gold from Peru and Mexico in return for dry goods, etc., etc.; all which fine things were going to produce two or three times the amount of the Company’s stock every year. When the bill authorizing the arrangement passed, South Sea stock had already reached a price of four hundred per cent. The bill was stoutly opposed in Parliament by Mr.—afterwards Sir—Robert Walpole, and a few others but in vain. Under the operation of the beautiful stories of the speculative Blunt and his friends, South Sea stock, after a short lull in April, began to rise again, and the bubble swelled and swelled to a size so monstrous, and with colors so gay, that it filled the whole horizon of poor foolish John Bull:—perfectly turned his bull-headed brain, and made him for the time absolutely crazy. The directors opened books on April 12th for £5,000,000 new stock, charging, how[216]ever, £300 for each share of £100, or three hundred per cent. to begin with. Double the amount was subscribed in a few days; that is, John Bull subscribed thirty million dollars for ten millions of stock, where only five millions were to be had. In a few days more, these subscribers were selling at double what they paid. April 21st, a ten per cent. dividend was voted for midsummer. In a day or two, another five million subscription was opened at four hundred per cent. to begin with. The whole, and half as much more, was taken in a few hours. In the end of May, South Sea stock was worth five hundred to one. On the 28th, it was five hundred and fifty. In four days more, for some reason or other, it jumped up to eight hundred and ninety. The speculating Blunt kept all this time blowing and blowing at his bubble. All summer, he and his friends blew and blew; and all summer the bubble swelled and floated, and shone; and high and low, men and women, lords and ladies, clergymen, princesses and duchesses, merchants, gamblers, tradesmen, dressmakers, footmen, bought and sold. In the beginning of August, South Sea stock stood at one thousand per cent! It was really worth about twenty-five per cent. The crowding in Exchange Alley, the Wall street of the day, was tremendous. So noisy, and unmanageable and excited was this mob of greedy fools, that the very same stock was sometimes selling ten per cent. higher at one end of the Alley than at the other.
It should be noted that the huge profits anticipated from the Company were expected to come from their monopoly on the South Sea trade. Blunt and his friends told incredible stories, likely only believing half of their own claims, about a free trade with all the Spanish Pacific colonies, importing silver and gold from Peru and Mexico in exchange for dry goods, etc.; all these amazing prospects were supposed to generate two or three times the amount of the Company's stock every year. When the bill allowing this arrangement passed, South Sea stock had already surged to a price of four hundred percent. The bill faced strong opposition in Parliament from Mr.—later Sir—Robert Walpole and a few others but to no avail. Under the influence of the enticing tales from the speculative Blunt and his friends, South Sea stock, after a brief pause in April, began to rise again, and the bubble grew larger and larger, so enormous and colorful that it dominated the entire view of poor, foolish John Bull:—completely turned his bull-headed mind, and for a time made him utterly insane. The directors opened subscription books on April 12th for £5,000,000 in new stock, charging £300 for each share of £100, or three hundred percent to start. In just a few days, double the amount was subscribed; that is, John Bull agreed to buy thirty million dollars’ worth of stock where only ten million was available. In a few more days, these subscribers were selling at double what they had paid. By April 21st, a ten percent dividend was declared for midsummer. Within a day or two, another five million subscription was opened at four hundred percent to start. The entire amount, and even more, was taken within a few hours. By the end of May, South Sea stock was worth five hundred to one. On the 28th, it hit five hundred and fifty. In just four more days, for some unknown reason, it jumped up to eight hundred and ninety. The speculating Blunt continued to inflate his bubble during this time. All summer long, he and his friends kept blowing and blowing; and all summer long, the bubble expanded and floated, shining brightly; and people from all walks of life—men and women, lords and ladies, clergymen, princesses and duchesses, merchants, gamblers, tradesmen, dressmakers, footmen—were buying and selling. By the beginning of August, South Sea stock soared to one thousand percent! It was only truly worth about twenty-five percent. The crowding in Exchange Alley, the Wall Street of the time, was immense. This noisy, chaotic, and overexcited mob of greedy fools was so frantic that the same stock was sometimes selling ten percent higher at one end of the Alley than at the other.
The growth of this monstrous, noxious bubble hatched out a multitude of young cockatrices. Not only was the stock of the India Company, the Bank of England,[217] and other sound concerns, much increased in price by sympathy with this fury of speculation, but a great number of utterly ridiculous schemes and barefaced swindles were advertised and successfully imposed on the public. Any piece of paper purporting to be stock could be sold for money. Not the least thought of investigating the solvency of advertisers seems to have occurred to anybody. Nor was any rank free from the poison. Almost a hundred projects were before the public at once, some of them incredibly brazen humbugs. There were schemes for a wheel for perpetual motion—capital, $5,000,000; for trading in hair (for wigs), in those days “a big thing;” for furnishing funerals to any part of Britain; for “improving the art of making soap;” for importing walnut-trees from Virginia—capital, $10,000,000; for insuring against losses by servants—capital, $15,000,000; for making quicksilver malleable; “Puckle’s Machine Company,” for discharging cannon-balls and bullets, both round and square, and so on. One colossal genius in humbugging actually advertised in these words: “A company for carrying on an undertaking of great advantage, but nobody to know what it is.” The capital he called for was $2,500,000, in shares of $500 each; deposit on subscribing, $10 per share. Each subscriber was promised $500 per share per annum, and full particulars were to be given in a month, when the rest of the subscription was to be paid. This great financier, having put forth his prospectus, opened his office in Cornhill next morning at nine o’clock. Crowds pressed upon him. At three P. M., John Bull had paid this immense humbug[218] $10,000, being deposits on a thousand shares subscribed for. That night, the financier—a shrewd man!—modestly retired to an unknown place upon the Continent, and was never heard of again. Another humbug almost as preposterous, was that of the “Globe Permits.” These were square pieces of playing-cards with a seal on them, having the picture of the Globe Tavern, and with the words, “Sailcloth Permits.” What they “permitted” was a subscription at some future period to a sailcloth-factory, projected by a certain capitalist. These “permits” sold at one time for $300 each.
The rise of this monstrous, toxic bubble produced a ton of young cockatrices. Not only did the stocks of the India Company, the Bank of England, [217] and other reliable ventures soar in price due to this speculative frenzy, but a lot of completely absurd schemes and blatant scams were advertised and managed to fool the public. Any piece of paper claiming to be stock could be sold for money. No one seemed to think about checking the credibility of the advertisers. And no class was immune to the corruption. Almost a hundred projects were in front of the public at the same time, some of them shockingly shameless scams. There were plans for a wheel for perpetual motion—capital, $5,000,000; for trading in hair (for wigs), which was “a big thing” back then; for providing funerals anywhere in Britain; for “improving the art of making soap;” for importing walnut trees from Virginia—capital, $10,000,000; for insuring against losses from servants—capital, $15,000,000; for making quicksilver malleable; “Puckle’s Machine Company,” for firing cannonballs and bullets, both round and square, and so on. One enormous genius in scamming even advertised: “A company for running a venture of great advantage, but nobody knows what it is.” He called for $2,500,000 in capital, in shares of $500 each; deposit on subscribing, $10 per share. Each subscriber was promised $500 per share annually, with full details to be provided in a month when the rest of the subscription was due. This great financier, after putting out his prospectus, opened his office in Cornhill the next morning at nine o’clock. Crowds flocked to him. By three PM, John Bull had paid this massive scam [218] $10,000 in deposits for a thousand shares. That night, the financier—a clever man!—quietly disappeared to an unknown location on the Continent and was never heard from again. Another equally ridiculous scam was the “Globe Permits.” These were square pieces of playing cards with a seal on them that had the picture of the Globe Tavern and the words “Sailcloth Permits.” What they “permitted” was a subscription in the future to a sailcloth factory proposed by a certain entrepreneur. These “permits” once sold for $300 each.
But the more sensible members of Government soon exerted their influence against these lesser and more palpable humbugs. Some accounts say that the South Sea Company itself grew jealous, for it was reckoned that these “side-shows” called for a total amount of $1,500,000,000, and itself took legal means against them. At any rate, an “order in council” was published, peremptorily dismissing and dissolving them all.
But the more sensible members of the government quickly used their influence against these smaller and more obvious scams. Some reports suggest that the South Sea Company grew jealous, as it was estimated that these “side shows” amounted to a total of $1,500,000,000, prompting it to take legal action against them. In any case, an “order in council” was issued, decisively dismissing and shutting them all down.
During August, it leaked out that Sir John Blunt and some other “insiders” had sold out their South Sea stock. There was also some charges of unfairness in managing subscriptions. After so long and so intense an excitement, the time for reaction and collapse was come. The price of stock began to fall in spite of all that the directors could do. September 2, it was down to 700.
During August, it became known that Sir John Blunt and a few other "insiders" had cashed out their South Sea stock. There were also accusations of unfairness in handling subscriptions. After such a long and intense period of excitement, the moment for a reaction and a collapse had arrived. The stock price started to drop despite all the efforts of the directors. By September 2, it had fallen to 700.
A general meeting of the company was held to try to whitewash matters, but in vain. The stock fell, fell, fell. The great humbug had received its death-blow. Thousands of families saw beggary staring them in the[219] face, grasping them with its iron hand. The consternation was inexpressible. Out of it a great popular rage began to flame up, just as fires often break out among the prostrate houses of a city ruined by an earthquake. Efforts were meanwhile vainly made to stay the ruin by help from the Bank of England. Bankers and goldsmiths (then often doing a banking business) absconded daily. Business corporations failed. Credit was almost paralyzed. In the end of September, the stock fell to 175, 150, 135.
A general meeting of the company was held to try to cover things up, but it was useless. The stock kept dropping, dropping, dropping. The big deception had taken its final hit. Thousands of families were facing poverty, staring desperation in the face as it gripped them tightly. The panic was beyond words. From this, a huge wave of public anger began to rise, just like fires often erupt in the ruined neighborhoods of a city after an earthquake. Meanwhile, attempts to stop the collapse with help from the Bank of England were futile. Bankers and goldsmiths (who often also acted as bankers) were disappearing every day. Business firms went under. Credit was almost nonexistent. By the end of September, the stock plummeted to 175, 150, 135.
Meanwhile violent riots were feared. South Sea directors could not be seen in the streets without being insulted. The King, then in Hanover, was imperatively sent for home, and had to come. So extensive was the misfortune and the wrath of the people, so numerous the public meetings and petitions from all over the kingdom, that Parliament found it necessary to grant the public demand, and to initiate a formal inquiry into the whole enterprise. This was done; and the foolish, swindled, disappointed, angry nation, through this proceeding, vented all the wrath it could upon the persons and estates of the managers and officers of the South Sea Company. They were forbidden to leave the kingdom, their property was sequestrated, they were placed in custody and examined. Those of them in Parliament were insulted there to their faces, several of them expelled, the most violent charges made against them all. A secret investigating committee was set to rip up the whole affair. Knight, the treasurer, who possessed all the dangerous secrets of the concern, ran away to Calais and the Continent, and so escaped.
Meanwhile, there were fears of violent riots. South Sea directors couldn’t step outside without being insulted. The King, who was in Hanover at the time, was urgently called back home and had to comply. The misfortune and anger of the people were so widespread, with numerous public meetings and petitions from across the kingdom, that Parliament had to respond to the public outcry and start a formal inquiry into the entire project. This was carried out, and the foolish, swindled, disappointed, and angry nation vented all their frustration onto the managers and officials of the South Sea Company. They were banned from leaving the kingdom, their assets were seized, and they were placed in custody and questioned. Those among them in Parliament faced insults directly, with several being expelled and severe accusations leveled against them. A secret investigative committee was formed to dig into the whole situation. Knight, the treasurer, who held all the risky secrets of the operation, fled to Calais and escaped to the Continent.
The books were found to have been either destroyed,[220] secreted, or mutilated and garbled. Stock bribes of $250,000, $150,000, $50,000 had been paid to the Earl of Sunderland, the Duchess of Kendal (the King’s favorite,) Mr. Craggs (one of the Secretaries of State,) and others. Mr. Aislabie, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had accumulated $4,250,000 and more out of the business. Many other noblemen, gentlemen, and reputable merchants were disgracefully involved.
The books were found to have been either destroyed,[220] hidden, or mutilated and distorted. Bribes of $250,000, $150,000, and $50,000 had been paid to the Earl of Sunderland, the Duchess of Kendal (the King’s favorite), Mr. Craggs (one of the Secretaries of State), and others. Mr. Aislabie, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had made over $4,250,000 from this scheme. Many other noblemen, gentlemen, and reputable merchants were shamefully involved.
The trials that were had resulted in the imprisonment, expulsion or degradation of Aislabie, Craggs, Sir George Caswell (a banker and member of the House,) and others. Blunt, a Mr. Stanhope, and a number more of the chief criminals were stripped of their wealth, amounting to from $135,000 to $1,200,000 each, and the proceeds used for the partial relief of the ruined, except amounts left to the culprits to begin the world anew. Blunt, the chief of all the swindlers, was stripped of about $925,000, and allowed only $5,000. By this means and by the use of such actual property as the Company did possess, about one-third of the money lost by its means was ultimately paid to the losers. It was a long time, however, before the tone of public credit was thoroughly restored.
The trials that took place led to the imprisonment, expulsion, or disgrace of Aislabie, Craggs, Sir George Caswell (a banker and member of the House), and others. Blunt, Mr. Stanhope, and several other key criminals lost their wealth, which ranged from $135,000 to $1,200,000 each, and the money was used to partially compensate the victims, except for amounts left to the offenders to start over. Blunt, the leader of all the swindlers, lost about $925,000 and was allowed to keep only $5,000. Through this process and by utilizing the actual property that the Company did have, about one-third of the money lost through its operations was eventually returned to the victims. However, it took a long time for the public's trust in credit to be fully restored.
The history of the South Sea bubble should always stand as a beacon to warn us that reckless speculation is the bane of commerce, and that the only sure method of gaining a fortune, and certainly of enjoying it, is to diligently prosecute some legitimate calling, which, like the quality of mercy, is “twice blessed.” Every man’s occupation should be beneficial to his fellow-man as well as profitable to himself. All else is vanity and folly.
The history of the South Sea bubble should always serve as a warning that reckless speculation is harmful to commerce, and that the only reliable way to make a fortune—and truly enjoy it—is to work hard in a legitimate profession, which, like the quality of mercy, is “twice blessed.” Every person's job should be beneficial to others as well as profitable for themselves. Everything else is just vanity and foolishness.
CHAPTER XXVII.
BUSINESS HUMBUGS.—JOHN LAW.—THE MISSISSIPPI SCHEME.—JOHNNY CRAPAUD AS GREEDY AS JOHNNY BULL.
BUSINESS HUMBUGS.—JOHN LAW.—THE MISSISSIPPI SCHEME.—JOHNNY CRAPAUD AS GREEDY AS JOHNNY BULL.
In the “good old times,” people were just as eager after money as they are now; and a great deal more vulgar, unscrupulous, and foolish in their endeavors to get it. During about two hundred years after the discovery of America, that continent was a constant source of great and little money humbugs. The Spaniards and Portuguese and French and English all insisted upon thinking that America was chiefly made of gold; perhaps believing, as the man said about Colorado, that the hardship of the place was, that you have to dig through three or four feet of solid silver before the gold could be reached. This curious delusion is shown by the fact that the early charters of lands in America so uniformly reserved to the King his proportion of all gold and silver that should be found. And if gold were not to be had, these lazy Europeans were equally crazy about the rich merchandise which they made sure of finding in the vast and solitary American mountains and forests.
In the "good old days," people were just as eager for money as they are now; but they were a lot more vulgar, unscrupulous, and foolish in their efforts to get it. For about two hundred years after the discovery of America, the continent was a constant source of scams involving both big and small amounts of money. The Spaniards, Portuguese, French, and English all believed that America was primarily made of gold. They probably thought, like the guy said about Colorado, that the real challenge was digging through three or four feet of solid silver before reaching the gold. This strange delusion is evident in the fact that the early land charters in America consistently reserved a portion of any discovered gold and silver for the King. And if gold wasn’t available, these lazy Europeans were equally obsessed with the rich merchandise they were sure they’d find in the vast and remote American mountains and forests.
In a previous letter, I have shown how one of those delusions, about the unbounded wealth to be obtained from the countries on the South Sea, caused the English South Sea bubble.
In a previous letter, I showed how one of those delusions about the endless wealth to be gained from the countries in the South Sea led to the English South Sea bubble.
[222]A similar belief, at the same time, in the neighboring country of France, formed the airy basis of a similar business humbug, even more gigantic, noxious, and destructive. This was John Law’s Mississippi scheme, of which I shall give an account in this chapter. It was, I think, the greatest business humbug of history.
[222]At the same time, a similar belief in the neighboring country of France laid the groundwork for an even bigger, harmful, and destructive business scam. This was John Law’s Mississippi scheme, which I will detail in this chapter. In my opinion, it was the biggest business scam in history.
Law was a Scotchman, shrewd and able, a really good financier for those days, but vicious, a gambler, unprincipled, and liable to wild schemes. He had possessed a good deal of property, had traveled and gambled all over Europe, was witty, entertaining, and capital company, and had become a favorite with the Duke of Orleans and other French nobles. When the Duke became Regent of France at the death of Louis XIV, in 1715, that country was horribly in debt, and its people in much misery, owing to the costly wars and flaying taxations of the late King. When, therefore, Law came to Paris with a promising scheme of finance in his hand, the Regent was particularly glad to see him, both as financier and as friend.
Law was a Scotsman, sharp and capable, a really good financier for the time, but ruthless, a gambler, unethical, and prone to wild schemes. He had owned a lot of property, traveled and gambled all over Europe, was witty, entertaining, and great company, and had become a favorite of the Duke of Orleans and other French nobles. When the Duke became Regent of France after the death of Louis XIV in 1715, the country was heavily in debt, and its people were suffering due to the expensive wars and excessive taxes imposed by the late King. So, when Law arrived in Paris with an enticing financial plan, the Regent was especially happy to see him, both as a financier and a friend.
The Regent quickly fell in with Law’s plans; and in the spring of 1716, the first step—not, however, so intended at the time—toward the Mississippi Scheme was taken. This was, the establishment by royal authority of the banking firm of Law & Co., consisting of Law and his brother. This bank, by a judicious organization and issue of paper money, quickly began to help the distressed finances of the kingdom, and to invigorate trade and commerce. This success, which seems to have been an entirely sound and legitimate business success, made one sadly mistaken but very[223] deep impression upon the ignorant and shallow mind of the Regent of France, which was the foundation of all the subsequent trouble. The Regent became firmly convinced, that if a certain quantity of bank bills could do so much good, a hundred thousand times as many bills would surely do a hundred thousand times as much. That is, he thought printing and issuing the bills was creating money. He paid no regard to the need of providing specie for them on demand, but thought he had an unlimited money factory in the city of Paris.
The Regent quickly aligned with Law’s plans; and in the spring of 1716, the first step—not originally intended as such—toward the Mississippi Scheme was taken. This was the establishment, by royal authority, of the banking firm of Law & Co., made up of Law and his brother. This bank, through smart organization and the issuance of paper money, rapidly began to assist the struggling finances of the kingdom and to boost trade and commerce. This success, which appeared to be an entirely legitimate business achievement, left a regrettably misguided yet profound impression on the ignorant and superficial mind of the Regent of France, which laid the groundwork for all the trouble that followed. The Regent became firmly convinced that if a certain number of banknotes could do so much good, then a hundred thousand times more notes would surely do a hundred thousand times more. In other words, he thought that printing and issuing the notes meant creating money. He ignored the need to provide gold and silver for them on demand, mistakenly believing he had an unlimited money factory in the city of Paris.
So far, so good. Next, Law planned, and, with the ever ready consent of the Regent, effected, an enlargement of the business of his bank, based on that delusion I spoke of about America. This enlargement was the formation of the Mississippi Company, and this was the contrivance which swelled into so tremendous a humbug. The company was closely connected with the banks, and received (to begin with) the monopoly of all trade to the Mississippi River, and all the country west of it. It was expected to obtain vast quantities of gold and silver from that region, and thus to make immense dividends on its stock. At home, it was to have the sole charge of collecting all the taxes and coining all the money. Stock was issued to the amount of one hundred thousand shares, at $200 (five hundred livres) each. And Law’s help to the Government funds was continued by permitting this stock to be paid for in those funds, at their par value, though worth in market only about a third of it. Subscriptions came in rapidly—for the French community was far more ignorant about commercial affairs, finances, and the real re[224]sources of distant regions, than we can easily conceive of now-a-days; and not only the Regent, but every man, woman, and child in France, except a very few tough and hard-headed old skeptics, believed every word Law said, and would have believed him if he had told stories a hundred times as incredible.
So far, so good. Next, Law planned, and with the ever-ready agreement of the Regent, expanded the operations of his bank, based on that misconception I mentioned about America. This expansion led to the creation of the Mississippi Company, which turned into an enormous scam. The company was closely linked to the banks and initially received the exclusive rights to all trade to the Mississippi River and all the land west of it. It was expected to gather vast amounts of gold and silver from that area, leading to huge profits for its shareholders. Domestically, it was given the sole responsibility of collecting all taxes and minting all currency. Stock was issued for a total of one hundred thousand shares, at $200 (five hundred livres) each. Law also helped the government funds by allowing this stock to be paid for in those funds at their face value, even though it was worth only about a third of that in the market. Subscriptions poured in quickly—because the French public was much more uninformed about business, finance, and the actual resources of far-off places than we can easily imagine today. Not only the Regent, but every man, woman, and child in France, except for a few tough old skeptics, believed everything Law said and would have believed him even if he told stories a hundred times more outrageous.
Well, pretty soon the Regent gave the associates—the bank and the company—two other monopolies: that of tobacco, always monstrously profitable, and that of refining gold and silver. Pretty soon, again, he created the bank a state institution, by the magnificent name of The Royal Bank of France. Having done this, the Regent could control the bank in spite of Law (or order either); for, in those days, the kings of France were almost perfectly despotic, and the Regent was acting king. I have mentioned the Regent’s terrible delusion about paper-money. No sooner had he the bank in his power, than he added to the reasonable and useful total of $12,000,000 of notes already out, a monstrous issue of $200,000,000 worth in one vast batch, with the firm conviction that he was thus adding so much to the par currency of France.
Well, soon the Regent gave the associates—the bank and the company—two more monopolies: tobacco, which was always incredibly profitable, and the refining of gold and silver. Not long after, he made the bank a state institution, calling it The Royal Bank of France. With this move, the Regent could control the bank despite Law (or any orders); back then, the kings of France had nearly complete power, and the Regent was acting as king. I've mentioned the Regent's dangerous delusion about paper money. As soon as he had the bank under his control, he added to the already reasonable and useful total of $12,000,000 in notes a staggering $200,000,000 in one massive issuance, believing he was boosting the currency of France.
The Parliament of France, a body mostly of lawyers, originating in the Middle Ages, a steady, conservative, wise, and brave assembly, was always hostile to Law and his schemes. When this great expansion of paper-currency began, the Parliament made a resolute fight against it, petitioning, ordaining, threatening to hang Law, and frightening him well, too; for the thorough enmity of an assembly of old lawyers may well frighten anybody. At last, the Regent, by the use of the des[225]potic power of which the Kings of France had so much, reduced these old fellows to silence by sticking a few of them in jail.
The French Parliament, mainly made up of lawyers and dating back to the Middle Ages, was a steady, conservative, wise, and courageous group that was always against Law and his plans. When the massive increase in paper currency started, the Parliament strongly opposed it, petitioning, passing orders, threatening to hang Law, and intimidating him as well; the deep animosity of a group of experienced lawyers can easily scare anyone. Eventually, the Regent silenced these old men by using the despotic power that French kings often wielded, locking a few of them up.
The cross-grained Parliament thus disposed of, everything was quickly made to “look lovely.” In the beginning of 1719, more grants were made to Law’s associated concerns. The Mississippi Company was granted the monopoly of all trade to the East Indies, China, the South Seas, and all the territories of the French India Company, and of the Senegal Company. It took a new and imposing name: “The Company of the Indies.” They had already, by the way, also obtained the monopoly of the Canada beaver-trade. Of this colossal corporation, monopolizing the whole foreign commerce of France with two-thirds or more of the world, its whole home finances, and other important interests besides, fifty thousand new shares were issued, as before, at $100 each. These might be bought as before, with Government securities at par. Law was so bold as to promise annual dividends of $20 per share, which, as the Government funds stood, was one hundred and twenty per cent. per annum.! Everybody believed him. More than three hundred thousand applications were made for the new shares. Law was besieged in his house by more than twice as many people as General Grant had to help him take Richmond. The Great Humbug was at last in full buzz. The street where the wonderful Scotchman lived was busy, filled, crowded, jammed, choked. Dangerous accidents happened in it every day, from the excessive pressure. From the princes of the blood down to cobblers and lackeys,[226] all men and all women crowded and crowded to subscribe their money, and to pay their money, and to know how many shares they had gotten. Law moved to a roomier street, and the crazy mob crowded harder than ever; so that the Chancellor, who held his court of law hard by, could not hear his lawyers.
The stubborn Parliament dealt with, everything quickly got made to "look fantastic." At the start of 1719, more grants were given to Law's associated ventures. The Mississippi Company received the exclusive rights to trade with the East Indies, China, the South Seas, and all territories of the French India Company and the Senegal Company. It took on a new impressive name: "The Company of the Indies." By the way, they had also secured the monopoly on the Canada beaver trade. This massive corporation, which controlled nearly all of France's foreign trade with two-thirds or more of the world, its entire domestic finances, and other key interests, issued fifty thousand new shares, just like before, at $100 each. These could still be bought with government securities at face value. Law boldly promised annual dividends of $20 per share, which, given the current government funds, was a whopping one hundred and twenty percent per year! Everyone believed him. Over three hundred thousand applications were submitted for the new shares. Law's home was surrounded by more than twice as many people as General Grant had to help him capture Richmond. The Great Humbug was finally in full swing. The street where the amazing Scotsman lived was busy, full, crowded, jammed, and choked. Dangerous accidents happened there every day due to the overwhelming pressure. From princes to cobblers and servants, everyone rushed to invest their money, pay their cash, and find out how many shares they had received. Law moved to a bigger street, but the frantic crowd gathered even more, so much that the Chancellor, who held his court nearby, couldn’t hear his lawyers.
A tremendous uproar surely, that could drown the voices of those gentlemen! And so he moved again, to the great Hotel de Soissons, a vast palace, with a garden of some acres. Fantastic circumstances variegated the wild rush of speculation. The haughtiest of the nobility rented mean rooms near Law’s abode, to be able to get at him. Rents in his neighborhood rose to twelve and sixteen times their usual amount. A cobbler, whose lines had fallen in those pleasant places, made $40 a day by letting his stall and furnishing writing materials to speculators. Thieves and disreputable characters of all sorts flocked to this concourse. There were riots and quarrels all the time. They often had to send a troop of cavalry to clear the street at night. Gamblers posted themselves with their implements among the speculators, who gambled harder than the gamblers, and took an occasional turn at roulette by way of slackening the excitement; as people go to sleep, or go into the country. A hunchback fellow made a good deal of money by letting people write on his back. When Law had moved into the Hotel de Soissons, the former owner, the Prince de Carignan, reserved the gardens, procured an edict confining all stock-dealings to that place; put up five hundred tents there, leased them at five hundred livres a month each,[227] and thus made money at the rate of $50,000 a month. There were just two of the aristocracy who were sensible and resolute enough not to speculate in the stock—the Duke de St. Simon and the old Marshal Villars.
A huge uproar for sure, one that could drown out the voices of those gentlemen! And so he moved again, to the grand Hotel de Soissons, an enormous palace with a garden that spanned several acres. Crazy situations filled the wild frenzy of speculation. The most arrogant members of the nobility rented small rooms near Law's place, just to be close to him. Rents in his area skyrocketed to twelve and sixteen times their usual rates. A cobbler, who found himself in those desirable locations, made $40 a day by renting out his stall and providing writing materials to speculators. Thieves and all kinds of shady characters flocked to this gathering. Riots and fights broke out constantly. They often had to send a troop of cavalry to clear the street at night. Gamblers set up shop with their equipment among the speculators, who bet even more intensely than the gamblers themselves, occasionally trying their luck at roulette to ease the tension, like people winding down for sleep or heading into the countryside. A hunchback made quite a bit of money by letting people write on his back. When Law moved into the Hotel de Soissons, the previous owner, the Prince de Carignan, reserved the gardens, secured a decree that all stock dealings must take place there, set up five hundred tents, and rented them out for five hundred livres each month,[227] thereby earning $50,000 a month. There were only two members of the aristocracy who were sensible and strong enough not to get involved in the stock—the Duke de St. Simon and the old Marshal Villars.
Law became infinitely the most important person in the kingdom. Great and small, male and female, high and low, haunted his offices and ante-chambers, hunted him down, plagued his very life out, to get a moment’s speech with him, and get him to enter their names as buyers of stock. The highest nobles would wait half a day for the chance. His servants received great sums to announce some visitor’s name. Ladies of the highest rank gave him anything he would ask of them for leave to buy stock. One of them made her coachmen upset her out of her carriage as Law came by, to get a word with him. He helped her up; she got the word, and bought some stock. Another lady ran into the house where he was at dinner, and raised a cry of fire. The rest ran out, but she ran further in to reach Law, who saw what she was at, and like a pecuniary Joseph, ran away as fast as he could.
Law became the most important person in the kingdom. People of all ranks—rich and poor, men and women— flocked to his offices and waiting rooms, pursuing him relentlessly just to have a moment to speak with him and get their names registered as stock buyers. The highest nobles would wait for half a day for a chance to meet him. His servants were paid huge amounts to announce the names of visitors. Ladies of the highest status would give him anything he wanted just for the opportunity to buy stock. One lady even had her coachmen throw her out of her carriage as Law walked by so she could talk to him. He helped her up; she got her chance, and bought some stock. Another lady rushed into the house where he was having dinner, shouting that there was a fire. While everyone else ran outside, she dashed further in to reach Law, who realized what she was up to and hurried away as fast as he could.
As the frenzy rose toward its height, and the Regent took advantage of it to issue stock enough to pay the whole national debt, namely, three hundred thousand new shares, at $1,000 each, or a thousand per cent. in the par value. They were instantly taken. Three times as many would have been instantly taken. So violent were the changes of the market, that shares rose or fell twenty per cent. within a few hours. A servant was sent to sell two hundred and fifty shares of stock; found on reaching the gardens of the Hotel de Soissons,[228] that since he left his master’s house the price had risen from $1,600 (par value $100 remember) to $2,000. The servant sold, gave his master the proceeds at $1,600 a share, put the remaining $100,000 in his own pocket, and left France that evening. Law’s coachman became so rich that he left service, and set up his own coach; and when his master asked him to find a successor, he brought two candidates, and told Law to choose, and he would take the other himself. There were many absurd cases of vulgarians made rich. There were also many robberies and murders. That committed by the Count de Horn, one of the higher nobility and two accomplices, is a famous case. The Count, a dissipated rascal, poniarded a broker in a tavern for the money the broker carried with him. But he was taken, and, in spite of the utmost and most determined exertions of the nobility, the Regent had him broken on the wheel in public, like any other murderer.
As the excitement peaked, the Regent seized the moment to issue enough stock to pay off the entire national debt—three hundred thousand new shares at $1,000 each, which was a thousand percent of their par value. They were snapped up immediately. Three times that amount could have been sold right away. The market was so volatile that shares could rise or fall by twenty percent within just a few hours. A servant was sent to sell two hundred and fifty shares of stock; upon arriving at the gardens of the Hotel de Soissons,[228] he discovered that since leaving his master's house, the price had jumped from $1,600 (the par value was $100, remember) to $2,000. The servant sold his shares and returned $1,600 per share to his master, pocketing the remaining $100,000 for himself, and left France that evening. Law’s coachman became so wealthy that he quit his job and bought his own coach. When his master asked him to find a replacement, he presented two candidates and told Law to choose while he would take the other one himself. There were many ridiculous stories of everyday people becoming rich. However, there were also many crimes and murders. A notable one was committed by the Count de Horn, a member of the upper nobility, along with two accomplices. The Count, a reckless scoundrel, stabbed a broker in a tavern for the money the broker was carrying. But he was caught, and despite the vigorous efforts of the nobility, the Regent had him publicly executed by breaking on the wheel, just like any other murderer.
The stock of the Company of the Indies, though it dashed up and down ten and twenty per cent. from day to day, was from the first immensely inflated. In August 1719, it sold at 610 per cent.; in a few weeks more it arose to 1,200 per cent. All winter it still went up until, in April 1720, it stood at 2,050 per cent. That is, one one-hundred dollar share would sell for two thousand and fifty dollars.
The stock of the Company of the Indies, although it fluctuated by ten to twenty percent from day to day, was hugely overvalued from the beginning. In August 1719, it was priced at 610 percent; just a few weeks later, it jumped to 1,200 percent. All winter, it continued to rise until, by April 1720, it reached 2,050 percent. That means a one hundred dollar share would sell for two thousand and fifty dollars.
At this extreme point of inflation, the bubble stood a little, shining splendidly as bubbles do when they are nearest bursting, and then it received two or three quiet pricks. The Prince de Conti, enraged because Law[229] would not send him some shares on his own terms, sent three wagon-loads of bills to Law’s bank, demanding specie. Law paid it, and complained to the Regent, who made him put two-thirds of it back again. A shrewd stock-gambler drew specie by small sums until he had about $200,000 in coin, and lest he should be forced to return it, he packed it in a cart, covered it with manure, put on a peasant’s disguise, and carted his fortune over the frontiers into Belgium. Some others quietly realized their means in like manner by driblets and funded them abroad.
At this peak of inflation, the bubble gleamed a little, shining brightly as bubbles do right before they pop, and then it got two or three quiet pricks. The Prince de Conti, furious because Law[229] wouldn’t send him some shares on his own terms, sent three wagon-loads of notes to Law’s bank, demanding cash. Law paid up and complained to the Regent, who made him put two-thirds of it back. A clever stock trader withdrew small amounts of cash until he had about $200,000 in coins, and to avoid being forced to give it back, he packed it in a cart, covered it with manure, disguised himself as a peasant, and transported his fortune across the border into Belgium. A few others quietly cashed out in a similar way in small amounts and invested them abroad.
By such means coin gradually grew very scarce, and signs of a panic appeared. The Regent tried to adjust matters by a decree that coin should be five per cent. less than paper; as much as to say, It is hereby enacted that there is a great deal more coin than there is! This did not serve, and the Regent decreed again, that coin should be worth ten per cent. less than paper. Then he decreed that the bank must not pay more than $22 at once in specie; and, finally, by a bold stretch of his authority, he issued an edict that no person should have over $100 in coin, on pain of fine and confiscation. These odious laws made a great deal of trouble, spying, and distress, and rapidly aggravated the difficulty they were meant to cure. The price of shares in the great company began to fall steadily and rapidly. Law and the Regent began to be universally hated, cursed, and threatened. Various foolish and vain attempts were made to stay the coming ruin, by renewing the stories about Louisiana sending out a lot of conscripted laborers, ordering that all payments must be made in paper,[230] and printing a new batch of notes, to the amount of another $300,000,000. Law’s two corporations were also doctored in several ways. The distress and fright grew worse. An edict was issued that Law’s notes and shares should depreciate gradually by law for a year, and then be worth but half their face. This made such a tumult and outcry that the Regent had to retract it in seven days. On this seventh day, Law’s bank stopped paying specie. Law was turned out of his public employments, but still well treated by the Regent in private. He was, however, mobbed and stoned in his coach in the street, had to have a company of Swiss Guards in his house, and at last had to flee to the Regent’s own palace.
By these means, coins gradually became quite rare, and signs of a panic emerged. The Regent attempted to fix the situation with a decree stating that coins should be worth five percent less than paper money, implying that there was much more coin
I have not space to describe in detail the ruin, misery, tumults, loss and confusion which attended the speedy descent of Law’s paper and shares to entire worthlessness. Thousands of families were made paupers, and trade and commerce destroyed by the painful process. Law himself escaped out of France poor; and, after another obscure and disreputable career of gambling, died in poverty at Venice, in 1729.
I don’t have enough room to detail the destruction, suffering, chaos, loss, and confusion that came with the rapid drop of Law’s paper and shares to total worthlessness. Thousands of families were left destitute, and businesses and trade were ruined by this painful process. Law himself left France broke; after a further troubled and shady life of gambling, he died in poverty in Venice in 1729.
Thus this enormous business-humbug first raised a whole nation into a fool’s paradise of imaginary wealth, and then exploded, leaving its projector and many thousands of victims ruined, the country disturbed and distressed, long-enduring consequences, in vicious and lawless and unsteady habits, contracted while the delusion lasted, and no single benefit except one more most dearly-bought lesson of the wicked folly of mere speculation without a real business basis and a real business[231] method. Let not this lesson be lost on the rampant and half-crazed speculators of the present day. Those who buy gold or flour, leather, butter, dry goods, groceries, hardware, or anything else on speculation, when prices are inflated far beyond the ordinary standard, are taking upon themselves great risks, for the bubble must eventually be pricked; and whoever is the “holder” when that time comes, must necessarily be the loser.
Thus, this massive scheme first lured an entire nation into a false paradise of imaginary wealth and then collapsed, leaving its creator and many thousands of victims in ruins, the country shaken and distressed, with long-lasting effects from the bad habits formed during the illusion, and no real benefit except for one very costly lesson about the foolishness of speculation without a solid business foundation and a genuine business method. Let’s not forget this lesson for the rampant and somewhat unhinged speculators of today. Those who purchase gold, flour, leather, butter, dry goods, groceries, hardware, or anything else on speculation, when prices are inflated well above the normal level, are taking on significant risks because the bubble will eventually burst; and whoever is the “holder” when that happens will inevitably be the loser.
V. MEDICINE AND QUACKS.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
DOCTORS AND IMAGINATION.—FIRING A JOKE OUT OF A CANNON.—THE PARIS EYE WATER.—MAJENDIE ON MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE.—OLD SANDS OF LIFE.
DOCTORS AND IMAGINATION.—FIRING A JOKE OUT OF A CANNON.—THE PARIS EYE WATER.—MAJENDIE ON MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE.—OLD SANDS OF LIFE.
Medical humbugs constitute a very critical subject indeed, because I shall be almost certain to offend some of three parties concerned, namely; physicians, quacks, and patients. But it will never do to neglect so important a division of my whole theme as this.
Medical humbugs are a really important topic because I'm likely to upset one of three groups involved: doctors, frauds, and patients. But I can't overlook such a significant part of my overall theme.
To begin with, it is necessary to suggest, in the most delicate manner in the world, that there is a small infusion of humbug among the very best of the regular practitioners. These gentlemen, for whose learning, kind-heartedness, self-devotion, and skill I entertain a profound respect, make use of what I may call the gaseous element of their practice, not for the lucre of gain, but in order to enlist the imaginations of their patients in aid of nature and great remedies.
To start, it's important to gently suggest that there’s a bit of nonsense among even the best regular doctors. I have deep respect for these men, whose knowledge, kindness, dedication, and skill are commendable. They use what I would refer to as the airy aspect of their practice, not for profit, but to engage their patients' imaginations to support their healing and effective treatments.
The stories are infinite in number, which illustrate the force of imagination, ranging through all the grades of mental action, from the lofty visions of good men who dream of seeing heaven opened to them, and all its ineffable glories and delights, down to the low comedy conceit of the fellow who put a smoked herring into the tail of his coat and imagined himself a mermaid.
The stories are endless, showcasing the power of imagination, spanning all levels of mental activity, from the grand dreams of good people who envision heaven revealing its magnificent glories and joys, to the quirky humor of the guy who stuffed a smoked herring in his coat tail and fancied himself a mermaid.
[233]Probably, however, imagination displays its real power more wonderfully in the operations of the mind on the body that holds it, than anywhere else. It is true that there are some people even so utterly without imagination that they cannot take a joke; such as that grave man of Scotland who was at last plainly told by a funny friend quite out of patience, “Why, you wouldn’t take a joke if it were fired at you out of a cannon!”
[233]However, it seems that imagination shows its true power most impressively in how it affects the mind and body of the person experiencing it, more than anywhere else. It's true that there are some people who are so devoid of imagination that they can’t even take a joke; like that serious man from Scotland who was finally told by an exasperated friend, “You wouldn’t take a joke even if it were shot at you from a cannon!”
“Sir,” replied the Scot, with sound reasoning and grave thought, “Sir, you are absurd. You cannot fire a joke out of a cannon!”
“Sir,” replied the Scot, thoughtfully and logically, “Sir, you’re being ridiculous. You can’t shoot a joke out of a cannon!”
But to return: It is certainly the case that frequently “the doctor” takes great care not to let the patient know what is the matter, and even not to let him know what he is swallowing. This is because a good many people, if at a critical point of disease, may be made to turn toward health if made to believe that they are doing so, but would be frightened, in the literal sense of the words, to death, if told what a dangerous state they are in.
But to get back to it: It's definitely true that often “the doctor” is very careful not to let the patient know what's really going on and even tries to keep them in the dark about what they're taking. This is because a lot of people, if they're at a critical point in their illness, can be encouraged toward recovery if they believe they’re getting better, but they would be literally scared to death if they were told how serious their condition is.
One sort of regular practice humbug is rendered necessary by the demands of the patients. This is giving good big doses of something with a horrid smell and taste. There are plenty of people who don’t believe the doctor does anything to earn his money, if he does not pour down some dirty brown or black stuff very nasty in flavor. Some, still more exacting, wish for that sort of testimony which depends on internal convulsions, and will not be satisfied unless they suffer torments and expel stuff enough to quiet the inside of Mount Vesuvius or Popocatepetl.
One type of usual practice nonsense is made necessary by what patients want. This involves giving them large doses of something that smells and tastes awful. Many people think the doctor isn’t doing anything worthwhile to earn his money unless he forces down some gross brown or black liquid that tastes terrible. Some, even more demanding, want proof that comes from painful internal reactions, and won’t feel satisfied unless they go through intense suffering and expel enough to calm the insides of Mount Vesuvius or Popocatepetl.
[234]“He’s a good doctor,” was the verdict of one of this class of leather-boweled fellows—“he’ll work your innards for you!”
[234]“He’s a good doctor,” said one of these leather-clad guys—“he’ll sort out your insides for you!”
It is a milder form of this same method to give what the learned faculty term a placebo. This is a thing in the outward form of medicine, but quite harmless in itself. Such is a bread-pill, for instance; or a draught of colored water, with a little disagreeable taste in it. These will often keep the patient’s imagination headed in the right direction, while good old Dame Nature is quietly mending up the damages in “the soul’s dark cottage.”
It’s a gentler version of the same method to give what the experts call a placebo. This is something that looks like medicine on the outside but is completely harmless. An example would be a bread pill or a sip of colored water with a bit of an unpleasant taste. These can often help keep the patient’s imagination focused on healing, while good old Mother Nature quietly repairs the damage in “the soul’s dark cottage.”
One might almost fancy that, in proportion as the physician is more skillful, by so much he gives less medicine, and relies more on imagination, nature, and, above all, regimen and nursing. Here is a story in point. There was an old gentleman in Paris, who sold a famous eye-water, and made much gain thereby. He died, however, one fine day, and unfortunately forgot to leave the recipe on record. “His disconsolate widow continued the business at the old stand,” however—to quote another characteristic French anecdote—and being a woman of ready and decisive mind, she very quietly filled the vials with water from the river Seine, and lived respectably on the proceeds, finding, to her great relief, that the eye-water was just as good as ever. At last however, she found herself about to die, and under the stings of an accusing conscience she confessed her trick to her physician, an eminent member of the profession. “Be entirely easy, Madam,” said the wise man; “don’t be troubled at all. You are the most in[235]nocent physician in the world; you have done nobody any harm.”
One might think that the more skilled the doctor, the less medicine they prescribe, relying more on imagination, nature, and especially on diet and care. Here’s a story to illustrate this. There was an elderly man in Paris who sold a popular eye-drop solution and made a good profit from it. However, one day he passed away and unfortunately forgot to write down the recipe. “His sorrowful widow continued the business at the same location,” to quote another typical French story—and being a woman of quick and decisive thinking, she calmly filled the bottles with water from the Seine River and managed to live comfortably on the earnings, discovering, to her great surprise, that the eye-drops were just as effective as before. Eventually, though, she found herself nearing death, and burdened by guilt, she revealed her secret to her doctor, a respected member of the medical field. “Don’t worry at all, Madam,” said the wise man; “you are the most innocent doctor in the world; you haven't harmed anyone.”
It is an old and illiberal joke to compare medicine to war, on the ground that the votaries of both seek to destroy life. It is, however, not far from the truth to say that they are alike in this; that they are both preëminently liable to mistakes, and that in both he is most successful who makes the fewest.
It’s an old and unkind joke to compare medicine to war, suggesting that both aim to take lives. However, it’s not entirely off the mark to say they have similarities; both are highly prone to mistakes, and in each field, the person who succeeds the most is the one who makes the fewest errors.
How can it be otherwise, until we know more than we do at present, of the great mysteries of life and death? It seems risky enough to permit the wisest and most experienced physician to touch those springs of life which God only understands. And it is enough to make the most stupid stare, to see how people will let the most disgusting quack jangle their very heartstrings with his poisonous messes, about as soon as if he were the best doctor in the world. A true physician, indeed, does not hasten to drug. The great French surgeon, Majendie, is even said to have commenced his official course of lectures on one occasion by coolly saying to his students: “Gentlemen, the curing of disease is a subject that physicians know nothing about.” This was doubtless an extreme way of putting the case. Yet it was in a certain sense exactly true. There is one of the geysers in Iceland, into which visitors throw pebbles or turfs, with the invariable result of causing the disgusted geyser in a few minutes to vomit the dose out again, along with a great quantity of hot water, steam, and stuff. Now the doctor does know that some of his doses are pretty sure to work, as the traveler knows that his dose will work on the gey[236]ser. It is only the exact how and why that is not understood.
How can it be any different until we understand more than we do now about the big mysteries of life and death? It seems risky enough to allow even the smartest and most experienced doctor to handle those aspects of life that only God really comprehends. It's shocking to see how people will let the most revolting charlatan play with their emotions and health with his toxic concoctions, almost as if he were the best doctor in the world. A real physician, in fact, doesn’t rush to prescribe drugs. The renowned French surgeon, Majendie, is even said to have started one of his lectures by calmly telling his students, “Gentlemen, the curing of disease is a topic that doctors know nothing about.” This was undoubtedly an extreme way to make a point. However, in a certain sense, it was exactly true. There’s a geyser in Iceland where visitors throw in pebbles or chunks of turf, and it consistently results in the geyser erupting in disgust a few minutes later, expelling the material along with a lot of hot water and steam. Similarly, the doctor knows that some of his treatments are likely to be effective, just as the tourist knows that their action will trigger a reaction from the geyser. It’s just the precise mechanism behind it that remains a mystery.
But however mysterious is nature, however ignorant the doctor, however imperfect the present state of physical science, the patronage and the success of quacks and quackeries are infinitely more wonderful than those of honest and laborious men of science and their careful experiments.
But no matter how mysterious nature is, how uninformed the doctor is, or how limited our current understanding of physical science is, the support and achievements of frauds and charlatans are far more astonishing than those of dedicated and hardworking scientists and their meticulous experiments.
I have come about to the end of my tether for this time; and quackery is something too monstrous in dimensions as well as character to be dealt with in a paragraph. But I may with propriety put one quack at the tail of this letter; it is but just that he should let decent people go before him. I mean “Old Sands of Life.” Everybody has seen his advertisement, beginning “A retired Physician whose sands of life have nearly run out,” etc. And everybody—almost—knows how kind the fellow is in sending gratis his recipe. All that is necessary is (as you find out when you get the recipe) to buy at a high price from him one ingredient which (he says) you can get nowhere else. This swindling scamp is in fact a smart brisk fellow of about thirty-five years of age, notwithstanding the length of time during which—to use a funny phrase which somebody got up for him—he has been “afflicted with a loose tail-board to his mortal sand-cart.” Some benevolent friend was so much distressed about the feebleness of “Old Sands of Life” as to send him one day a large parcel by express, marked “C. O. D.,” and costing quite a figure. “Old Sands” paid, and opening the parcel, found half a bushel of excellent sand.
I’ve reached the end of my patience this time; and quackery is such a huge issue, both in size and nature, that it can't be summed up in a single paragraph. However, I can properly mention one quack at the end of this letter; it’s only fair that he lets decent people go before him. I’m talking about “Old Sands of Life.” Everyone has seen his ad that starts with “A retired Physician whose sands of life have nearly run out,” etc. And almost everyone knows how generous he is in sending his recipe for free. All you need to do (as you find out once you get the recipe) is to buy an ingredient from him at a high price, which he claims you can’t find anywhere else. This con artist is actually a clever guy of about thirty-five, despite the long time during which—using a funny phrase someone made up for him—he's been “afflicted with a loose tail-board to his mortal sand-cart.” A kind-hearted friend was so worried about the frailty of “Old Sands of Life” that one day he sent him a large package by express, marked “C. O. D.,” that cost quite a bit. “Old Sands” paid for it, and upon opening the package, found half a bushel of excellent sand.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE CONSUMPTIVE REMEDY.—E. ANDREWS, M. D.—BORN WITHOUT BIRTHRIGHTS.—HASHEESH CANDY.—ROBACK THE GREAT.—A CONJURER OPPOSED TO LYING.
THE CONSUMPTIVE REMEDY.—E. ANDREWS, M. D.—BORN WITHOUT BIRTHRIGHTS.—HASHEESH CANDY.—ROBACK THE GREAT.—A CONJURER OPPOSED TO LYING.
There is a fellow in Williamsburg who calls himself a clergyman, and sells a “consumptive remedy,” by which I suppose he means a remedy for consumption. It is a mere slop corked in a vial; but there are a good many people who are silly enough to buy it of him. A certain gentleman, during last November, earnestly sought an interview with this reverend brother in the interests of humanity, but he was as inaccessible as a chipmunk in a stone fence. The gentleman wrote a polite note to the knave asking about prices, and received a printed circular in return, stating in an affecting manner the good man’s grief at having to raise his price in consequence of the cost of gold “with which I am obliged to buy my medicines” saith he, “in Paris.” This was both sad and unsatisfactory; and the gentleman went over to Williamsburg to seek an interview and find out all about the prices. He reached the abode of the man of piety, but, strange to relate, he wasn’t at home.
There’s a guy in Williamsburg who calls himself a clergyman and sells a “consumptive remedy,” which I guess means a treatment for tuberculosis. It’s just some junk bottled up; yet a lot of people are foolish enough to buy it from him. A certain man, last November, really tried to meet with this reverend in the name of humanity, but he was as hard to reach as a chipmunk in a stone wall. The man sent a polite note to the con artist asking about prices and got a printed brochure in response, which dramatically expressed the good man’s sorrow at having to raise his prices due to the cost of gold “that I am forced to use to buy my medicines” he claimed, “in Paris.” This was both unfortunate and frustrating; so the man went over to Williamsburg to try to get a meeting and find out all about the prices. He arrived at the home of the holy man, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t home.
Gentleman waited.
Man waited.
Reverend brother kept on not being at home. When gentleman had waited to his entire satisfaction he came back.
Reverend brother continued to be away from home. After the gentleman felt he had waited long enough, he returned.
[238]It is understood it is practically out of the question to see the reverend brother. Perhaps he is so modest and shy that he will not encounter the clamorous gratitude which would obstruct his progress through the streets, from the millions saved by his consumptive remedy. It is a pity that the reverend man cannot enjoy the still more complete seclusion by which the state of New York testifies its appreciation of unobtrusive and retiring virtues like his, in the salubrious and quiet town of Sing Sing.
[238]It's clear that it's nearly impossible to meet the reverend brother. Maybe he's so humble and reserved that he can't handle the loud gratitude that would slow him down on the streets, given the millions helped by his cure for tuberculosis. It's unfortunate that the reverend can't fully enjoy the peaceful solitude that the state of New York shows it values unpretentious and modest qualities like his, in the healthy and quiet town of Sing Sing.
A quack in an inland city, who calls himself E. Andrews, M. D., prints a “semi-occasional” document in the form of a periodical, of which a copy is lying before me. It is an awful hodgepodge of perfect nonsense and vulgar rascality. He calls it “The Good Samaritan and Domestic Physician,” and this number is called “volume twenty.” Only think what a great man we have among us—unless the Doctor himself is mistaken. He says: “I will here state that I have been favored by nature and Providence in gaining access to stores of information that has fell to the lot of but very few persons heretofore, during the past history of mankind.” Evidently these “stores” were so vast that the great doctor’s brain was stuffed too full to have room left for English Grammar. Shortly, the Doctor thus bursts forth again with some views having their own merits, but not such as concern the healing art very directly: “The automaton powers of machinery”—there’s a new style of machinery, you observe—“must be made to WORK FOR, instead of as now, against mankind; the Land of all nations must be made FREE to Actual Set[239]tlers in LIMITED quantities. No one must be born without his birthright being born with him.” The italics, etc., are the Doctor’s. What an awful thought is this of being born without any birthright, or, as the Doctor leaves us to suppose possible, having one’s birthright born first, and dodging about the world like a stray canary-bird, while the unhappy and belated owner tries in vain to put salt on its tail and catch it!
A quack in an inland city, who goes by E. Andrews, M. D., publishes a “semi-occasional” document in the form of a magazine, and I have a copy in front of me. It’s a terrible mix of complete nonsense and vulgar deceit. He calls it “The Good Samaritan and Domestic Physician,” and this edition is labeled “volume twenty.” Just think about what a great man we have among us—unless the Doctor himself is mistaken. He claims: “I will here state that I have been favored by nature and Providence in gaining access to information that has fallen to the lot of very few people throughout the history of mankind.” Clearly, these “stores” were so vast that the great doctor’s brain was overstuffed, leaving no room for English Grammar. Soon after, the Doctor proclaims some ideas that have their merits, but aren’t directly related to the healing profession: “The mechanical powers of machinery”—there’s a new type of machinery, as you can see—“must be made to HUSTLE FOR, instead of as now, against mankind; the Land of all nations must be made Free to Actual Set[239]tlers in LIMITED quantities. No one must be born without his birthright being born with him.” The italics, etc., are the Doctor’s. What a terrible idea it is to be born without any birthright, or as the Doctor suggests is possible, having one’s birthright born first and darting around the world like a stray canary, while the poor and delayed owner tries unsuccessfully to catch it by putting salt on its tail!
Well, this wiseacre, after his portentous introduction, fills the rest of his sixteen loosely printed double-columned octavo pages with a farrago of the most indescribable character, made up of brags, lies, promises, forged recommendations and letters, boasts of systematic charity, funny scraps of stuff in the form of little disquisitions, advertisements of remedies, hair-oils, cosmetics, liquors, groceries, thistle-killers, anti-bug mixtures, recipes for soap, ink, honey, and the Old Harry only knows what. The fellow gives a list of seventy-one specific diseases for which his Hasheesh Candy is a sure cure, and he adds that it is also a sure cure for all diseases of the liver, brain, throat, stomach, ear, and other internal disorders; also for “all long standing diseases”—whatever that means!—and for insanity! In this monstrous list are jumbled together the most incongruous troubles. “Bleeding at the nose, and abortions;” “worms, fits, poisons and cramps.” And the impudent liar quotes General Grant, General Mitchell, the Rebel General Lee, General McClellan, and Doctor Mott of this city, all shouting in chorus the praises of the Hasheesh Candy! Next comes the “Secret of Beauty,” a “preparation of Turkish Roses;” then a[240] lot of forged references, and an assertion that the Doctor gives to the poor five thousand pounds of bread every winter; then some fearful denunciations of the regular doctors.
Well, this wise guy, after his dramatic introduction, fills the rest of his sixteen loosely printed, double-columned octavo pages with a mix of the most unbelievable content, made up of bragging, lies, empty promises, fake recommendations and letters, claims of organized charity, funny bits in the form of little essays, ads for remedies, hair oils, cosmetics, alcohol, groceries, weed killers, bug sprays, and recipes for soap, ink, honey, and who knows what else. He lists seventy-one specific diseases for which his Hasheesh Candy is a guaranteed cure, and he adds that it’s also a guaranteed cure for all diseases of the liver, brain, throat, stomach, ear, and other internal issues; plus for “all long-standing diseases”—whatever that means!—and for insanity! In this outrageous list, the most unrelated problems are thrown together. “Bleeding from the nose, and miscarriages;” “worms, seizures, poisons, and cramps.” And the shameless liar quotes General Grant, General Mitchell, Rebel General Lee, General McClellan, and Doctor Mott from this city, all singing the praises of the Hasheesh Candy! Next comes the “Secret of Beauty,” a “preparation of Turkish Roses;” then a[240] bunch of forged references, and a claim that the Doctor provides the poor with five thousand pounds of bread every winter; then some harsh attacks on regular doctors.
But—as the auctioneers say—“I can’t dwell.” I will only add that the real villainy of this fellow only appears here and there, where he advertises the means of ruining innocence, or of indulging with impunity in the foulest vices. He will sell for $3.30, the “Mystic Weird Ring.” In a chapter of infamous blatherumskite about this ring he says: “The wearer can drive from, or draw to him, any one, and for any purpose whatever.” I need not explain what this scoundrel means. He also will sell the professed means of robbery and swindling; saying that he is prepared to show how to remove papers, wills, titles, notes, etc., from one place to another “by invisible means.” It is a wonder that the Bank of Commerce can keep any securities in its vaults—of course!
But—as the auctioneers say—“I can’t dwell.” I’ll just add that the true wickedness of this guy only surfaces occasionally, where he promotes the ways to ruin innocence or indulge in the dirtiest vices with no consequences. He’ll sell the “Mystic Weird Ring” for $3.30. In a chapter filled with ridiculous nonsense about this ring, he claims: “The wearer can drive from, or draw to him, anyone, and for any purpose whatsoever.” I don’t need to clarify what this jerk means. He also sells so-called methods for robbery and scamming, claiming he can show how to move papers, wills, titles, notes, etc., from one spot to another "by invisible means." It’s amazing that the Bank of Commerce can keep any valuables in its vaults—of course!
But enough of this degraded panderer to crime and folly. He is beneath notice, so far as he himself concerned; I devote the space to him, because it is well worth while to understand how base an imposture can draw a steady revenue from a nation boasting so much culture and intelligence as ours. It is also worth considering whether the authorities must not be remiss, who permit such odious deceptions to be constantly perpetrated upon the public.
But enough of this pathetic promoter of crime and foolishness. He’s not worth our attention, as far as he’s concerned; I’m focusing on him because it’s important to see how such a lowly fraud can earn a steady income from a nation that prides itself on having so much culture and intelligence. It’s also worth thinking about whether the officials should be doing more, given that they allow such terrible deceptions to keep happening to the public.
I ought here to give a paragraph to the great C. W. Roback, one of whose Astrological Almanacs is before me. This erudite production is embellished in front[241] with a picture of the doctor and his six brothers—for he is the seventh son of a seventh son. The six elder brethren—nice enough boys—stand submissively around their gigantic and bearded junior, reaching only to his waist, and gazing up at him with reverence, as the sheaves of Joseph’s brethren worshipped his sheaf in his dream. At the end is a picture of Magnus Roback, the grandfather of C. W., a bull-headed, ugly old Dutchman, with a globe and compasses. This picture, by the way, is in fact a cheap likeness of the old discoverers or geographers. Within the book we find Gustavus Roback, the father of C. W., for whom is used a cut of Jupiter—or some other heathen god—half-naked, a-straddle of an eagle, with a hook in one hand and a quadrant in the other; which is very much like the picture by one of the “Old Masters” of Abraham about to offer up Isaac, and taking a long aim at the poor boy with a flint-lock horse-pistol. Doctor Roback is good enough to tell us where his brothers are: “One, a high officer in the Empire of China, another a Catholic Bishop in the city of Rome,” and so on. There is also a cut of his sister, whom he cured of consumption. She is represented “talking to her bird, after the fashion of her country, when a maiden is unexpectedly rescued from the jaws of death!”
I should mention the great C. W. Roback, as one of his Astrological Almanacs is in front of me. This scholarly work features a portrait of the doctor and his six brothers on the cover[241]—he is the seventh son of a seventh son. The six older brothers—pretty decent guys—stand around their tall and bearded younger brother, barely reaching his waist, looking up at him in admiration, just like Joseph’s brothers did toward his sheaf in his dream. At the back is a picture of Magnus Roback, C. W.'s grandfather, a bull-headed, unattractive old Dutchman, holding a globe and compasses. By the way, this image is really just a cheap version of the old explorers or geographers. Inside the book, we find Gustavus Roback, C. W.'s father, represented by an image of Jupiter—or some other pagan god—half-naked, straddling an eagle, holding a hook in one hand and a quadrant in the other; it looks a lot like an old painting of Abraham getting ready to sacrifice Isaac, taking careful aim at the poor boy with a flint-lock pistol. Doctor Roback kindly tells us where his brothers are: “One, a high-ranking officer in the Empire of China, another a Catholic Bishop in the city of Rome,” and so on. There’s also a picture of his sister, whom he healed from tuberculosis. She's shown “talking to her bird, in the manner of her people, after a young woman is unexpectedly saved from the brink of death!”
Roback cures all sorts of diseases, discovers stolen property, insures children a marriage, and so on, all by means of “conjurations.” He also casts nativities and foretells future events; and he shows in full how Bernadotte, Louis Philippe, and Napoleon Bonaparte either did well or would have done well by following his ad[242]vice. The chief peculiarity of this impostor is, that he really avoids direct pandering to vice and crime, and even makes it a specialty to cure drunkenness and—of all things in the world—lying! On this point Roback gives in full the certificate of Mrs. Abigail Morgan, whose daughter Amanda “was sorely given to fibbing, in so much that she would rather lie than speak the truth.” And the delighted mother certifies that our friend and wizard “so changed the nature of the girl that, to the best of our knowledge and belief, she has never spoken anything but the truth since.”
Roback treats all kinds of illnesses, finds stolen goods, ensures children get married, and so on, all through “conjurations.” He also creates birth charts and predicts future events; he explains in detail how Bernadotte, Louis Philippe, and Napoleon Bonaparte either benefited or would have benefited from following his advice. The main feature of this fraud is that he really avoids outright catering to vice and crime, even making it a focus to cure drunkenness and—of all things—lying! On this topic, Roback shares the full testimony of Mrs. Abigail Morgan, whose daughter Amanda “had a serious habit of fibbing, to the extent that she would rather lie than tell the truth.” The thrilled mother confirms that our friend and wizard “so transformed the nature of the girl that, to the best of our knowledge and belief, she has never spoken anything but the truth since.”
There is a conjurer “as is a conjurer.”
There is a magician “just like a magician.”
What an uproar the incantation of the great Roback would make, if set fairly to work among the politicians, for instance! But after all, on second thoughts, what a horrible mass of abominations would they lay bare in telling the truth about each other all round! No, no—it won’t do to have the truth coming out, in politics at any rate! Away with Roback! I will not give him another word—not a single chance—not even to explain his great power over what he calls “Fits! Fits! Fits! Fits! Fits!”
What a commotion the spell of the great Roback would create if it were unleashed among politicians, for example! But on second thought, imagine the horrendous things they would reveal by telling the truth about each other! No, no—it’s not a good idea for the truth to come out, especially in politics! Forget Roback! I won’t give him another word—not a single chance—not even to explain his so-called “Fits! Fits! Fits! Fits! Fits!”
CHAPTER XXX.
Every visitor to Florence during the last twenty years must have noticed on the grand piazza before the[243] Ducal Palace, the strange genius known as Monsignore Créso, or, in plain English, Mr. Crœsus. He is so called because of his reputed great wealth; but his real name is Christoforo Rischio, which I may again translate, as Christopher Risk. Mrs. Browning refers to him in one of her poems—the “Casa Guidi Windows,” I think—and he has also been the staple of a tale by one of the Trollope brothers.
Every visitor to Florence in the last twenty years must have noticed the unusual figure known as Monsignore Créso, or, in simpler terms, Mr. Crœsus, in the grand piazza in front of the[243] Ducal Palace. He earns this name due to his supposed immense wealth; however, his actual name is Christoforo Rischio, which can also be translated as Christopher Risk. Mrs. Browning mentions him in one of her poems—the “Casa Guidi Windows,” if I’m not mistaken—and he has been the subject of a story by one of the Trollope brothers.
Twice every week, he comes into the city in a strange vehicle, drawn by two fine Lombardy ponies, and unharnesses them in the very centre of the square. His assistant, a capital vocalist, begins to sing immediately, and a crowd soon collects around the wagon. Then Monsignore takes from the box beneath his seat a splendidly jointed human skeleton, which he suspends from a tall rod and hook, and also a number of human skulls. The latter are carefully arranged on an adjustable shelf, and Créso takes his place behind them, while in his rear a perfect chemist’s shop of flasks, bottles, and pillboxes is disclosed. Very soon his singer ceases, and in the purest Tuscan dialect—the very utterance of which is music—the Florentine quack-doctor proceeds to address the assemblage. Not being conversant with the Italian, I am only able to give the substance of his harangue, and pronounce indifferently upon the merit of his elocution. I am assured, however, that not only the common people, who are his chief patrons, but numbers of the most intelligent citizens, are always entertained by what he has to say; and certainly his gestures and style of expressions seem to betray great excellence of oratory. Having turned[244] the skeleton round and round on its pivot, and minutely explained the various anatomical parts, in order to show his proficiency in the basis of medical science, he next lifts the skulls, one by one, and descants upon their relative perfection, throwing in a shrewd anecdote now and then, as to the life of the original owner of each cranium.
Twice a week, he drives into the city in a unique vehicle pulled by two beautiful Lombardy ponies and unhitches them right in the middle of the square. His assistant, a talented singer, starts performing right away, and a crowd quickly gathers around the wagon. Then Monsignore pulls out a well-jointed human skeleton from a box under his seat, hanging it from a tall rod with a hook, along with several human skulls. The skulls are neatly arranged on an adjustable shelf, and Créso positions himself behind them, with what looks like a fully stocked chemist’s shop filled with flasks, bottles, and pillboxes behind him. Soon, the singer stops, and in the smoothest Tuscan dialect—each word sounds like music—the Florentine quack-doctor begins to speak to the crowd. I don't speak Italian, so I can only summarize his speech and can't really judge his speaking skills. However, I’ve been told that not only the everyday people, who are his main audience, but also many smart citizens, always find his words entertaining; and his gestures and way of expressing himself definitely show he’s a skilled orator. After spinning the skeleton around on its stand and thoroughly explaining its various anatomical parts to demonstrate his knowledge of medical science, he lifts the skulls one by one, talking about their unique qualities and occasionally adding clever anecdotes about the life of each skull's original owner.
One skull, for example, he asserts to have belonged to a lunatic, who wandered for half a lifetime in the Val d’Ema, subsisting precariously upon entirely vegetable food—roots, herbs, and the like; another is the superior part of a convict, hung in Arezzo for numerous offences; a third is that of a very old man who lived a celibate from his youth up, and by his abstinence and goodness exercised an almost priestly influence upon the borghesa. When, by this miscellaneous lecture, he has both amused and edified his hearers, he ingeniously turns the discourse upon his own life, and finally introduces the subject of the marvellous cures he has effected. The story of his medical preparations alone, their components and method of distillation, is a fine piece of popularized art, and he gives a practical exemplification of his skill and their virtues by calling from the crowd successively, a number of invalid people, whom he examines and prescribes for on the spot. Whether these subjects are provided by himself or not, I am unable to decide; but it is very possible that by long experience, Christoforo—who has no regular diploma—has mastered the simpler elements of Materia Medica, and does in reality effect cures. I class him among what are popularly known as humbugs, however, for he is a pretender to[245] more wisdom than he possesses. It was to me a strange and suggestive scene—the bald, beak-nosed, coal-eyed charlatan, standing in the market-place, so celebrated in history, peering through his gold spectacles at the upturned faces below him, while the bony skeleton at his side swayed in the wind, and the grinning skulls below, made grotesque faces, as if laughing at the gullibility of the people. Behind him loomed up the massive Palazzo Vecchio, with its high tower, sharply cut, and set with deep machicolations; to the left, the splendid Loggia of Orgagna, filled with rare marbles, and the long picture-gallery of the Uffizi, heaped with the rarest art-treasures of the world; to his right, the Giant Fountain of Ammanato, throwing jets of pure water—one drop of which outvalues all the nostrums in the world; and in front, the Post Office, built centuries before, by Pisan captives. If any of these things moved the imperturbable Créso, he showed no feeling of the sort; but for three long hours, two days in the week, held his hideous clinic in the open daylight.
One skull, for instance, he claims belonged to a madman who wandered for half a lifetime in the Val d’Ema, barely surviving on a completely vegetarian diet—roots, herbs, and similar foods; another one is the upper part of a convict who was hanged in Arezzo for various crimes; a third belongs to a very old man who lived a celibate life from his youth and, through his abstinence and goodness, had an almost priestly influence over the locals. After amusing and educating his audience with his mixed lecture, he cleverly shifts the conversation to his own life and eventually brings up the incredible cures he has performed. The story of his medical concoctions, their ingredients and how he distills them, is a remarkable display of popularized knowledge, and he demonstrates his skills and the effectiveness of his remedies by calling out a number of sick people from the crowd, examining them and giving them prescriptions on the spot. Whether these individuals are arranged by him or not, I can't say; but it’s quite possible that through long experience, Christoforo—who has no formal diploma—has learned the basics of herbal medicine and actually does provide cures. I consider him among what are commonly known as frauds, though, because he pretends to have more wisdom than he actually does. It was a strange and thought-provoking scene for me—the bald, beak-nosed, coal-eyed charlatan, standing in the historically famous marketplace, peering through his gold spectacles at the faces turned up toward him, while the bony skeleton beside him swayed in the wind, and the grinning skulls below made silly faces as if mocking the gullibility of the people. Behind him loomed the massive Palazzo Vecchio, with its tall tower, sharply angled and adorned with deep machicolations; to the left was the magnificent Loggia of Orgagna, filled with rare marbles, and the lengthy Uffizi gallery, piled high with the world's rarest art treasures; to his right stood the Giant Fountain of Ammanato, shooting jets of clean water—one drop of which is worth more than all the quack remedies in the world; and in front was the Post Office, built centuries ago by Pisan captives. If any of these sights affected the unflappable Créso, he showed no sign of it; for three long hours, two days a week, he conducted his grotesque clinic in broad daylight.
Seeing the man so often, and interested always in his manner—as much so, indeed, as the peasants or contadini, who bought his vials and pillboxes without stint—I became interested to know the main features of his life; and, by the aid of a friend, got some clues which I think reliable enough to publish. I do so the more willingly, because his career is illustrative, after an odd fashion, of contemporary Italian life.
Seeing the man so often and always curious about his behavior—just like the peasants or contadini who bought his vials and pillboxes without hesitation—I became interested in learning the key aspects of his life. With the help of a friend, I found some clues that I believe are reliable enough to share. I'm happy to share them because his story reflects, in a unique way, contemporary Italian life.
He was the son of a small farmer, not far from Sienna, and grew up in daily contact with vine-dressers and olive-gatherers, living upon the hard Tuscan fare of[246] macaroni and maroon-nuts, with a cutlet of lean mutton once a day, and a pint of sour Tuscan wine. Being tolerably well educated for a peasant-boy, he imbibed a desire for the profession of an actor, and studied Alfieri closely.
He was the son of a small farmer near Sienna and grew up interacting daily with grape pickers and olive harvesters, living on simple Tuscan food of[246] macaroni and chestnuts, with a lean mutton cutlet once a day, and a pint of sour Tuscan wine. He was fairly well educated for a peasant boy and developed a passion for becoming an actor, studying Alfieri closely.
Some little notoriety that he gained by recitations led him, in an evil hour, to venture an appearance en grand role, in Florence, at a third-rate theatre. His father had meanwhile deceased and left him the property; but to make the début referred to, he sold almost his entire inheritance. As may be supposed, his failure was signal. However easy he had found it to amuse the rough, untutored peasantry of his neighborhood, the test of a large and polished city was beyond his merit.
Some minor fame he gained from reciting led him, unfortunately, to attempt a performance en grand role in Florence, at a third-rate theater. His father had passed away in the meantime, leaving him the property; but to make that debut, he sold almost all of his inheritance. Unsurprisingly, he failed spectacularly. Although he had easily entertained the rough, unrefined peasants in his area, the challenge of a large and cultured city was too much for him.
So, poor and abashed, he sank to the lower walks of dramatic art, singing in choruses at the opera, playing minor parts in show-pieces, and all the while feeling the sting of disappointed ambition and half-deserved penury.
So, feeling poor and embarrassed, he dropped to the lower levels of theatrical performance, singing in choruses at the opera, playing small roles in productions, and all the while experiencing the pain of unfulfilled ambition and barely warranted poverty.
One day found him, at the beginning of winter, without work, and without a soldo in his pocket. Passing a druggist’s shop, he saw a placard asking for men to sell a certain new preparation. The druggist advanced him a small sum for travelling expenses, and he took to peripatetic lectures at once, going into the country and haranguing at all the villages.
One day, at the start of winter, he found himself out of work and broke. As he walked past a pharmacy, he noticed a sign looking for people to sell a new product. The pharmacist gave him a small amount of money for travel expenses, and he immediately started giving speeches on the go, traveling to the countryside and addressing crowds in all the villages.
Here he found his dramatic education available. Though not good enough for an actor, he was sufficiently clever for a nomadic eulogizer of a patent-medicine. His vocal abilities were also of service to him in gath[247]ering the people together. The great secret of success in anything is to get a hearing. Half the object is gained when the audience is assembled.
Here he found his dramatic education at his fingertips. While he wasn't talented enough to be an actor, he was smart enough to be a traveling promoter of patent medicine. His speaking skills also helped him gather people together. The key to success in anything is to get people to listen. Half the battle is won when the audience is present.
Well! poor, vagabond, peddling Christopher Risk, selling so much for another party, conceived the idea of becoming his own capitalist. He resolved to prepare a medicine of his own; and, profiting by the assistance of a young medical student, obtained bona fide prescriptions for the commonest maladies. These he had made up in gross, originated labels for them, and concealing the real essences thereof by certain harmless adulterations, began to advertise himself as the discoverer of a panacea.
Well! Poor, wandering Christopher Risk, who sold so much for others, came up with the idea of becoming his own boss. He decided to create his own medicine and, with the help of a young medical student, got legitimate prescriptions for common ailments. He had these made in bulk, came up with labels for them, and, by disguising the actual ingredients with harmless additives, started advertising himself as the inventor of a cure-all.
To gain no ill-will among the priests, whose influence is paramount with the peasantry, he dexterously threw in a reverent word for them in his nomadic harangues, and now and then made a sounding present to the Church.
To avoid any resentment from the priests, who have a huge influence over the peasants, he cleverly included a respectful mention of them in his wandering speeches, and occasionally made a generous donation to the Church.
He profited also by the superstitions abroad, and to the skill of Hippocrates added the roguery of Simon Magus. By report, he was both a magician and physician, and a knack that he had of slight-of-hand was not the least influential of his virtues.
He also took advantage of the superstitions around him, combining Hippocrates' skills with Simon Magus' trickery. According to reports, he was both a magician and a doctor, and his talent for sleight-of-hand was one of his most impactful qualities.
His bodily prowess was as great as his suppleness. One day, at Fiesole, a foreign doctor presumed to challenge Monsignore to a debate, and the offer was accepted. While the two stood together in Cristoforo’s wagon, and the intruder was haranguing the people, the quack, without a movement of his face or a twitch of his body, jerked his foot against his rival’s leg and threw him to the ground. He had the effrontery to[248] proclaim the feat as magnetic entirely, accomplished without bodily means, and by virtue of his black-art acquirements.
His physical strength was just as impressive as his flexibility. One day, in Fiesole, a foreign doctor dared to challenge Monsignore to a debate, and his offer was accepted. As the two stood together in Cristoforo’s wagon, and the intruder was addressing the crowd, the quack, without changing his expression or moving his body, kicked his rival's leg and knocked him to the ground. He had the audacity to[248]claim the act was purely magnetic, done without any physical means, and a result of his skills in dark arts.
An awe fell upon the listeners, and they refused to hear the checkmated disputant further.
An amazement swept over the audience, and they refused to listen to the defeated speaker any longer.
As soon as Cristoforo began to thrive, he indulged his dramatic taste by purchasing a superb wagon, team, and equipments, and hired a servant. Such a turnout had never been seen in Tuscany since the Medician days. It gained for him the name of Créso straightway, and, enabling him to travel more rapidly, enlarged his business sphere, and so vastly increased his profits.
As soon as Cristoforo started to succeed, he indulged his love for drama by buying a fancy wagon, a team of horses, and all the necessary gear, and he hired a servant. Nothing like it had been seen in Tuscany since the Medician era. He immediately earned the nickname Créso, and with the ability to travel faster, he expanded his business reach and significantly boosted his profits.
He arranged regular days and hours for each place in Tuscany, and soon became as widely known as the Grand Duke himself. When it was known that he had bought an old castle at Pontassieve on the banks of the Arno, his reputation still further increased. He was now so prosperous that he set the faculty at defiance. He proclaimed that they were jealous of his profounder learning, and threatened to expose the banefulness of their systems.
He scheduled regular days and times for each location in Tuscany, and soon became as well-known as the Grand Duke himself. When it was announced that he had purchased an old castle in Pontassieve along the Arno, his reputation grew even more. He was now so successful that he openly challenged the faculty. He claimed they were envious of his deeper knowledge and threatened to reveal the harmfulness of their systems.
At the same time, his talk to the common people began to savor of patronage, and this also enhanced his reputation. It is much better, as a rule, to call attention up to you rather than charity down to you. The shrewd impostor became also more absolute now. It was known that the Grand Duke had once asked him to dine, and that Monsignore had the hardihood to refuse. Indeed, he sympathized too greatly with the aroused Italian spirit of unity and progress to compromise himself with the house of Austria. When at last[249] the revolution came, Cristoforo was one of its best champions in Tuscany. His cantante sang only the march of Garibaldi and the victories of Savoy. His own speeches teemed with the gospel of Italy regenerated; and for a whole month he wasted no time in the sale of his bottighias and pillolas, but threw all his vehement, persuasive, and dramatic eloquence into the popular cause.
At the same time, his conversations with everyday people started to feel like patronage, which boosted his reputation. Generally, it’s better to draw attention to yourself than to be seen as charity. The clever fraud also became more authoritative now. It was known that the Grand Duke had once invited him to dinner, and that Monsignore had the audacity to decline. In fact, he resonated too strongly with the awakened Italian spirit of unity and progress to align himself with the house of Austria. When the revolution finally came, Cristoforo was one of its strongest supporters in Tuscany. His singer performed only the march of Garibaldi and the victories of Savoy. His speeches were filled with the message of a rejuvenated Italy; for an entire month, he didn’t waste time selling his little bottles and pills, but poured all his passionate, persuasive, and dramatic eloquence into the popular cause.
The end we know. Tuscany is a dukedom no longer, but a component part of a great peninsular kingdom with “Florence the Beautiful” for its capital.
The end is clear. Tuscany is no longer a dukedom, but part of a large peninsular kingdom with “Florence the Beautiful” as its capital.
And still before the ducal palace, where the deputies of Italy are to assemble, poor, vain Cristoforo Rischio makes his harangue every Tuesday and Saturday. He is now—or was four years ago—upward of sixty years of age, but spirited and athletic as ever, and so rich that it would be superfluous for him to continue his peripatetic career.
And still in front of the ducal palace, where the delegates of Italy gather, poor, vain Cristoforo Rischio delivers his speech every Tuesday and Saturday. He is now—or was four years ago—over sixty years old, but still as lively and fit as ever, and so wealthy that it would be unnecessary for him to keep up his wandering lifestyle.
His life is to me noteworthy, as showing what may be gained by concentrating even humble energies upon a paltry thing. Had Créso persevered as well upon the stage, I do not doubt that he would have made a splendid actor. If he did so well with a mere nostrum, why should he not have gained riches and a less grotesque fame by the sale of a better article? He understood human nature, its credulities and incredulities, its superstitions, tastes, changefulness, and love of display and excitement. He has done no harm, and given as much amusement as he has been paid for. Indeed, I consider him more an ornamental and useful character than otherwise. He has brightened many a travele[250]r’s recollections, relieved the tedium of many a weary hour in a foreign city, and, with all his deception, has never severed himself from the popular faith, nor sold out the popular cause. I dare say his death, when it occurs, will cause more sensation and evoke more tears, than that of any better physician in Tuscany.
His life is noteworthy to me because it shows what can be achieved by focusing even modest efforts on something trivial. If Créso had also stuck with acting, I have no doubt he would have become a fantastic actor. If he was able to do so well with a mere gimmick, why wouldn’t he have achieved wealth and more respectable fame by selling a better product? He understood human nature—its beliefs and doubts, its superstitions, preferences, volatility, and love for showiness and excitement. He hasn't harmed anyone and has provided as much entertainment as he's received payment for. In fact, I see him as more of a beneficial and decorative figure than anything else. He has brightened many a traveler’s memories, eased the boredom of many long hours in foreign cities, and despite all his tricks, he has never distanced himself from the people's trust or betrayed their interests. I would say that when he eventually passes away, it will stir more emotion and bring more tears than the death of any better physician in Tuscany.
VI. HOAXES.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE TWENTY-SEVENTH STREET GHOST.—SPIRITS ON THE RAMPAGE.
THE TWENTY-SEVENTH STREET GHOST.—SPIRITS ON THE RAMPAGE.
In classing the ghost excitement that agitated our good people to such an extent some two years ago among the “humbugs” of the age, I must, at the outset, remind my readers that there was no little accumulation of what is termed “respectable” testimony, as to the reality of his ghostship in Twenty-seventh street.
In categorizing the ghost excitement that stirred our community so much about two years ago among the "humbugs" of the time, I must begin by reminding my readers that there was a significant amount of what is called "respectable" evidence regarding the reality of his ghost presence on Twenty-seventh Street.
One fine Sunday morning, in the early part of 1863, my friends of the “Sunday Mercury” astonished their many thousands of patrons with an account that had been brought to them of a fearful spectre that had made its appearance in one of the best houses in Twenty-seventh Street. The narrative was detailed with circumstantial accuracy, and yet with an apparent discreet reserve, that gave the finishing touch of delightful mystery to the story.
One beautiful Sunday morning in early 1863, my friends at the “Sunday Mercury” surprised their thousands of readers with a report about a terrifying ghost that had appeared in one of the finest homes on Twenty-seventh Street. The story was told with detailed accuracy but also with a careful restraint that added an enchanting air of mystery to it.
The circumstances, as set forth in the opening letter (for many others followed) were briefly these:—A highly respectable family residing on Twenty-seventh Street, one of our handsome up-town thoroughfares, became aware, toward the close of the year 1862, that something extraordinary was taking place in their house, then one of the best in the neighborhood. Sundry mutterings and[252] whisperings began to be heard among the servants employed about the domicile, and, after a little while it became almost impossible to induce them to remain there for love or money. The visitors of the family soon began to notice that their calls, which formerly were so welcome, particularly among the young people of the establishment, seemed to give embarrassment, and that the smiles that greeted them, as early as seven in the evening gradually gave place to uneasy gestures, and, finally to positive hints at the lateness of the hour, or the fatigue of their host by nine o’clock.
The situation, as described in the initial letter (which was followed by many others), was basically this: A well-respected family living on Twenty-seventh Street, one of our beautiful uptown streets, realized, toward the end of 1862, that something unusual was happening in their home, which was one of the best in the area. Various whispers and[252]
The head of the family was a plain, matter-of-fact old gentleman, by no means likely to give way to any superstitious terrors—one of your hard-headed business men who pooh-poohed demons, hobgoblins, and all other kinds of spirits, except the purest Santa Cruz and genuine old Otard; and he fell into a great rage, when upon his repeated gruff demands for an explanation, he was delicately informed that his parlor was “haunted.” He vowed that somebody wanted to drive him from the house; that there was a conspiracy afoot among the women to get him still higher up town, and into a bigger brown-stone front, and refused to believe one word of the ghost-story. At length, one day, while sitting in his “growlery,” as the ladies called it, in the lower story, his attention was aroused by a clatter on the stairs, and looking out into the entry he saw a party of carpenters and painters who had been employed upon the parlor-floor, beating a precipitate retreat toward the front door.
The head of the family was a straightforward, no-nonsense old man, definitely not someone who would fall for any superstitions—just one of those practical business types who scoffed at demons, goblins, and all other kinds of spirits, except for the finest Santa Cruz and real old Otard; and he became very angry when, despite his repeated gruff requests for an explanation, he was gently told that his living room was “haunted.” He swore that someone was trying to drive him out of the house; that there was a plot among the women to push him further up town and into a bigger brownstone, and he refused to believe a word of the ghost story. Finally, one day, while sitting in his “growlery,” as the ladies called it, in the lower level, he was startled by a noise on the stairs, and looking out into the hallway, he saw a group of carpenters and painters who had been working on the living room floor, hastily making their way to the front door.
“Stop!—stop! you infernal fools! What’s all this hullabaloo about?” shouted the old gentleman.
“Stop!—stop! you damn fools! What’s all this noise about?” shouted the old gentleman.
[253]No reply—no halt upon the part of the mechanics, but away they went down the steps and along the street, as though Satan himself, or Moseby the guerrilla, was at their heels. They were pursued and ordered back, but absolutely refused to come, swearing that they had seen the Evil One, in propria persona; and threats, persuasions, and bribes alike proved vain to induce them to return. This made the matter look serious, and a family-council was held forthwith. It wouldn’t do to let matters go on in this way, and something must be thought of as a remedy. It was in this half-solemn and half-tragic conclave that the pater-familias was at last put in possession of the mysterious occurrences that had been disturbing the peace of his domestic hearth.
[253]No response—no pause from the workers, but they rushed down the steps and down the street, as if the Devil himself, or Moseby the guerrilla, was chasing them. They were called back and ordered to return, but they completely refused, insisting that they had seen the Evil One in person; threats, persuasion, and bribes all failed to make them come back. This made the situation look serious, and a family meeting was held immediately. They couldn’t let things continue like this; a solution had to be found. It was in this half-serious and half-tragic gathering that the head of the family finally learned about the mysterious events that had been disrupting the peace of their home.
A ghost had been repeatedly seen in his best drawing-room!—a genuine, undeniable, unmitigated ghost!
A ghost had been spotted multiple times in his finest living room!—a real, undeniable, completely authentic ghost!
The spectre was described by the female members of the family as making his appearance at all hours, chiefly, however in the evening, of course. Now the good old orthodox idea of a ghost is, of a very long, cadaverous, ghastly personage, of either sex, appearing in white draperies, with uplifted finger, and attended or preceded by sepulchral sounds—whist! hush! and sometimes the rattling of casements and the jingling of chains. A bluish glare and a strong smell of brimstone seldom failed to enhance the horror of the scene. This ghost, however, came it seems, in more ordinary guise, but none the less terrible for his natural style of approach and costume. He was usually seen in the front parlor, which was on the second story and faced the street.[254] There he would be found seated in a chair near the fire place, his attire the garb of a carman or “carter” and hence the name “Carter’s Ghost” afterward frequently applied to him. There he would sit entirely unmoved by the approach of living denizens of the house, who, at first, would suppose that he was some drunken or insane intruder, and only discover their mistake as they drew near, and saw the fire-light shining through him, and notice the glare of his frightful eyes, which threatened all comers in a most unearthly way. Such was the purport of the first sketch that appeared in the “Sunday Mercury,” stated so distinctly and impressively that the effect could not fail to be tremendous among our sensational public. To help the matter, another brief notice, to the same effect, appeared in the Sunday issue of a leading journal on the same morning. The news dealers and street-carriers caught up the novelty instanter, and before noon not a copy of the “Sunday Mercury” could be bought in any direction. The country issue of the “Sunday Mercury” had still a larger sale.
The ghost was described by the female family members as appearing at all hours, mostly in the evening, of course. The classic idea of a ghost is of a very long, pale, and scary figure, regardless of gender, showing up in white clothing, with an ominous finger raised, often accompanied by eerie sounds—like whispers, hushing, and sometimes rattling windows and clanging chains. A bluish light and a strong smell of sulfur usually added to the horror of the scene. However, this ghost seemed to show up in more everyday attire, but he was no less terrifying because of his natural way of approaching and dressing. He was typically seen in the front parlor on the second floor, which faced the street.[254] There, he would be found sitting in a chair near the fireplace, dressed like a cart driver, which is why he was later called “Carter’s Ghost.” He would sit completely unbothered by the living inhabitants of the house, who initially thought he was just some drunken or crazy intruder, only to realize their mistake as they got closer, seeing the firelight shining through him and the terrifying glare of his eyes, which threatened anyone who approached in a very unnatural way. This was the main point of the first article that appeared in the “Sunday Mercury,” written so clearly and effectively that it was bound to have a huge impact on our sensational audience. To add to it, another brief notice, with the same message, appeared in the Sunday edition of a major paper that same morning. News dealers and street vendors picked up on the buzz instantly, and by noon, not a single copy of the “Sunday Mercury” was available anywhere. The country edition of the “Sunday Mercury” sold even more copies.
On Sunday morning, every sheet in town made some allusion to the Ghost, and many even went so far as to give the very (supposed) number of the house favored with his visitations. The result of this enterprising guess was ludicrous enough, bordering a little, too, upon the serious. Indignant house-holders rushed down to the “Sunday Mercury” office with the most amusing wrath, threatening and denouncing the astonished publishers with all sorts of legal action for their presumed trespass, when in reality, their paper had designated no place or person at all. But the grandest demonstration[255] of popular excitement was revealed in Twenty-seventh street itself. Before noon a considerable portion of the thoroughfare below Sixth Avenue was blocked up with a dense mass of people of all ages, sizes, sexes, and nationalities, who had come “to see the Ghost.” A liquor store or two, near by, drove a splendid “spiritual” business; and by evening “the fun” grew so “fast and furious” that a whole squad of police had to be employed to keep the side-walks and even the carriage-way clear. The “Ghost” was shouted for to make a speech, like any other new celebrity, and old ladies and gentlemen peering out of upper-story windows were saluted with playful tokens of regard, such as turnips, eggs of ancient date, and other things too numerous to mention, from the crowd. Nor was the throng composed entirely of Gothamites. The surrounding country sent in its contingent. They came on foot, on horseback, in wagons, and arrayed in all the costumes known about these parts, since the days of Rip Van Winkle. Cruikshanks would have made a fortune from his easy sketches of only a few figures in the scene. And thus the concourse continued for days together, arriving at early morn and staying there in the street until “dewy eve.”
On Sunday morning, every newspaper in town hinted at the Ghost, and many even claimed to know the specific house that he supposedly haunted. The outcome of this ambitious speculation was ridiculous, bordering on serious. Angry homeowners stormed into the “Sunday Mercury” office with their hilarious outrage, threatening to take legal action against the stunned publishers for their alleged wrongdoing, when in fact, the paper had named no place or person at all. But the biggest display of public excitement was seen on Twenty-seventh Street itself. Before noon, a large part of the street below Sixth Avenue was jammed with a huge crowd of people of all ages, sizes, genders, and backgrounds, who had come “to see the Ghost.” A couple of nearby liquor stores were having a booming “spiritual” business; and by evening, “the fun” escalated so “fast and furious” that a whole squad of police had to be called in to keep the sidewalks and even the road clear. The “Ghost” was called upon to give a speech, just like any other new celebrity, while old ladies and gentlemen peering out of upper-story windows were greeted with playful offerings, like turnips, old eggs, and other things too numerous to list, from the crowd. The throng wasn’t made up entirely of city dwellers. People from the surrounding countryside joined in. They arrived on foot, horseback, in wagons, and dressed in all sorts of outfits known since the days of Rip Van Winkle. Cruikshanks could have made a fortune sketching just a few figures from the scene. And so the crowd continued for days, arriving early in the morning and staying out on the street until “dewy eve.”
As a matter of course, there were various explanations of the story propounded by various people—all wondrously wise in their own conceit. Some would have it that “the Ghost” was got up by some of the neighbors, who wished, in this manner, to drive away disreputable occupants; others insisted that it was the revenge of an ousted tenant, etc., etc. Everybody offered his own theory, and, as is usual, in such cases, nobody was exactly right.
As usual, different people had their own explanations for the story, all incredibly convinced of their wisdom. Some claimed that "the Ghost" was created by some neighbors who wanted to scare off undesirable residents; others argued that it was the revenge of a former tenant, and so on. Everyone had their own theory, and, as often happens in these situations, nobody was completely correct.
[256]Meanwhile, the “Sunday Mercury” continued its publications of the further progress of the “mystery,” from week to week, for a space of nearly two months, until the whole country seemed to have gone ghost-mad. Apparitions and goblins dire were seen in Washington, Rochester, Albany, Montreal, and other cities.
[256]Meanwhile, the “Sunday Mercury” kept publishing updates on the ongoing “mystery” week after week for almost two months, until the entire country appeared to have gone crazy with ghost sightings. Strange figures and terrifying spirits were reported in Washington, Rochester, Albany, Montreal, and other cities.
The spiritualists took it up and began to discuss “the Carter Ghost” with the utmost zeal. One startling individual—a physician and a philosopher—emerged from his professional shell into full-fledged glory, as the greatest canard of all, and published revelations of his own intermediate intercourse with the terrific “Carter.” In every nook and corner of the land, tremendous posters, in white and yellow, broke out upon the walls and windows of news-depots, with capitals a foot long, and exclamation-points like drumsticks, announcing fresh installments of the “Ghost” story, and it was a regular fight between go-ahead vendors who should get the next batch of horrors in advance of his rivals.
The spiritualists jumped on the topic and started discussing "the Carter Ghost" with great enthusiasm. One surprising figure—a doctor and a philosopher—emerged from his professional background into the spotlight, as the biggest hoax of all, and shared his own claims of communicating with the astonishing “Carter.” All around the country, huge posters in white and yellow appeared on the walls and windows of newsstands, with letters a foot tall and exclamation points like drumsticks, announcing new installments of the “Ghost” story. It became a fierce competition among eager vendors to see who could get the next batch of terrifying tales before their rivals.
Nor was the effect abroad the least feature of this stupendous “sell.” The English, French, and German press translated some of the articles in epitome, and wrote grave commentaries thereon. The stage soon caught the blaze; and Professor Pepper, at the Royal Polytechnic Institute, in London, invented a most ingenious device for producing ghosts which should walk about upon the stage in such a perfectly-astounding manner as to throw poor Hamlet’s father and the evil genius of Brutus quite into the “shade.” “Pepper’s Ghost” soon crossed the Atlantic, and all our theatres were speedily alive with nocturnal appari[257]tions. The only real ghosts, however—four in number—came out at the Museum, in an appropriate drama, which had an immense run—“all for twenty-five cents,” or only six and a quarter cents per ghost!
Nor was the effect overseas the least impressive aspect of this massive "sell." The English, French, and German press translated some of the articles into summaries and wrote serious commentaries on them. The theater quickly picked up on the buzz; and Professor Pepper, at the Royal Polytechnic Institute in London, created a clever device for producing ghosts that could walk around on stage in such an astonishing way that they overshadowed poor Hamlet's father and the malevolent spirit of Brutus. "Pepper's Ghost" soon made its way across the Atlantic, and all our theaters quickly filled with nighttime apparitions. However, the only real ghosts—four in total—appeared at the Museum in a fitting play that enjoyed immense popularity—"all for twenty-five cents," which was only six and a quarter cents per ghost!
But I must not forget to say that, really, the details given in the “Sunday Mercury” were well calculated to lead captive a large class of minds prone to luxuriate in the marvelous when well mixed with plausible reasoning. The most circumstantial accounts were given of sundry “gifted young ladies,” “grave and learned professors,” “reliable gentlemen”—where are those not found?—“lonely watchers,” and others, who had sought interviews with the “ghost,” to their own great enlightenment, indeed, but, likewise, complete discomfiture. Pistols were fired at him, pianos played and songs sung for him, and, finally, his daguerreotype taken on prepared metallic plates set upright in the haunted room. One shrewd artist brought out an “exact photographic likeness” of the distinguished stranger on cartes de visite, and made immense sales. The apparitions, too, multiplied. An old man, a woman, and a child made their appearance in the house of wonders, and, at last, a gory head with distended eyeballs, swimming in a sea of blood, upon a platter—like that of Holofernes—capped the climax.
But I should mention that the details published in the “Sunday Mercury” were definitely designed to capture the attention of many who love the extraordinary when paired with believable reasoning. There were detailed accounts of various “talented young women,” “serious and knowledgeable professors,” “trustworthy gentlemen”—where are those not found?—“solitary observers,” and others, who sought meetings with the “ghost,” resulting in their own significant enlightenment, but also complete embarrassment. Pistols were fired at him, pianos were played, and songs were sung for him, and eventually, his daguerreotype was taken on specially prepared metallic plates set up in the haunted room. One clever artist produced an “exact photographic likeness” of the notable stranger on carte de visite, leading to huge sales. The apparitions also increased. An old man, a woman, and a child appeared in the house of wonders, and finally, a bloody head with bulging eyeballs, floating in a sea of blood on a platter—like that of Holofernes—capped the climax.
Certain wiseacres here began to see political allusions in the Ghost, and many actually took the whole affair to be a cunningly devised political satire upon this or that party, according as their sympathies swayed them.
Certain wise guys here started to see political references in the Ghost, and many actually believed the whole thing was a cleverly crafted political satire aimed at this or that party, depending on their personal biases.
It would have been a remarkable portion of “this strange, eventful history,” of course, if “Barnum[258]” could have escaped the accusation of being its progenitor.
It would have been a remarkable part of “this strange, eventful history,” of course, if “Barnum[258]” could have avoided being accused of being its originator.
I was continually beset, and frequently, when more than usually busy, thoroughly annoyed by the innuendoes of my visitors, that I was the father of “the Ghost.”
I was constantly harassed, and often, when I was busier than usual, I was really irritated by the hints from my visitors that I was the father of “the Ghost.”
“Come, now, Mr. Barnum—this is going a little too far!” some good old dame or grandfather would say to me. “You oughtn’t to scare people in this way. These ghosts are ugly customers!”
“Come on, Mr. Barnum—this is going a bit too far!” some old lady or grandpa would say to me. “You shouldn’t be scaring people like this. These ghosts are pretty creepy!”
“My dear Sir,” or “Madam,” I would say, as the case might be, “I do assure you I know nothing whatever about the Ghost”—and as for “spirits,” you know I never touch them, and have been preaching against them nearly all my life.”
“Dear Sir,” or “Madam,” I would say, depending on who it is, “I can assure you I know nothing at all about the Ghost”—and as for “spirits,” you know I never drink them, and I’ve been speaking out against them for almost my entire life.”
“Well! well! you will have the last turn,” they’d retort, as they edged away; “but you needn’t tell us. We guess we’ve found the ghost.”
“Well! well! you’ll get the last chance,” they’d reply, as they pulled away; “but you don’t have to tell us. We think we’ve found the ghost.”
Now, all I can add about this strange hallucination is, that those who came to me to see the original “Carter,” really saw the “Elephant.”
Now, all I can say about this weird hallucination is that those who came to see the original “Carter” really saw the “Elephant.”
The wonderful apparition disappeared, at length, as suddenly as he had come. The “Bull’s-Eye Brigade,” as the squad of police put on duty to watch the neighborhood, for various reasons, was termed, hung to their work, and flashed the light of their lanterns into the faces of lonely couples, for some time afterward; but quiet, at length, settled down over all: and it has been it seems, reserved for my pen to record briefly the history of “The Twenty-seventh street Ghost.”
The amazing figure vanished just as suddenly as he appeared. The “Bull’s-Eye Brigade,” the squad of police assigned to monitor the area for various reasons, stuck to their duties and shone their lanterns into the faces of couples for a while afterward. But eventually, peace settled over everything, and it seems my pen is meant to briefly tell the story of “The Twenty-seventh Street Ghost.”
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE MOON-HOAX.
THE MOON HOAX.
The most stupendous scientific imposition upon the public that the generation with which we are numbered has known, was the so-called “Moon-Hoax,” published in the columns of the “New York Sun,” in the months of August and September, 1835. The sensation created by this immense imposture, not only throughout the United States, but in every part of the civilized world, and the consummate ability with which it was written, will render it interesting so long as our language shall endure; and, indeed, astronomical science has actually been indebted to it for many most valuable hints—a circumstance that gives the production a still higher claim to immortality.
The biggest scientific deception that our generation has known was the so-called “Moon-Hoax,” published in the “New York Sun” in August and September of 1835. The sensation this massive fraud created, not only across the United States but also around the world, along with the exceptional skill with which it was written, will keep it fascinating as long as our language lasts. In fact, astronomy has benefited from it with many valuable insights—a fact that gives this work an even stronger claim to lasting significance.
At the period when the wonderful “yarn” to which I allude first appeared, the science of astronomy was engaging particular attention, and all works on the subject were eagerly bought up and studied by immense masses of people. The real discoveries of the younger Herschel, whose fame seemed destined to eclipse that of the elder sage of the same name, and the eloquent startling works of Dr. Dick, which the Harpers were republishing, in popular form, from the English edition, did much to increase and keep up this peculiar mania of the time, until the whole community at last were literally occupied with but little else than “star-gazing.[260]” Dick’s works on “The Sidereal Heavens,” “Celestial Scenery,” “The improvement of Society,” etc., were read with the utmost avidity by rich and poor, old and young, in season and out of season. They were quoted in the parlor, at the table, on the promenade, at church, and even in the bedroom, until it absolutely seemed as though the whole community had “Dick” upon the brain. To the highly educated and imaginative portion of our good Gothamite population, the Doctor’s glowing periods, full of the grandest speculations as to the starry worlds around us, their wondrous magnificence and ever-varying aspects of beauty and happiness were inexpressibly fascinating. The author’s well-reasoned conjectures as to the majesty and beauty of their landscapes, the fertility and diversity of their soil, and the exalted intelligence and comeliness of their inhabitants, found hosts of believers; and nothing else formed the staple of conversation, until the beaux and belles, and dealers in small talk generally, began to grumble, and openly express their wishes that the Dickens had Doctor Dick and all his works.
At the time when the amazing “story” I’m referring to first came out, astronomy was capturing a lot of interest, and huge numbers of people were eagerly buying and studying all the related books. The real discoveries of the younger Herschel, whose fame seemed set to overshadow that of the older sage with the same name, along with the exciting works of Dr. Dick, which the Harpers were reissuing in a popular format from the English edition, significantly fueled this unique craze until the whole community was practically consumed by “star-gazing.[260]” Dick’s books on “The Sidereal Heavens,” “Celestial Scenery,” “The Improvement of Society,” and so on, were read eagerly by everyone, rich and poor, young and old, all the time. They were quoted in living rooms, at the dinner table, during outings, at church, and even in bedrooms, making it seem like the entire community had “Dick” on their minds. For the highly educated and imaginative members of our fine Gotham population, the Doctor’s vivid writings, filled with grand speculations about the starry worlds around us and their stunning magnificence and ever-changing aspects of beauty and happiness, were incredibly captivating. The author’s well-thought-out ideas about the majesty and beauty of these landscapes, the fertility and variety of their soil, and the high intelligence and attractiveness of their inhabitants found many believers; and nothing else was discussed until the charming people, along with those who generally engaged in light conversation, started to complain and openly wished that the Dickens had Doctor Dick and all his works.
It was at the very height of the furor above mentioned, that one morning the readers of the “Sun”—at that time only twenty-five hundred in number—were thrilled with the announcement in its columns of certain “Great Astronomical Discoveries Lately Made by Sir John Herschel, LL.D., F.R.S. etc., at the Cape of Good Hope,” purporting to be a republication from a Supplement to the Edinburgh Journal of Science. The heading of the article was striking enough, yet was far from conveying any adequate idea of its contents.[261] When the latter became known, the excitement went beyond all bounds, and grew until the “Sun” office was positively besieged with crowds of people of the very first class, vehemently applying for copies of the issue containing the wonderful details.
It was during the peak of the aforementioned excitement that one morning, the readers of the “Sun”—which had only twenty-five hundred subscribers at the time—were excited by an announcement in its pages about some “Great Astronomical Discoveries Recently Made by Sir John Herschel, LL.D., F.R.S., etc., at the Cape of Good Hope,” said to be republished from a Supplement to the Edinburgh Journal of Science. The title of the article was attention-grabbing, but it didn’t fully capture the significance of its contents.[261] Once the details were revealed, the excitement soared to unprecedented levels, and crowds of high-profile individuals overwhelmed the “Sun” office, urgently requesting copies of the issue featuring the astonishing information.
As the pamphlet form in which the narrative was subsequently published is now out of print, and a copy can hardly be had in the country, I will recall a few passages from a rare edition, for the gratification of my friends who have never seen the original. Indeed, the whole story is altogether too good to be lost; and it is a great pity that we can not have a handsome reprint of it given to the world from time to time. It is constantly in demand; and, during the year 1859, a single copy of sixty pages, sold at the auction of Mr. Haswell’s library, brought the sum of $3,75. In that same year, a correspondent, in Wisconsin, writing to the “Sunday Times” of this city, inquired where the book could be procured, and was answered that he could find it at the old bookstore, No. 85 Centre Street, if anywhere. Thus, after a search of many weeks, the Western bibliopole succeeded in obtaining a well-thumbed specimen of the precious work. Acting upon this chance suggestion, Mr. William Gowans, of this city, during the same year, brought out a very neat edition, in paper covers, illustrated with a view of the moon, as seen through Lord Rosse’s grand telescope, in 1856. But this, too, has all been sold; and the most indefatigable book-collector might find it difficult to purchase a single copy at the present time. I, therefore, render the inquiring reader no slight service in culling for him[262] some of the flowers from this curious astronomical garden.
As the pamphlet version of the narrative that was published later is now out of print, and it's hard to find a copy in the country, I will recall a few passages from a rare edition for the enjoyment of my friends who have never seen the original. Honestly, the whole story is far too good to be lost; it's a real shame we can't have a nice reprint made available to the world from time to time. It's always in demand; during 1859, a single copy of sixty pages sold for $3.75 at an auction of Mr. Haswell’s library. In that same year, a reader in Wisconsin wrote to the “Sunday Times” in this city asking where the book could be found, and was told it might be available at the old bookstore, No. 85 Centre Street, if anywhere. After searching for many weeks, the Western book dealer finally found a well-worn copy of this cherished work. Acting on this tip, Mr. William Gowans from this city released a very tidy edition that same year, featuring paper covers and an illustration of the moon as seen through Lord Rosse’s grand telescope in 1856. But that too has all been sold, and even the most dedicated book collector might have trouble finding a single copy right now. Therefore, I'm doing the curious reader a favor by sharing some selections from this intriguing astronomical garden.
The opening of the narrative was in the highest Review style; and the majestic, yet subdued, dignity of its periods, at once claimed respectful attention; while its perfect candor, and its wealth of accurate scientific detail exacted the homage of belief from all but cross-grained and inexorable skeptics.
The beginning of the story was written in an impressive style; its grand yet understated tone immediately drew respectful attention. At the same time, its complete honesty and rich scientific detail earned the trust of everyone except the stubborn and unyielding skeptics.
It commences thus:
It starts like this:
“In this unusual addition to our Journal, we have the happiness to make known to the British public, and thence to the whole civilized world, recent discoveries in Astronomy, which will build an imperishable monument to the age in which we live, and confer upon the present generation of the human race a proud distinction through all future time. It has been poetically said, that the stars of heaven are the hereditary regalia of man, as the intellectual sovereign of the animal creation. He may now fold the Zodiac around him with a loftier consciousness of his mental superiority,” etc., etc.
“In this unique addition to our Journal, we are excited to share with the British public, and consequently the entire civilized world, recent discoveries in Astronomy that will create an enduring legacy for our age and give the current generation of humanity a proud distinction for all time. It has been poetically said that the stars in the sky are the hereditary crown of man, as the intellectual ruler of the animal kingdom. He can now embrace the Zodiac with a greater awareness of his mental superiority,” etc., etc.
The writer then eloquently descanted upon the sublime achievement by which man pierced the bounds that hemmed him in, and with sensations of awe approached the revelations of his own genius in the far-off heavens, and with intense dramatic effect described the younger Herschel surpassing all that his father had ever attained; and by some stupendous apparatus about to unvail the remotest mysteries of the sidereal space, pausing for many hours ere the excess of his emotions would allow him to lift the vail from his own overwhelming success.
The writer then passionately talked about the amazing achievement where mankind broke free from the limits that restricted him, and with feelings of wonder, approached the insights of his own brilliance in the distant skies. With great dramatic flair, he described the younger Herschel outdoing everything his father had ever accomplished, and with some incredible equipment, was about to unveil the deepest mysteries of outer space, pausing for hours as his overwhelming emotions made it hard for him to reveal his own extraordinary success.
I must quote a line or two of this passage, for it capped the climax of public curiosity:[263]
I need to share a line or two from this passage because it marked the peak of public interest:[263]
“Well might he pause! He was about to become the sole depository of wondrous secrets which had been hid from the eyes of all men that had lived since the birth of time. He was about to crown himself with a diadem of knowledge which would give him a conscious preëminence above every individual of his species who then lived or who had lived in the generations that are passed away. He paused ere he broke the seal of the casket that contained it.”
“Well might he pause! He was about to become the sole keeper of amazing secrets that had been hidden from the eyes of all humans since the beginning of time. He was about to crown himself with a crown of knowledge that would give him a conscious superiority over every individual of his kind who was alive then or who had lived in the past. He paused before breaking the seal of the box that held it.”
Was not this introduction enough to stimulate the wonder bump of all the star-gazers, until
Wasn’t this introduction enough to spark the curiosity of all the stargazers, until
“Each particular hair did stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine?”
“Every single hair stood up,
Like quills on an anxious porcupine?”
At all events, such was the effect, and it was impossible at first to supply the frantic demand, even of the city, not to mention the country readers.
At any rate, that was the impact, and it was initially impossible to meet the overwhelming demand, even from the city, let alone the readers from the countryside.
I may very briefly sum up the outline of the discoveries alleged to have been made, in a few paragraphs, so as not to protract the suspense of my readers too long.
I can quickly summarize the outline of the discoveries that are said to have been made in a few paragraphs, so I don’t keep my readers in suspense for too long.
It was claimed that the “Edinburgh Journal” was indebted for its information to Doctor Andrew Grant—a savant of celebrity, who had, for very many years, been the scientific companion, first of the elder and subsequently of the younger Herschel, and had gone with the latter in September, 1834, to the Cape of Good Hope, whither he had been sent by the British Government, acting in conjunction with the Governments of France and Austria, to observe the transit of Mercury over the disc of the sun—an astronomical point of great importance to the lunar observations of longitude,[264] and consequently to the navigation of the world. This transit was not calculated to occur before the 7th of November, 1835 (the year in which the hoax was printed;) but Sir John Herschel set out nearly a year in advance, for the purpose of thoroughly testing a new and stupendous telescope devised by himself under this peculiar inspiration, and infinitely surpassing anything of the kind ever before attempted by mortal man. It has been discovered by previous astronomers and among others, by Herschel’s illustrious father, that the sidereal object becomes dim in proportion as it is magnified, and that, beyond a certain limit, the magnifying power is consequently rendered almost useless. Thus, an impassable barrier seemed to lie in the way of future close observation, unless some means could be devised to illuminate the object to the eye. By intense research and the application of all recent improvements in optics, Sir John had succeeded in securing a beautiful and perfectly lighted image of the moon with a magnifying power that increased its apparent size in the heavens six thousand times. Dividing the distance of the moon from the earth, viz.: 240,000 miles, by six thousand, we we have forty miles as the distance at which she would then seem to be seen; and as the elder Herschel, with a magnifying power, only one thousand, had calculated that he could distinguish an object on the moon’s surface not more than 122 yards in diameter, it was clear that his son, with six times the power, could see an object there only twenty-two yards in diameter. But, for any further advance in power and light, the way seemed insuperably closed until a profound conversation[265] with the great savant and optician, Sir David Brewster, led Herschel to suggest to the latter the idea of the readoption of the old fashioned telescopes, without tubes, which threw their images upon reflectors in a dark apartment, and then the illumination of these images by the intense hydro-oxygen light used in the ordinary illuminated microscope. At this suggestion, Brewster is represented by the veracious chronicler as leaping with enthusiasm from his chair, exclaiming in rapture to Herschel:
It was said that the "Edinburgh Journal" got its information from Dr. Andrew Grant—a well-known scholar who had, for many years, been the scientific partner of both the elder and younger Herschel. He had traveled with the younger Herschel to the Cape of Good Hope in September 1834, where he was sent by the British Government, along with the Governments of France and Austria, to observe the transit of Mercury across the sun—an important astronomical event for determining longitude on the Moon and, therefore, for navigation worldwide. This transit was not expected to happen until November 7, 1835 (the year the hoax was published); however, Sir John Herschel started his journey nearly a year early to thoroughly test a groundbreaking telescope he had developed for this specific purpose, which greatly exceeded anything previously created by anyone. Previous astronomers, including Herschel's famous father, had discovered that celestial objects dim as they are magnified and that beyond a certain point, the magnifying power becomes almost useless. This posed a major obstacle for future close observations unless a way could be found to brighten the object for the viewer. Through extensive research and the latest optical improvements, Sir John had managed to produce a clear and well-lit image of the Moon that was magnified to appear six thousand times bigger in the sky. By dividing the Moon's distance from the Earth, approximately 240,000 miles, by six thousand, we find that it would then seem to be just forty miles away; since the elder Herschel, using a power of only one thousand, calculated he could detect a 122-yard object on the Moon's surface, it was evident that his son, with six times that power, could see objects just twenty-two yards in diameter. However, for any further increase in power and brightness, the path seemed impossible until a deep conversation with the great scholar and optician, Sir David Brewster, led Herschel to suggest revisiting the old-style telescopes that didn't use tubes, which projected their images onto reflectors in a dark room, then brightly illuminating those images with the intense hydrogen-oxygen light used in regular illuminated microscopes. Upon hearing this idea, Brewster was said to leap up in excitement from his chair, exclaiming with joy to Herschel:
“Thou art the man!”
"You are the man!"
The suggestion, thus happily approved, was immediately acted upon, and a subscription, headed by that liberal patron of science, the Duke of Sussex, with £10,000, was backed by the reigning King of England with his royal word for any sum that might be needed to make up £70,000, the amount required. No time was lost; and, after one or two failures, in January 1833, the house of Hartley & Grant, at Dumbarton, succeeded in casting the huge object-glass of the new apparatus, measuring twenty-four feet (or six times that of the elder Herschel’s glass) in diameter; weighing 14,826 pounds, or nearly seven tons, after being polished, and possessing a magnifying power of 42,000 times!—a perfectly pure, spotless, achromatic lens, without a material bubble or flaw!
The suggestion, which was happily approved, was immediately put into action. A subscription led by the generous supporter of science, the Duke of Sussex, who contributed £10,000, was also supported by the reigning King of England, who promised any additional funds needed to reach the required total of £70,000. There was no time wasted; and after one or two setbacks, in January 1833, the firm of Hartley & Grant in Dumbarton successfully cast the massive lens for the new instrument, measuring twenty-four feet in diameter (six times larger than the earlier Herschel’s lens). It weighed 14,826 pounds, or almost seven tons, after polishing and had a magnifying power of 42,000 times!—a perfectly clean, flawless, achromatic lens, with no bubbles or defects!
Of course, after so elaborate a description of so astounding a result as this, the “Edinburg Scientific Journal” (i. e., the writer in the “New York Sun”) could not avoid being equally precise in reference to subsequent details, and he proceeded to explain that Sir John[266] Herschel and his amazing apparatus having been selected by the Board of Longitude to observe the transit of Mercury, the Cape of Good Hope was chosen because, upon the former expedition to Peru, acting in conjunction with one to Lapland, which was sent out for the same purpose in the eighteenth century, it had been noticed that the attraction of the mountainous regions deflected the plumb-line of the large instruments seven or eight seconds from the perpendicular, and, consequently, greatly impaired the enterprise. At the Cape, on the contrary, there was a magnificent table-land of vast expanse, where this difficulty could not occur. Accordingly, on the 4th of September, 1834, with a design to become perfectly familiar with the working of his new gigantic apparatus, and with the Southern Constellations, before the period of his observations of Mercury, Sir John Herschel sailed from London, accompanied by Doctor Grant (the supposed informant,) Lieutenant Drummond, of the Royal Engineers, F.R.A.S., and a large party of the best English workmen. On their arrival at the Cape, the apparatus was conveyed, in four days’ time, to the great elevated plain, thirty-five miles to the N.E. of Cape Town, on trains drawn by two relief-teams of oxen, eighteen to a team, the ascent aided by gangs of Dutch boors. For the details of the huge fabric in which the lens and its reflectors were set up, I must refer the curious reader to the pamphlet itself—not that the presence of the “Dutch boors” alarms me at all, since we have plenty of boors at home, and one gets used to them in the course of time, but because the elaborate scientific description of[267] the structure would make most readers see “stars” in broad daylight before they get through.
Of course, after such a detailed description of such an amazing result as this, the “Edinburgh Scientific Journal” (i. e., the writer in the “New York Sun”) had to be just as precise about the following details. He explained that Sir John[266] Herschel and his incredible equipment were chosen by the Board of Longitude to observe the transit of Mercury. The Cape of Good Hope was selected because, during the earlier expedition to Peru, along with another to Lapland sent out for the same purpose in the eighteenth century, it was noticed that the mountainous areas caused the plumb-line of the large instruments to shift seven or eight seconds from vertical, which significantly hampered the endeavor. In contrast, the Cape had a vast flat plateau where this issue wouldn’t arise. Therefore, on September 4, 1834, in order to get fully acquainted with his new massive equipment and the Southern Constellations before observing Mercury, Sir John Herschel sailed from London, joined by Doctor Grant (the supposed informant), Lieutenant Drummond of the Royal Engineers, F.R.A.S., and a large group of skilled English workers. Upon arriving at the Cape, the equipment was transported to the high plateau, thirty-five miles northeast of Cape Town, in four days by teams of oxen—eighteen to a team—assisted by groups of Dutch farmers. For details on the massive structure in which the lens and its reflectors were set up, I must direct the curious reader to the pamphlet itself—not that the presence of “Dutch farmers” worries me at all, considering we have plenty of farmers at home, and one gets used to them over time—but because the technical scientific description of[267] the structure would likely make most readers see “stars” in broad daylight before they finish.
I shall only go on to say that, by the 10th of January, everything was complete, even to the two pillars “one hundred and fifty feet high!” that sustained the lens. Operations then commenced forthwith, and so, too, did the “special wonder” of the readers. It is a matter of congratulation to mankind that the writer of the hoax, with an apology (Heaven save the mark!) spared us Herschel’s notes of “the Moon’s tropical, sidereal, and synodic revolutions,” and the “phenomena of the syzygies,” and proceeded at once to the pith of the subject. Here came in his grand stroke, informing the world of complete success in obtaining a distinct view of objects in the moon “fully equal to that which the unaided eye commands of terrestrial objects at the distance of a hundred yards, affirmatively settling the question whether the satellite be inhabited, and by what order of beings,” “firmly establishing a new theory of cometary phenomena,” etc., etc. This announcement alone was enough to take one’s breath away, but when the green marble shores of the Mare Nubium; the mountains shaped like pyramids, and of the purest and most dazzling crystalized, wine-colored amethyst, dotting green valleys skirted by “round-breasted hills;” summits of the purest vermilion fringed with arching cascades and buttresses of white marble glistening in the sun—when these began to be revealed, the delight of our Luna-tics knew no bounds—and the whole town went moon-mad! But even these immense pictures were surpassed by the “lunatic” animals discov[268]ered. First came the “herds of brown quadrupeds” very like a—no! not a whale, but a bison, and “with a tail resembling that of the bos grunniens”—the reader probably understands what kind of a “bos” that is, if he’s apprenticed to a theatre in midsummer with musicians on a strike; then a creature, which the hoax-man naïvely declared “would be classed on earth as a monster”—I rather think it would!—“of a bluish lead color, about the size of a goat, with a head and a beard like him, and a single horn, slightly inclined forward from, the perpendicular”—it is clear that if this goat was cut down to a single horn, other people were not! I could not but fully appreciate the exquisite distinction accorded by the writer to the female of this lunar animal—for she, while deprived of horn and beard, he explicitly tells us, “had a much larger tail!” When the astronomers put their fingers on the beard of this “beautiful” little creature (on the reflector, mind you!) it would skip away in high dudgeon, which, considering that 240,000 miles intervened, was something to show its delicacy of feeling.
I just want to add that by January 10th, everything was ready, even the two pillars “one hundred and fifty feet high!” that held up the lens. Work started right away, and so did the readers’ “special wonder.” It’s a relief for humanity that the writer of the hoax, with an apology (Heaven help us!), spared us Herschel’s notes on “the Moon’s tropical, sidereal, and synodic revolutions” and the “phenomena of the syzygies,” and got straight to the heart of the matter. This is where the big reveal came, claiming complete success in getting a clear view of objects on the moon “fully equal to what the naked eye sees of terrestrial objects at a distance of a hundred yards, definitively settling the question of whether the satellite is inhabited, and by what kind of beings,” “firmly establishing a new theory of cometary phenomena,” etc., etc. Just this announcement was enough to take your breath away, but when the green marble shores of the Mare Nubium, the pyramid-shaped mountains made of dazzling crystallized, wine-colored amethyst, and green valleys bordered by “round-breasted hills;” peaks of the purest vermilion decorated with cascading waterfalls and gleaming white marble structures shining in the sun started to appear, the excitement of our Luna-tics was off the charts—and the whole town went moon-crazy! But even these massive images were outdone by the “lunatic” animals discovered. First came the “herds of brown quadrupeds” that looked very much like a—no! Not a whale, but a bison, and “with a tail resembling that of the bos grunniens”—the reader probably knows what kind of “bos” that is if they’ve worked at a theater in midsummer with musicians on strike; next was a creature that the hoaxer innocently claimed “would be classed on Earth as a monster”—I think it would!—“of a bluish lead color, about the size of a goat, with a head and beard like it, and a single horn, slightly tilted forward from the vertical”—it’s clear that if this goat had only one horn, then other creatures didn’t! I couldn’t help but appreciate the exquisite distinction the writer granted to the female of this lunar species—while she lacked a horn and beard, he specifically tells us, “she had a much larger tail!” When the astronomers touched the beard of this “beautiful” little creature (on the reflector, mind you!), it would scamper away in high dudgeon, which, considering the 240,000 miles between us, was quite something to show its sensitivity.
Next in the procession of discovery, among other animals of less note, was presented “a quadruped with an amazingly long neck, head like a sheep, bearing two long spiral horns, white as polished ivory, and standing in perpendiculars parallel to each other. Its body was like that of a deer, but its forelegs were most disproportionately long, and its tail, which was very bushy and of a snowy whiteness, curled high over its rump and hung two or three feet by its side. Its colors were bright bay and white, brindled in patches, but of no regular[269] form.” This is probably the animal known to us on earth, and particularly along the Mississippi River, as the “guyascutus,” to which I may particularly refer in a future article.
Next in the lineup of discoveries, among other less notable animals, was a “four-legged creature with an incredibly long neck, a head like a sheep, sporting two long spiral horns as white as polished ivory, standing parallel to each other. Its body resembled that of a deer, but its front legs were disproportionately long, and its tail, which was very bushy and snowy white, curled high over its back and hung two or three feet at its side. Its colors were a bright bay and white, with brindled patches but no regular[269] pattern.” This is likely the animal we know on earth, particularly along the Mississippi River, as the “guyascutus,” which I will refer to in more detail in a future article.
But all these beings faded into insignificance compared with the first sight of the genuine Lunatics, or men in the moon, “four feet high, covered, except in the face, with short, glossy, copper-colored hair,” and “with wings composed of a thin membrane, without hair, lying snugly upon their backs from the top of their shoulders to the calves of their legs,” “with faces of a yellowish flesh-color—a slight improvement on the large ourang-outang.” Complimentary for the Lunatics! But, says the chronicler, Lieutenant Drummond declared that “but for their long wings, they would look as well on a parade-ground as some of the cockney militia!” A little rough, my friend the reader will exclaim, for the aforesaid militia.
But all these beings seemed trivial when compared to the first sight of the real Lunatics, or men from the moon, “four feet tall, covered except on their faces, with short, shiny, copper-colored hair,” and “with wings made of a thin membrane, hairless, lying flat against their backs from the tops of their shoulders to their calves,” “with faces that have a yellowish flesh tone—a slight upgrade from the big orangutan.” How complimentary for the Lunatics! But, says the chronicler, Lieutenant Drummond claimed that “if it weren't for their long wings, they would fit right in on a parade ground with some of the cockney militia!” A bit harsh, my friend the reader might say, for the aforementioned militia.
Of course, it is impossible, in a sketch like the present, to do more than give a glimpse of this rare combination of astronomical realities and the vagaries of mere fancy, and I must omit the Golden-fringed Mountains, the Vale of the Triads, with their splendid triangular temples, etc., but I positively cannot pass by the glowing mention of the inhabitants of this wonderful valley—a superior race of Lunatics, as beautiful and as happy as angels, “spread like eagles” on the grass, eating yellow gourds and red cucumbers, and played with by snow-white stags, with jet-black horns! The description here is positively delightful, and I even now remember my poignant sigh of regret when, at the conclusion, I[270] read that these innocent and happy beings, although evidently “creatures of order and subordination,” and “very polite,” were seen indulging in amusements which would not be deemed “within the bounds of strict propriety” on this degenerate ball. The story wound up rather abruptly by referring the reader to an extended work on the subject by Herschel, which has not yet appeared.
Of course, it’s impossible, in a brief overview like this, to do more than give a glimpse of this rare mix of astronomical facts and the whims of pure imagination, and I have to skip over the Golden-fringed Mountains, the Vale of the Triads, with their magnificent triangular temples, etc., but I absolutely cannot overlook the glowing mention of the inhabitants of this amazing valley—a superior race of Lunatics, as beautiful and as joyful as angels, “spreading like eagles” on the grass, eating yellow gourds and red cucumbers, and playing with snow-white stags that have jet-black horns! The description here is truly delightful, and I still remember my deep sigh of regret when, at the end, I[270] read that these innocent and cheerful beings, although clearly “creatures of order and subordination,” and “very polite,” were seen indulging in pastimes that wouldn’t be considered “within the bounds of strict propriety” on this fallen planet. The story wrapped up rather abruptly by directing the reader to a more detailed work on the subject by Herschel, which has not yet been published.
One can laugh very heartily, now, at all this; but nearly everybody, the gravest and the wisest, too, was completely taken in at the time: and the “Sun,” then established at the corner of Spruce street, where the “Tribune” office now stands, reaped an increase of more than fifty thousand to its circulation—in fact, there gained the foundation of its subsequent prolonged success. Its proprietors sold no less than $25,000 worth of the “Moon Hoax” over the counter, even exhausting an edition of sixty thousand in pamphlet form. And who was the author? A literary gentleman, who has devoted very many years of his life to mathematical and astronomical studies, and was at the time connected as an editor with the “Sun”—one whose name has since been widely known in literature and politics—Richard Adams Locke, Esq., then in his youth, and now in the decline of years. Mr. Locke, who still survives, is a native of the British Isles, and, at the time of his first connection with the New York press, was the only short-hand reporter in this city, where he laid the basis of a competency he now enjoys. Mr. Locke declares that his original object in writing the Moon story was to satirize some of the extravagances of Doctor Dick, and to make[271] some astronomical suggestions which he felt diffident about offering seriously.
One can laugh really hard at all this now, but almost everyone, even the most serious and wise, was completely fooled at the time. The “Sun,” then located at the corner of Spruce Street, where the “Tribune” office is now, saw its circulation jump by more than fifty thousand. In fact, this laid the groundwork for its long-term success. Its owners sold at least $25,000 worth of the “Moon Hoax” at the counter, even exhausting an edition of sixty thousand in pamphlet form. And who was the author? A literary guy who dedicated many years of his life to studying mathematics and astronomy, and who was an editor at the “Sun” at the time—one whose name has since become well-known in literature and politics—Richard Adams Locke, Esq., who was young back then and is now in the later years of his life. Mr. Locke, who is still alive, is from the British Isles and was, at the time of his initial connection with the New York press, the only shorthand reporter in the city, where he built the foundation for the comfortable life he enjoys now. Mr. Locke says that his original intention in writing the Moon story was to satirize some of Doctor Dick's extremes and to make[271] some astronomical suggestions that he felt too shy to present seriously.
Whatever may have been his object, his hit was unrivaled; and for months the press of Christendom, but far more in Europe than here, teemed with it, until Sir John Herschel was actually compelled to come out with a denial over his own signature. In the meantime, it was printed and published in many languages, with superb illustrations. Mr. Endicott, the celebrated lithographer, some years ago had in his possession a splendid series of engravings, of extra folio size, got up in Italy, in the highest style of art, and illustrating the “Moon Hoax.”
Whatever his goal was, he was extremely successful; for months, the media across Christendom, especially in Europe, was filled with it, until Sir John Herschel was actually forced to issue a denial under his own name. In the meantime, it was printed and published in many languages, complete with amazing illustrations. Mr. Endicott, the famous lithographer, a few years ago had a stunning collection of large engravings created in Italy, showcasing the “Moon Hoax” in the highest artistic style.
Here, in New York, the public were, for a long time, divided on the subject, the vast majority believing, and a few grumpy customers rejecting the story. One day, Mr. Locke was introduced by a mutual friend at the door of the “Sun” office to a very grave old orthodox Quaker, who, in the calmest manner, went on to tell him all about the embarkation of Herschel’s apparatus at London, where he had seen it with his own eyes. Of course, Locke’s optics expanded somewhat while he listened to this remarkable statement, but he wisely kept his own counsel.
Here in New York, the public was divided on the issue for quite a while, with most people believing the story and a few grumpy individuals rejecting it. One day, a mutual friend introduced Mr. Locke at the door of the “Sun” office to a very serious old orthodox Quaker who, in the calmest way, started to tell him all about the launch of Herschel’s equipment in London, which he had seen with his own eyes. Naturally, Locke's eyes widened a bit while he listened to this incredible account, but he smartly kept his thoughts to himself.
The discussions of the press were very rich; the “Sun,” of course, defending the affair as genuine, and others doubting it. The “Mercantile Advertiser,” the “Albany Daily Advertiser,” the “New York Commercial Advertiser,” the “New York Times,” the “New Yorker,” the “New York Spirit of ’76,” the “Sunday News,” the “United States Gazette,” the[272] “Philadelphia Inquirer,” and hosts of other papers came out with the most solemn acceptance and admiration of these “wonderful discoveries,” and were eclipsed in their approval only by the scientific journals abroad. The “Evening Post,” however, was decidedly skeptical, and took up the matter in this irreverent way:
The discussions in the press were very lively; the “Sun,” of course, defending the event as authentic, while others questioned it. The “Mercantile Advertiser,” the “Albany Daily Advertiser,” the “New York Commercial Advertiser,” the “New York Times,” the “New Yorker,” the “New York Spirit of ’76,” the “Sunday News,” the “United States Gazette,” the[272] “Philadelphia Inquirer,” and many other papers expressed serious acceptance and praise for these “amazing discoveries,” only outdone in their enthusiasm by scientific journals abroad. The “Evening Post,” however, was clearly skeptical and approached the issue in this irreverent manner:
“It is quite proper that the “Sun” should be the means of shedding so much light on the Moon. That there should be winged people in the moon does not strike us as more wonderful than the existence of such a race of beings on the earth; and that there does still exist such a race, rests on the evidence of that most veracious of voyagers and circumstantial of chroniclers, Peter Wilkins, whose celebrated work not only gives an account of the general appearance and habits of a most interesting tribe of flying Indians; but, also, of all those more delicate and engaging traits which the author was enabled to discover by reason of the conjugal relations he entered into with one of the females of the winged tribe.”
“It makes perfect sense that the “Sun” should be the source of so much light on the Moon. The idea of winged people living on the Moon doesn't seem any more amazing than the existence of such beings on Earth. The fact that such a race still exists is supported by the accounts of the most reliable traveler and detailed chronicler, Peter Wilkins, whose famous work not only describes the general appearance and habits of a fascinating tribe of flying Indians but also highlights all the more subtle and charming characteristics that the author was able to discover through his marriage to one of the females from the winged tribe.”
The moon-hoax had its day, and some of its glory still survives. Mr. Locke, its author, is now quietly residing in the beautiful little home of a friend on the Clove Road, Staten Island, and no doubt, as he gazes up at the evening luminary, often fancies that he sees a broad grin on the countenance of its only well-authenticated tenant, “the hoary solitary whom the criminal code of the nursery has banished thither for collecting fuel on the Sabbath-day.”
The moon hoax had its moment, and some of its fame still lingers. Mr. Locke, the author, is now living peacefully in a lovely little home belonging to a friend on Clove Road, Staten Island. No doubt, as he looks up at the evening moon, he often imagines seeing a broad smile on the face of its only confirmed inhabitant, “the ancient recluse whom the nursery's criminal code has sent there for gathering firewood on the Sabbath.”
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE MISCEGENATION HOAX.—A GREAT LITERARY SELL.—POLITICAL HUMBUGGING.—TRICKS OF THE WIRE-PULLERS.—MACHINERY EMPLOYED TO RENDER THE PAMPHLET NOTORIOUS.—WHO WERE SOLD AND HOW IT WAS DONE.
THE MISCEGENATION HOAX.—A HUGE LITERARY SCAM.—POLITICAL DECEPTION.—TIPS FROM THE MANIPULATORS.—METHODS USED TO MAKE THE PAMPHLET FAMOUS.—WHO WAS FOOLED AND HOW IT HAPPENED.
Some persons say that “all is fair in politics.” Without agreeing with this doctrine, I nevertheless feel that the history of Ancient and Modern Humbugs would not be complete without a record of the last and one of the most successful of known literary hoaxes. This is the pamphlet entitled “Miscegenation,” which advocates the blending of the white and black races upon this continent, as a result not only inevitable from the freeing of the negro, but desirable as a means of creating a more perfect race of men than any now existing. This pamphlet is a clever political quiz; and was written by three young gentlemen of the “World” newspaper, namely. D. G. Croly, George Wakeman, and E. C. Howell.
Some people say that "everything's fair in politics." While I don't fully agree with this idea, I believe that the history of Ancient and Modern Humbugs wouldn't be complete without mentioning the last and one of the most successful literary hoaxes known. This is the pamphlet titled "Miscegenation," which promotes the mixing of white and black races on this continent, seen as not only unavoidable due to the emancipation of African Americans but also as a way to create a better race of people than any that currently exists. This pamphlet is a clever political satire, written by three young men from the "World" newspaper: D. G. Croly, George Wakeman, and E. C. Howell.
The design of “Miscegenation” was exceedingly ambitious, and the machinery employed was probably among the most ingenious and audacious ever put into operation to procure the indorsement of absurd theories, and give the subject the widest notoriety. The object was to so make use of the prevailing ideas of the extremists of the Anti-Slavery party, as to induce them[274] to accept doctrines which would be obnoxious to the great mass of the community, and which would, of course, be used in the political canvass which was to ensue. It was equally important that the “Democrats” should be made to believe that the pamphlet in question emanated from a “Republican” source. The idea was suggested by a discourse delivered by Mr. Theodore Tilton, at the Cooper Institute, before the American Anti-Slavery Society, in May 1863, on the negro, in which that distinguished orator argued, that in some future time the blood of the negro would form one of the mingled bloods of the great regenerated American nation. The scheme once conceived, it began immediately to be put into execution. The first stumbling-block was the name “amalgamation,” by which this fraternizing of the races had been always known. It was evident that a book advocating amalgamation would fall still-born, and hence some new and novel word had to be discovered, with the same meaning, but not so objectionable. Such a word was coined by the combination of the Latin miscere, to mix, and genus, race: from these, miscegenation—a mingling of the races. The word is as euphonious as “amalgamation,” and much more correct in meaning. It has passed into the language, and no future dictionary will be complete without it. Next, it was necessary to give the book an erudite appearance, and arguments from ethnology must form no unimportant part of this matter. Neither of the authors being versed in this science, they were compelled to depend entirely on encyclopedias and books of reference. This obstacle to a New York edit[275]or or reporter was not so great as it might seem. The public are often favored in our journals with dissertations upon various abstruse matters by men who are entirely ignorant of what they are writing about. It was said of Cuvier that he could restore the skeleton of an extinct animal if he were only given one of its teeth, and so a competent editor or reporter of a city journal can get up an article of any length on any given subject, if he is only furnished one word or name to start with. There was but one writer on ethnology distinctly known to the authors, which was Prichard; but that being secured, all the rest came easily enough. The authors went to the Astor Library and secured a volume of Prichard’s works, the perusal of which of course gave them the names of many other authorities, which were also consulted; and thus a very respectable array of scientific arguments in favor of Miscegenation were soon compiled. The sentimental and argumentative portions were quickly suggested from the knowledge of the authors of current politics, of the vagaries of some of the more visionary reformers, and from their own native wit.
The design of “Miscegenation” was incredibly ambitious, and the methods used were likely some of the most clever and daring ever employed to push ridiculous theories and give the topic widespread attention. The goal was to use the dominant views of the extreme Anti-Slavery party to persuade them[274] to accept ideas that would be offensive to the majority of the community, and which would inevitably be used in the upcoming political campaign. It was also crucial for the “Democrats” to be made to think that the pamphlet came from a “Republican” source. This idea was inspired by a speech given by Mr. Theodore Tilton at the Cooper Institute before the American Anti-Slavery Society in May 1863, where he argued that in the future, the blood of African Americans would contribute to the mixed blood of a revitalized American nation. Once the plan was conceived, it was immediately put into action. The first hurdle was the term “amalgamation,” which had always been used to describe this blending of races. It was clear that a book promoting amalgamation would be dead on arrival, so a new and inventive term had to be created that had the same meaning but wasn't as off-putting. This term was invented by combining the Latin miscere, meaning to mix, and genus, meaning race: thus, miscegenation—a mingling of the races. The word sounds as pleasant as “amalgamation” and is more accurate in meaning. It has entered the language, and no future dictionary will be complete without it. Next, it was necessary to make the book appear scholarly, and arguments from ethnology had to be a significant part of this effort. Since neither author was knowledgeable in this field, they had to rely entirely on encyclopedias and reference books. This challenge for a New York editor or reporter wasn't as daunting as it might seem. The public often sees articles on complex topics in our journals written by people who know nothing about the subject. It was said of Cuvier that he could reconstruct the skeleton of an extinct animal if he were given just one of its teeth, and similarly, an effective city editor or reporter can create an article of any length on any topic if given just one word or name to start with. The only known writer on ethnology to the authors was Prichard; however, once they secured that, the rest came easily. The authors went to the Astor Library and found a volume of Prichard’s works, the reading of which naturally led them to many other references, which were also consulted; thus, a solid collection of scientific arguments in favor of Miscegenation was quickly assembled. The emotional and argumentative sections were swiftly inspired by the authors' knowledge of current politics, the ideas of some of the more visionary reformers, and their own natural wit.
The book was at first written in a most cursory manner the chapters got up without any order or reference to each other, and afterward arranged. As the impression sought to be conveyed was a serious one, it would clearly not do to commence with the extravagant and absurd theories to which it was intended that the reader should gradually be led. The scientific portion of the work was therefore given first, and was made as grave and terse and unobjectionable as possible; and merely urged,[276] by arguments drawn from science and history, that the blending of the different races of men resulted in a better progeny. As the work progressed, they continued to “pile on the agony,” until, at the close, the very fact that the statue of the Goddess of Liberty on the Capitol, is of a bronze tint, is looked upon as an omen of the color of the future American!
The book was initially written in a very casual way, with the chapters put together randomly and later organized. Since the message aimed to be serious, it clearly wouldn't make sense to start with the crazy and ridiculous theories the reader was meant to be gradually introduced to. So, the scientific part of the work was presented first, made as serious, concise, and uncontroversial as possible; it simply argued, [276] using evidence from science and history, that mixing different races led to better offspring. As the work went on, the authors kept "piling on the agony," until by the end, the fact that the statue of the Goddess of Liberty on the Capitol is bronze-colored is seen as a sign of the future American's skin color!
“When the traveler approaches the City of Magnificent Distances,” it says, “the seat of what is destined to be the greatest and most beneficent power on earth, the first object that will strike his eye will be the figure of Liberty surmounting the Capitol; not white, symbolizing but one race, nor black, typifying another, but a statue representing the composite race, whose sway will extend from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, from the Equator to the North Pole—the Miscegens of the Future.”
“When the traveler gets close to the City of Magnificent Distances,” it says, “the first thing that will catch his eye will be the statue of Liberty on top of the Capitol; not white, representing just one race, nor black, symbolizing another, but a statue representing a mixed race, whose influence will stretch from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, from the Equator to the North Pole—the Mixed Peoples of the Future.”
The Book once written, plans were laid to obtain the indorsement of the people who were to be humbugged. It was not only necessary to humbug the members of the Reform and Progressive party, but to present—as I have before said—such serious arguments that Democrats should be led to believe it as a bona fide revelation of the “infernal” designs of their antagonists. In both respects there was complete success. Although, of course, the mass of the Republican leaders entirely ignored the book, yet a considerable number of Anti-Slavery men, with more transcendental ideas, were decidedly “sold.” The machinery employed was exceedingly ingenious. Before the book was published, proof-copies were furnished to every prominent abolitionist in the country, and also to prominent spiritual[277] mediums, to ladies known to wear Bloomers, and to all that portion of our population who are supposed to be a little “soft” on the subject of reform. A circular was also enclosed, requesting them, before the publication of the book, to give the author the benefit of their opinions as to the value of the arguments presented, and the desirability of the immediate publication of the work; to be inclosed to the American News Company, 121 Nassau street, New York—the agents for the publishers. The bait took. Letters came pouring in from all sides, and among the names of prominent persons who gave their indorsements were Albert Brisbane, Parker Pillsbury, Lucretia Mott, Sarah M. Grimke, Angelina G. Weld, Dr. J. McCune Smith, Wm. Wells Brown. Mr. Pillsbury was quite excited over the book, saying; “Your work has cheered and gladdened a winter-morning, which I began in cloud and sorrow. You are on the right track. Pursue it, and the good God speed you.” Mr. Theodore Tilton, upon receiving the pamphlet, wrote a note promising to read it, and to write the author a long and candid letter as soon as he had time; and saying, that the subject was one to which he had given much thought. The promised letter, I believe, however, was never received; probably because, on a careful perusal of the book, Mr. Tilton “smelt a rat.” He might also have been influenced by an ironical paragraph relating to himself, and arguing that, as he was a “pure specimen of the blonde,” and “when a young man was noted for his angelic type of feature,” his sympathy for the colored race was accounted for by the natural love of opposites. Says the author with much gravity:[278]
The Book was finished, and plans were made to get the endorsement of the people who were meant to be fooled. It wasn't just about fooling the members of the Reform and Progressive party; there also had to be serious arguments that would convince Democrats that it was a bona fide revelation of their opponents' "evil" plans. Both objectives were completely successful. Although most of the Republican leaders completely ignored the book, a significant number of Anti-Slavery advocates with more idealistic views were definitely “sold.” The strategy used was very clever. Before the book was published, proof copies were sent to every prominent abolitionist in the country, as well as to notable spiritual mediums, women known for wearing Bloomers, and any part of the population thought to be a bit “soft” on reform issues. A circular was also included, asking them to provide feedback on the value of the arguments and the importance of publishing the work immediately; responses were to be sent to the American News Company, 121 Nassau Street, New York—the agents for the publishers. The tactic worked well. Letters flooded in from all directions, and among the prominent individuals who endorsed the book were Albert Brisbane, Parker Pillsbury, Lucretia Mott, Sarah M. Grimke, Angelina G. Weld, Dr. J. McCune Smith, and Wm. Wells Brown. Mr. Pillsbury was very excited about the book, saying, “Your work has brightened a winter morning that started out cloudy and sad. You're on the right path. Keep going, and may God speed you.” Mr. Theodore Tilton, upon receiving the pamphlet, wrote a note promising to read it and to send the author a long and honest reply as soon as he could, mentioning that he had thought a lot about the subject. However, I believe the promised letter was never received; probably because, after carefully reading the book, Mr. Tilton “smelled a rat.” He might also have been put off by a sarcastic paragraph about himself, suggesting that, since he was a “pure specimen of the blonde,” and “as a young man was known for his angelic looks,” his sympathy for the colored race was explained by a natural attraction to opposites. The author says with great seriousness:
“The sympathy Mr. Greeley, Mr. Phillips and Mr. Tilton feel for the negro is the love which the blonde bears for the black; it is the love of race, a sympathy stronger to them than the love they bear to woman. It is founded upon natural law. We love our opposites. It is the nature of things that we should do so, and where Nature has free course, men like those we have indicated, whether Anti-Slavery or Pro-Slavery, Conservative or Radical, Democrat or Republican, will marry and be given in marriage to the most perfect specimens of the colored race.”
“The sympathy Mr. Greeley, Mr. Phillips, and Mr. Tilton feel for the Black community is like the affection that a blonde has for a Black person; it's a love based on race, a connection for them that is stronger than their love for women. It is rooted in natural law. We are drawn to our opposites. It's simply how things work, and when nature is allowed to take its course, men like those we’ve mentioned—whether Anti-Slavery or Pro-Slavery, Conservative or Radical, Democrat or Republican—will marry and be married to the finest representatives of the colored community.”
So far, things worked favorably; and, having thus bagged a goodly number of prominent reformers, the next effort was to get the ear of the public. Here, new machinery was brought into play. A statement was published in the “Philadelphia Inquirer” (a paper which, ever since the war commenced, has been notorious for its “sensation” news,) that a charming and accomplished young mulatto girl was about to publish a book on the subject of the blending of the races, in which she took the affirmative view. Of course, so piquant a paragraph was immediately copied by almost every paper in the country. Various other stories, equally ingenious and equally groundless, were set afloat, and public expectation was riveted on the forthcoming work.
So far, things were going well; and after gaining the support of several prominent reformers, the next step was to capture the public's attention. For this, they used new tactics. A statement was published in the “Philadelphia Inquirer” (a paper that, since the war began, has been known for its sensational news) claiming that a charming and talented young mixed-race girl was about to publish a book about the blending of races, which she supported. Naturally, such an intriguing statement was quickly picked up by nearly every newspaper in the country. Several other equally clever but unfounded stories were also circulated, and public interest was focused on the upcoming book.
Some time in February last, the book was published. Copies, of course, were sent to all the leading journals. The “Anglo-African,” the organ of the colored population of New York, warmly, and at great length, indorsed the doctrine. The “Anti-Slavery Standard,” edited by Mr. Oliver Johnson, gave over a column of serious argument and endorsement to the work. Mr. Tilton, of the “Independent,” was not to be caught[279] napping. In that journal, under date of February 25, 1864, he devoted a two-column leader to the subject of Miscegenation and the little pamphlet in question. Mr. Tilton was the first to announce a belief that the book was a hoax. I quote from his article:
Some time in February last, the book was published. Copies, of course, were sent to all the leading journals. The “Anglo-African,” the voice of the colored community in New York, warmly and thoroughly endorsed the doctrine. The “Anti-Slavery Standard,” edited by Mr. Oliver Johnson, dedicated over a column of serious argument and support to the work. Mr. Tilton, from the “Independent,” was not going to miss out. In that journal, on February 25, 1864, he devoted a two-column lead article to the topic of Miscegenation and the little pamphlet in question. Mr. Tilton was the first to suggest that the book was a hoax. I quote from his article:
“Remaining a while on our table unread, our attention was specially called to it by noticing how savagely certain newspapers were abusing it.”
“After sitting unread on our table for a while, we noticed how harshly some newspapers were attacking it, which grabbed our attention.”
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
“The authorship of the pamphlet is a well-kept secret; at least it is unknown to us. Nor, after a somewhat careful reading, are we convinced that the writer is in earnest. Our first impression was, and remains, that the work was meant as a piece of pleasantry—a burlesque upon what are popularly called the extreme and fanatical notions of certain radical men named therein. Certainly, the essay is not such a one as any of these gentlemen would have written on the subject, though some of their speeches are conspicuously quoted and commended in it.”
“The authorship of the pamphlet is a well-kept secret; at least it’s unknown to us. Also, after a somewhat careful reading, we’re not convinced that the writer is serious. Our first impression was, and still is, that the work was intended as a joke—a satire on what are commonly called the extreme and fanatical views of certain radical men mentioned in it. Clearly, the essay is not something any of these gentlemen would have written on the topic, even though some of their speeches are prominently quoted and praised in it.”
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
“If written in earnest, the work is not thorough enough to be satisfactory; if in jest, we prefer Sydney Smith—or McClellan’s Report. Still, to be frank, we agree with a large portion of these pages, but disagree heartily with another portion.”
“If written seriously, the work isn’t complete enough to be satisfying; if it’s meant as a joke, we’d rather have Sydney Smith—or McClellan’s Report. Still, to be honest, we agree with a lot of what’s in these pages, but we strongly disagree with some of it.”
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
“The idea of scientifically undertaking to intermingle existing populations according to a predetermined plan for reconstructing the human race—for flattening out its present varieties into one final unvarious dead-level of humanity—is so absurd, that we are more than ever convinced such a statement was not written in earnest!”
“The idea of scientifically mixing existing populations according to a set plan to reshape the human race—aiming to flatten all its current varieties into one uniform, lifeless version of humanity—is so ridiculous that we're even more convinced this statement wasn't made seriously!”
Mr. Tilton, however, hints that the colored race is finally in some degree to form a component part of[280] the future American; and that, in time, “the negro of the South, growing paler with every generation, will at last completely hide his face under the snow.”
Mr. Tilton, however, suggests that the Black race is ultimately going to be a part of[280] the future American; and that, over time, “the Black person from the South, becoming lighter with each generation, will eventually completely conceal their face under the snow.”
One of the editorial writers for the “Tribune” was so impressed with the book that he wrote an article on the subject, arguing about it with apparent seriousness, and in a manner with some readers supposed to be rather favorable than otherwise to the doctrine. Mr. Greeley and the publishers, it is understood, were displeased at the publication of the article. The next morning nearly all the city journals had editorial articles upon the subject.
One of the editorial writers for the “Tribune” was so impressed with the book that he wrote an article about it, arguing his points with what seemed like seriousness, and in a way that some readers thought was somewhat favorable to the doctrine. Mr. Greeley and the publishers were reportedly unhappy about the article being published. The next morning, almost all the city newspapers had editorial pieces on the topic.
The next point was, to get the miscegenation controversy into Congress. The book, with its indorsements, was brought to the notice of Mr. Cox, of Ohio (commonly called “Sunset Cox;”) and he made an earnest speech on the subject. Mr. Washburne replied wittily, reading and commenting on extracts from a work by Cox, in which the latter deplored the existence of the prejudice against the Africans. A few days after, Mr. Kelly, of Pennsylvania, replied very elaborately to Mr. Cox, bringing all his learning and historical research to bear on the topic. It was the subject of a deal of talk in Washington afterward. Mr. Cox was charged by some of the more shrewd members of Congress with writing it. It was said that Mr. Sumner, on reading it, immediately pronounced it a hoax.
The next point was to bring the miscegenation debate into Congress. The book, along with its endorsements, was brought to the attention of Mr. Cox of Ohio (often called "Sunset Cox"), and he gave a passionate speech on the topic. Mr. Washburne responded cleverly, reading and commenting on excerpts from a work by Cox, in which he expressed his dismay over the prejudice against Africans. A few days later, Mr. Kelly of Pennsylvania gave a detailed response to Mr. Cox, using all his knowledge and historical research on the subject. It sparked a lot of discussion in Washington afterward. Some of the more astute members of Congress accused Mr. Cox of writing it. Mr. Sumner reportedly said it was a hoax as soon as he read it.
Through the influence of the authors, a person visited James Gordon Bennett, of the “Herald,” and spoke to him about “Miscegenation.” Mr. Bennett thought the idea too monstrous and absurd to waste an article upon.
Through the influence of the authors, someone visited James Gordon Bennett of the “Herald” and talked to him about “Miscegenation.” Mr. Bennett thought the idea was too outrageous and ridiculous to waste an article on.
[281]“But,” said the gentleman, “the Democratic papers are all noticing it.”
[281]“But,” said the gentleman, “the Democratic papers are all pointing it out.”
“The Democratic editors are asses,” said Bennett.
“The Democratic editors are idiots,” said Bennett.
“Senator Cox has just made a speech in Congress on it.”
“Senator Cox just gave a speech in Congress about it.”
“Cox is an ass,” responded Bennett.
“Cox is a jerk,” responded Bennett.
“Greeley had an article about it the other day.”
“Greeley wrote an article about it the other day.”
“Well, Greeley’s a donkey.”
"Well, Greeley's a loser."
“The ‘Independent’ yesterday had a leader of a column and a half about it.”
“The ‘Independent’ had a column and a half about it yesterday.”
“Well, Beecher is no better,” said Bennett. “They’re all asses. But what did he say about it?”
“Well, Beecher is no better,” Bennett said. “They’re all idiots. But what did he say about it?”
“Oh, he rather indorsed it.”
“Oh, he really endorsed it.”
“It will make a very good handle against the radicals,” said the other.
“It will be a great weapon against the radicals,” said the other.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bennett. “Let them marry together, if they want to, with all my heart.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bennett. “Let them get married if they want to, I fully support it.”
For some days, the “Herald” said nothing about it, but the occasion of the departure of a colored regiment from New York City having called forth a flattering address to them from the ladies of the “Loyal League,” the “Herald,” saw a chance to make a point against Mr. Charles King and others; and the next day it contained a terrific article, introducing miscegenation in the most violent and offensive manner, and saying that the ladies of the “Loyal League” had offered to marry the colored soldiers on their return! After that, the “Herald” kept up a regular fusillade against the supposed miscegenic proclivities of the Republicans. And[282] thus, after all, Bennett swallowed the “critter” horns, hoofs, tail, and all.
For several days, the "Herald" didn't mention it, but when a colored regiment left New York City and received a warm welcome from the ladies of the "Loyal League," the "Herald" saw an opportunity to criticize Mr. Charles King and others. The next day, it published a harsh article, bringing up interracial relationships in a very aggressive and offensive way, claiming that the ladies of the "Loyal League" had offered to marry the colored soldiers when they returned! After that, the "Herald" launched a constant barrage against the supposed interracial tendencies of the Republicans. And[282] so, in the end, Bennett took in the whole "critter"—horns, hooves, tail, and all.
The authors even had the impudence to attempt to entrap Mr. Lincoln into an indorsement of the work, and asked permission to dedicate a new work, on a kindred subject, “Melaleukation,” to him. Honest Old Abe however, who can see a joke, was not to be taken in so easily.
The authors even had the audacity to try to get Mr. Lincoln to endorse their work and requested permission to dedicate a new piece on a similar topic, “Melaleukation,” to him. Honest Old Abe, however, who could appreciate a joke, wasn't fooled so easily.
About the time the book was first published, Miss Anne E. Dickinson happened to lecture in New York. The authors here exhibited a great degree of acuteness and tact, as well as sublime impudence, in seizing the opportunity to have some small hand bills, with the endorsement of the book, printed and distributed by boys among the audience. Before Miss Dickinson appeared, therefore, the audience were gravely reading the miscegenation handbill; and the reporters, noticing it, coupled the facts in their reports. From this, it went forth, and was widely circulated, that Miss Dickinson was the author!
About the time the book was first published, Miss Anne E. Dickinson happened to give a lecture in New York. The authors showed a remarkable level of cleverness and skill, along with boldness, by taking the chance to have some small flyers, endorsing the book, printed and handed out by boys to the audience. So, before Miss Dickinson appeared, the audience was seriously reading the miscegenation flyer; and the reporters, noticing it, included this in their articles. As a result, it spread widely that Miss Dickinson was the author!
Dr. Mackay, the correspondent of the “London Times,” in New York, was very decidedly sold, and hurled all manner of big words against the doctrine in his letters to “The Thunderer;” and thus “the leading paper of Europe” was, for the hundredth time during the American Rebellion, decidedly taken in and done for.
Dr. Mackay, the correspondent for the “London Times,” in New York, was definitely fooled and threw all kinds of fancy words against the doctrine in his letters to “The Thunderer;” and so “the leading paper of Europe” was, for the hundredth time during the American Rebellion, really misled and taken advantage of.
The “Saturday Review”—perhaps the cleverest and certainly the sauciest of the English hebdomadals—also berated the book and its authors in the most[283] pompous language at its command. Indeed, the “Westminster Review” seriously refers to the arguments of the book in connection with Dr. Broca’s pamphlet on Human Hybridity, a most profound work. “Miscegenation” was republished in England by Trübner & Co.; and very extensive translations from it are still passing the rounds of the French and German papers.
The “Saturday Review”—possibly the smartest and definitely the cheekiest of the English weekly journals—also criticized the book and its authors in the most[283] pretentious language it could muster. In fact, the “Westminster Review” seriously discusses the arguments of the book in relation to Dr. Broca’s pamphlet on Human Hybridity, which is a very significant work. “Miscegenation” was reprinted in England by Trübner & Co.; and extensive translations of it are still circulating in the French and German press.
Thus passes into history one of the most impudent as well as ingenious literary hoaxes of the present day. There is probably not a newspaper in the country but has printed much about it; and enough of extracts might be collected from various journals upon the subject to fill my whale-tank.
Thus passes into history one of the most audacious as well as clever literary hoaxes of our time. There’s probably not a newspaper in the country that hasn’t written about it; and enough excerpts could be gathered from various publications on the subject to fill my whale-tank.
It is needless to say that the book passed through several editions. Of course, the mass of the intelligent American people rejected the doctrines of the work, and looked upon it either as a political dodge, or as the ravings of some crazy man; but the authors have the satisfaction of knowing that it achieved a notoriety which has hardly been equalled by any mere pamphlet ever published in this country.
It goes without saying that the book went through several editions. Naturally, most educated Americans dismissed the ideas in it, viewing it as either a political trick or the nonsensical musings of a madman; however, the authors can take comfort in knowing that it gained a level of notoriety that’s rarely been matched by any simple pamphlet published in this country.
VII. GHOSTS AND WITCHCRAFTS.
CHAPTER. XXXIV.
A great many persons believe more or less in haunted houses. In almost every community there is some building that has had a mysterious history. This is true in all countries, and among all races and nations. Indeed it is to this very fact that the ingenious author of the “Twenty-seventh-street Ghost” may attribute his success in creating such an excitement. In fact, I will say, “under the rose,” he predicted his hopes of success entirely upon this weakness in human nature. Even in “this day and age of the world” there are hundreds of deserted buildings which are looked upon with awe, or terror, or superstitious interest. They have frightened their former inhabitants away, and left the buildings in the almost undisputed possession of real moles, bats, and owls, and imaginary goblins and sprites.
A lot of people believe, to some extent, in haunted houses. In nearly every community, there’s a building with a mysterious past. This is true in every country and among all cultures. In fact, this very fact might explain the success of the clever author of the “Twenty-seventh-street Ghost” in creating such a buzz. Honestly, I’d say “just between us,” he based his hopes for success entirely on this flaw in human nature. Even in “this day and age,” there are hundreds of abandoned buildings that are viewed with fear, awe, or superstitious curiosity. They’ve scared away their former occupants and left the places almost entirely to real creatures like moles, bats, and owls, along with imaginary goblins and sprites.
In the course of my travels in both hemispheres I have been amazed at the great number of such cases that have come under my personal observation.
During my travels in both hemispheres, I've been stunned by the sheer number of cases I've personally witnessed.
But for the present, I will give a brief account of a[285] haunted house in Yorkshire, England, in which some twenty years ago, Kirby, the actor, who formerly played at the Chatham Theatre, passed a pretty strange night. I met Mr. Kirby in London in 1844, and I will give, in nearly his own language, a history of his lone night in this haunted house, as he gave it to me within a week after its occurrence. I will add, that I saw no reason to doubt Mr. Kirby’s veracity, and he assured me upon his honor that the statement was literally true to the letter. Having myself been through several similar places in the daytime, I felt a peculiar interest in the subject, and hence I have a vivid recollection of nearly the exact words in which he related his singular nocturnal adventure. One thing is certain: Kirby was not the man to be afraid of trying such an experiment.
But for now, I’ll give a brief account of a[285] haunted house in Yorkshire, England, where about twenty years ago, Kirby, the actor who used to perform at the Chatham Theatre, spent a rather strange night. I met Mr. Kirby in London in 1844, and I will share, in nearly his own words, the story of his lonely night in this haunted house, as he told it to me within a week after it happened. I should add that I saw no reason to doubt Mr. Kirby’s honesty, and he assured me on his honor that his statement was completely true. Having gone through several similar places during the day, I felt a special interest in the topic, which is why I have a clear recollection of almost the exact words he used to describe his unusual nighttime adventure. One thing is for sure: Kirby was not the kind of person to be afraid of trying such an experiment.
“I had heard wonderful stories about this house,” said Mr. Kirby to me, “and I was very glad to get a chance to enter it, although, I confess, the next morning I was about as glad to get out of it.”
“I had heard amazing stories about this house,” Mr. Kirby told me, “and I was really happy to have the opportunity to explore it, but I admit, the next morning I was just as happy to leave it.”
“It was an old country-seat—a solid stone mansion which had long borne the reputation of a haunted house. It was watched only by one man. He was the old gardener,—an ancient servant of the family that once lived there, and a person in whom the family reposed implicit confidence.
“It was an old estate—a sturdy stone mansion that had long been known as a haunted house. It was only watched over by one man. He was the old gardener—a long-time servant of the family that once lived there, and someone the family trusted completely.
“Having had some inkling of this wonderful place, and having a few days to spare before going to London to fulfil an engagement at the Surry Theatre, I thought I would probe this haunted-house story to the bottom. I therefore called on the old gardener who had charge of the place, and introduced myself as an American[286] traveller desirous of spending a night with his ghosts. The old man seemed to be about seventy-five or eighty years of age. I met him at the gate of the estate, where he kept guard. He told me, when I applied, that it was a dangerous spot to enter, but I could pass it if I pleased. I should, however, have to return by the same door, if I ever came back again.
“Having caught wind of this amazing place and having a few days free before heading to London to fulfill an engagement at the Surry Theatre, I figured I’d dig into this haunted-house story. So, I went to see the old gardener who looked after the place and introduced myself as an American[286] traveler eager to spend a night with his ghosts. The old man seemed to be around seventy-five or eighty years old. I met him at the estate’s gate, where he stood guard. He told me that it was a dangerous place to enter, but I could go in if I wanted. However, I'd have to come back out through the same door if I ever returned.”
“Wishing to make sure of the job, I gave him a sovereign, and asked him to give me all the privileges of the establishment; and if his bill amounted to more, I would settle it when I returned. He looked at me with an expression of doubt and apprehension, as much as to say that he neither understood what I was going to do nor what was likely to happen. He merely remarked:
“Wanting to secure the job, I handed him a sovereign and asked him to give me all the privileges of the place; if his bill came to more, I'd settle it when I got back. He looked at me with doubt and worry, as if he didn’t understand what I was planning or what might happen next. He just said:
“‘You can go in.’
"‘You can enter.’"
“‘Will you go with me, and show me the road?’
“‘Will you come with me and show me the way?’”
“‘I will.’
"I will."
“‘Go ahead.’
"Go for it."
“We entered. The gate closed. I suddenly turned on my man, the old gardener and custodian of the place, and said to him:
“We walked in. The gate shut behind us. I suddenly confronted the old gardener and caretaker of the place and said to him:
“‘Now, my patriarchal friend, I am going to sift this humbug to the bottom, even if I stay here forty nights in succession; and I am prepared to lay all “spirits” that present themselves; but if you will save me all trouble in the matter and frankly explain to me the whole affair, I will never mention it to your injury, and I will present you with ten golden sovereigns.’
“‘Now, my old friend, I’m going to get to the bottom of this nonsense, even if it takes me forty nights in a row; and I’m ready to confront any “spirits” that show up. But if you could save me the hassle and just explain everything to me honestly, I’ll never bring it up in a way that could harm you, and I’ll give you ten golden sovereigns.’”
“The old fellow looked astonished; but he smirked, and whimpered, and trembled, and said:
“The old guy looked shocked; but he grinned, whined, and shook, and said:
[287]“‘I am afraid to do that; but I will warn you against going too far.’
[287]“‘I’m scared to do that; but I’ll advise you not to go too far.’
“When we had crossed a courtyard, he rang a bell, and several strange noises were distinctly heard. I was introduced to the establishment through a well-constructed archway, which led to a large stairway, from which we proceeded to a great door, which opened into a very large room. It was a library. The old custodian had carried a torch (and I was prepared with a box of matches.) He was acting evidently ‘on the square,’ and I sat myself down in the library, where he told me that I should soon see positive evidence that this was a haunted house.
“When we crossed the courtyard, he rang a bell, and several strange noises were clearly heard. I was introduced to the place through a well-built archway that led to a large staircase, from which we moved to a big door that opened into a very spacious room. It was a library. The old caretaker had brought a torch (and I was ready with a box of matches). He was definitely being straight with me, and I settled down in the library, where he told me that I would soon see clear proof that this was a haunted house.”
“Not being a very firm believer in the doctrine of houses really haunted, I proposed to keep a pretty good hold of my match-box, and lest there should be any doubt about it, I had also provided myself with two sperm candles, which I kept in my pocket, so I should not be left too suddenly and too long in the dark.
“Not being a strong believer in the idea of haunted houses, I decided to keep a tight grip on my matchbox, and just in case there was any doubt, I also brought along two sperm candles, which I kept in my pocket, so I wouldn’t be caught off guard and left in the dark for too long.”
“‘Well, what is the matter with the house?’
“‘Well, what's wrong with the house?’”
“‘Oh! everything, Sir!’
“‘Oh! everything, Sir!’”
“‘What?’
"‘What?’"
“‘Well, when I was much younger than I am now, the master of this estate got frightened here by some mysterious appearances, noises, sounds, etc., and he preferred to leave the place.’
“‘Well, when I was a lot younger, the owner of this estate got scared by some strange sights, noises, sounds, etc., and he chose to leave the place.’”
“‘He had a tradition from his grandfather, and pretty well kept alive in the family, that it was a haunted house; and he let out the estate to the smaller farmers of the neighborhood, and quit the premises, and never returned again, except one night, and after that one night he left. We suppose he is dead. Now, Sir, if you wish to spend the night here as you have requested, what may happen to you I don’t know; but I tell you it is a haunted house, and I would not sleep here to-night for all the wealth of the Bank of England!’
“‘He had a tradition from his grandfather, which was pretty much kept alive in the family, that it was a haunted house; and he rented the place out to the smaller farmers in the area, moved out, and never came back again, except for one night, and after that one night he left. We think he might be dead. Now, Sir, if you want to stay here overnight as you’ve requested, I can’t say what might happen to you; but I’m warning you, it’s a haunted house, and I wouldn’t spend the night here for all the money in the Bank of England!’”
“This did not deter me in the least, and having the means of self-protection around me, and plenty of lucifer matches, etc., I thought I would explore this mystery and see whether a humbug which had terrified the proprietors of that magnificent house in the midst of a magnificent estate, for upward of sixty years, could not be explored and exploded. That it was a humbug, I had no doubt; that I would find it out, I was not so certain.
“This did not discourage me at all, and with the means of self-defense nearby and plenty of matches, I figured I would investigate this mystery and see if a trick that had scared the owners of that stunning house in the middle of a beautiful estate for over sixty years could be uncovered and debunked. I had no doubt it was a trick; whether I would be able to figure it out was less certain.”
“I sat down in the library, fully determined to spend the night in the establishment. A door was opened into an adjoining room where there was a dust-covered lounge, and every thing promised as much comfort as could be expected under the circumstances.
“I sat down in the library, fully determined to spend the night there. A door opened into an adjacent room where there was a dusty lounge, and everything looked as comfortable as could be expected given the situation.
“However, before the old keeper of the house left, I asked him to show me over the building, and let me explore for myself the different rooms and apartments. To all this he readily consented; and as he had some prospect before him of making a good job out of it, he displayed a great deal of alacrity, and moved along[289] very quick and smart for a man apparently eighty years of age.
“However, before the old caretaker of the house left, I asked him to give me a tour of the building and let me explore the different rooms and apartments on my own. He agreed right away, and since he had a chance of making a good deal out of it, he showed a lot of enthusiasm and moved along[289] very quickly and smartly for a man who seemed to be around eighty years old.
“I went from room to room and story to story. Everything seemed to be well arranged, but somewhat dusty and time-worn. I kept a pretty sharp lookout, but I could see no sort of machinery for producing a grand effect.
“I went from room to room and floor to floor. Everything looked well organized, but a bit dusty and worn out. I stayed alert, but I couldn’t see any kind of machinery that would create a grand effect.”
“We finally descended to the library, when I closed the door, and bolting and locking it, took the key and put it in my pocket.
“We finally went down to the library, and when I closed the door, I bolted and locked it, then took the key and put it in my pocket.
“‘Now, Sir,’ I said to the keeper, ‘where is the humbug?’
“‘Now, Sir,’ I said to the keeper, ‘where’s the scam?’”
“‘There is no humbug here,’ he answered.
“‘There’s no nonsense here,’ he replied.
“‘Well, why don’t you show me some evidence of the haunted house?’
“‘Well, why don’t you show me some proof of the haunted house?’”
“‘You wait,’ said he, ‘till twelve o’clock to-night, and you will see “haunting” enough for you. I will not stay till then.’
“‘You wait,’ he said, ‘until midnight tonight, and you’ll see enough “haunting” for you. I won’t stay until then.’”
“He left; I staid. Everything was quiet for some time. Not a mouse was heard, not a rat was visible, and I thought I would go to sleep.
“He left; I stayed. Everything was quiet for a while. Not a mouse could be heard, not a rat was in sight, and I thought I would go to sleep.
“I lay down for this purpose, but I soon heard certain extraordinary sounds that disturbed my repose. Chains were clanked, noises were made, and shrieks and groans were heard from various parts of the mansion. All of these I had expected. They did not frighten me much. A little while after, just as I was going to sleep again, a curious string of light burned around the room. It ran along on the walls in a zigzag line, about six feet high, entirely through the apartment. I did not smell anything bituminous or like sulphur.[290] It flashed quicker than powder, and it did not smell like it. Thinks I: ‘This looks pretty well, we will have some amusement now.’ Then the jangling of bells, and clanking of chains, and flashes of light; then thumpings and knockings of all sorts came along, interspersed with shrieks and groans. I sat very quiet. I had two of Colt’s best pistols in my pocket, and I thought I could shoot anything spiritual or material with these machines made in Connecticut. I took them out and laid them on the table. One of them suddenly disappeared! I did not like that, still my nerves were firm, for I knew it was all gammon. I took the other pistol in my hand and surveyed the room. Nobody was there; and, finally half suspicious that I had gone to sleep and had a dream, I woke up with a grasp on my hand which was holding the other pistol. This soon made me fully awake.
I lay down for this reason, but soon I heard some strange sounds that interrupted my rest. Chains rattled, noises echoed, and screams and groans came from different parts of the house. I had expected all of this. They didn’t scare me much. After a bit, just as I was about to fall asleep again, a strange string of light flickered around the room. It moved along the walls in a zigzag pattern, about six feet high, all through the space. I didn’t smell anything like burning or sulfur.[290] It flashed faster than gunpowder, and it didn’t have a smell like that. I thought, ‘This looks pretty interesting; we’ll have some fun now.’ Then there was the ringing of bells, the clanking of chains, and bursts of light; then all kinds of thumps and knocks, mixed with screams and groans. I stayed very still. I had two of Colt’s best pistols in my pocket, and I figured I could shoot anything, whether it was spiritual or physical, with these guns made in Connecticut. I took them out and placed them on the table. One of them suddenly vanished! I didn’t like that, but my nerves were steady because I knew it was all a trick. I picked up the other pistol and scanned the room. Nobody was there; and, finally half-suspicious that I had dozed off and was dreaming, I woke up with a grip on my hand that was holding the other pistol. That quickly made me fully awake.
“I tried to recover my balance, and at this moment the candle went out. I lit it with one of my lucifers. No person was visible, but the noises began again, and they were infernal. I then took one of my sperm candles out, and went to unlock the door. I attempted to take the key out of my pocket. It was not there! Suddenly the door opened, I saw a man or a somebody about the size of a man, standing straight in front of me. I pointed one of Colt’s revolvers at his head, for I thought I saw something human about him; and I told him that whether he was ghost or spirit, goblin or robber, he had better stand steady, or I would blow his brains out, if he had any. And to make sure that he should not escape I got hold of his arm, and told[291] him that if he was a ghost he would have a tolerably hard time of it, and that if he was a humbug I would let him off if he would tell me the whole story about the trick.
“I tried to regain my balance, and at that moment the candle went out. I lit it with one of my matches. No one was visible, but the noises started up again, and they were terrifying. I then took one of my candles out and went to unlock the door. I tried to pull the key out of my pocket. It wasn’t there! Suddenly, the door opened, and I saw a man—or someone about the size of a man—standing right in front of me. I pointed one of Colt’s revolvers at his head because I thought I saw something human about him; I told him that whether he was a ghost, spirit, goblin, or robber, he better not move, or I would blow his brains out, if he had any. To make sure he didn’t get away, I grabbed his arm and told[291] him that if he was a ghost, he would have a pretty tough time, and if he was a fraud, I’d let him go if he told me the whole story about the trick.
“He saw that he was caught, and he earnestly begged me not to fire that American pistol at him. I did not; but I did not let go of him. I brought him into the library, and with pistol in hand I put him through a pretty close examination. He was clad in mailed armor, with breastplate and helmet, and a great sword, in the style of the Crusaders. He promised, on condition of saving his life, to give me an honest account of the facts.
“He realized he was trapped and urgently begged me not to shoot him with that American pistol. I didn't; but I didn't let go of him either. I took him into the library, and with the pistol in hand, I gave him a thorough questioning. He was wearing armor, complete with a breastplate and helmet, and a large sword, like the Crusaders. He promised, on the condition that I spare his life, to give me a truthful account of what happened.”
“In substance they were, that he, an old family-servant, and ultimately a gardener in charge of the place, had been employed by an enemy of the gentleman who owned the property, to render it so uncomfortable that the estate should be sold for much less than its value; and that he had got an ingenious machinist and chemist to assist him in arranging such contrivances as would make the house so intolerable that they could not live there. A galvanic battery with wires were provided, and every device of chemistry and mechanism was resorted to in order to effect this purpose.
“In essence, he was an old family servant who eventually became the gardener in charge of the property. He had been hired by an enemy of the gentleman who owned the estate to make it so uncomfortable that the property would be sold for far less than it was worth. He enlisted the help of a clever machinist and chemist to set up various devices that would make the house unbearable to live in. They even used a galvanic battery with wires and every chemistry and mechanical trick they could think of to achieve this goal.”
“One by one, the family left; and they had remained away for nearly two generations under the terror of such forms, and appearances, and sights and sounds, as frightened them almost to death. And furthermore, the old gardener added, that he expected his own grand-daughter would become the lady of that house, when[292] the property should have been neglected so long and the place became so fearful that no one in the neighborhood would undertake to purchase it, or to even pass one moment after dark in exploring its horrible mysteries.
“One by one, the family left, and they had stayed away for almost two generations because of the terrifying forms, sights, and sounds that scared them nearly to death. And also, the old gardener mentioned that he expected his own granddaughter would become the lady of that house when[292] the property had been neglected for so long and the place had become so scary that nobody in the neighborhood would dare to buy it or even spend a moment after dark exploring its dreadful mysteries.”
“He begged on his knees that I would spare him with his gray hairs, since he had so short a time to live. He declared that he had been actuated by no other motive than pride and ambition for his child.
“He begged on his knees that I would spare him because of his gray hairs, since he didn't have much time left. He insisted that his only motivation had been pride and ambition for his child.”
“I told the poor old fellow that his secret should be safe with me, and should not be made public so long as he lived. The old man grasped my hand eagerly and expressed his gratitude in the strongest terms. Thus, Mr. Barnum, I have given you the pure and honest facts in regard to my adventure in a so called haunted house. Don’t make it public until you are convinced that the old gardener has shuffled off this mortal coil.”
“I told the poor old guy that his secret would be safe with me and wouldn’t be shared as long as he was alive. The old man grabbed my hand eagerly and thanked me profusely. So, Mr. Barnum, I have shared the true and honest details about my experience in a so-called haunted house. Please don’t make it public until you’re sure that the old gardener has passed away.”
So much for Kirby’s story of the haunted house. No doubt, the old gardener has before this become in reality a disembodied spirit, but that his grand-daughter became legally possessed of the estate is not at all probable. Real estate does not change hands so easily in England. So powerful, however is the superstitious belief in haunted houses, that it is doubtful whether that property will for many years sustain half so great a cash value in the market as it would have done had it not been considered a “haunted house.”
So much for Kirby’s story about the haunted house. By now, the old gardener has probably turned into a ghost, but it’s hardly likely that his granddaughter actually took ownership of the estate. Property doesn’t change hands that easily in England. However, the belief in haunted houses is so strong that it’s doubtful the property will hold even half the market value for many years as it would have if it weren’t labeled a “haunted house.”
It is to be hoped that, as schools multiply and education increases, the follies and superstitions which underlie a belief in ghosts and hobgoblins will pass away.
It is hoped that as schools increase and education grows, the silly beliefs and superstitions that support the idea of ghosts and mythical creatures will fade away.
CHAPTER XXXV.
HAUNTED HOUSES.—GHOSTS.—GHOULS.—PHANTOMS.—VAMPIRES.—CONJURORS.— DIVINING.—GOBLINS.—FORTUNE-TELLING.—MAGIC.—WITCHES.—SORCERY.— OBI.—DREAMS.—SIGNS.—SPIRITUAL MEDIUMS.—FALSE PROPHETS.— DEMONOLOGY.—DEVILTRY GENERALLY.
HAUNTED HOUSES.—GHOSTS.—GHOULS.—PHANTOMS.—VAMPIRES.—MAGICIANS.— DIVINATION.—GOBLINS.—FORTUNE-TELLING.—MAGIC.—WITCHES.—SORCERY.— OBEAH.—DREAMS.—SIGNS.—SPIRITUAL MEDIUMS.—FALSE PROPHETS.— DEMONOLOGY.—DEVILRY IN GENERAL.
Whether superstition is the father of humbug, or humbug the mother of superstition (as well as its nurse,) I do not pretend to say; for the biggest fools and the greatest philosophers can be numbered among the believers in and victims of the worst humbugs that ever prevailed on the earth.
Whether superstition is the source of deception, or deception the cause of superstition (along with its caretaker), I won't claim to know; because both the biggest fools and the greatest thinkers can be found among those who believe in and are affected by the most ridiculous deceptions that have ever existed.
As we grow up from childhood and begin to think we are free from all superstitions, absurdities, follies, a belief in dreams, signs, omens, and other similar stuff, we afterward learn that experience does not cure the complaint. Doubtless much depends upon our “bringing up.” If children are permitted to feast their ears night after night (as I was) with stories of ghosts, hobgoblins, ghouls, witches, apparitions, bugaboos, it is more difficult in after-life for them to rid their minds of impressions thus made.
As we grow up from childhood and start to believe we’re free from all superstitions, absurdities, and silly beliefs in dreams, signs, omens, and other similar things, we later realize that experience doesn’t really fix the issue. A lot depends on how we were raised. If children are allowed to listen night after night (like I was) to stories about ghosts, goblins, ghouls, witches, apparitions, and scary creatures, it’s harder for them to shake off those impressions later on in life.
But whatever may have been our early education, I am convinced that there is an inherent love of the marvelous in every breast, and that everybody is more or less superstitious; and every superstition I denominate[294] a humbug, for it lays the human mind open to any amount of belief, in any amount of deception that may be practised.
But no matter what our early education was like, I believe that everyone has a natural love for the amazing, and that we all have some level of superstition; and I call[294] every superstition a trick, because it makes the human mind vulnerable to believing in all sorts of deceptions that can be pulled off.
One object of these chapters consists in showing how open everybody is to deception, that nearly everybody “hankers” after it, that solid and solemn realities are frequently set aside for silly impositions and delusions, and that people, as a too general thing, like to be led into the region of mystery. As Hudibras has it:
One goal of these chapters is to demonstrate how easily everyone can be deceived, that almost everyone craves it, that solid and serious truths are often ignored for foolish tricks and lies, and that, in general, people enjoy being led into the realm of mystery. As Hudibras puts it:
“Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated as to cheat;
As lookers-on feel most delight
That least perceive a juggler’s sleight;
And still the less they understand,
The more they admire his sleight of hand.”
“Surely the enjoyment is just as strong
In being tricked as in tricking;
Just like spectators find the most joy
When they’re least aware of a magician’s tricks;
And the less they know,
The more they appreciate his skillful moves.”
The amount or strength of man’s brains have little to do with the amount of their superstitions. The most learned and the greatest men have been the deepest believers in ingeniously-contrived machines for running human reason off the track. If any expositions I can make on this subject will serve to put people on their guard against impositions of all sorts, as well as foolish superstitions, I shall feel a pleasure in reflecting that I have not written in vain. The heading of this chapter enumerates the principal kinds of supernatural humbugs. These, it must be remembered, are quite different from religious impostures.
The intelligence or capabilities of people have little to do with their superstitions. The most educated and accomplished individuals have often been the strongest believers in cleverly designed systems that derail human reasoning. If anything I discuss on this topic helps to make people cautious against various deceptions and silly superstitions, I will take comfort in knowing I haven’t written in vain. The title of this chapter lists the main types of supernatural frauds. It's important to keep in mind that these are quite different from religious scams.
It is astonishing to reflect how ancient is the date of this class of superstitions (as well as of most others, in fact,) and how universally they have prevailed. Nearly thirty-six hundred years ago, it was thought a matter[295] of course that Joseph, the Hebrew Prime Minister of Pharaoh, should have a silver cup that he commonly used to do his divining with: so that the practice must already have been an established one.
It’s amazing to consider how old these types of superstitions are (and most others, really) and how widespread they have been. Almost 3,600 years ago, it was taken for granted that Joseph, the Hebrew Prime Minister of Pharaoh, would have a silver cup that he regularly used for divination: so this practice must have already been well-established.
In Homer’s time, about twenty-eight hundred years ago, ghosts were believed to appear. The Witch of Endor pretended to raise the ghost of Samuel, at about the same time.
In Homer’s time, around twenty-eight hundred years ago, people believed that ghosts could appear. The Witch of Endor claimed to summon the ghost of Samuel around that same period.
To-day, here in the City of New York, dream books are sold by the edition; a dozen fortune-tellers regularly advertise in the papers; a haunted house can gather excited crowds for weeks; abundance of people are uneasy if they spill salt, dislike to see the new moon over the wrong shoulder, and are delighted if they can find an old horse-shoe to nail to their door-post.
Today, here in New York City, dream books are sold in bulk; a dozen fortune-tellers regularly advertise in the newspapers; a haunted house can attract excited crowds for weeks; many people feel uneasy if they spill salt, dislike seeing the new moon over the wrong shoulder, and are thrilled if they can find an old horseshoe to hang on their doorpost.
I have already told about one or two haunted houses, but must devote part of this chapter to that division of the subject. There are hundreds of such—that is, of those reputed to be such; and have been for hundreds of years. In almost every city, and in many towns and country places, they are to be found. I know of one, for instance, in New Jersey, one or two in New York, and have heard of several in Connecticut. There are great numbers in Europe; for as white men have lived there so much longer than in America, ghosts naturally accumulated. In this country there are houses and places haunted by ghosts of Hessians, and Yankee ghosts, not to mention the headless Dutch phantom of Tarrytown, that turned out to be Brom Bones; but who ever heard of the ghost of an Indian? And as for the ghost of a black man, evidently it would[296] have to appear by daylight. You couldn’t see it in the dark!
I’ve already talked about a couple of haunted houses, but I need to spend part of this chapter on that topic. There are hundreds of them—at least, that’s what people say; and they’ve existed for hundreds of years. Almost every city, along with many towns and rural areas, has them. I know of one, for example, in New Jersey, a couple in New York, and I’ve heard of several in Connecticut. There are a lot in Europe, too; since white people have lived there for much longer than in America, ghosts have naturally piled up. In this country, there are houses and places haunted by the spirits of Hessians and Yankee ghosts, not to mention the headless Dutch phantom of Tarrytown, which turned out to be Brom Bones; but who has ever heard of an Indian ghost? And when it comes to the ghost of a black man, clearly it would have to appear in daylight. You couldn’t see it in the dark!
I have no room to even enumerate the cases of haunted houses. One in Aix-la-Chapelle, a fine large house, stood empty five years on account of the knockings in it, until it was sold for almost nothing, and the new owner (lucky man!) discovered that the ghost was a draft through a broken window that banged a loose door. An English gentleman once died, and his heir, in a day or two, heard of mysterious knockings which the frightened servants attributed to the defunct. He, however, investigated a little, and found that a rat in an old store room, was trying to get out of an old-fashioned box trap, and being able to lift the door only partly, it dropped again, constituting the ghost. Better pleased to find the rat than his father, the young man exterminated rat and phantom together.
I can't even start listing the stories about haunted houses. One in Aix-la-Chapelle, a really nice big house, sat empty for five years because of the mysterious knocking sounds inside it, until it was sold for almost nothing. The new owner (lucky guy!) figured out that the ghost was actually just a draft coming through a broken window that was banging against a loose door. An English gentleman once died, and his heir, just a day or two later, heard about strange knocking sounds that the scared servants blamed on the deceased. However, he looked into it a bit and discovered that a rat in an old storage room was trying to escape from a vintage box trap. It could only lift the door partway, making it slam back down, which was what everyone thought was the ghost. Happier to find a rat than his father, the young man got rid of both the rat and the so-called ghost.
A very ancient and impressive specimen of a haunted house was the palace of Vauvert, belonging to King Louis IX, of France, who was so pious that he was called Saint Louis. This fine building was so situated as to become very desirable, in the year 1259, to some monks. So there was forthwith horrid shriekings at night-times, red and green lights shone through the windows, and, finally, a large green ghost, with a white beard and a serpent’s tail, came every midnight to a front window, and shook his fist, and howled at those who passed by. Everybody was frightened—King Louis, good simple soul! as well as the rest. Then the bold monks appearing at the nick of time, intimated that if the King would give them the palace, they[297] would do up the ghost in short order. He did it, and was very thankful to them besides. They moved in, and sure enough, the ghost appeared no more. Why should he?
A very old and impressive haunted house was the palace of Vauvert, which belonged to King Louis IX of France, who was so devout that he earned the nickname Saint Louis. This beautiful building became quite appealing to some monks in the year 1259. Soon after, terrifying screams filled the night, red and green lights flickered through the windows, and eventually, a large green ghost with a white beard and a serpent's tail appeared at a front window every midnight, shook his fist, and howled at anyone passing by. Everyone was scared—King Louis, being a good-natured guy, was just as frightened as the others. Then the courageous monks showed up just in time and suggested that if the King would give them the palace, they[297] would handle the ghost quickly. He agreed, and he was very grateful to them too. They moved in, and sure enough, the ghost never returned. Why would he?
The ghosts of Woodstock are well known. How they tormented the Puritan Commissioners who came thither in 1649, to break up the place, and dispose of it for the benefit of the Commonwealth! The poor Puritans had a horrid time. A disembodied dog growled under their bed, and bit the bed-clothes; something invisible walked all about; the chairs and tables danced; something threw the dishes about (like the Davenport “spirits;”) put logs for the pillows; flung brickbats up and down, without regard to heads; smashed the windows; threw pebbles in at the frightened commissioners; stuck a lot of pewter platters into their beds; ran away with their breeches; threw dirty water over them in bed; banged them over the head—until, after several weeks, the poor fellows gave it up, and ran away back to London. Many years afterward, it came out that all this was done by their clerk, who was secretly a royalist, though they thought him a furious Puritan, and who knew all the numerous secret passages and contrivances in the old palace. Most people have read Sir Walter Scott’s capital novel of “Woodstock,” founded on this very story.
The ghosts of Woodstock are well known. They tormented the Puritan Commissioners who arrived in 1649 to shut the place down and hand it over for the benefit of the Commonwealth! The poor Puritans had a terrible time. A ghostly dog growled under their bed and bit the blankets; something invisible roamed around; the chairs and tables moved on their own; something tossed the dishes about (like the Davenport "spirits"); used logs for pillows; hurled brickbats around without caring about anyone's safety; shattered the windows; threw pebbles at the scared commissioners; stuffed a bunch of pewter plates into their beds; made off with their pants; splashed dirty water on them while they were in bed; hit them over the head—until, after several weeks, the poor guys gave up and ran back to London. Many years later, it was revealed that all of this was orchestrated by their clerk, who was secretly a royalist, even though they thought he was a die-hard Puritan, and who knew all the secret passages and tricks in the old palace. Most people have read Sir Walter Scott’s excellent novel “Woodstock,” which is based on this very story.
The well known “Demon of Tedworth,” that drummed, and scratched, and pounded, and threw things about, in 1661, in Mr. Mompesson’s house turned out to be a gipsy drummer and confederates.
The infamous “Demon of Tedworth,” which drummed, scratched, pounded, and tossed things around in 1661 at Mr. Mompesson’s house, turned out to be a gypsy drummer and his accomplices.
The still more famous “Ghost in Cock Lane,” in[298] London in 1762, consisted of a Mrs. Parsons and her daughter, a little girl, trained by Mr. Parsons to knock and scratch very much after the fashion of the alphabet talking of the “spirits” of to-day. Parsons got up the whole affair, to revenge himself on a Mr. Kent. The ghost pretended to be that of a deceased sister-in-law of Kent, and to have been poisoned by him. But Parsons and his assistants were found out, and had to smart for their fun, being heavily fined, imprisoned, etc.
The even more famous “Ghost in Cock Lane,” in[298] London in 1762, involved Mrs. Parsons and her daughter, a young girl trained by Mr. Parsons to knock and scratch in a way similar to today’s “spirit” communication methods. Parsons set up the whole thing to get back at Mr. Kent. The ghost claimed to be the spirit of Kent's deceased sister-in-law, insisting that she had been poisoned by him. However, Parsons and his accomplices were discovered and faced punishment, including heavy fines and imprisonment.
A very able ghost indeed, a Methodist ghost—the spectral property, consequently, of my good friends the Methodists—used to rattle, and clatter, and bang, and communicate, in the house of the Rev. Mr. Wesley, the father of John Wesley, at Epworth, in England. This ghost was very troublesome, and utterly useless. In fact, none of the ghosts that haunt houses are of the least possible use. They plague people, but do no good. They act like the spirits of departed monkeys.
A very skilled ghost, specifically a Methodist ghost—so it belonged to my good friends the Methodists—used to rattle, clatter, and bang, and communicate in the house of Rev. Mr. Wesley, the father of John Wesley, in Epworth, England. This ghost was extremely annoying and completely useless. In fact, none of the ghosts that haunt houses are of any real use. They bother people, but don’t do any good. They behave like the spirits of departed monkeys.
I must add two or three short anecdotes about ghosts, got up in the devil-manner. They are not new, but illustrate very handsomely the state of mind in which a ghost should be met. One is, that somebody undertook to scare Cuvier, the great naturalist, with a ghost having an ox’s head. Cuvier woke, and found the fearful thing glaring and grinning at his bedside.
I need to share two or three quick stories about ghosts, done in a devilish way. They're not new, but they really show the mindset you should have when encountering a ghost. One story is about someone who tried to scare Cuvier, the famous naturalist, with a ghost that had an ox’s head. Cuvier woke up to see the terrifying figure glaring and grinning at his bedside.
“What do you want?”
“What do you need?”
“To devour you!” growled the ghost.
“To eat you alive!” growled the ghost.
“Devour me?” quoth the great Frenchman—“Hoofs, horns, graminivorous! You can’t do it—clear out!”
“Devour me?” said the great Frenchman—“Hooves, horns, plant-eater! You can’t do it—get lost!”
And he did clear out.
And he cleared out.
[299]A pious maiden lady, in one of our New-England villages, was known to possess three peculiarities. First, she was a very religious, honest, matter-of-fact woman. Second, she supposed everybody else was equally honest; hence she was very credulous, always believing everything she heard. And third, having “a conscience void of offense,” she saw no reason to be afraid of anything; consequently, she feared nothing.
[299]A devout single woman living in one of our New England towns was known for three distinctive traits. First, she was a genuinely religious, honest, and practical person. Second, she believed everyone else was just as honest, which made her quite gullible; she always accepted everything she heard as truth. And third, with “a clear conscience,” she felt no reason to fear anything; as a result, she feared nothing at all.
On a dark night, some boys, knowing that she would be returning home alone from prayer-meeting, through an unfrequented street, determined to test two of her peculiarities, viz., her credulity and her courage. One of the boys was sewed up in a huge shaggy bear-skin, and as the old lady’s feet were heard pattering down the street, he threw himself directly in her path and commenced making a terrible noise.
On a dark night, some boys, aware that she would be coming home alone from a prayer meeting through a quiet street, decided to test two of her quirks: her gullibility and her bravery. One of the boys was wrapped up in a big, shaggy bear skin, and when the old lady’s footsteps echoed down the street, he jumped right in her way and started making a loud noise.
“Mercy!” exclaimed the old lady. “Who are you?”
“Mercy!” exclaimed the old lady. “Who are you?”
“I am the devil!” was the reply.
“I am the devil!” was the response.
“Well, you are a poor creature!” responded the antiquated virgin, as she stepped aside and passed by the strange animal, probably not for a moment doubting it was his Satanic Majesty, but certainly not dreaming of being afraid of him.
“Well, you are a poor thing!” replied the old-fashioned virgin, as she stepped aside and walked past the strange creature, likely not for a second doubting it was the devil himself, but definitely not thinking of being scared of him.
It is said that a Yankee tin peddler, who had frequently cheated most of the people in the vicinity of a New England village through which he was passing, was induced by some of the acute ones to join them in a drinking bout. He finally became stone drunk; and in that condition these wags carried him to a dark rocky cave near the village, then, dressing themselves in raw-[300]head-and-bloody-bones’ style, awaited his return to consciousness.
It’s said that a Yankee tin peddler, who had often tricked most of the folks in a New England village he was passing through, was persuaded by some clever locals to join them for a drinking spree. He eventually got completely wasted, and in that state, these jokers took him to a dark rocky cave near the village. Then, dressing up in a creepy ‘raw-head-and-bloody-bones’ style, they waited for him to regain consciousness.
As he began rousing himself, they lighted some huge torches, and also set fire to some bundles of straw, and three or four rolls of brimstone, which they had placed in different parts of the cavern. The peddler rubbed his eyes, and seeing and smelling all these evidences of pandemonium, concluded he had died, and was now partaking of his final doom. But he took it very philosophically, for he complacently remarked to himself.
As he started to wake up, they lit some big torches and set fire to a few bundles of straw and three or four rolls of brimstone that they had placed around the cave. The peddler rubbed his eyes, and seeing and smelling all these signs of chaos, thought he had died and was now facing his final punishment. But he took it pretty well, as he calmly told himself.
“In hell—just as I expected!”
"In hell—just as I thought!"
A story is told of a cool old sea captain, with a virago of a wife, who met one of these artificial devils in a lonely place. As the ghost obstructed his path, the old fellow remarked:
A story is told of a cool old sea captain, with a tough-as-nails wife, who encountered one of these artificial devils in a secluded spot. As the ghost blocked his way, the old guy commented:
“If you are not the devil, get out! If you are, come along with me and get supper. I married your sister!”
“If you’re not the devil, then get out! If you are, come with me and let’s grab dinner. I married your sister!”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MAGICAL HUMBUGS.—VIRGIL.—A PICKLED SORCERER.—CORNELIUS AGRIPPA.—HIS STUDENTS AND HIS BLACK DOG.—DOCTOR FAUSTUS.—HUMBUGGING HORSE-JOCKEYS.—ZIITO AND HIS LARGE SWALLOW.—SALAMANCA.—DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST.
MAGICAL HUMBUGS.—VIRGIL.—A PICKLED SORCERER.—CORNELIUS AGRIPPA.—HIS STUDENTS AND HIS BLACK DOG.—DOCTOR FAUSTUS.—HUMBUGGING HORSE-JOCKEYS.—ZIITO AND HIS LARGE SWALLOW.—SALAMANCA.—DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST.
Magic, sorcery, witchcraft, enchantment, necromancy, conjuring, incantation, soothsaying, divining, the black art, are all one and the same humbug. They show how prone men are to believe in some supernatural power,[301] in some beings wiser and stronger than themselves, but at the same time how they stop short, and find satisfaction in some debasing humbug, instead of looking above and beyond it all to God, the only being that it is really worth while for man to look up to or beseech.
Magic, sorcery, witchcraft, enchantment, necromancy, conjuring, incantation, fortune-telling, divination, dark arts—these are all the same nonsense. They show how easily people believe in some supernatural power,[301] in some beings that are wiser and stronger than themselves, but at the same time, they fall short and settle for some degrading nonsense instead of striving to look higher and beyond it all to God, the only being that truly deserves man’s admiration and pleas.
Magic and witchcraft are believed in by the vast majority of mankind, and by immense numbers even in Christian countries. They have always been believed in, so far as I know. In following up the thread of history, we always find conjuring or witch work of some kind, just as long as the narrative has space enough to include it. Already, in the early dawn of time, the business was a recognized and long established one. And its history is as unbroken from that day down to this, as the history of the race.
Magic and witchcraft are believed in by the vast majority of people, including many in Christian countries. They have always been a part of human belief, as far as I can tell. Throughout history, there are always instances of conjuring or witchcraft whenever there’s enough space to document them. Even in the earliest times, it was a recognized and well-established practice. Its history has remained just as continuous from that time to now as the history of humanity itself.
In the narrow space at my command at present, I shall only gather as many of the more interesting stories about these humbugs, as I can make room for. Reasoning about the subject, or full details of it, are at present out of the question. A whole library of books exists about it.
In the limited space I have right now, I’ll only collect as many of the more intriguing stories about these frauds as I can fit. Discussing the topic in depth or providing full details isn’t possible at the moment. There’s an entire library of books on it.
It is a curious fact that throughout the middle ages, the Roman poet Virgil was commonly believed to have been a great magician. Traditions were recorded by monastic chroniclers about him, that he made a brass fly and mounted it over one of the gates of Naples, having instilled into this metallic insect such potent magical qualities that as long as it kept guard over the gate, no musquitos, or flies, or cockroach, or other troublesome insects could exist in the city. What would have become of the celebrated Bug Powder man in[302] those days? The story is told about Virgil as well as about Albertus Magnus, Roger Bacon, and other magicians, that he made a brazen head which could prophesy. He also made some statues of the gods of the various nations subject to Rome, so enchanted that if one of those nations was preparing to rebel, the statue of its god rung a bell and pointed a finger toward the nation. The same set of stories tells how poor Virgil came to an untimely end in consequence of trying to live forever. He had become an old man, it appears, and wishing to be young again, he used some appropriate incantations, and prepared a secret cavern. In this he caused a confidential disciple to cut him up like a hog and pack him away in a barrel of pickle, out of which he was to emerge in his new magic youth after a certain time. But by that special bad luck which seems to attend such cases, some malapropos traveller somehow made his way into the cavern, where he found the magic pork-barrel standing silently all alone in the middle of the place, and an ever-burning lamp illuminating the room, and slowly distilling a magic oil upon the salted sorcerer who was cooking below. The traveller rudely jarred the barrel, the light went out, as the torches flared upon it; and suddenly there appeared to the eyes of the astounded man, close at one side of the barrel, a little naked child, which ran thrice around the barrel, uttering deep curses upon him who had thus destroyed the charm, and vanished. The frightened traveller made off as fast as he could, and poor old Virgil, for what I know, is in pickle yet.
It’s an interesting fact that throughout the Middle Ages, people commonly believed the Roman poet Virgil was a great magician. Monastic chroniclers recorded traditions about him, stating that he created a brass fly and placed it over one of the gates of Naples, endowing this metal insect with such powerful magical qualities that as long as it guarded the gate, no mosquitoes, flies, cockroaches, or any other pesky insects could survive in the city. What would have happened to the famous Bug Powder man in[302] those days? Stories are told about Virgil as well as Albertus Magnus, Roger Bacon, and other magicians, claiming he made a talking brass head that could predict the future. He also crafted statues of the gods from various nations under Roman rule, enchanted so that if any of those nations planned to rebel, the statue of its god would ring a bell and point a finger toward that nation. The same set of tales explains how poor Virgil met an untimely end while trying to achieve immortality. Apparently, having grown old and wishing to be young again, he performed some special incantations and prepared a hidden cave. He had a trusted disciple cut him up like a pig and pack him away in a barrel of pickles, from which he was supposed to emerge in his new magical youth after a certain time. But, as often happens in such stories, an unfortunate traveler stumbled into the cave, discovering the magical pickle barrel sitting silently in the middle of the room, illuminated by a forever-burning lamp, slowly dripping magic oil onto the salted sorcerer inside. The traveler accidentally knocked the barrel, the light went out as the torches flared, and suddenly a little naked child appeared beside the barrel, running around it three times while cursing the one who had ruined the spell before vanishing. The startled traveler fled as fast as he could, leaving poor old Virgil—who knows, he might still be pickled.
Cornelius Agrippa was one of the most celebrated[303] magicians of the middle ages. He lived from the year 1486 (six years before the discovery of America) until 1534, and was a native of Cologne, Agrippa is said to have had a magic glass in which he showed to his customers such dead or absent persons as they might wish to see. Thus he would call up the beautiful Helen of Troy, or Cicero in the midst of an oration; or to a pining lover, the figure of his absent lady, as she was employed at the moment—a dangerous exhibition! For who knows, whether the consolation sought by the fair one, will always be such as her lover will approve? Agrippa, they say, had an attendant devil in the form of a huge black dog, whom on his death-bed the magician dismissed with curses. The dog ran away, plunged into the river Saone and was seen no more. We are of course to suppose that his Satanic Majesty got possession of the conjuror’s soul however, as per agreement. There is a story about Agrippa, which shows conclusively how “a little learning” may be “a dangerous thing.” When Agrippa was absent on a short journey, his student in magic slipped into the study and began to read spells out of a great book. After a little there was a knock at the door, but the young man paid no attention to it. In another moment there was another louder one, which startled him, but still he read on. In a moment the door opened, and in came a fine large devil who angrily asked, “What do you call me for?” The frightened youth answered very much like those naughty boys who say “I didn’t do nothing!” But it will not do to fool with devils. The angry demon caught him by the throat and strangled him. Shortly, when[304] Agrippa returned, lo and behold, a strong squad of evil spirits were kicking up their heels and playing tag all over the house, and crowding his study particularly full. Like a schoolmaster among mischievous boys, the great enchanter sent all the little fellows home, catechised the big one, and finding the situation unpleasant, made him reanimate the corpse of the student and walk it about town all the afternoon. The malignant demon however, was free at sunset, and let the corpse drop dead in the middle of the market place. The people recognized it, found the claw-marks and traces of strangling, suspected the fact, and Agrippa had to abscond very suddenly.
Cornelius Agrippa was one of the most famous[303] magicians of the Middle Ages. He lived from 1486 (six years before the discovery of America) until 1534 and was from Cologne. Agrippa was said to have owned a magic mirror through which he could show his clients any deceased or absent individuals they wished to see. Thus, he could summon the beautiful Helen of Troy or Cicero during a speech; or, for a lovesick admirer, the image of his absent sweetheart, as she was occupied at that moment—a risky display! Who's to say if the comfort the lady sought would always be what her lover would approve of? It is said that Agrippa had a familiar spirit in the form of a large black dog, which he dismissed with curses on his deathbed. The dog ran off, jumped into the Saone River, and was never seen again. We can assume that his Satanic Majesty took possession of the conjurer’s soul as agreed. There’s a story about Agrippa that clearly illustrates how “a little knowledge” can be “a dangerous thing.” When Agrippa was away on a short trip, his magic student sneaked into the study and began reading spells from a huge book. After a while, there was a knock at the door, but the young man ignored it. Then came another, louder knock that startled him, yet he kept reading. Suddenly, the door swung open, and in walked a big, angry devil who demanded, “What are you calling me for?” The terrified young man responded much like those naughty kids who say, “I didn’t do anything!” But you can't mess around with devils. The enraged demon grabbed him by the throat and strangled him. Shortly after, when[304] Agrippa returned, he was greeted by a mob of evil spirits running wild and playing tag all over the house, particularly overflowing in his study. Like a teacher with mischievous students, the great enchanter sent all the little ones home, questioned the bigger one, and, finding the situation unpleasant, made him reanimate the student’s corpse and walk it around town all afternoon. However, the wicked demon was free at sunset and let the corpse drop lifeless in the middle of the marketplace. The townspeople recognized it, noticed the claw marks and signs of strangulation, suspected foul play, and Agrippa had to make a hasty getaway.
Another student of Agrippa’s came very near an equally bad end. The magician was in the habit of enchanting a broomstick into a servant to do his housework, and when it was done, turning it back to a broomstick again and putting it behind the door. This young student had overheard the charm which made the servant, and one day in his master’s absence, wanting a pail of water he said over the incantation and told the servant “Bring some water.” The evil spirit promptly obeyed; flew to the river, brought a pailful and emptied it, instantly brought a second, instantly a third; and the student, startled, cried out, “that’s enough!” But this was not the “return charm,” and the ill tempered demon, rejoicing in doing mischief within the letter of his obligation, now flew backward and forward like lightning, so that he even began to flood the room about the rash student’s feet. Desperate, he seized an axe and hewed this diabolical serving-[305]man in two. Two serving-men jumped up, with two water-pails, grinning in devilish glee, and both went to work harder than ever. The poor student gave himself up for lost, when luckily the master came home, dismissed the over-officious water carrier with a word, and saved the student’s life.
Another student of Agrippa’s almost met a similarly bad fate. The magician usually cast a spell on a broomstick to turn it into a servant for his housework, and when he was done, he would revert it back to a broomstick and put it behind the door. This young student had overheard the spell that created the servant, and one day while his master was away, needing a bucket of water, he recited the incantation and commanded the servant, “Bring some water.” The mischievous spirit promptly obeyed; it flew to the river, fetched a bucketful, and dumped it out, then brought a second, and then a third; and the student, startled, shouted, “That’s enough!” But this was not the “return spell,” and the cantankerous demon, thrilled to cause chaos within the rules it had, now zoomed back and forth like lightning, causing the room to flood around the reckless student's feet. In desperation, he grabbed an axe and chopped this devilish servant in two. Two more servants sprang up, each with a water bucket, grinning maliciously, and both worked harder than ever. The poor student thought he was doomed until, fortunately, the master returned, sent the overly eager water carrier away with a word, and saved the student’s life.
How thoroughly false all these absurd fictions are, and yet how ingeniously based on some fact, appears by the case of Agrippa’s black dog. Wierus, a writer of good authority, and a personal friend of Agrippa’s, reports that he knew very well all about the dog; that it was not a superhuman dog at all, but (if the term be admissible) a mere human dog—an animal which he, Wierus, had often led about by a string, and only a domestic pet of Agrippa.
How completely false all these ridiculous stories are, and yet how cleverly they’re based on some truth, is shown by the case of Agrippa’s black dog. Wierus, a reputable writer and a personal friend of Agrippa, reports that he knew all about the dog; it wasn’t a superhuman dog at all, but (if the term is appropriate) just a regular dog—a pet that Wierus had often walked on a leash and was simply Agrippa’s domestic companion.
Another eminent magician of those days was Doctor Faustus, about whom Goethe wrote “Faust,” Bailey wrote “Festus,” and whose story, mingled of human love and of the devilish tricks of Mephistopheles, is known so very widely. The truth about Faust seems to be, that he was simply a successful juggler of the sixteenth century. Yet the wonderful stories about him were very implicitly and extensively believed. It was the time of the Protestant Reformation, and even Melanchthon and Luther seem to have entirely believed that Faustus could make the forms of the dead appear, could carry people invisibly through the air, and play all the legendary tricks of the enchanters. So strong a hold does humbug often obtain even upon the noblest and clearest and wisest minds!
Another famous magician from those days was Doctor Faustus, about whom Goethe wrote “Faust,” Bailey wrote “Festus,” and whose story, filled with human love and the devilish tricks of Mephistopheles, is widely known. The truth about Faust appears to be that he was simply a successful juggler in the sixteenth century. Yet the incredible stories about him were believed very thoroughly and widely. It was the time of the Protestant Reformation, and even Melanchthon and Luther seemed to completely believe that Faustus could make the forms of the dead appear, could carry people invisibly through the air, and perform all the legendary tricks of the enchanters. How strong a grip humbug can have, even on the noblest, clearest, and wisest minds!
Faustus, according to the traditions, had a pretty[306] keen eye for a joke. He once sold a splendid horse to a horse-jockey at a fair. The fellow shortly rode his fine horse to water. When he got into the water, lo and behold, the horse vanished, and the humbugged jockey found himself sitting up to his neck in the river on a straw saddle. There is something quite satisfactory in the idea of playing such a trick on one of that sharp generation, and Faust felt so comfortable over it that he entered his hotel and went quietly to sleep—or pretended to. Shortly in came the angry jockey; he shouted and bawled, but could not awaken the doctor, and in his anger he seized his foot and gave it a good pull. Foot and leg came off in his hand. Faustus screamed out as if in horrible agony, and the terrified jockey ran away as fast as he could, and never troubled his very loose-jointed customer for the money.
Faustus, according to tradition, had a pretty[306] sharp sense of humor. He once sold a great horse to a jockey at a fair. The guy soon rode his beautiful horse to get a drink. When he got into the water, suddenly, the horse disappeared, and the tricked jockey found himself sitting neck-deep in the river on a straw saddle. There's something pretty satisfying about pulling a stunt like that on someone so crafty, and Faust felt so pleased about it that he went back to his hotel and pretended to sleep. Soon, the furious jockey stormed in; he yelled and shouted, but he couldn't wake the doctor, so in his frustration, he grabbed Faustus's foot and yanked it. The foot and leg came off in his hand. Faustus screamed as if he were in terrible pain, and the frightened jockey ran away as fast as he could, never bothering his very limber customer for the money.
A magician named Ziito, resident at the court of Wenceslaus of Bohemia (A. D. 1368 to 1419,) appears to great advantage in the annals of these humbugs. He was a homely, crooked creature, with an immense mouth. He had a collision once in public on a question of skill with a brother conjuror, and becoming a little excited, opened his big mouth and swallowed the other magician, all to his shoes, which as he observed were dirty. Then he stepped into a closet, got his rival out of him somehow, and calmly led him back to the company. A story is told about Ziito and some hogs, just like that about Faust and the horse.
A magician named Ziito, who lived at the court of Wenceslaus of Bohemia (A.D. 1368 to 1419), stands out in the records of these frauds. He was an unattractive, crooked figure with a huge mouth. One time, he got into a public argument with another magician over skill, and without thinking, he got a bit too fired up, opened his large mouth, and swallowed the other magician, down to his shoes, which he noted were dirty. Then he stepped into a closet, somehow got his rival out, and calmly brought him back to the crowd. There's also a story about Ziito and some pigs, similar to the tale of Faust and the horse.
In all these stories about magicians, their power is derived from the devil. It was long believed that the ancient university of Salamanca in Spain, founded[307] A. D. 1240, was the chief school of magic, and had regular professors and classes in it. The devil was supposed to be the special patron of this department, and he had a curious fee for his trouble, which he collected every commencement day. The last exercise of the graduating class on that day was, to run across a certain cavern under the University. The devil was always on hand at this time, and had the privilege of grabbing at the last man of the crowd. If he caught him, as he commonly did, the soul of the unhappy student became the property of his captor. Hence arose the phrase “Devil take the hindmost.” Sometime it happened that some very brisk fellow was left last by some accident. If he were brisk enough to dodge the devil’s grab, that personage only caught his shadow. In this case it was well understood that this particular enchanter never had any shadow afterwards, and he always became very eminent in his art.
In all these stories about magicians, their power comes from the devil. It was long thought that the ancient university of Salamanca in Spain, founded[307] A. D. 1240, was the main school of magic and had regular professors and classes. The devil was believed to be the special patron of this program, and he had a unique fee for his efforts, which he collected every graduation day. The final task for the graduating class on that day was to run across a certain cavern beneath the University. The devil was always present at this time and had the right to grab the last person in the group. If he caught him, which he usually did, the soul of the unfortunate student became his possession. This gave rise to the phrase “Devil take the hindmost.” Sometimes, a particularly quick person ended up last by chance. If he was quick enough to dodge the devil’s grasp, the devil only caught his shadow. In that case, it was well understood that this particular enchanter never had a shadow again, and he always became very prominent in his craft.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
WITCHCRAFT.—NEW YORK WITCHES.—THE WITCH MANIA.—HOW FAST THEY BURNED THEM.—THE MODE OF TRIAL.—WITCHES TO DAY IN EUROPE.
WITCHCRAFT.—NEW YORK WITCHES.—THE WITCH MANIA.—HOW QUICKLY THEY WERE BURNED.—THE TRIAL PROCESS.—WITCHES TODAY IN EUROPE.
Witchcraft is one of the most baseless, absurd, disgusting and silly of all the humbugs. And it is not a dead humbug either; it is alive, busily exercised by knaves and believed by fools all over the world. Witches and wizards operate and prosper among the[308] Hottentots and negroes and barbarous Indians, among the Siberians and Kirgishes and Lapps, of course. Everybody knows that—they are poor ignorant creatures! Yes: but are the French and Germans and English and Americans poor ignorant creatures too? They are, if the belief and practice of witchcraft among them is any test; for in all those countries there are witches. I take up one of the New York City dailies of this very morning, and find in it the advertisements of seven Witches. In 1858, there were in full blast in New York and Brooklyn sixteen witches and two wizards. One of these wizards was a black man; a very proper style of person to deal with the black art.
Witchcraft is one of the most unfounded, ridiculous, disgusting, and foolish of all the scams. And it’s not a dead scam either; it’s alive and well, actively practiced by con artists and believed by gullible people all over the world. Witches and wizards operate and thrive among the[308] Hottentots, Africans, and uncivilized Native Americans, as well as among the Siberians, Kirgishes, and Lapps. Everyone knows that—these people are poor, ignorant souls! But what about the French, Germans, English, and Americans? Are they also poor, ignorant souls? They are, if the existence of witchcraft among them is any measure; because in all those countries, there are witches. I picked up one of the New York City newspapers this very morning and found advertisements for seven witches. In 1858, there were sixteen witches and two wizards actively practicing in New York and Brooklyn. One of these wizards was a black man; a fitting type of person to engage with the dark arts.
Witch means, a woman who practices sorcery under an agreement with the devil, who helps her. Before the Christian era, the Jewish witch was a mere diviner or at most a raiser of the dead, and the Gentile witch was a poisoner, a maker of philtres or love potions, and a vulgar sort of magician. The devil part of the business did not begin until a good while after Christ. During the last century or so, again, while witchcraft has been extensively believed in, the witch has degenerated into a very vulgar and poverty stricken sort of conjuring woman. Take our New York city witches, for instance. They live in cheap and dirty streets that smell bad; their houses are in the same style, infected with a strong odor of cabbage, onions, washing-day, old dinners, and other merely sublunary smells. Their rooms are very ill furnished, and often beset with wash-tubs, swill-pails, mops and soiled clothes; their personal appearance is commonly unclean, homely, vulgar,[309] coarse, and ignorant, and often rummy. Their fee is a quarter or half of a dollar. Sometimes a dollar. Their divination is worked by cutting and dealing cards or studying the palm of your hand. And the things which they tell you are the most silly and shallow babble in the world; a mess of phrases worn out over and over again. Here is a specimen, as gabbled to the customer over a pack of cards laid out on the table; anybody can do the like: “You face a misfortune. I think it will come upon you within three weeks, but it may not. A dark complexioned man faces your life-card. He is plotting against you, and you must beware of him. Your marriage-card faces two young women, one fair and the other dark. One you will have, and the other you will not. I think you will have the fair one. She favors the dark complexioned man, which means trouble. You face money, but you must earn it. There is a good deal, but you may not get much of it” etc., etc. These words are exactly the sort of stuff that is sold by the witches of to-day. But the greatest witch humbug of all the witchcraft of history, is that of Christendom for about three hundred years, beginning about the time of the discovery of America. To that period belonged the Salem witchcraft of New England, the witch-finding of Matthew Hopkins in Old England, the Scotch witch trials, and the Swedish and German and French witch mania.
Witch refers to a woman who practices magic with the help of the devil. Before the Christian era, a Jewish witch was just a fortune-teller or a person who could raise the dead, while a Gentile witch was typically a poisoner, someone who made love potions, or a petty magician. The idea of a connection to the devil emerged a long time after Christ. Over the last century or so, even though many believed in witchcraft, witches have become a pretty shabby and poor kind of conjurer. Take our New York City witches, for example. They live in cheap, grimy streets that smell terrible; their homes are similar, filled with strong odors of cabbage, onions, laundry day, old meals, and other worldly smells. Their rooms are poorly furnished and often cluttered with wash-tubs, trash bins, mops, and dirty laundry; their personal appearance is usually unkempt, unappealing, crude, and often tipsy. Their fees are a quarter or half a dollar, sometimes even a dollar. They perform divination by cutting and dealing cards or reading palms. The things they tell you are the most ridiculous and superficial nonsense; a collection of phrases that have been repeated countless times. Here’s an example of what they might say while laying out a pack of cards on the table; anyone could do the same: “You’re facing a misfortune. I think it might happen within three weeks, but it could be later. A dark-skinned man is in your life; he’s plotting against you, so be careful. Your marriage card shows two young women, one fair and the other dark. You will choose one, but not the other. I believe you’ll pick the fair one. She’s connected to the dark-skinned man, which spells trouble. You will see money, but you have to work for it. There’s quite a bit, but you might not get much.” These statements reflect the kind of nonsense that today’s witches sell. However, the biggest witchcraft scam in history belongs to Christendom for about three hundred years, starting around the time of America’s discovery. This era included the Salem witch trials in New England, the witch-hunting of Matthew Hopkins in Old England, the Scottish witch trials, and the witch mania in Sweden, Germany, and France.
The peculiar traits of the witchcraft of this period are among the most mysterious of all humbugs. The most usual points in a case of witchcraft were, that the witch had sold herself to the devil for all eternity, in[310] order to get the power during a few years of earthly life, to inflict a few pains on the persons of those she disliked, or to cause them to lose part of their property. This was almost always the whole story, except the mere details of the witch baptism and witch sabbath, parodies on the ceremonies of the Christian religion. And the mystery is, how anybody could believe that to accomplish such very small results, seldom equal even to the death of an enemy, one would agree to accept eternal damnation in the next world, almost certain poverty, misery, persecution and torment in this, besides having for an amusement performances more dirty, obscene and vulgar than I can even hint at.
The strange characteristics of witchcraft during this time are some of the most baffling deceptions. The common story in a witchcraft case was that the witch had sold her soul to the devil for eternity, in[310] exchange for the ability to cause a little pain to those she disliked or to make them lose some of their belongings during her few years on Earth. This was almost always the entire narrative, aside from the minor details of the witch's baptism and witch's sabbath, which were parodies of Christian rituals. What's baffling is how anyone could believe that to achieve such insignificant outcomes, often not even resulting in the death of an enemy, one would willingly accept eternal damnation in the afterlife, almost guaranteed poverty, suffering, persecution, and torture in this life, all while engaging in activities that were more filthy, obscene, and vulgar than I can even suggest.
But such a belief was universal, and hundreds of the witches themselves confessed as much as I have described, and more, with numerous details, and they were burnt alive for their trouble. The extent of wholesale murdering perpetrated under forms of law, on charges of witchcraft, is astonishing. A magistrate named Remigius, published a book in which he told how much he thought of himself for having condemned and burned nine hundred witches in sixteen years, in Lorraine. And the one thing that he blamed himself for was this: that out of regard for the wishes of a colleague, he had only caused certain children to be whipped naked three times round the market place where their parents had been burned, instead of burning them. At Bamberg, six hundred persons were burned in five years, at Wurzburg nine hundred in two years. Sprenger, a German inquisitor-general, and author of a celebrated book on detecting and punishing witchcraft, called[311] Malleus Maleficarum, or “The Mallet of Malefactors,” burned more than five hundred in one year. In Geneva, five hundred persons were burned during 1515 and 1516. In the district of Como in Italy, a thousand persons were burned as witches in the single year 1524, besides over a hundred a year for several years afterwards. Seventeen thousand persons were executed for witchcraft in Scotland during thirty-nine years, ending with 1603. Forty thousand were executed in England from 1600 to 1680. Bodinus, another of the witch killing judges, gravely announced that there were undoubtedly not less than three hundred thousand witches in France.
But this belief was widespread, and hundreds of the witches themselves admitted to what I’ve described, and more, with plenty of details, and they were burned alive for their troubles. The amount of mass murder carried out under legal pretenses on charges of witchcraft is shocking. A magistrate named Remigius published a book in which he bragged about condemning and burning nine hundred witches over sixteen years in Lorraine. The only thing he regretted was that, out of respect for a colleague's wishes, he only had certain children whipped naked three times around the marketplace where their parents were burned, instead of having them burned as well. In Bamberg, six hundred people were burned in five years; in Würzburg, nine hundred in two years. Sprenger, a German inquisitor-general and author of a famous book on detecting and punishing witchcraft called Malleus Maleficarum, or “The Mallet of Malefactors,” burned over five hundred in just one year. In Geneva, five hundred people were burned between 1515 and 1516. In the Como district of Italy, a thousand people were burned as witches in the single year of 1524, in addition to over a hundred each year for several years afterward. Seventeen thousand people were executed for witchcraft in Scotland over thirty-nine years, ending in 1603. Forty thousand were executed in England from 1600 to 1680. Bodinus, another one of the witch-hunting judges, solemnly declared that there were undoubtedly at least three hundred thousand witches in France.
The way in which the witch murderers reasoned, and their modes of conducting trials and procuring confessions, were truly infernal. The chief rule was that witchcraft being an “exceptional crime,” no regard need be had to the ordinary forms of justice. All manner of tortures were freely applied to force confessions. In Scotland “the boot” was used, being an iron case in which the legs are locked up to the knees, and an iron wedge then driven in until sometimes the bones were crushed and the marrow spouted out. Pin sticking, drowning, starving, the rack, were too common to need details. Sometimes the prisoner was hung up by the thumbs, and whipped by one person, while another held lighted candles to the feet and other parts of the body. At Arras, while the prisoners were being torn on the rack, the executioner stood by, sword in hand, promising to cut off at once the heads of those who did not confess. At Offenburg, when the prison[312]ers had been tortured until beyond the power of speaking aloud, they silently assented to abominable confessions read to them out of a book. Many were cheated into confession by the promise of pardon and release, and then burned. A poor woman in Germany was tricked by the hangman, who dressed himself up as a devil and went into her cell. Overpowered by pain, fear and superstition, she begged him to help her out; her beseeching was taken for confession, she was burned, and a ballad which treated the trick as a jolly and comical device, was long popular in the country. Several of the judges in witch cases tell us how victims, utterly weary of their tormented lives, confessed whatever was required, merely as the shortest way to death, and an escape out of their misery. All who dared to argue against the current of popular and judicial delusion were instantly refuted very effectively by being attacked for witchcraft themselves; and once accused, there was little hope of escape. The Jesuit Delrio, in a book published in 1599, states the witch killers’ side of the discussion very neatly indeed; for in one and the same chapter he defies any opponents to disprove the existence of witchcraft, and then shows that a denial of witchcraft is the worst of all heresies, and must be punished with death. Quite a number of excellent and sensible people were actually burnt on just this principle.
The way the witch hunters thought and how they ran trials and got confessions was truly horrific. The main rule was that witchcraft was seen as an “exceptional crime,” so the usual rules of justice didn’t apply. They used all kinds of torture to force confessions. In Scotland, they used “the boot,” an iron device that locked the legs up to the knees, and then an iron wedge was hammered in until the bones were often crushed and the marrow spilled out. Tortures like pin-sticking, drowning, starving, and the rack were so common they didn’t need further explanation. Sometimes the prisoner was hung by their thumbs and whipped while someone else held lit candles to their feet and other parts of their body. At Arras, while prisoners were being tortured on the rack, the executioner stood by with a sword, promising to behead anyone who didn’t confess immediately. At Offenburg, when the prisoners had been tortured to the point where they couldn’t speak, they silently agreed to horrific confessions that were read to them from a book. Many were tricked into confessing by the promise of pardon and release, only to be burned afterward. A poor woman in Germany was deceived by the hangman, who disguised himself as a devil and entered her cell. Overcome by pain, fear, and superstition, she begged him for help; her pleading was taken as a confession, and she was burned. A ballad that treated this trick as a funny tale became quite popular in the country. Several judges involved in witch trials noted how victims, completely worn out from their tortured lives, confessed to whatever was asked, just as the quickest way to die and escape their suffering. Anyone who dared to argue against the widespread belief in and judicial madness surrounding witchcraft was quickly silenced by being accused of witchcraft themselves; once accused, the chances of escape were slim. The Jesuit Delrio, in a book published in 1599, neatly presented the witch hunters’ perspective; in one chapter, he challenged anyone to disprove the existence of witchcraft and then declared that denying witchcraft was the worst heresy of all, punishable by death. Many decent and rational people were actually burned based on this reasoning.
I do not undertake to give details of any witch trials; this sketch of the way in which they operated is all I can make room for, and sufficiently delineates this cruel and bloody humbug.
I’m not going to provide details about any witch trials; this overview of how they worked is all I can fit in, and it clearly shows this cruel and bloody scam.
[313]I have already referred to the fact that we have right here among us in this city a very fair supply of a vulgar, dowdy kind of witchcraft. Other countries are favored in like manner. I have not just now the most recent information, but in the year 1857 and 1858, for instance, mobbing and prosecutions growing out of a popular belief in witchcraft were quite plentiful enough in various parts of Europe. No less than eight cases of the kind in England alone were reported during those two years. Among them was the actual murder of a woman as a witch by a mob in Shropshire; and an attack by another mob in Essex, upon a perfectly inoffensive person, on suspicion of having “bewitched” a scolding ill-conditioned girl, from which attack the mob was diverted with much difficulty, and thinking itself very unjustly treated. Some others of those cases show a singular quantity of credulity among people of respectability.
[313]I have already pointed out that we have a considerable amount of a crude, outdated type of witchcraft right here in this city. Other countries experience similar situations. I don't have the latest updates, but in 1857 and 1858, for example, there were quite a few instances of mob violence and legal actions driven by a popular belief in witchcraft in various parts of Europe. In England alone, at least eight such cases were reported during those two years. Among these was the actual murder of a woman accused of being a witch by a mob in Shropshire, and another incident in Essex where a mob attacked a completely innocent person on suspicion of having “bewitched” a loud, unpleasant girl. The mob had to be stopped with great difficulty and felt very wronged. Some of these cases reveal an astonishing level of gullibility among respectable individuals.
While therefore some of us may perhaps be justly thankful for safety from such horrible follies as these, still we can not properly feel very proud of the progress of humanity, since after not less than six thousand years of existence and eighteen hundred of revelation, so many believers in witchcraft still exist among the most civilized nations.
While some of us might feel grateful for being safe from such terrible mistakes as these, we can't really feel overly proud of humanity's progress. After six thousand years of existence and eighteen hundred years of revelation, so many people still believe in witchcraft among the most civilized nations.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CHARMS AND INCANTATIONS.—HOW CATO CURED SPRAINS.—THE SECRET NAME OF GOD.—SECRET NAMES OF CITIES.—ABRACADABRA.—CURES FOR CRAMP.—MR. WRIGHT’S SIGIL.—WHISKERIFUSTICUS.—WITCHES’ HORSES.—THEIR CURSES.—HOW TO RAISE THE DEVIL.
CHARMS AND INCANTATIONS.—HOW CATO CURED SPRAINS.—THE SECRET NAME OF GOD.—SECRET NAMES OF CITIES.—ABRACADABRA.—CURES FOR CRAMP.—MR. WRIGHT’S SIGIL.—WHISKERIFUSTICUS.—WITCHES’ HORSES.—THEIR CURSES.—HOW TO RAISE THE DEVIL.
It is worth while to print in plain English for my readers a good selection of the very words which have been believed, or are still believed, to possess magic power. Then any who choose, may operate by themselves or may put some bold friend up in a corner, and blaze away at him or her until they are wholly satisfied about the power of magic.
It’s helpful to lay out in straightforward English for my readers a solid selection of the actual words that have been thought to have, or still have, magical power. Then anyone who wants to can try it out themselves, or they can get a brave friend in a corner and go at it until they’re completely convinced about the power of magic.
The Roman Cato, so famous for his grumness and virtue, believed that if he were ill, it would much help him, and that it would cure sprains in others, to say over these words: “Daries, dardaries, astaris, ista, pista, sista,” or, as another account has it, “motas, daries, dardaries, astaries;” or, as still another account says, “Huat, huat, huat; ista, pista, sista; domiabo, damnaustra.” And sure enough, nothing is truer, as any physician will tell you, that if the old censor only believed hard enough, it would almost certainly help him; not by the force of the words, but by the force of his own ancient Roman imagination. Here are some Greek words of no less virtue: “Aski, Kataski, Te[315]trax.” When the Greek priests let out of their doors those who had been completely initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries, they said to them last of all the awful and powerful words, “Konx, ompax.” If you want to know what the usual result was, just say them to somebody, and you will see, instantly. The ancient Hebrews believed that there was a secret name of God, usually thought to be inexpressible, and only to be represented by a mystic figure kept in the Temple, and that if any one could learn it, and repeat it, he could rule the intelligent and unintelligent creation at his will. It is supposed by some, that Jehovah is the word which stands for this secret name; and some Hebraists think that the word “Yahveh” is much more nearly the right one. The Mohammedans, who have received many notions from the Jews, believe the same story about the secret name of God, and they think it was engraved on Solomon’s signet, as all readers of the Arabian Nights will very well remember. The Jews believed that if you pronounced the word “Satan” any evil spirit that happened to be by could in consequence instantly pop into you if he wished, and possess you, as the devils in the New Testament possessed people.
The Roman Cato, well-known for his grumpiness and virtue, thought that if he were sick, it would really help him, and that it could heal sprains in others, to recite these words: “Daries, dardaries, astaris, ista, pista, sista,” or, as another source puts it, “motas, daries, dardaries, astaries;” or, as yet another version claims, “Huat, huat, huat; ista, pista, sista; domiabo, damnaustra.” And it’s true, as any doctor will tell you, that if the old censor just believed hard enough, it would almost surely benefit him; not because of the words themselves, but because of his own vivid Roman imagination. Here are some Greek words of equal power: “Aski, Kataski, Te[315]trax.” When the Greek priests sent out those who had been fully initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries, they last told them the significant and powerful words, “Konx, ompax.” If you want to see what usually happens, just say them to someone, and you’ll see the effect right away. The ancient Hebrews believed there was a secret name of God, considered inexpressible and only represented by a mystical figure kept in the Temple, and that if anyone could learn and say it, they could control both the intelligent and unintelligent creation at will. Some think that Jehovah is the term for this secret name; others believe that “Yahveh” is much closer to the correct one. The Muslims, who adopted many ideas from the Jews, also believe in the secret name of God and think it was engraved on Solomon’s signet, as all readers of the Arabian Nights will remember. The Jews believed that if you said the word “Satan,” any evil spirit nearby could immediately jump into you if it wanted and possess you, just like the devils did in the New Testament.
Some ancient cities had a secret name, and it was believed that if their enemies could find this out, they could conjure with it so as to destroy such cities. Thus, the secret name of Rome was Valentia, and the word was very carefully kept, with the intention that none should know it except one or two of the chief pontiffs. Mr. Borrow, in one of his books, tells about a charm which a gipsy woman knew, and which she used to re[316]peat to herself as a means of obtaining supernatural aid when she happened to want it. This was, “Saboca enrecar maria ereria.” He induced her after much effort to repeat the words to him, but she always wished she had not, with an evident conviction that some harm would result. He explained to her that they consisted of a very simple phrase, but it made no difference.
Some ancient cities had a secret name, and it was believed that if their enemies could uncover it, they could use it to destroy those cities. For example, the secret name of Rome was Valentia, and it was kept very carefully, known only by one or two of the main pontiffs. Mr. Borrow mentions in one of his books a charm that a gypsy woman knew and used to repeat to herself as a way to gain supernatural help when she needed it. The words were, “Saboca enrecar maria ereria.” After a lot of effort, he got her to say the words to him, but she always wished she hadn't, convinced that some harm would come from it. He explained to her that it was just a simple phrase, but that didn't change anything.
An ancient physician named Serenus Sammonicus, used to be quite sure of curing fevers, by means of what he called Abracadabra, which was a sort of inscription to be written on something and worn on the patient’s person. It was as follows:
An ancient physician named Serenus Sammonicus was quite confident in curing fevers using what he called Abracadabra, which was a kind of inscription written on something and worn by the patient. It went like this:
ABRACADABRA
BRACADABR
RACADAB
ACADA
CAD
A.
ABRACADABRA
BRACADABR
RACADAB
ACADA
CAD
A.
Another gentleman of the same school used to cure sore eyes by hanging round the patient’s neck an inscription made up of only two letters, A and Z; but how he mixed them we unfortunately do not know.
Another man from the same school used to treat sore eyes by hanging an inscription made up of just two letters, A and Z, around the patient’s neck; unfortunately, we don’t know how he arranged them.
By the way, many of the German peasantry in the more ignorant districts still believe that to write Abracadabra on a slip of paper and keep it with you, will protect you from wounds, and that if your house is on fire, to throw this strip into it will put the fire out.
By the way, a lot of the German peasants in the less educated areas still believe that writing "Abracadabra" on a piece of paper and carrying it with you will protect you from injuries, and that if your house catches fire, tossing this strip into it will extinguish the flames.
Many charms or incantations call on God, Christ or some saints, just as the heathen ones call on a spirit. Here is one for epilepsy that seems to appeal to both[317] religions, as if with a queer proviso against any possible mistake about either. Taking the epileptic by the hand, you whisper in his ear “I adjure thee by the sun and the moon and the gospel of to-day, that thou arise and no more fall to the ground; in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”
Many charms or spells call on God, Christ, or some saints, just like the pagan ones call on a spirit. Here’s one for epilepsy that seems to connect both [317] religions, almost like there’s a strange caveat to avoid any potential confusion. Taking the person with epilepsy by the hand, you whisper in their ear, “I command you by the sun and the moon and today’s gospel, to rise and never fall to the ground again; in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
A charm for the cramp found in vogue in some rustic regions is this:
A popular remedy for cramps in some rural areas is this:
“The devil is tying a knot in my leg,
Mark, Luke and John, unloose it, I beg,
Crosses three we make to ease us—
Two for the thieves, and one for Christ Jesus.”
“The devil is knotting my leg,
Mark, Luke, and John, please untie it, I ask,
We make three crosses to help us—
Two for the thieves, and one for Christ Jesus.”
Here is another, often used in Ireland, which in the same spirit of superstition and ignorant irreverence uses the name of the Savior for a slight human occasion. It is to cure the toothache, and requires the repeating of the following string of words:
Here is another, often used in Ireland, which in the same spirit of superstition and disrespect uses the name of the Savior for a minor human need. It is for curing a toothache, and requires repeating the following set of words:
“St. Peter sitting on a marble stone, our Savior passing by, asked him what was the matter. ‘Oh Lord, a toothache!’ Stand up, Peter, and follow me; and whoever keeps these words in memory of me, shall never be troubled with a toothache, Amen.”
“St. Peter was sitting on a marble stone when our Savior walked by and asked him what was wrong. ‘Oh Lord, I have a toothache!’ Stand up, Peter, and follow me; and whoever remembers these words in honor of me will never suffer from a toothache, Amen.”
The English astrologer Lilly, after the death of his wife, formerly a Mrs. Wright, found in a scarlet bag which she wore under her arm a pure gold “sigil” or round plate worth about ten dollars in gold, which the former husband of the defunct had used to exorcise a spirit that plagued him. In case any of my readers can afford bullion enough, and would like to drive away any such visitor, let them get such a plate and have engraved round the edge of one side, “Vicit Leo de tri[318]bus Judae tetragrammaton +.” Inside this engrave a “holy lamb.” Round the edge of the other side engrave “Annaphel” and three crosses, thus: + + +; and in the middle, “Sanctus Petrus Alpha et Omega.”
The English astrologer Lilly, after his wife, formerly Mrs. Wright, passed away, discovered in a red bag she kept under her arm a solid gold “sigil” or round plate valued at about ten dollars in gold. This plate had been used by her late husband to cast out a spirit that bothered him. If any of my readers have enough cash and want to banish such a visitor, they should get a similar plate and have “Vicit Leo de tri[318]bus Judae tetragrammaton Below is a short piece of text (5 words or fewer). Modernize it into contemporary English if there's enough context, but do not add or omit any information. If context is insufficient, return it unchanged. Do not add commentary, and do not modify any placeholders. If you see placeholders of the form __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_x__, you must keep them exactly as-is so they can be replaced with links.” engraved around the edge on one side. Inside, engrave a “holy lamb.” Around the edge of the other side, engrave “Annaphel” along with three crosses: Understood! Please provide the text you'd like modernized. Sure! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize. I'm ready for the phrases. Please provide them.; and in the center, “Sanctus Petrus Alpha et Omega.”
The witches have always had incantations, which they have used to make a broom-stick into a horse, to kill or to sicken animals and persons, etc. Most of these are sufficiently stupid, and not half so wonderful as one I know, which may be found in a certain mysterious volume called “The Girl’s Own Book,” and which, as I can depose, has often power to tickle children. It is this:
The witches have always used spells to turn a broomstick into a horse, to harm or make people and animals sick, and so on. Most of these spells are pretty silly and not nearly as amazing as one I know, which is found in a certain mysterious book called “The Girl’s Own Book,” and which, I can attest, often has the power to make children laugh. It is this:
“Bandy-legged Borachio Mustachio Whiskerifusticus, the bald and brave Bombardino of Bagdad, helped Abomilique Bluebeard Bashaw of Babelmandel beat down an abominable bumblebee at Balsora.”
“Bandy-legged Borachio Mustachio Whiskerifusticus, the bald and brave Bombardino of Baghdad, helped Abomilique Bluebeard Bashaw of Babelmandel defeat an abominable bumblebee in Balsora.”
But to the other witches. Their charms were repeated sometimes in their own language and sometimes in gibberish. When the Scotch witches wanted to fly away to their “Witches’ Sabbath,” they straddled a broom-handle, a corn stalk, a straw, or a rush, and cried out “Horse and hattock, in the Devil’s name!” and immediately away they flew, “forty times as high as the moon,” if they wished. Some English witches in Somersetshire used instead to say, “Thout, tout, throughout and about;” and when they wished to return from their meeting they said “Rentum, tormentum!” If this form of the charm does not manufacture a horse, not even a saw-horse, then I recommend another version of it, thus:
But for the other witches, their spells were sometimes chanted in their own language and sometimes in gibberish. When the Scottish witches wanted to fly off to their “Witches’ Sabbath,” they straddled a broomstick, a corn stalk, a straw, or a rush and shouted, “Horse and hattock, in the Devil’s name!” and instantly they took off, “forty times as high as the moon,” if they wanted to. Some English witches in Somersetshire instead said, “Thout, tout, throughout and about;” and when they wanted to return from their gathering, they would say “Rentum, tormentum!” If this version of the spell doesn't create a horse, not even a sawhorse, then I suggest trying another version of it, like this:
“Up and away!
Hi! Up aloft, and nowhere stay!”
“Up and away!
Hey! Up high, and no place to stay!”
Scotch witches had modes of working destruction to the persons or property of those to whom they meant evil, which were strikingly like the negro obeah or mandinga. One of these was, to make a hash of the flesh of an unbaptised child, with that of dogs and sheep, and to put this goodly dish in the house of the victim, reciting the following rhyme:
Scotch witches had ways to harm the people or property of those they wanted to hurt that were surprisingly similar to the African obeah or mandinga. One method involved mixing the flesh of an unbaptized child with that of dogs and sheep, then leaving this gruesome dish in the victim's house while reciting the following rhyme:
“We put this untill this hame
In our Lord the Devil’s name;
The first hands that handle thee.
Burned and scalded may they be!
We will destroy houses and hald,
With the sheep and nolt (i. e. cattle) into the fauld;
And little shall come to the fore (i. e. remain,)
Of all the rest of the little store.”
“We put this until this home
In our Lord the Devil’s name;
The first hands that touch you,
Let them be burned and scalded!
We will destroy houses and barns,
With the sheep and cattle into the pen;
And little will remain
Of all the rest of the small stock.”
Another, used to destroy the sons of a certain gentleman named Gordon was, to make images for the boys, of clay and paste, and put them in a fire, saying:
Another way, used to destroy the sons of a certain gentleman named Gordon, was to make clay and paste images for the boys and put them in a fire, saying:
“We put this water among this meal
For long pining and ill heal,
We put it into the fire
To burn them up stock and stour (i. e. stack and band.)
That they be burned with our will,
Like any stikkle (stubble) in a kiln.”
“We put this water with this meal
For a long time in pain and feeling ill,
We put it into the fire
To burn them up completely
So they are burned as we want,
Like any stubble in a kiln.”
In case any lady reader finds herself changed into a hare, let her remember how the witch Isobel Gowdie changed herself from hare back to woman. It was by repeating:
In case any woman reading this turns into a hare, she should keep in mind how the witch Isobel Gowdie transformed herself from hare back to woman. She did it by saying:
“Hare, hare, God send thee care!
I am in a hare’s likeness now;
But I shall be woman even now—
Hare, hare, God send thee care!”
“Hare, hare, may God take care of you!
I’m in the form of a hare right now;
But I’ll be a woman very soon—
Hare, hare, may God take care of you!”
[320]About the year 1600 there was both hanged and burned at Amsterdam a poor demented Dutch girl, who alleged that she could make cattle sterile, and bewitch pigs and poultry by saying to them “Turius und Shurius Inturius.” I recommend to say this first to an old hen, and if found useful it might then be tried on a pig.
[320]Around the year 1600, a mentally ill Dutch girl was hanged and burned in Amsterdam because she claimed she could make cattle infertile and curse pigs and chickens by saying “Turius und Shurius Inturius.” I suggest trying this phrase on an old hen first, and if it proves effective, it might then be tested on a pig.
Not far from the same time a woman was executed as a witch at Bamberg, having, as was often the case, been forced by torture to make a confession. She said that the devil had given her power to send diseases upon those she hated, by saying complimentary things about them, as “What a strong man!” “what a beautiful woman!” “what a sweet child!” It is my own impression that this species of cursing may safely be tried where it does not include a falsehood.
Not long after, a woman was executed as a witch in Bamberg, often after being tortured into confessing. She claimed that the devil had given her the ability to inflict diseases on those she disliked by saying nice things about them, like “What a strong man!” “What a beautiful woman!” “What a sweet child!” In my opinion, this type of cursing can be safely attempted as long as it doesn't involve a lie.
Here are two charms which the German witches used to repeat to raise the devil with in the form of a he goat:
Here are two charms that German witches used to recite to summon the devil in the form of a goat:
“Lalle, Bachea, Magotte, Baphia, Dajam,
Vagoth Heneche Ammi Nagaz, Adomator
Raphael Immanuel Christus, Tetragrammaton
Agra Jod Loi. Konig! Konig!”
“Lalle, Bachea, Magotte, Baphia, Dajam,
Vagoth Heneche Ammi Nagaz, Adomator
Raphael Immanuel Christus, Tetragrammaton
Agra Jod Loi. King! King!”
“Anion, Lalle, Sabolos, Sado, Poter, Aziel,
Adonai Sado Vagoth Agra, Jod,
Baphra! Komm! Komm!”
“Anion, Lalle, Sabolos, Sado, Poter, Aziel,
Adonai Sado Vagoth Agra, Jod,
Baphra! Come! Come!”
In case the devil staid too long, he could be made to take himself off by addressing to him the following statement, repeated backward:
In case the devil stayed too long, you could make him leave by saying this statement to him, repeated backward:
“Zellianelle Heotti Bonus Vagotha
Plisos sother osech unicus Beelzebub
Dax! Komm! Komm!”
“Zellianelle Heotti Bonus Vagotha
Plisos sother osech unicus Beelzebub
Dax! Come! Come!”
Which would evidently make almost anybody go away.
Which would clearly make almost anyone leave.
A German charm to improve one’s finances was perhaps no worse than gambling in gold. It ran thus:
A German charm to boost your finances was probably no better than betting on gold. It went like this:
“As God be welcomed, gentle moon—
Make thou my money more and soon!”
“As God is welcomed, gentle moon—
Make my money more and fast!”
To get rid of a fever in the German manner, go and tie up a bough of a tree, saying, “Twig, I bind thee; fever, now leave me!” To give your ague to a willow tree, tie three knots in a branch of it early in the morning, and say, “Good morning, old one! I give thee the cold; good morning, old one!” and turn and run away as fast as you can without looking back.
To get rid of a fever the German way, take a branch from a tree and say, “Twig, I bind you; fever, leave me now!” To transfer your chills to a willow tree, tie three knots in one of its branches early in the morning and say, “Good morning, old one! I give you the cold; good morning, old one!” Then, turn and run away as fast as you can without looking back.
Enough of this nonsense. It is pure mummery. Yet it is worth while to know exactly what the means were which in ancient times were relied on for such purposes, and it is not useless to put this matter on record; for just such formulas are believed in now by many people. Even in this city there are “witches” who humbug the more foolish part of the community out of their money by means just as foolish as these.
Enough of this nonsense. It's just ridiculous. However, it's useful to understand the methods that people relied on in ancient times for these purposes, and it's important to document this because similar beliefs are still held by many today. Even in this city, there are "witches" who deceive the more gullible members of the community out of their money using tactics just as foolish as these.
VIII. ADVENTURERS.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE PRINCESS CARIBOO; OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLES.
THE PRINCESS CARIBOO; OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLES.
Bristol was, in 1812, the second commercial city of Great Britain, having in particular an extensive East India trade. Among its inhabitants were merchants, reckoned remarkably shrewd, and many of them very wealthy; and quite a number of aristocratic families, who were looked up to with the abject toad-eating kind of civility that follows “the nobility.” On the whole, Bristol was a very fashionable, rich, cultivated, and intelligent place—considering.
Bristol was, in 1812, the second-largest commercial city in Great Britain, particularly known for its extensive East India trade. Its residents included merchants who were considered very shrewd, with many of them being quite wealthy; there were also several aristocratic families who were treated with the kind of obsequiousness that often accompanies "the nobility." Overall, Bristol was a very fashionable, wealthy, cultured, and intelligent city—given the context.
One fine evening in the winter of 1812-13, the White Lion hotel, a leading inn at Bristol, was thrown into a wonderful flutter by the announcement that a very beautiful and fabulously wealthy lady, the Princess Cariboo, had just arrived by ship from an oriental port. Her agent, a swarthy and wizened little Asiatic, who spoke imperfect English, gave this information, and ordered the most sumptuous suite of rooms in the house. Of course, there was great activity in all manner of preparations; and the mysterious character of this lovely but high-born stranger caused a wonderful flutter of excitement, which grew and grew until the fair stranger at length deigned to arrive. She came at about ten[323] o’clock, in great state, and with two or three coaches packed with servants and luggage—the former of singularly dingy complexion and fantastic vestments, and the latter of the most curious forms and material imaginable. The eager anticipations of hosts and guests alike were not only fully justified but even exceeded by the rare beauty of the unknown, the oriental style and magnificence of her attire and that of her attendants, and the enormous bulk of her baggage—a circumstance that has no less weight at an English inn than any where else. The stranger, too, was most liberal with her fees to the servants, which were always in gold.
One fine evening in the winter of 1812-13, the White Lion hotel, a top inn in Bristol, was thrown into a wonderful buzz by the news that a stunningly beautiful and incredibly wealthy lady, the Princess Cariboo, had just arrived by ship from an exotic port. Her agent, a dark-skinned and wizened little Asian man who spoke imperfect English, shared this information and booked the most luxurious suite in the hotel. Naturally, there was a flurry of activity in all types of preparations; and the mysterious nature of this lovely yet noble stranger sparked a thrilling excitement that grew until the fair stranger finally chose to arrive. She came around ten[323] o’clock, in grand style, with two or three coaches filled with servants and luggage—the former having a notably dull complexion and wearing bizarre outfits, and the latter containing the most unusual shapes and materials imaginable. The eager expectations of both hosts and guests were completely fulfilled and even exceeded by the rare beauty of the unknown lady, the exotic style and grandeur of her clothing and that of her attendants, and the massive volume of her luggage—a detail that matters just as much at an English inn as anywhere else. The stranger was also quite generous with tips for the servants, always in gold.
It was quickly discovered that her ladyship spoke not one word of English, and even her agent—a dark, wild, queer little fellow,—got along with it but indifferently, preferring all his requests in very “broken China” indeed. The landlord thought it a splendid opportunity to create a long bill, and got up rooms and a dinner in flaring style, with wax candles, a mob of waiters, ringing of bells, and immense ceremony. But the lady, like a real princess, while well enough pleased and very gracious, took all this as a matter of course, and preferred her own cook, a flat-faced, pug-nosed, yellow-breeched and almond-eyed Oriental, with a pigtail dangling from his scalp, which was shaved clean, excepting at the back of the head. This gentleman ran about in the kitchen-yard with queer little brass utensils, wherein he concocted sundry diabolical preparations—as they seemed to the English servants to be,—of herbs, rice, curry powder, etc., etc., for the repast of his mistress. For the next three or four days, the White Lion[324] was in a state bordering upon frenzy, at the singular deportment of the “Princess” and her numerous attendants. The former arrayed herself in the most astonishing combinations of apparel that had ever been seen by the good gossips of Bristol, and the latter indulged in gymnastic antics and vocal chantings that almost deafened the neighborhood. There was a peculiar nasal ballad in which they were fond of indulging, that commenced about midnight and kept up until well nigh morning, that drove the neighbors almost beside themselves. It sounded like a concert by a committee of infuriated cats, and wound up with protracted whining notes, commencing in a whimper, and then with a sudden jerk, bursting into a loud, monotonous howl. Yet, withal, these attendants, who slept on mats, in the rooms adjacent to that of their mistress, and fed upon the preparations of her own cuisine, were, in the main, very civil and inoffensive, and seemed to look upon the Princess with the utmost awe. The “agent,” or “secretary,” or “prime-minister,” or whatever he might be called, was very mysterious as to the objects, purposes, history, and antecedents of her Highness, and the quidnuncs were in despair until, one morning, the “Bristol Mirror,” then a leading paper, came out with a flaring announcement, expressing the pleasure it felt in acquainting the public with the fact, that a very eminent and interesting foreign personage had arrived from her home in the remotest East to proffer His Majesty, George III, the unobstructed commerce and friendship of her realm, which was as remarkable for its untold wealth as for its marvelous beauty. The lady was de[325]scribed as a befitting representative of the loveliness and opulence of this new Golconda and Ophir in one, since her matchless wealth and munificence were approached only by her ravishing personal charms. The other papers took up the topic, and were even more extravagant. “Felix Farley’s Journal” gave a long narrative of her wanderings and extraordinary adventures in the uttermost East, as gleaned, of course, from her garrulous agent. The island of her chief residence was described as being of vast extent and fertility, immensely rich and populous, and possessing many rare and beautiful arts unknown to the nations of Europe. The princess had become desperately enamored of a certain young Englishman of high rank, who had been shipwrecked on her coast, but had afterward escaped, and as she learned, safely reached a port in China, and thence departed for Europe. The Princess had hereupon set out upon her journeyings over the world in search of him. In order to facilitate her enterprise, and softened by the deep affection she felt for the son of Albion, she had determined to break through the usages of her country, and form an alliance with that of her beloved.
It quickly became clear that her ladyship didn’t speak a word of English, and even her agent—a quirky little guy with a wild look—managed to get by only with difficulty, favoring his requests in very broken English. The landlord saw this as a great chance to run up a big bill, preparing rooms and a lavish dinner with wax candles, a flock of waiters, ringing bells, and a ton of ceremony. But the lady, like a true princess, while pleased and very gracious, took all this as normal and preferred her own cook, a flat-faced, pug-nosed Oriental guy in yellow trousers with almond-shaped eyes, sporting a pigtail hanging from his shaved head, except for the back. This gentleman scurried around the kitchen yard with strange little brass tools, making various bizarre dishes—at least they seemed bizarre to the English staff—using herbs, rice, curry powder, and so on, for his mistress's meals. For the next three or four days, the White Lion[324] was in a near frenzy over the peculiar behavior of the “Princess” and her many attendants. The princess dressed in the most astonishing outfits ever seen by the town gossipers in Bristol, and her attendants engaged in gymnastic antics and loud singing that nearly drove the neighborhood crazy. They enjoyed a distinctive nasal ballad that started around midnight and lasted until almost morning, which drove the neighbors nearly mad. It sounded like a concert of furious cats and ended with long whining notes, beginning softly and then suddenly erupting into a loud, monotonous howl. Yet, these attendants, who slept on mats in rooms next to their mistress and ate her cuisine, were mostly very polite and harmless, treating the Princess with great respect. The "agent," or "secretary," or "prime minister," or whatever he was called, kept the details, purposes, history, and background of her Highness very mysterious, leaving the town’s gossipers frustrated until one morning when the "Bristol Mirror," then a leading newspaper, published a bold announcement, expressing delight in informing the public that a very eminent and intriguing foreign figure had arrived from her home in the far East to offer His Majesty, George III, the unrestricted commerce and friendship of her realm, noted for its immense wealth and astonishing beauty. The lady was de[325]scribed as a fitting representative of both the elegance and richness of this new land of gold and luxury, since her unmatched wealth and generosity were only rivaled by her stunning personal beauty. Other newspapers picked up the story and were even more extravagant. “Felix Farley’s Journal” featured a long account of her travels and incredible adventures in the far East, as relayed, of course, by her talkative agent. The island where she primarily resided was portrayed as vast and fertile, immensely wealthy and populated, possessing many rare and beautiful arts unknown to Europe. The princess had become hopelessly infatuated with a certain young Englishman of noble birth who had been shipwrecked on her shores but had later escaped and, as she learned, successfully reached a port in China before heading to Europe. The Princess then set out on her global travels to find him. In order to make her quest easier, and motivated by her deep feelings for the son of Albion, she decided to break her country's customs and form an alliance with that of her beloved.
Such were the statements everywhere put in circulation; and when the Longbows of the place got full hold of it, Gulliver, Peter Wilkins, and Sinbad the Sailor were completely eclipsed. Diamonds as big as hen’s eggs, and pearls the size of hazelnuts, were said to be the commonest buttons and ornaments the Princess wore, and her silks and shawls were set beyond all price.
Such were the statements spread everywhere; and when the locals really got a hold of it, Gulliver, Peter Wilkins, and Sinbad the Sailor were totally overshadowed. Diamonds as big as hen's eggs and pearls the size of hazelnuts were said to be the most common buttons and accessories the Princess wore, and her silks and shawls were valued beyond all measure.
[326]The announcement of this romantic and mysterious history, this boundless wealth, this interesting mission from majesty to majesty in person and the reality which every one could see of so much grace and beauty, supplied all that was wanting to set the upper-tendom of the place in a blaze. It was hardly etiquette for a royal visitor to receive much company before having been presented at Court; but as this princely lady came from a point so far outside of the pale of Christendom, and all its formalities, it was deemed not out of place, to show her befitting attentions; and the ice once broken, there was no arresting the flood. The aristocracy of Bristol vied with each other in seeing who should be first and most extravagant in their demonstrations. The street in front of the “White Lion” was day after day blocked up, with elegant equipages, and her reception-rooms thronged with “fair women and brave men.” Milliners and mantuamakers pressed upon the lovely and mysterious Princess Cariboo the most exquisite hats, dresses, and laces, just to acquaint her with the fashionable style and solicit her distinguished patronage; dry-goodsmen sent her rare patterns of their costliest and richest stuffs, perfumers their most exquisite toilet-cases, filled with odors sweet; jewellers, their most superb sets of gems; and florists and visitors nearly suffocated her with the scarcest and most delicate exotics. Pictures, sketches, and engravings, oil-paintings, and portraits on ivory of her rapturous admirers, poured in from all sides, and her own fine form and features were reproduced by a score of artists. Daily she was fêted, and nightly serenaded, until the Princess Cariboo became the[327] furore of the United Kingdom. Magnificent entertainments were given her in private mansions; and at length, to cap the climax, Mr. Worrall, the Recorder of Bristol, managed, by his influence, to bring about for her a grand municipal reception in the town-hall, and people from far and near thronged to it in thousands.
[326]The news of this romantic and mysterious tale, this immense fortune, this fascinating mission from one royalty to another, and the reality of so much grace and beauty that everyone could see, was exactly what was needed to ignite the high society of the area. It was generally improper for a royal guest to socialize extensively before being officially introduced at Court; however, since this princess came from a place so far beyond the boundaries of Christendom and its customs, it was considered appropriate to show her proper respect. Once the initial barrier was crossed, there was no stopping the excitement. The aristocracy of Bristol competed with one another to see who could be the first and most extravagant in their displays of admiration. The street in front of the “White Lion” was consistently filled with elegant carriages, while her reception rooms overflowed with “beautiful women and brave men.” Milliners and dressmakers showered the lovely and enigmatic Princess Cariboo with the finest hats, dresses, and lace to familiarize her with the latest trends and seek her esteemed support; fabric merchants sent her unique samples of their most luxurious materials, perfumers presented her with exquisite beauty kits filled with delightful scents; jewelers offered their most stunning jewel sets; and florists and visitors nearly overwhelmed her with the rarest and most delicate flowers. Pictures, sketches, engravings, oil paintings, and ivory portraits from her adoring fans arrived from all directions, and her own lovely form and features were captured by numerous artists. Daily, she was celebrated, and nightly serenaded, until Princess Cariboo became the[327]Mr. Worrall, the Recorder of Bristol, used his influence to arrange a grand municipal reception for her at the town hall, drawing thousands of people from near and far.
In the meantime the papers were gravely trying to make out whether the Cariboo country meant some remote portion of Japan, or the Island of Borneo, or some comparatively unfamiliar archipelago in the remotest East, and the “Mirror” was publishing type expressly cut for the purpose of representing the characters of the language in which the Princess spoke and wrote. They were certainly very uncouth, and pretended sages, who knew very well that there was no one to contradict them, declared that they were “ancient Coptic!”
In the meantime, the newspapers were seriously trying to figure out whether the Cariboo country referred to some far-off part of Japan, the Island of Borneo, or some relatively unknown archipelago in the far East, and the “Mirror” was printing type specifically created to represent the characters of the language that the Princess spoke and wrote. They were definitely very awkward, and so-called experts, who knew there was no one to dispute them, claimed that they were “ancient Coptic!”
Upon reading the sequel of the story, one is irresistibly reminded of the ancient Roman inscription discovered by one of Dickens’ characters, which some irreverent rogue subsequently declared to be nothing more nor less than “Bil Stumps His Mark.”
Upon reading the sequel of the story, one is irresistibly reminded of the ancient Roman inscription discovered by one of Dickens’ characters, which some disrespectful trickster later claimed was nothing more or less than “Bil Stumps His Mark.”
All this went on for about a fortnight, until the whole town and a good deal of the surrounding country had made complete fools of themselves, and only the “naughty little boys” in the streets held out against the prevailing mania, probably because they were not admitted to the sport. Their salutations took the form of an inharmonious thoroughfare-ballad, the chorus of which terminated with:
All this went on for about two weeks, until the whole town and much of the surrounding area had completely embarrassed themselves, and only the “naughty little boys” in the streets resisted the current craze, probably because they weren't allowed to join in. Their greetings came in the form of a discordant street song, the chorus of which ended with:
[328]
“Boo! hoo! hoo!
And who’s the Princess Cariboo?”
[328]
Boo! Hoo! Hoo!
"Who is Princess Cariboo?"
yelled out at the top of their voices.
yelled at the top of their lungs.
At length one day, the luggage of her Highness was embarked upon a small vessel to be taken round by water to London, while she announced, through her “agent,” her intention to reach the capital by post-coaching.
At last, one day, her Highness's luggage was loaded onto a small boat to be taken by water to London, while she informed, through her "agent," that she planned to travel to the capital by coach.
Of course, the most superb traveling-carriages and teams were placed at her disposal; but, courteously declining all these offers, she set out in the night-time with a hired establishment, attended by her retinue.
Of course, the best traveling carriages and horses were available to her; but, politely refusing all these offers, she set off at night with a rented setup, accompanied by her team.
Days and weeks rolled on, and yet no announcement came of the arrival of her Highness at London or at any of the intervening cities after the first two or three towns eastward of Bristol. Inquiry began to be made, and, after long and patient but unavailing search, it became apparent to divers and sundry dignitaries in the old town that somebody had been very particularly “sold.”
Days and weeks passed by, yet there was still no news of her Highness arriving in London or any of the cities in between after the first few towns east of Bristol. People started asking questions, and after a long and thorough but fruitless search, it became clear to various officials in the old town that someone had been especially “duped.”
The landlord at the “White Lion” who had accepted the agent’s order for £1,000 on a Calcutta firm in London; poor Mr. Worrall, who had been Master of Ceremonies at the town hall affair, and had spent large sums of money; and the tradespeople and others who sent their finest goods, all felt that they had “heard something drop.” The Princess Cariboo had disappeared as mysteriously as she came.
The landlord at the “White Lion,” who had taken the agent’s order for £1,000 with a Calcutta firm in London; poor Mr. Worrall, who had been the Master of Ceremonies at the town hall event and had spent a lot of money; and the local merchants and others who provided their best goods all sensed that they had “heard something drop.” The Princess Cariboo had vanished as mysteriously as she had arrived.
For years, the people of Bristol were unmercifully ridiculed throughout the entire Kingdom on account of this affair, and burlesque songs and plays immortalized its incidents for successive seasons.
For years, the people of Bristol were harshly mocked all over the Kingdom because of this situation, and comedic songs and performances celebrated its events for many seasons.
[329]One of these insisted that the Princess was no other than an actress of more notoriety than note, humbly born in the immediate vicinity of the old city, where she practiced this gigantic hoax, and that she had been assisted in it by a set of dissolute young noblemen and actors, who furnished the money she had spent, got up the oriental dresses, published the fibs, and fomented the excitement. At all events, the net profit to her and her confederates in the affair must have been some £10,000.
[329]One of them claimed that the Princess was actually an actress more famous for her scandal than her talent, born nearby in the old city, where she pulled off this huge scam with the help of a group of reckless young nobles and actors. They provided the money she spent, arranged for the elaborate costumes, spread the lies, and stirred up the excitement. In any case, the total profit for her and her accomplices from this scheme must have been around £10,000.
Within a few months, and since the first publication of the above paragraphs, the English newspapers have recorded the death of the “Princess Cariboo,” who it appears afterward married in her own rank in life and spent a considerable number of years of usefulness in the leech trade—an occupation not without a metaphorical likeness to her early and more ambitious exploit.
Within a few months of the initial publication of the above paragraphs, English newspapers reported the death of the “Princess Cariboo.” It seems she later married someone of her own rank and spent a significant number of years contributing to the leech trade—an occupation that shares a metaphorical resemblance to her earlier, more ambitious endeavor.
CHAPTER XL.
COUNT CAGLIOSTRO, ALIAS JOSEPH BALSAMO, KNOWN ALSO AS “CURSED JOE.”
COUNT CAGLIOSTRO, ALSO KNOWN AS JOSEPH BALSAMO, AND SOMETIMES REFERRED TO AS “CURSED JOE.”
One of the most striking, amusing, and instructive pages in the history of humbug is the life of Count Alessandro di Cagliostro, whose real name was Joseph or Giuseppe Balsamo. He was born at Palermo, in 1743, and very early began to manifest his brilliant talents for roguery.
One of the most remarkable, entertaining, and educational stories in the history of deception is the life of Count Alessandro di Cagliostro, whose real name was Joseph or Giuseppe Balsamo. He was born in Palermo in 1743 and started to show his remarkable skills for trickery at a young age.
[330]He ran away from his first boarding-school, at the age of eleven or twelve, getting up a masquerade of goblins, by the aid of some scampish schoolfellows, which frightened the monkish watchmen of the gates away from their posts, nearly dead with terror. He had gained little at this school, except the pleasant surname of Beppo Maldetto (or cursed Joe.) At the age of thirteen he was a second time expelled from the convent of Cartegirone, belonging to the order of Benfratelli, the good fathers having in vain endeavored to train him up in the way he should go.
[330]He ran away from his first boarding school at eleven or twelve, staging a prank with some mischievous classmates that scared the gate’s monkish guards away from their posts, almost terrified to death. He gained little from this school, except for the nickname Beppo Maldetto (or cursed Joe). By the time he was thirteen, he was expelled for a second time from the Cartegirone convent, which belonged to the Benfratelli order, as the kind fathers had unsuccessfully tried to guide him in the right direction.
While in this convent, the boy was in charge of the apothecary, and probably picked up more or less of the smattering of chemistry and physics which he afterwards used. His final offence was a ridiculous and characteristic one. He was a greedy and thievish fellow, and was by way of penalty set to read aloud about the ancient martyrs, those dry though pious old gentlemen, while the monks ate dinner. Thus put to what he liked least, and deprived of what he liked best, he impudently extemporized, instead of the stories of holy agonies, all the indecorous scandal he could think of about the more notorious disreputable women of Palermo, putting their names instead of those of the martyrs.
While at this convent, the boy managed the apothecary and likely learned a bit about chemistry and physics that he would later use. His final mistake was both silly and typical of him. He was a greedy and sneaky guy, and as punishment, he was made to read aloud about the ancient martyrs—those dull yet devout old men—while the monks had their dinner. Forced to do what he disliked and missing out on what he enjoyed, he brazenly improvised, replacing the tales of holy suffering with all the scandalous gossip he could remember about the more infamous women of Palermo, inserting their names instead of those of the martyrs.
After this, Master Joe proceeded to distinguish himself by forging opera-tickets, and even documents of various kinds, indiscriminate pilfering and swindling, interpreting visions, conjuring, and finally, it is declared, a touch of genuine assassination.
After this, Master Joe went on to make a name for himself by creating fake opera tickets, along with a variety of other documents, stealing and scamming indiscriminately, interpreting dreams, performing magic tricks, and finally, as reported, getting involved in actual murder.
Pretty soon he made a foolish, greedy goldsmith, one Marano, believe that there was a treasure hidden in the[331] sand on the sea-shore near Palermo, and induced the silly man to go one night to dig it up. Having reached the spot, the dupe was made to strip himself to his shirt and drawers, a magic circle was drawn round him with all sorts of raw-head and bloody-bones ceremonies, and Beppo, exhorting him not to leave the ring, lest the spirits should kill him, stepped out of sight to make the incantations to raise them. Almost instantly, six devils, horned, hoofed, tailed, and clawed, breathing fire and smoke, leaped from among the rocks and beat the wretched goldsmith senseless, and almost to death. They were of course Cursed Joe and some confederates; and taking Marano’s money and valuables, they left him. He got home in wretched plight, but had sense enough left to suspect Master Joe, whom he shortly promised, after the Sicilian manner, to assassinate. So Joe ran away from Palermo, and went to Messina. Here he said he fell in with a venerable humbug, named Athlotas, an “Armenian Sage,” who united his talents with Beppo’s own, in making a peculiar preparation of flax and hemp and passing it off upon the people of Alexandria, in Egypt, as a new kind of silk. This feat made not only a sensation but plenty of money; and the two swindlers now traversed Greece, Turkey, and Arabia, in various directions, stirring up the Oriental “old fogies” in amazing style. Harems and palaces, according to Cagliostro’s own apocryphal story, were thrown open to them everywhere, and while the Scherif of Mecuca took Balsao under his high protection, one of the Grand Muftis actually gave him splendid apartments in his own abode. It is only necessary to reflect upon[332] the unbounded reverence felt by all good Mussulmen for these exalted dignitaries, to comprehend the height of distinction thus attained by the Palermo thimble-rigger. But, among the many obscure records that exist in the Italian, French, and German languages, touching this arch impostor, there is a hint of a night adventure in the harem of a high and mighty personage, at Mecca, whereby the latter was put out of doors, with his robes torn and his beard singed, by his own domestics, and left to wander in the streets, while Beppo, in disguise, received the salaams and sequins of the establishment, including the attentions of the fair ones therein caged, for an entire night. His escape to the seacoast after this adventure was almost miraculous; but escape he did, and shortly afterward turned up in Rome, with the title (conferred by himself) of Count Cagliostro, the reputation of enormous wealth, and genuine and enthusiastic letters of recommendation from Pinto, Grand Master of the Knights of Malta. Pinto was an alchymist, and had been fooled to the top of his bent by the cunning Joseph.
Pretty soon, he got a foolish, greedy goldsmith named Marano to believe that there was a treasure hidden in the[331] sand on the beach near Palermo and tricked the clueless man into going out one night to dig it up. Once they arrived at the spot, Marano was made to strip down to his shirt and underwear, a magic circle was drawn around him with all sorts of creepy rituals, and Beppo, warning him not to leave the circle or the spirits would harm him, stepped out of sight to perform the incantations to summon them. Almost instantly, six demons with horns, hooves, tails, and claws, breathing fire and smoke, jumped out from the rocks and beat the poor goldsmith senseless and nearly to death. They were, of course, Cursed Joe and his accomplices; after taking Marano’s money and valuables, they left him behind. He made it home in terrible shape but was smart enough to suspect Master Joe, whom he soon vowed, in typical Sicilian fashion, to kill. So Joe fled from Palermo and went to Messina. There, he claimed to have met a venerable con artist named Athlotas, an “Armenian Sage,” who teamed up with Beppo to create a special mix of flax and hemp and sold it to the people of Alexandria, Egypt, as a new type of silk. This stunt not only created quite the buzz but also made them a lot of money; the two swindlers then traveled through Greece, Turkey, and Arabia, riling up the Oriental “old fogies” in spectacular fashion. According to Cagliostro’s own exaggerated tales, harems and palaces everywhere welcomed them, and while the Scherif of Mecuca took Balsao under his protection, one of the Grand Muftis even gave him luxurious quarters in his own home. It’s essential to consider[332] the immense respect that all good Muslims held for these high officials to understand the level of prestige achieved by the Palermo con artist. Among the many obscure records in Italian, French, and German about this master fraud, there’s a mention of a night adventure in the harem of a powerful figure in Mecca, during which that person was thrown out, with his robes torn and his beard singed, by his own servants, leaving him to wander the streets while Beppo, in disguise, received the greetings and gold coins of the household, including the affections of the lovely women inside, for an entire night. His escape to the coast after this escapade was almost miraculous; nevertheless, he made it, and shortly thereafter, he appeared in Rome with the title (self-bestowed) of Count Cagliostro, a reputation for immense wealth, and genuine enthusiastic letters of recommendation from Pinto, the Grand Master of the Knights of Malta. Pinto was an alchemist and had been thoroughly deceived by the clever Joseph.
These letters introduced our humbug into the first families of Rome; who, like some other first families, were first also as fools. He also married a very beautiful, very shrewd, and very wicked Roman donzella, Lorenza Feliciani by name; and the worthy couple, combining their various talents, and regarding the world as their oyster, at once proceeded to open it in the most scientific style. I cannot follow this wonderful human chameleon in all his transformations under his various names of Fischio, Melissa, Fenice, Anna, Pellegrini,[333] Harat, and Belmonte, nor state the studies and processes by which he picked up sufficient knowledge of physic, chemistry, the hidden properties of numbers, astronomy, astrology, mesmerism, clairvoyance, and the genuine old-fashioned “black art;” but suffice it to say, that he travelled through every part of Europe, and set it in a blaze with excitement.
These letters brought our scam into the top families of Rome; who, like some other elite families, were also foolish. He also married a very beautiful, very clever, and very wicked Roman girl named Lorenza Feliciani; and the couple, combining their various skills, saw the world as their playground and proceeded to exploit it in the most scientific way. I can’t track this amazing human chameleon in all his transformations under the names Fischio, Melissa, Fenice, Anna, Pellegrini,[333] Harat, and Belmonte, nor can I detail the studies and methods through which he gained enough knowledge of physics, chemistry, the hidden properties of numbers, astronomy, astrology, mesmerism, clairvoyance, and the genuine old-fashioned “black art;” but I can say that he traveled all over Europe and set it ablaze with excitement.
There were always enough of silly coxcombs, young and old, of high degree, to be allured by the siren smiles of his “Countess;” and dupes of both sexes everywhere, to swallow his yarns and gape at his juggleries. In the course of his rambles, he paid a visit to his great brother humbug, the Count of St. Germain, in Westphalia, or Schleswig, and it was not long afterward that he began to publish to the world his grand discoveries in Alchemy, of the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Elixir of Life, or Waters of Perpetual Youth. These and many similar wonders were declared to be the result of his investigations under the Arch of Old Egyptian Masonry, which degree he claimed to have revived. This notion of Egyptian Masonry, Cagliostro is said to have found in some manuscripts left by one George Cofton, which fell into our quack’s hands. This degree was to give perfection to human beings, by means of moral and physical regeneration. Of these two the former was to be secured by means of a Pentagon, which removes original sin and renews pristine innocence. The physical kind of regeneration was to be brought about by using the “prime matter” or philosopher’s stone, and the “Acacia,” which two ingredients will give immortal youth. In this new structure, he assumed the title of[334] the “Grand Cophta” and actually claimed the worship of his followers; declaring that the institution had been established by Enoch and Elias, and that he had been summoned by “spiritual” agencies to restore it to its pristine glory. In fact, this pretension, which influenced thousands upon thousands of believers, was one of the most daring impostures that ever saw the light; and it is astounding to think that, so late as 1780, it should, for a long time, have been entirely successful. The preparatory course of exercises for admission to the mystic brotherhood has been described as a series of “purgation, starvation, and desperation,” lasting for forty days! and ending in “physical regeneration” and an immortality on earth. The celebrated Lavater, a mild and genial, but feeble man, became one of Cagliostro’s disciples, and was bamboozled to his heart’s content—in fact, made to believe that the Count could put the devil into him, or take him out, as the case might be.
There were always enough silly show-offs, young and old, from high society, who were drawn in by the charming smiles of his “Countess,” and gullible people everywhere who would believe his tall tales and stare at his tricks. During his travels, he visited his big brother con artist, the Count of St. Germain, in Westphalia or Schleswig, and soon after that, he started to announce his amazing discoveries in Alchemy, including the Philosopher’s Stone and the Elixir of Life, or Waters of Eternal Youth. He claimed that these and many other miraculous things were the result of his research under the Arch of Old Egyptian Masonry, a degree he said he had revived. This idea of Egyptian Masonry is said to have come from some manuscripts left by a George Cofton, which our fraudster stumbled upon. This degree was meant to perfect human beings through moral and physical regeneration. The moral regeneration was to be achieved with a Pentagon, which he claimed would remove original sin and restore pure innocence. The physical regeneration would come from using the “prime matter” or philosopher’s stone, along with “Acacia,” claiming that these two ingredients would grant eternal youth. In this new structure, he took on the title of[334] the “Grand Cophta” and even demanded worship from his followers, stating that the institution had been established by Enoch and Elias, and that he had been called by “spiritual” forces to restore it to its original greatness. In reality, this claim, which swayed thousands of believers, was one of the boldest scams ever; it’s incredible to think that, as late as 1780, it was able to thrive for such a long time. The initiation process for joining the mystical brotherhood was described as involving “purification, starvation, and desperation” for forty days, culminating in “physical regeneration” and an earthly immortality. The well-known Lavater, a gentle and friendly but weak man, became one of Cagliostro’s followers and was completely fooled—he was even led to believe that the Count could put the devil into him or take him out, depending on the situation.
The wondrous “Water of Beauty,” that made old wrinkled faces look young, smooth, and blooming again, was the special merchandise of the Countess, and was, of course, in great request among the faded beaux and dowagers of the day, who were easily persuaded of their own restored loveliness. The transmutation of baser metals into gold usually terminated in the transmigration of all the gold his victims had into the Count’s own purse.
The amazing “Water of Beauty,” which made old, wrinkled faces look young, smooth, and radiant again, was the Countess’s special product and was, of course, highly sought after by the faded admirers and wealthy women of the time, who were easily convinced of their own renewed attractiveness. The transformation of less valuable metals into gold typically ended with all the gold from his victims flowing into the Count’s own wallet.
In 1776, the Count and Countess came to London. Here, funnily enough, they fell into the hands of a gambler, a shyster, and a female scamp, who together tormented them almost to death, because the Count[335] would not pick them out lucky numbers to gamble by. They persecuted him fairly into jail, and plagued and outswindled him so awfully, that, after a time, the poor Count sneaked back to the Continent with only fifty pounds left out of three thousand which he had brought with him.
In 1776, the Count and Countess arrived in London. Surprisingly, they ended up being taken advantage of by a gambler, a con artist, and a scheming woman, who together tormented them nearly to death because the Count[335] refused to choose lucky numbers for their gambling. They harassed him into jail and exploited him so terribly that, eventually, the poor Count sneaked back to the Continent with just fifty pounds left from the three thousand he had originally brought.
One incident of Cagliostro’s English experience was the affair of the “Arsenical Pigs”—a notice of which may be found in the “Public Advertiser,” of London of September 3, 1786. A Frenchman named Morande, was at that time editing there a paper in his own language, entitled “Le Courrier de l’Europe,” and lost no opportunity to denounce the Count as a humbug. Cagliostro, at length, irritated by these repeated attacks, published in the “Advertiser” an open challenge, offering to forfeit five thousand guineas if Morande should not be found dead in his bed on the morning after partaking of the flesh of a pig, to be selected by himself from among a drove fattened by the Count—the cooking, etc., all to be done at Morande’s own house, and under his own eye. The time was fixed for this singular repast, but when it came round, the French Editor “backed down” completely, to the great delight of his opponent and his credulous followers.
One incident from Cagliostro’s time in England was the “Arsenical Pigs” affair—a notice of which can be found in the “Public Advertiser” of London dated September 3, 1786. A Frenchman named Morande was then editing a paper in his own language called “Le Courrier de l’Europe,” and he didn’t miss any chance to call out the Count as a fraud. Eventually, Cagliostro, annoyed by these constant attacks, published an open challenge in the “Advertiser,” offering to pay five thousand guineas if Morande did not end up dead in his bed the morning after eating the flesh of a pig that Morande would choose from a group raised by the Count—cooked and prepared entirely at Morande’s house, under his direct supervision. The date was set for this unusual meal, but when it arrived, the French editor completely backed out, much to the delight of his rival and his gullible supporters.
Cagliostro and his spouse now resumed their travels upon the Continent, and, by their usual arts and trades, in a great measure renewed their fallen fortunes. Among other new dodges, he now assumed so supernatural a piety that (he said) he could distinguish an unbeliever by the smell! which, of course, was just the opposite of the “odor of sanctity.” The Coun[336]t’s claim to have lived for hundreds of years was, by some, thoroughly believed. He ascribed his immortality to his own Elixir, and his comparatively youthful appearance to his “Water of Beauty,” his Countess readily assisting him by speaking of her son, a Colonel in the Dutch service, fifty years old, while she appeared scarcely more than twenty.
Cagliostro and his wife started traveling again across the continent and, using their usual tricks, largely restored their dwindling wealth. Among other new schemes, he claimed to have such a divine piety that he could supposedly smell an unbeliever, which was obviously the opposite of the "odor of sanctity." Some people fully believed the Count's assertion that he had lived for centuries. He credited his immortality to his own Elixir and maintained his youthful looks with his "Water of Beauty," while his Countess helped by mentioning her son, a Colonel in the Dutch service, who was fifty years old, while she looked barely twenty.
At length, in Rome, he and the Countess fell into the clutches of the Holy Office; and both having been tried for their manifold offences against the Church, were found guilty, and, in spite of their contrition and eager confessions, immured for life; the Count within the walls of the Castle of Sante Leone, in the Duchy of Urbino, where, after eight years’ imprisonment, he died in 1795, and the Countess in a suburban convent, where she died some time after.
At last, in Rome, he and the Countess were caught by the Holy Office; and after being tried for their numerous offenses against the Church, they were found guilty. Despite their remorse and eager confessions, they were locked away for life: the Count inside the walls of the Castle of Sante Leone, in the Duchy of Urbino, where he died in 1795 after eight years of imprisonment, and the Countess in a suburban convent, where she passed away some time later.
The portraits of Cagliostro, of which a number are extant, are pictures of a strong-built, bull-necked, fat, gross man, with a snub nose, a vulgar face, a look of sensuality and low hypocritical cunning.
The portraits of Cagliostro, of which several still exist, depict a stocky, bull-necked, overweight man with a flat nose, an unrefined face, and an expression that shows sensuality and deceitful cunning.
The celebrated story of “The Diamond Necklace,” in which Cagliostro, Marie Antoinette, the Cardinal de Rohan, and others were mixed in such a hodge-podge of rascality and folly, must form a narrative by itself.
The famous story of “The Diamond Necklace,” involving Cagliostro, Marie Antoinette, Cardinal de Rohan, and others in a messy mix of deceit and foolishness, deserves its own narrative.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.
The Diamond Necklace.
In my sketch of Joseph Balsamo, alias the Count Alessandro de Cagliostro, I referred to the affair of the diamond necklace, known in French history as the Collier de la Reine, or Queen’s necklace, from the manner in which the name and reputation of Marie Antoinette, the consort of Louis XVI, became entangled in it. I shall now give a brief account of this celebrated imposition—perhaps the boldest and shrewdest ever known, and almost wholly the work of a woman.
In my description of Joseph Balsamo, also known as the Count Alessandro de Cagliostro, I mentioned the incident involving the diamond necklace, referred to in French history as the Collier de la Reine, or Queen’s necklace, because of how the name and reputation of Marie Antoinette, the wife of Louis XVI, became involved in it. I will now provide a brief overview of this famous scam—possibly the most audacious and clever ever witnessed, and almost entirely the work of a woman.
On the Quai de la Ferraille, not far from the Pont Neuf, stood the establishment, part shop, part manufactory, of Messrs. Boehmer & Bassange, the most celebrated jewelers of their day. After triumphs which had given them world-wide fame during the reign of Louis XV, and made them fabulously rich, they determined, with the advent of Louis XVI, to eclipse all their former efforts and crown the professional glory of their lives. Their correspondents in every chief jewel market of the world were summoned to aid their enterprise, and in the course of some two or three years they succeeded in collecting the finest and most remarkable diamonds that could be procured in the whole world of commerce.
On the Quai de la Ferraille, not far from the Pont Neuf, was the shop and workshop of Messrs. Boehmer & Bassange, the most famous jewelers of their time. After achieving worldwide fame and becoming incredibly wealthy during the reign of Louis XV, they decided, with the arrival of Louis XVI, to surpass all their past achievements and reach the pinnacle of their professional success. They called upon their contacts in every major jewelry market around the globe to help with their venture, and over the course of two to three years, they managed to gather the finest and most extraordinary diamonds available in the entire world of commerce.
The next idea was to combine all these superb fragments in one grand ornament to grace the form of[338] beauty. A necklace was the article fixed upon, and the best experience and most delicate taste that Europe could boast were expended on the design. Each and every diamond was specially set and faced in such manner as to reveal its excellence to the utmost advantage, and all were arranged together in the style best calculated to harmonize their united effect. Form, shape, and the minutest shades of color were studied, and the result, after many attempts and many failures, and the anxious labor of many months, was the most exquisite triumph that the genius of the lapidary and the goldsmith could conceive.
The next idea was to combine all these amazing fragments into one stunning ornament to enhance the beauty of[338]. A necklace was chosen for this purpose, and the finest skills and most refined tastes that Europe could offer went into the design. Every single diamond was carefully set and arranged to showcase its brilliance in the best possible way, and they were all put together in a style that beautifully combined their overall effect. The form, shape, and even the tiniest shades of color were meticulously considered, and after many attempts, failures, and the dedicated work of several months, the outcome was the most exquisite result that the talent of the gem cutter and the goldsmith could imagine.
The whole necklace consisted of three triple rows of diamonds, or nine rows in all, containing eight hundred faultless gems. The triple rows fell away from each in the most graceful and flexible curves over each side of the breast and each shoulder of the wearer, the curves starting from the throat, whence a magnificent pendant, depending from a single knot of diamonds, each as large as a hazel-nut, hung down half way upon the bosom in the design of a cross and crown, surrounded by the lilies of the royal house—the lilies themselves dangling on stems which were strung with smaller jewels. Rich clusters and festoons spread from the loop over each shoulder, and the central loop on the back of the neck was joined in a pattern of emblematic magnificence corresponding with that in front.
The entire necklace was made up of three sets of triple rows of diamonds, totaling nine rows and featuring eight hundred flawless gems. The triple rows gracefully draped down each side of the wearer's chest and shoulders, starting from the throat. From a stunning pendant, hanging from a single knot of diamonds, each as big as a hazelnut, a design of a cross and crown extended halfway down the chest, surrounded by royal lilies—the lilies themselves hung from stems adorned with smaller jewels. Luxurious clusters and garlands spread from the loop over each shoulder, and the central loop at the back of the neck was designed in an emblematic pattern that matched the front.
It was in 1782 that this grand work was finally completed, and the happy owners gloated with delight over a monument of skill as matchless in its way as the Pyramids themselves. But, alas! the necklace might as[339] well have been constructed of the common boulders piled in those same pyramids as of the finest jewels of the mine, for all the good it seemed destined to bring the poor jewelers, beyond the rapture of beholding it and calling it theirs.
It was in 1782 that this incredible work was finally finished, and the excited owners reveled in pride over a masterpiece as unique in its way as the Pyramids themselves. But, sadly! the necklace might as[339] well have been made of the ordinary rocks stacked in those same pyramids as of the best jewels from the mines, considering all the benefit it seemed destined to bring the poor jewelers, beyond the joy of seeing it and claiming it as theirs.
The necklace was worth 1,500,000 francs, equivalent to more than $300,000 in gold, as money then went, or nearly $500,000 in gold, now-a-days. Rather too large a sum to keep locked up in a casket, the reader will confess! And then it seems that Messrs. Boehmer & Bassange had not entirely paid for it yet. They had ten creditors on the diamonds in different countries, and an immense capital still locked up in their other jewelry.
The necklace was worth 1,500,000 francs, which was more than $300,000 in gold at that time, or nearly $500,000 in today's gold values. That's quite a bit of money to keep stashed away in a box, wouldn't you agree? Plus, it turns out that Messrs. Boehmer & Bassange hadn't fully paid for it yet. They had ten creditors for the diamonds in various countries, and a huge amount of capital still tied up in their other jewelry.
Of course, then, after their first delight had subsided, they were most anxious to sell an article that had to be constantly and painfully watched, and that might so easily disappear. How many a nimble-fingered and stout-hearted rogue would not, in those days, have imperiled a dozen lives to clutch that blazing handful of dross, convertible into an Elysium of pomp and pleasure! It would hardly have been a safe noonday plaything in moral Gotham, let alone the dissolute Paris of eighty years ago!
Of course, after their initial excitement wore off, they were very eager to sell something that needed to be constantly and carefully monitored and could easily vanish. How many quick-fingered and brave con artists back then wouldn’t have risked a dozen lives to grab that shining handful of junk, which could be turned into an Elysium of luxury and enjoyment! It certainly wouldn’t have been a safe toy to play with in moral Gotham, let alone the decadent Paris of eighty years ago!
The first thought, of course, that kindled in the breasts of Boehmer and Bassange was, that the only proper resting-place for their matchless bauble was the snowy neck of the Queen Marie Antoinette, then the admired and beloved of all! Her peerless beauty alone could live in the glow of such supernal splendor, and the French throne was the only one in Christendom[340] that could sustain such glittering weight. Moreover, the Queen had already once been a good customer to the court jewelers, for in 1774 she bought four diamonds of them for $75,000.
The first idea that sparked in the minds of Boehmer and Bassange was that the only fitting place for their incredible gem was the elegant neck of Queen Marie Antoinette, who was then adored by everyone. Her unmatched beauty alone could shine alongside such extraordinary brilliance, and the French throne was the only one in Christendom[340] that could bear such dazzling splendor. Moreover, the Queen had previously been a valuable customer of the court jewelers, as she purchased four diamonds from them in 1774 for $75,000.
Louis XV would not have hesitated to fling it on the shoulders of the Du Barry, and Louis XVI, in spite of his odd notions upon economy and just administration, easily listened to the delicate insinuations of his court-jewelers; and, one fine morning, laid the necklace in its casket on the table of his Queen. Her Majesty, for a moment, yielded to the promptings of feminine weakness, and danced and laughed with the glee of an overjoyed child in the new sunshine of those burning, sparkling, dazzling gems. Once and once only she placed it on her neck and breast, and probably the world has never before or since seen such a countenance in such a setting. It was almost the head of an angel shining in the glory of the spheres. But a better thought prevailed, and quickly removing it, she, with a wave of her beautiful hand, declined the gift and besought the King to apply the sum to any other purpose that would be useful or honorable to France, whose finances were sadly straitened. “We want ships of war more than we do necklaces,” said she. The King was really delighted at this act of the Queen’s, and the incident soon becoming widely known, gave the latter immense popularity for at least twenty-four hours after it occurred. In fact, the amount was really applied to the construction of a grand line-of-battle ship called the Suffren, after the great Admiral of that name.
Louis XV wouldn't have hesitated to put the blame on the Du Barry, and Louis XVI, despite his unusual ideas about economy and fair governance, easily listened to the subtle suggestions of his court jewelers. One fine morning, he placed the necklace in its box on the Queen's table. For a moment, Her Majesty succumbed to the temptations of feminine desire, dancing and laughing with the joy of a delighted child in the radiant light of those burning, sparkling, dazzling gems. She tried it on just once, and probably the world has never before or since seen such a face in such a setting. It was almost the face of an angel shining in celestial glory. But a better thought took over, and she quickly took it off, waving her beautiful hand to decline the gift, asking the King to use the money for something else that would be useful or honorable for France, whose finances were in dire straits. “We need warships more than we need necklaces,” she said. The King was genuinely pleased with this decision of the Queen's, and the story soon spread, giving her immense popularity for at least twenty-four hours. In fact, the money was actually used to build a grand battleship named the Suffren, after the great Admiral of that name.
Boehmer, who seems to have been the business man[341]ager of the jeweler firm, found his necklace as troublesome as the cobbler did the elephant he won in a raffle, and tried so perseveringly to induce the Queen to buy it, that he became a real torment. She seems to have thought him a little cracked on the subject; and one day, when he obtained a private audience, he besought her either to buy the necklace or to let him go and drown himself in the Seine. Out of all patience, the Queen intimated that he would have been wiser to secure a customer to begin with; that she would not buy; that if he chose to throw himself into the Seine it would be entirely on his own responsibility; and that as for the necklace, he had better pick it to pieces and sell it. The poor German (for Boehmer was a native of Saxony) departed in deep distress, but accepted neither his own suggestion nor the Queen’s.
Boehmer, who appeared to be the businessman[341]ager of the jewelry company, found his necklace as much of a burden as the cobbler found the elephant he won in a raffle. He persistently tried to persuade the Queen to buy it, becoming quite a nuisance. She seemed to think he was a bit off his rocker about it; and one day, when he got a private audience, he begged her either to buy the necklace or to let him go drown himself in the Seine. Frustrated, the Queen hinted that he would have been smarter to find a buyer first; she wouldn’t buy it, and if he decided to jump into the Seine, that would be entirely his decision. As for the necklace, she suggested he should take it apart and sell it piece by piece. The poor German (since Boehmer was from Saxony) left in great distress, but he accepted neither his own idea nor the Queen’s.
For some months after this, the court jewelers busied themselves in peddling their necklace about among the courts of Europe. But none of these concerns found it convenient just then to pay out three hundred and sixty thousand dollars for a concatenation of eight hundred diamonds; and still the sparkling elephant remained on the jewelers’ hands.
For a few months after that, the court jewelers were busy trying to sell their necklace to the courts of Europe. But none of these places found it feasible at that time to spend three hundred sixty thousand dollars on a collection of eight hundred diamonds; and the dazzling elephant necklace still sat unsold with the jewelers.
Time passed on. Madame Campan, one of the Queen’s confidential ladies, happened to meet Boehmer one day, and the necklace was alluded to.
Time went by. Madame Campan, one of the Queen’s trusted ladies, happened to run into Boehmer one day, and they mentioned the necklace.
“What is the state of affairs about the necklace,” asked the lady.
“What's the update on the necklace?” asked the lady.
[342]This the lady thought rather curious, but she was glad the thing was disposed of, and said no more.
[342]This the lady found somewhat strange, but she was relieved that it was settled and said nothing more.
Time passed on again. In the beginning of August 1785, Boehmer took the trouble to call on Madame Campan at her country-house, somewhat to her surprise.
Time went on. In early August 1785, Boehmer made the effort to visit Madame Campan at her country house, which surprised her a bit.
“Has the Queen given you no message for me?” he inquired.
“Has the Queen not given you any message for me?” he asked.
“An answer to my note,” said the jeweler.
"Here's a response to my message," said the jeweler.
Madame remembered a note which the Queen had received from Boehmer a little while before, along with some ornaments sent by his hands to her as a present from the King. It congratulated her on having the finest diamonds in Europe, and hoped she would remember him. The Queen could make nothing of it, and destroyed it. Madame Campan therefore replied,
Madame remembered a note that the Queen had received from Boehmer not long ago, along with some jewelry he had delivered as a gift from the King. The note congratulated her on having the best diamonds in Europe and hoped she would keep him in mind. The Queen couldn’t make sense of it, so she destroyed it. Madame Campan then replied,
This statement very quickly elicited from the now startled German a story which astounded the lady. He said the Queen owed him the first instalment of the money for the diamond necklace; that she had bought it after all; that the story about the Sultana was a lie told by her directions to hide the fact; since the Queen meant to pay by instalments, and did not wish the purchase known. And Boehmer said, she had employed the Cardinal de Rohan to buy the necklace for her, and it had been delivered to him for her, and by him to her.
This statement quickly shocked the now startled German into telling a story that astonished the lady. He claimed the Queen owed him the first payment for the diamond necklace; that she had actually bought it; that the story about the Sultana was a lie she had created to cover it up since the Queen intended to pay in installments and wanted to keep the purchase a secret. Boehmer added that she had hired Cardinal de Rohan to buy the necklace for her, and it had been delivered to him on her behalf, and then passed on to her.
Now the Queen, as Madame Campan knew very[343] well, had always strongly disliked this Cardinal; he had even been kept from attending at Court in consequence, and she had not so much as spoken to him for years. And so Madame Campan told Boehmer, and further she told him he had been imposed upon.
Now the Queen, as Madame Campan knew very[343] well, had always strongly disliked this Cardinal; he had even been kept from attending Court because of it, and she hadn’t spoken to him in years. So, Madame Campan told Boehmer, and she also informed him that he had been misled.
“No,” said the man of sparklers decisively, “It is you who are deceived. She is decidedly friendly to the cardinal. I have myself the documents with her own signature authorizing the transaction, for I have had to let the bankers see them in order to get a little time on my own payments.”
“No,” said the man with the sparklers firmly, “You're the one who's mistaken. She's definitely on the cardinal's side. I have the documents with her own signature approving the deal, as I needed to show them to the bankers to buy myself a bit of time on my payments.”
Here was a monstrous mystification for the lady of honor, who told Boehmer to instantly go and see his official superior, the chief of the king’s household. She herself being very soon afterwards summoned to the Queen’s presence, the affair came up, and she told the Queen all she knew about it. Marie Antoinette was profoundly distressed by the evident existence of a great scandal and swindle, with which she was plainly to be mixed up through the forged signatures to the documents which Boehmer had been relying on.
Here was a huge mystery for the lady of honor, who instructed Boehmer to immediately go and see his boss, the head of the king’s household. Soon after, she was called to see the Queen, and the issue was brought up. She told the Queen everything she knew about it. Marie Antoinette was deeply upset by the clear existence of a major scandal and fraud that she was obviously going to be involved in because of the forged signatures on the documents Boehmer had been depending on.
Now for the Cardinal.
Now for the Cardinal.
Louis de Rohan, a scion of the great house of Rohan, one of the proudest of France, was descended of the blood royal of Brittany; was a handsome, proud, dissolute, foolish, credulous, unprincipled noble, now almost fifty years old, a thorough rake, of large revenues, but deeply in debt. He was Peer of France, Archbishop of Strasburg, Grand Almoner of France, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, Commendator of the benefice of St. Wast d’Arras, said to be the most[344] wealthy in Europe, and a Cardinal. He had been ambassador at Vienna a little after Marie Antoinette was married to the Dauphin, and while there had taken advantage of his official station to do a tremendous quantity of smuggling. He had also further and most deeply offended the Empress Maria Theresa, by outrageous debaucheries, by gross irreligion, and above all by a rather flat but in effect stingingly satirical description of her conduct about the partition of Poland. This she never forgave him, neither did her daughter Marie Antoinette; and accordingly, when he presented himself at Paris soon after she became Queen, he received a curt repulse, and an intimation that he had better go to—Strasburg.
Louis de Rohan, a member of the prominent Rohan family, one of the most distinguished in France, was of royal blood from Brittany. He was a handsome, arrogant, reckless, foolish, gullible, and unscrupulous nobleman, nearly fifty years old, a complete libertine with significant income but deeply in debt. He was a Peer of France, Archbishop of Strasbourg, Grand Almoner of France, Commander of the Order of the Holy Ghost, and the benefactor of St. Wast d’Arras, said to be the most[344] wealthy in Europe, as well as a Cardinal. After Marie Antoinette married the Dauphin, he served briefly as ambassador in Vienna, where he abused his official position to engage in considerable smuggling. He also deeply offended Empress Maria Theresa with his outrageous excesses, blatant irreligion, and especially a rather blunt yet cuttingly sarcastic account of her actions regarding the partition of Poland. She never forgave him for this, nor did her daughter Marie Antoinette. As a result, when he arrived in Paris shortly after she became Queen, he received a cold rejection and a hint that he should return to—Strasbourg.
Now in those days a sentence of exclusion from Court was to a French noble but just this side of a banishment to Tophet; and de Rohan was just silly enough to feel this infliction most intensely. He went however, and from that time onward, for year after year, lived the life of a persevering Adam thrust out of his paradise, hanging about the gate and trying all possible ways to sneak in again. Once, for instance, he had induced the porter at the palace of the Trianon to let him get inside the grounds during an illumination, and was recognized by the glow of his cardinal’s red stockings from under his cloak. But he was only laughed at for his pains; the porter was turned off, and the poor silly miserable cardinal remained “out in the cold,” breaking his heart over his exclusion from the most tedious mess of conventionalities that ever was contrived—except those of the court of Spain.
Now in those days, being excluded from Court was for a French noble almost as bad as being banished to hell; and de Rohan was just silly enough to feel this punishment deeply. He went on, and from that time on, year after year, lived like a stubborn Adam pushed out of his paradise, lingering by the gate and trying all possible ways to sneak back in. Once, for example, he convinced the porter at the Trianon palace to let him inside the grounds during an event, and he was recognized by the flash of his cardinal’s red stockings peeking out from under his cloak. But he was only laughed at for his troubles; the porter got fired, and the poor, silly, miserable cardinal remained “out in the cold,” heartbroken over his exclusion from the most tedious set of conventions ever devised—except for those of the Spanish court.
[345]About 1783, this great fool fell in with an equally great knave, who must be spoken of here, where he begins to converge along with the rest, towards the explosion of the necklace swindle. This was Cagliostro, who at that time came to Strasburg and created a tremendous excitement with his fascinating Countess, his Egyptian masonry, his Spagiric Food (a kind of Brandreth’s pill of the period,) which he fed out to poor sick people, his elixir of life, and other humbugs.
[345]Around 1783, this great fool teamed up with an equally great scam artist, who needs to be mentioned here as they both start to move towards the scandal of the necklace fraud. This was Cagliostro, who at that time arrived in Strasbourg and caused a huge stir with his captivating Countess, his Egyptian masonry, his Spagiric Food (similar to a brand of pills from that time), which he distributed to poor sick people, his elixir of life, and other scams.
The Cardinal sent an intimation that he would like to see the quack. The quack, whose impudence was far greater than the Cardinal’s pride, sent back this sublime reply: “If he is sick let him come to me, and I will cure him. If he is well, he does not need to see me, nor I him.”
The Cardinal hinted that he wanted to meet the fraud. The fraud, whose arrogance was much greater than the Cardinal’s pride, sent back this brilliant response: “If he’s sick, let him come to me, and I’ll heal him. If he’s fine, he doesn’t need to see me, and I don’t need to see him.”
This piece of impudence made the fool of a cardinal more eager than ever. After some more affected shyness, Cagliostro allowed himself to be seen. He was just the man to captivate the Cardinal, and they were quickly intimate personal friends, practising transmutation, alchemy, masonry, and still more particularly conducting a great many experiments on the Cardinal’s remarkably fine stock of Tokay wine. Whatever poor de Rohan had to do, he consulted Cagliostro about it, and when the latter went to Switzerland, his dupe maintained a constant communication with him in cipher.
This act of audacity made the foolish cardinal more eager than ever. After some feigned shyness, Cagliostro allowed himself to be seen. He was exactly the kind of person to captivate the Cardinal, and they quickly became close friends, practicing transmutation, alchemy, masonry, and especially conducting a lot of experiments on the Cardinal’s impressive collection of Tokay wine. Whatever poor de Rohan had to deal with, he consulted Cagliostro about it, and when the latter went to Switzerland, his gullible friend kept in constant touch with him using code.
Lastly is to be mentioned Jeanne de St. Remi, Countess de Lamotte de Valois de France, the chief scoundrel, if the term may be used of a woman—of the necklace affair. She seems to have been really a descendant of the royal house of Valois, to which[346] Francis I. belonged; through an illegitimate son of Henry II. created Count de St. Remi. The family had run down and become poor and rascally, one of Jeanne’s immediate ancestors having practiced counterfeiting for a living. She herself had been protected by a certain kind hearted Countess de Boulainvilliers; was receiving a small pension from the Court of about $325 a year; had married a certain tall soldier named Lamotte; had come to Paris, and was living in poverty in a garret, hovering about as it were for a chance to better her circumstances. She was a quick-witted, bright-eyed, brazen-faced hussy, not beautiful, but with lively pretty ways, and indeed somewhat fascinating.
Lastly, we need to mention Jeanne de St. Remi, Countess de Lamotte de Valois de France, the main scoundrel, if that term can be applied to a woman, in the necklace affair. She appears to genuinely be a descendant of the royal house of Valois, to which[346] Francis I belonged; through an illegitimate son of Henry II who was made Count de St. Remi. The family had fallen on hard times, becoming poor and disreputable, with one of Jeanne’s direct ancestors having made a living through counterfeiting. She had been supported by a kind-hearted Countess de Boulainvilliers, was receiving a small pension from the Court of about $325 a year, had married a tall soldier named Lamotte, had moved to Paris, and was living in poverty in a garret, waiting for a chance to improve her situation. She was sharp-witted, bright-eyed, and brazen, not beautiful but charming in her lively, attractive ways, and indeed somewhat captivating.
Her protectress, the countess de Boulainvilliers, was now dead; while she was alive Jeanne had once visited her at de Rohan’s palace of Saverne, and had thus scraped a slight acquaintance with the gay Cardinal, which she resumed during her abode at Paris.
Her protector, the Countess de Boulainvilliers, was now dead; while she was alive, Jeanne had once visited her at de Rohan’s palace in Saverne and had thus made a slight acquaintance with the lively Cardinal, which she resumed during her time in Paris.
Everybody at Paris knew about the Diamond Necklace, and about de Rohan’s desire to get into court favor. This sharp-witted female swindler now came in among the elements I have thus far been describing, to frame necklace, jeweller, cardinal, queen, and swindler, all together into her plot, just as the key-stone drops into an arch and locks it up tight.
Everybody in Paris knew about the Diamond Necklace and de Rohan’s wish to gain favor at court. This clever female con artist now entered the scene I’ve been describing, bringing together the necklace, jeweler, cardinal, queen, and swindler into her plan, just like the keystone fits into an arch and holds it all together.
No mortal knows where ideas come from. Suddenly a conception is in the mind, whence, or how, we do not know, any more than we know Life. The devil himself might have furnished that which now popped into the cunning, wicked mind of this adventuress. This is what she saw all at once:
No one knows where ideas come from. Suddenly, a thought appears in the mind, but we can’t tell where it came from or how, just like we can’t fully understand Life. Even the devil might have inspired what just sprang into the clever, mischievous mind of this schemer. This is what she saw all at once:
[347]Boehmer is crazy to sell his necklace. De Rohan is crazy after the Queen’s favor. I am crazy after money. Now if I can make De Rohan think that the Queen wants the necklace, and will become his friend in return for his helping her to it; if I can make him think I am her agent to him, then I can steal the diamonds in their transit.
[347]Boehmer is out of his mind to sell his necklace. De Rohan is obsessed with the Queen's approval. I'm just obsessed with money. If I can convince De Rohan that the Queen wants the necklace, and that she'll befriend him if he helps her get it; if I can make him believe I'm her agent, then I can swipe the diamonds while they're being transferred.
A wonderfully cunning and hardy scheme! And most wonderful was the cool, keen promptitude with which it was executed.
A brilliantly clever and resilient plan! And the most impressive part was the calm, sharp efficiency with which it was carried out.
The countess began to hint to the cardinal that she was fast getting into the Queen’s good graces, by virtue of being a capital gossip and story-teller; and that she had frequent private audiences. Soon she added intimations that the Queen was far from being really so displeased with the cardinal, as he supposed. At this the old fool bit instantly, and showed the keenest emotions of hope and delight. On a further suggestion, he presently drew up a letter or memoir humbly and plaintively stating his case, which the countess undertook to put into the Queen’s hands. It was the first of over two hundred notes from him, notes of abasement, beseeching argument, expostulation, and so on, all entrusted to Jeanne. She burnt them, I suppose.
The countess started suggesting to the cardinal that she was quickly getting into the Queen’s favor, thanks to her skills as a great gossip and storyteller; and that she had regular private meetings with her. Soon, she hinted that the Queen wasn’t nearly as upset with the cardinal as he thought. At this, the old fool jumped at the chance, showing intense feelings of hope and joy. On another suggestion, he immediately drafted a letter or statement humbly and sadly explaining his situation, which the countess agreed to pass on to the Queen. This was the first of over two hundred notes from him, filled with apologies, requests for discussions, pleadings, and so on, all entrusted to Jeanne. I assume she burned them.
In order to make her dupe sure that she told the truth about her access to the Queen, Jeanne more than once made him go and watch her enter a side gate into the grounds of the Trianon palace, to which she had somehow obtained a key; and after waiting he saw her come out again, sometimes under the escort of a man, who was, she said one Desclos, a confidential[348] valet of the Queen. This was Villette de Rétaux, a “pal” of Jeanne’s and of her husband Lamotte, who had, by the way, become a low-class gambler and swindler by occupation.
To make sure her mark believed her claims about her access to the Queen, Jeanne often had him watch her enter a side gate into the grounds of the Trianon palace, for which she had somehow gotten a key. After waiting, he would see her come out again, sometimes escorted by a man whom she claimed was Desclos, a trusted valet of the Queen. This man was actually Villette de Rétaux, a friend of Jeanne's and her husband Lamotte, who, by the way, had become a low-level gambler and con artist.
Next Jeanne talked about the Queen’s charities; and on one occasion, told how much the amiable Marie Antoinette longed to expend certain sums for benevolent purposes if she only had them—but she was out of funds, and the King was so close about money!
Next, Jeanne talked about the Queen’s charities; and on one occasion, she shared how much the friendly Marie Antoinette wanted to spend some money on charitable causes if only she had it—but she was short on funds, and the King was so tightfisted with money!
The poor cardinal bit again—“If the Queen would only allow him the honor to furnish the little amount!”
The poor cardinal replied again, “If the Queen would just let him have the honor of providing the small amount!”
The countess evidently hadn’t thought of that. She reflected—hesitated. The cardinal urged. She consented—it was not much—and was so kind as to carry the cash herself. At their next meeting she reported that the Queen was delighted, telling a very nice story about it. The cardinal would only be too happy to do so again. And sure enough he did, and quite a number of times too; contributing in all to the funds of the countess in this manner, about $25,000.
The countess clearly hadn’t considered that. She thought for a moment—hesitated. The cardinal pressed her. She agreed—it wasn't a big deal—and was kind enough to bring the money herself. At their next meeting, she said the Queen was thrilled, sharing a lovely story about it. The cardinal would be more than happy to do it again. And sure enough, he did, quite a few times as well; contributing in total to the countess’s funds in this way, about $25,000.
Well: after a time the cardinal is at Strasburg, when he receives a note from the countess that brings him back again as quick as post-horses can carry him. It says that there is something very important, very secret, very delicate, that the queen wants his help about. He is overflowing with zeal. What is it? Only let him know—his life, his purse, his soul, are at the service of his liege lady.
Well: after a while, the cardinal is in Strasbourg when he gets a note from the countess that makes him rush back as fast as the post horses can take him. It says that there’s something very important, very secret, very delicate that the queen needs his help with. He’s filled with enthusiasm. What is it? Just let him know—his life, his money, his soul are all at the service of his queen.
His purse is all that is needed. With infinite shyness and circumspection, the countess gradually, half[349] unwillingly, lets him find out that it is the diamond necklace that the Queen wants. By diabolical ingenuities of talk she leads de Rohan to the full conviction that if he secures the Queen that necklace, he will thenceforward bask in all the sunshine of court favor that she can show or control.
His purse is all that's needed. With endless shyness and caution, the countess slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, lets him figure out that it's the diamond necklace the Queen desires. Through clever manipulation of conversation, she convinces de Rohan that if he manages to get that necklace for the Queen, he will enjoy all the favor and attention of the court that she can offer or influence.
And at proper times sundry notes from the Queen are bestowed upon the enraptured noodle. These are written in imitation of the Queen’s handwriting, by that Villette de Rétaux who personated the Queen’s valet, and who was an expert at counterfeiting.
And at the right times, various notes from the Queen are given to the delighted fool. These are written to look like the Queen’s handwriting, by that Villette de Rétaux who pretended to be the Queen’s valet and was skilled at forgery.
A last and sublime summit of impudent pretension is reached by a secret interview which the Queen, says the countess, desires to grant to her beloved servant the cardinal. This suggestion was rendered practicable by one of those mere coincidences which are found though rarely in history, and which are too improbable to put into a novel—the casual discovery of a young woman of loose character who looked much like the Queen. Whether her name was d’Essigny or Gay d’Oliva, is uncertain; she is usually called by the latter. She was hired and taught; and with immense precautions, this ostrich of a cardinal was one night introduced into the gardens of the Trianon, and shown a little nook among the thickets where a stately female in the similitude of the Queen received him with soft spoken words of kindly greeting, allowed him to kneel and kiss a fair and shapely hand, and showed no particular timidity of any kind. Yet the interview had scarcely more than begun before steps were heard. “Some one is coming,” exclaimed the lady, “it is Monsieur and Madame d’Artois—We[350] must part. There”—she gave him a red rose—“You know what that means! Farewell!” And away they went—Mademoiselle d’Oliva to report to her employers, and the cardinal, in a seventh heaven of ineffable tomfoolery, to his hotel.
A final and grand peak of outrageous boldness is reached by a secret meeting that the Queen, according to the countess, wants to arrange with her favorite servant, the cardinal. This idea became possible because of one of those rare coincidences found in history that are too unbelievable to include in a novel—the accidental discovery of a young woman of questionable reputation who resembled the Queen. Whether her name was d’Essigny or Gay d’Oliva is unclear; she is usually called by the latter. She was hired and trained; and with great care, this naive cardinal was one night brought into the gardens of the Trianon, where he found a charming woman resembling the Queen who greeted him warmly, allowed him to kneel and kiss her beautiful hand, and showed no signs of shyness whatsoever. However, the conversation had barely started when footsteps were heard. “Someone is coming,” the lady exclaimed, “it’s Monsieur and Madame d’Artois—We[350] must part. Here”—she handed him a red rose—“You know what that means! Farewell!” And off they went—Mademoiselle d’Oliva to report back to her employers, and the cardinal, in a blissful state of utter foolishness, to his hotel.
But the interview, and the lovely little notes that came sometimes, “fixed” the necklace business! And if further encouragement had been needed, Cagliostro gave it. For the cardinal now consulted him about the future of the affair, having indeed kept him fully informed about it for a long time, as he did of all matters of interest. So the quack set up his tabernacles of mummery in a parlor of the cardinal’s hotel, and conducted an Egyptian Invocation there all night long in solitude and pomp; and in the morning he decreed (in substance) “go ahead.” And the cardinal did so. Boehmer and Bassange were only too happy to bargain with the great and wealthy church and state dignitary. A memorandum of terms and time of payment was drawn up, and was submitted to the Queen. That is, swindling Jeanne carried it off, and brought it back, with an entry made by Villette de Rétaux in the margin, thus: “Bon, bon—Approuvé, Marie Antoinette de France.” That is, “Good, good—I approve. Marie Antoinette de France.” The payment was to be by instalments, at six months, and quarterly afterwards; the Queen to furnish the money to the cardinal, while he remained ostensibly holden to the jewellers, she thus keeping out of sight.
But the interview, along with the nice little notes that sometimes came, “fixed” the necklace situation! And if more encouragement was needed, Cagliostro provided it. The cardinal now consulted him about the future of the affair, having kept him fully informed about it for a long time, as he did with all matters of interest. So the charlatan set up his show in a parlor of the cardinal’s hotel and held an Egyptian Invocation there all night long in solitude and grandeur; and in the morning, he declared (in essence), “go ahead.” And the cardinal did just that. Boehmer and Bassange were more than happy to negotiate with the influential and wealthy church and state figure. A memorandum of terms and payment schedule was created and presented to the Queen. That is, the scheming Jeanne took it, and returned it with an entry made by Villette de Rétaux in the margin, thus: “Bon, bon—Approuvé, Marie Antoinette de France.” Which means, “Good, good—I approve. Marie Antoinette de France.” The payment was to be in installments, starting at six months, and quarterly thereafter; the Queen was to provide the money to the cardinal, while he remained seemingly obligated to the jewelers, keeping her out of sight.
So the jewels were handed over to the cardinal de Rohan; he took them one evening in great state to[351] the lodgings of the countess, where with all imaginable formality there came a knock at the door, and when it was open a tall valet entered who said solemnly “On the part of the Queen!” De Rohan knew it was the Queen’s confidential valet, for he saw with his own eyes that it was the same man who had escorted the countess from the side gate at the Trianon! And so it was; to wit, Villette de Rétaux, who, calmly receiving the fifteen hundred thousand franc treasure, marched but as solemnly as he had come in.
So the jewels were handed over to Cardinal de Rohan; he took them one evening in grand style to[351] the countess's place, where with all the formalities there was a knock at the door. When it opened, a tall valet walked in and said seriously, “On behalf of the Queen!” De Rohan knew it was the Queen’s trusted valet because he recognized him as the same man who had escorted the countess from the side gate at the Trianon! And indeed, it was Villette de Rétaux, who, calmly accepting the fifteen hundred thousand franc treasure, left just as solemnly as he had arrived.
As that counterfeiting rascal goes out of the door, the diamond necklace itself disappears from our knowledge. The swindle was consummated, but there is no whisper of the disposition of the spoils. Villette, and Jeanne’s husband Lamotte, went to London and Amsterdam, and had some money there; but seemingly no more than the previous pillages upon the cardinal might have supplied; nor did the countess’ subsequent expenditures show that she had any of the proceeds.
As that con artist leaves the door, the diamond necklace vanishes from our awareness. The scam was successful, but there’s no hint of what happened to the loot. Villette and Jeanne’s husband, Lamotte, traveled to London and Amsterdam and had some money there, but it seems to be no more than what previous thefts from the cardinal might have provided. Nor did the countess's later spending indicate that she had any of the profits.
But that is not the last of the rest of the parties to the affair, by any means. Between this scene and the time when the anxious Boehmer, having a little bill to meet, beset Madame Campan about his letter and the money the Queen was to pay him, there intervened six months. During that time countess Jeanne was smoothing as well as she could, with endless lies and contrivances, the troubles of the perplexed cardinal, who “couldn’t seem to see” that he was much better off in spite of his loyal performance of his part of the bargain.
But that’s not the end of the other people involved in this situation, not by a long shot. Between this scene and the moment when the worried Boehmer, needing to settle a small bill, pressed Madame Campan about his letter and the money the Queen owed him, six months passed. During that time, Countess Jeanne was doing her best, with countless lies and tricks, to ease the troubles of the confused cardinal, who “couldn’t seem to see” that he was actually much better off despite his loyal efforts to uphold his part of the deal.
But this application by Boehmer, and the enormous[352] swindle which it was instantly evident had been perpetrated on somebody or other, of course waked up a commotion at once. The baron de Breteuil, a deadly enemy of de Rohan, got hold of it all, and in his overpowering eagerness to ruin his foe, quickly rendered the matter so public that it was out of the question to hush it up. It seems probable that Jeanne de Lamotte expected that the business would be kept quiet for the sake of the Queen, and that thus any very severe or public punishments would be avoided and perhaps no inquiries made. It is clear that this would have been the best plan, but de Breteuil’s officiousness prevented it, and there was nothing for it but legal measures. De Rohan was arrested and put in the Bastile, having barely been able to send a message in German to his hotel to a trusty secretary, who instantly destroyed all the papers relating to the affair. Jeanne was also imprisoned, and Miss Gay d’Oliva and Villette de Rétaux, being caught at Brussels and Amsterdam, were in like manner secured. As for Cagliostro, he was also imprisoned, some accounts saying that he ostentatiously gave himself up for trial.
But this application by Boehmer, and the huge[352] scam that clearly had been pulled on someone, immediately caused a stir. The baron de Breteuil, a fierce enemy of de Rohan, got wind of it all, and in his intense desire to ruin his rival, made the situation so public that it was impossible to cover it up. It seems likely that Jeanne de Lamotte thought the matter would be kept quiet to protect the Queen, avoiding any harsh or public punishments and perhaps preventing inquiries altogether. Clearly, this would have been the best approach, but de Breteuil’s meddling stopped that, leaving no choice but to resort to legal action. De Rohan was arrested and put in the Bastille, barely managing to send a message in German to his hotel to a trusted secretary, who quickly destroyed all the documents related to the case. Jeanne was also imprisoned, and Miss Gay d’Oliva and Villette de Rétaux, caught in Brussels and Amsterdam, were similarly detained. As for Cagliostro, he was also imprisoned, with some reports stating that he dramatically surrendered himself for trial.
This was a public trial before the Parliament of Paris, with much form.
This was a public trial in front of the Parliament of Paris, with a lot of formalities.
The result was that the cardinal, appearing to be only fool, not knave, was acquitted. Gay d’Oliva appeared to have known nothing except that she was to play a part, and she had been told that the Queen wanted her to do so, so she was let go. Villette was banished for life. Lamotte, the countess’ husband, had escaped to England, and was condemned to the gal[353]leys in his absence, which didn’t hurt him much. Cagliostro was acquitted. But Jeanne was sentenced to be whipped, branded on the shoulder with the letter V for Voleuse (thief), and banished.
The outcome was that the cardinal, who seemed to be just a fool and not a criminal, was cleared of all charges. Gay d’Oliva seemed to have no idea what was happening other than that she was meant to play a role, and since she was told the Queen wanted her to do so, she was released. Villette was exiled for life. Lamotte, the countess' husband, had fled to England and was sentenced to the galleys in his absence, which didn’t really affect him. Cagliostro was also acquitted. However, Jeanne was punished with whipping, branded on the shoulder with the letter V for Voleuse (thief), and exiled.
This sentence was executed in full, but with great difficulty; for the woman turned perfectly furious on the public scaffold, flew at the hangman like a tiger, bit pieces out of his hands, shrieked, cursed, rolled on the floor, kicked, squirmed and jumped, until they held her by brute force, tore down her dress, and the red hot iron going aside as she struggled, plunged full into her snowy white breast, planting there indelibly the horrible black V, while she yelled like a fiend under the torment of the smoking brand. She fled away to England, lived there some time in dissolute courses, and is said to have died in consequence of falling out of a window when drunk, or as another account states, of being flung out by the companions of her orgy, whom she had stung to fury by her frightful scolding. Before her death she put forth one or two memoirs,—false, scandalous things.
This sentence was carried out completely, but with a lot of effort; the woman became extremely enraged on the public scaffold, lunged at the hangman like a wild animal, bit his hands, screamed, cursed, rolled on the ground, kicked, squirmed, and jumped, until they restrained her with sheer force, tore her dress, and the red-hot iron, slipping as she fought, plunged deep into her snow-white chest, marking it forever with the horrible black V, while she screamed like a demon under the agony of the burning iron. She escaped to England, lived there for a while in a reckless manner, and it's said that she died after falling out of a window while drunk, or as another story claims, that she was thrown out by her partying companions, whom she had angered with her terrifying yelling. Before her death, she published one or two memoirs—false, scandalous things.
The unfortunate Queen never entirely escaped some shadow of disrepute from the necklace business. For to the very last, both on the trial and afterwards, Jeanne de Lamotte impudently stuck to it that at least the Queen had known about the trick played on the Cardinal at the Trianon, and had in fact been hidden close by and saw and laughed heartily at the whole interview. So sore and morbid was the condition of the public mind in France in those days, when symptoms of the coming Revolution were breaking out on[354] every side, that this odious story found many and willing believers.
The unfortunate Queen never fully shook off the stain of scandal from the necklace affair. Until the very end, both during the trial and afterward, Jeanne de Lamotte shamelessly insisted that the Queen had at least known about the trick played on the Cardinal at the Trianon, and had actually been hiding nearby, watching and laughing at the whole interaction. The public sentiment in France at that time was so sensitive and troubled, especially with signs of the coming Revolution emerging on[354] every side, that this awful story found many eager believers.
CHAPTER XLII.
THE COUNT DE ST. GERMAIN, SAGE, PROPHET, AND MAGICIAN.
THE COUNT DE ST. GERMAIN, WISE MAN, SEER, AND MAGICIAN.
Superior to Cagliostro, even in accomplishments, and second to him in notoriety only, was that human nondescript, the so-called Count de St. Germain, whom Fredrick the Great called, “a man no one has ever been able to make out.”
Superior to Cagliostro, even in achievements, and only slightly less notorious than him, was that enigmatic figure, the so-called Count de St. Germain, whom Frederick the Great referred to as “a man no one has ever been able to understand.”
The Marquis de Crequy declares that St. Germain was an Alsatian Jew, Simon Wolff by name, and born at Strasburg about the close of the seventeenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century; others insist that he was a Spanish Jesuit named Aymar; and others again intimate that his true title was the Marquis de Betmar, and that he was a native of Portugal. The most plausible theory, however, makes him the natural son of an Italian princess, and fixes his birth at San Germano, in Savoy, about the year 1710; his ostensible father being one Rotondo, a tax-collector of that district.
The Marquis de Crequy claims that St. Germain was an Alsatian Jew named Simon Wolff, born in Strasbourg around the end of the seventeenth century or the beginning of the eighteenth century. Others argue that he was a Spanish Jesuit called Aymar; still others suggest that his real name was the Marquis de Betmar and that he was from Portugal. The most convincing theory, however, suggests that he was the illegitimate son of an Italian princess, born in San Germano, Savoy, around 1710, with his supposed father being one Rotondo, a tax collector from that area.
This supposition is borne out by the fact that he spoke all his many languages with an Italian accent. It was about the year 1750 that he first began to be heard of in Europe as the Count St. Germain, and put forth the astounding pretensions that soon gave him ce[355]lebrity over the whole continent. The celebrated Marquis de Belleisle made his acquaintance about that time in Germany, and brought him to Paris, where he was introduced to Madame de Pompadour, whose favor he very quickly gained. The influence of that famous beauty was just then paramount with Louis XV, and the Count was soon one of the most eminent men at court. He was remarkably handsome—as an old portrait at Friersdorf, in Saxony, in the rooms he once occupied, sufficiently indicated; and his musical accomplishments, added to the ineffable charm of his manners and conversation, and the miracles he performed, rendered him an irresistible attraction, especially to the ladies, who appear to have almost idolized him. Endowed with an enchanting voice, he could also play every instrument then in vogue, but especially excelled upon the violin, which he could handle in such a manner as to give it the effect of a small orchestra. Cotemporary writers declare that, in his more ordinary performances, a connoisseur could distinctly hear the separate tones of a full quartet when the count was extemporizing on his favorite Cremona. His little work, entitled “La Musique Raisonnée,” published in England, for private circulation only, bears testimony to his musical genius, and to the wondrous eccentricity, as well as beauty, of his conceptions. But it was in alectromancy, or divination by signs and circles; hydromancy, or divination by water; cleidomancy, or divination by the key, and dactylomancy, or divination by the fingers, that the count chiefly excelled, although he, at the same time, professed alchemy, astrology, and prophecy in the higher branches.
This assumption is supported by the fact that he spoke all his many languages with an Italian accent. Around the year 1750, he first became known in Europe as Count St. Germain, and made some astonishing claims that quickly earned him fame across the continent. The famous Marquis de Belleisle met him around that time in Germany and brought him to Paris, where he was introduced to Madame de Pompadour, whose favor he gained very quickly. Her influence was extremely powerful with Louis XV, and the Count soon became one of the most prominent figures at court. He was strikingly handsome—as an old portrait in Friersdorf, Saxony, where he once stayed, clearly shows—and his musical talents, combined with the irresistible charm of his personality and conversation, along with the miracles he performed, made him particularly appealing, especially to women, who seemed to idolize him. Blessed with a captivating voice, he could play every instrument popular at the time, but he particularly excelled on the violin, which he played so skillfully that it sounded like a small orchestra. Contemporary writers claim that during his more common performances, a knowledgeable listener could distinctly hear the separate notes of a full quartet when the Count was improvising on his favorite Cremona violin. His small work, titled “La Musique Raisonnée,” published in England for private circulation only, attests to his musical talent and the wondrous eccentricity and beauty of his ideas. However, it was in alectromancy, or divination through signs and circles; hydromancy, or divination by water; cleidomancy, or divination by the key; and dactylomancy, or divination by the fingers, that the Count truly excelled, even though he also claimed to practice alchemy, astrology, and higher forms of prophecy.
[356]The fortunes of the Count St. Germain rose so rapidly in France, that in 1760 he was sent by Louis XV, to the Court of England, to assist in negotiations for a peace. M. de Choiseul, then Prime Minister of France, however, greatly feared and detested the Count; and secretly wrote to Pitt, begging the latter to have that personage arrested, as he was certainly a Russian spy. But St. Germain, through his attendant sprites, of course, received timely warning, and escaped to the Continent. In England, he was the inseparable friend of Prince Lobkowitz—a circumstance that gave some color to his alleged connection with the Russians. His sojourn there was equally distinguished by his devotion to the ladies, and his unwavering success at the gaming-table, where he won fabulous sums, which were afterward dispensed with imperial munificence. It was there, too, that he put forward his claims to the highest rank in Masonry; and, of course, added, thereby, immensely to the éclat of his position. He spoke English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, the Scandinavian, and many of the Oriental tongues, with equal fluency; and pretended to have traveled over the whole earth, and even to have visited the most distant starry orbs frequently, in the course of a lifetime which, with continual transmigrations, he declared to have lasted for thousands of years. His birth, he said, had been in Chaldea, in the dawn of time; and that he was the sole inheritor of the lost sciences and mysteries of his own and the Egyptian race. He spoke of his personal intimacy with all the twelve Apostles—and even the august presence of the Savior;[357] and one of his pretensions would have been most singularly amusing, had it not bordered upon profanity. This was no less an assertion than that he had upon several occasions remonstrated with the Apostle Peter upon the irritability of his temperament! In regard to later periods of history, he spoke with the careless ease of an every-day looker on; and told anecdotes that the researches of scholars afterwards fully verified. His predictions were, indeed, most startling; and the cotemporaneous evidence is very strong and explicit, that he did foretell the time, place, and manner of the death of Louis XV, several years before it occurred. His gift of memory was perfectly amazing. Having once read a journal of the day, he could repeat its contents accurately, from beginning to end; and to this endowment he united the faculty of writing with both hands, in characters like copperplate. Thus, he could indite a love-letter with his right while he composed a verse with his left hand, and, apparently, with the utmost facility—a splendid acquisition for the Treasury Department or a literary newspaper! He would, however, have been ineligible for any faithful Post Office, since he read the contents of sealed letters at a glance; and, by his clairvoyant powers, detected crime, or, in fact, the movements of men and the phenomena of nature, at any distance. Like all the great Magi, and Brothers of the Rosy Cross, of whom he claimed to be a shining light, he most excelled in medicine; and along with remedies for “every ill that flesh is heir to,” boasted his “Aqua Benedetta” as the genuine elixir of life, capable of restoring youth to age, beauty and[358] strength to decay, and brilliant intellect to the exhausted brain; and, if properly applied, protracting human existence through countless centuries. As a proof of its virtues, he pointed to his own youthful appearance, and the testimony of old men who had seen him sixty or seventy years earlier, and who declared that time had made no impression on him. Strangely enough, the Margrave of Anspach, of whom I shall presently speak, purchased what purported to be the recipe of the “Aqua Benedetta,” from John Dyke, the English Consul at Leghorn, towards the close of the last century; and copies of it are still preserved with religious care and the utmost secrecy by certain noble families in Berlin and Vienna, where the preparation has been used (as they believe) with perfect success against a host of diseases.
[356]The fortunes of Count St. Germain rose so quickly in France that in 1760 he was sent by Louis XV to the Court of England to help negotiate a peace. M. de Choiseul, who was then Prime Minister of France, greatly feared and detested the Count; he secretly wrote to Pitt, asking him to arrest St. Germain, convinced that he was a Russian spy. However, St. Germain received timely warning through his attendant spirits and escaped to the Continent. In England, he was inseparable from Prince Lobkowitz—this connection lent some credibility to rumors about his ties to the Russians. His time there was marked by his romantic pursuits and his remarkable success at gambling, where he won huge sums that he later dispensed generously. It was also there that he claimed the highest rank in Masonry, which significantly boosted his social standing. He spoke English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Scandinavian languages, and many Eastern languages with equal fluency. He claimed to have traveled the entire world and even to have visited distant stars regularly, during a lifetime he said had lasted for thousands of years through continuous reincarnations. He claimed to have been born in Chaldea at the dawn of time and insisted he was the sole inheritor of the lost sciences and mysteries of both his and the Egyptian race. He spoke of his personal connections with all twelve Apostles and even claimed to have interacted with the Savior; [357] one of his more bizarre claims was that he had on several occasions confronted the Apostle Peter about his irritability! Regarding later historical periods, he spoke with the confidence of someone who was just a casual observer, sharing anecdotes that were later verified by academic research. His predictions were indeed astonishing, and strong contemporary evidence suggests that he accurately foretold the time, place, and manner of Louis XV's death several years in advance. His memory was truly remarkable; after reading a newspaper, he could recite its contents word-for-word. He combined this talent with the ability to write with both hands in beautifully crafted letters. Therefore, he could write a love letter with his right hand while composing a poem with his left, apparently with great ease—a fantastic skill for the Treasury Department or a literary magazine! However, he would not have been fit for a reliable Post Office job since he could read the contents of sealed letters at a glance; and, using his clairvoyant abilities, he could detect crimes, the movements of people, and natural phenomena from any distance. Like all the great Magi and Brothers of the Rosy Cross, of whom he claimed to be a prominent figure, he particularly excelled in medicine; along with remedies for “every ailment that flesh is heir to,” he boasted of his “Aqua Benedetta,” a genuine elixir of life capable of restoring youth to the aged, beauty and[358] strength to the frail, and brilliant intellect to the weary mind; if used correctly, it could prolong human life for countless centuries. To prove its efficacy, he pointed to his own youthful appearance and the testimonies of elderly men who had seen him sixty or seventy years earlier, claiming that time had left him unchanged. Strangely, the Margrave of Anspach, whom I will discuss shortly, purchased what was said to be the recipe for “Aqua Benedetta” from John Dyke, the English Consul at Leghorn, toward the end of the last century; copies of it are still carefully preserved and kept secret by certain noble families in Berlin and Vienna, who believe the preparation has been used with perfect success against a variety of diseases.
Still another peculiarity of the Count would be highly advantageous to any of us, particularly at this period of high prices and culinary scarcity. He never ate nor drank; or, at least, he was never seen to do so! It is said that boarding house régime in these days is rapidly accustoming a considerable class of our fellow-citizens to a similar condition, but I can scarcely believe it.
Still another strange thing about the Count would be really beneficial for any of us, especially during this time of high prices and food shortages. He never ate or drank; or at least, nobody ever saw him do it! It's said that the meal plans at boarding houses these days are quickly getting a lot of our fellow citizens used to a similar situation, but I can hardly believe it.
Again, the Count would fall into cataleptic swoons, which continued often for hours, and even days; and, during these periods, he declared that he visited, in spirit, the most remote regions of the earth, and even the farthest stars, and would relate, with astonishing power, the scenes he there had witnessed!
Again, the Count would fall into cataleptic episodes, which often lasted for hours or even days; during these times, he claimed that his spirit traveled to the most distant parts of the earth and even to the farthest stars, and he would describe, with remarkable intensity, the scenes he had experienced there!
He, of course, laid claim to the transmutation of[359] baser metals into gold, and stated that, in 1755, while on a visit to India, to consult the erudition of the Hindoo Brahmins, he solved, by their assistance, the problem of the artificial crystallization of pure carbon—or, in other words, the production of diamonds! One thing is certain, viz.: that upon a visit to the French ambassador to the Hague, in 1780, he, in the presence of that functionary, induced him to believe and testify that he broke to pieces, with a hammer, a superb diamond, of his own manufacture, the exact counterpart of another, of similar origin, which he had just sold for 5,500 louis d’or.
He claimed to have changed[359] lower-quality metals into gold and mentioned that, in 1755, during a trip to India to learn from the knowledgeable Hindu Brahmins, he solved, with their help, the issue of artificially crystallizing pure carbon—or, in simpler terms, making diamonds! One thing is clear: when he visited the French ambassador in The Hague in 1780, he made that official believe and attest that he smashed a stunning diamond he had created himself, which was exactly like another one, from the same source, that he had just sold for 5,500 louis d’or.
His career and transformations on the Continent were multiform. In 1762, he was mixed up with the dynastic conspiracies and changes at St. Petersburg; and his importance there was indicated ten years later, by the reception given to him at Vienna by the Russian Count Orloff, who accosted him joyously as “caro padre” (dear father,) and gave him twenty thousand golden Venetian sequins.
His career and changes on the Continent were varied. In 1762, he got involved in the dynastic conspiracies and shifts in St. Petersburg; his significance there was highlighted ten years later by the warm welcome he received in Vienna from the Russian Count Orloff, who greeted him cheerfully as “dear father” and gave him twenty thousand golden Venetian sequins.
From Petersburg he went to Berlin, where he at once attracted the attention of Frederick the Great, who questioned Voltaire about him; the latter replying, as it is said, that he was a man who knew all things, and would live to the end of the world—a fair statement, in brief, of the position assumed by more than one of our ward politicians!
From Petersburg, he traveled to Berlin, where he immediately caught the eye of Frederick the Great, who asked Voltaire about him. Voltaire reportedly replied that he was a man who knew everything and would live until the end of the world—a pretty accurate summary of the stance taken by more than a few of our local politicians!
In 1774, he took up his abode at Schwabach, in Germany, under the name of Count Tzarogy, which is a transposition of Ragotzy, a well-known noble name. The Margrave of Anspach met him at the house of his[360] favorite Clairon, the actress, and became so fond of him, that he insisted upon his company to Italy. On his return, he went to Dresden, Leipzig, and Hamburg, and finally to Eckernfiorde, in Schleswig, where he took up his residence with the Landgrave Karl of Hesse; and at length, in 1783, tired, as he said, of life, and disdaining any longer immortality, he gave up the ghost.
In 1774, he settled in Schwabach, Germany, under the name Count Tzarogy, which is a rearrangement of the well-known noble name Ragotzy. The Margrave of Anspach met him at the home of his[360] favorite, the actress Clairon, and became so fond of him that he insisted on his company to Italy. Upon returning, he visited Dresden, Leipzig, and Hamburg, and eventually moved to Eckernfiorde in Schleswig, where he lived with Landgrave Karl of Hesse. Finally, in 1783, feeling tired of life and rejecting any desire for immortality, he passed away.
It was during St. Germain’s residence in Schleswig that he was visited by the renowned Cagliostro, who openly acknowledged him as master, and learned many of his most precious secrets from him—among others, the faculty of discriminating the character by the handwriting, and of fascinating birds, animals, and reptiles.
It was during St. Germain’s time in Schleswig that he was visited by the famous Cagliostro, who openly recognized him as a master and learned many of his most valuable secrets, including the ability to read character from handwriting and to charm birds, animals, and reptiles.
To trace the wanderings of St. Germain is a difficult task, as he had innumerable aliases, and often totally disappeared for months together. In Venice, he was known as the Count de Bellamare; at Pisa, as the Chevalier de Schoening; at Milan, as the Chevalier Welldone; at Genoa, as the Count Soltikow, etc.
To track the travels of St. Germain is a challenging job since he had countless aliases and often vanished completely for months at a time. In Venice, he was known as the Count de Bellamare; in Pisa, as the Chevalier de Schoening; in Milan, as the Chevalier Welldone; in Genoa, as the Count Soltikow, and so on.
In all these journeys, his own personal tastes were quiet and simple, and he manifested more attachment for a pocket-copy of Guarini’s “Pastor Fido”—his only library—than for any other object in his possession.
In all these journeys, his personal tastes were calm and uncomplicated, and he showed more attachment to a pocket copy of Guarini's "Pastor Fido"—his only book—than to anything else he owned.
On the whole, the Count de St. Germain was a man of magnificent attainments, but the use he made of his talents proved him to be also a most magnificent humbug.
Overall, the Count de St. Germain was a highly accomplished individual, but how he used his talents showed that he was also a significant fraud.
CHAPTER XLIII.
RIZA BEY, THE PERSIAN ENVOY TO LOUIS XIV.
RIZA BEY, THE PERSIAN ENVOY TO LOUIS XIV.
The most gorgeous, and with one sole exception the most glorious reign that France has known, so far as military success is concerned, was that of Louis XIV, the Grand Monarque. His was the age of lavish expenditure, of magnificent structures, grand festivals, superb dress and equipage, aristocratic arrogance, brilliant campaigns, and great victories. It was, moreover, particularly distinguished for the number and high character of the various special embassies sent to the court of France by foreign powers. Among these, Spain, the Netherlands, Great Britain, and Venice rivaled each other in extravagant display and pomp. The singular and really tangible imposture I am about to describe, practiced at such a period and on such a man as Louis of France, was indeed a bold and dashing affair.
The most beautiful, and with one exception the most magnificent reign that France has ever known, especially in terms of military success, was that of Louis XIV, the Grand Monarque. His era was marked by extravagant spending, stunning architecture, grand celebrations, luxurious clothing and carriages, elitist attitudes, remarkable military campaigns, and significant victories. Additionally, it was particularly notable for the numerous and prestigious special missions sent to the French court by foreign countries. Among these, Spain, the Netherlands, Great Britain, and Venice competed with each other in extravagant show and ceremony. The unique and truly daring deception I’m about to describe, enacted during such a time and on such a figure as Louis of France, was indeed a bold and audacious undertaking.
“L’Etat c’est moi”—“I am the State,” was Louis’ celebrated and very significant motto; for in his own hands he had really concentrated all the powers of the realm, and woe to him who trifled with a majesty so real and so imperial!
“L’État c’est moi”—“I am the State,” was Louis’ famous and very important motto; for he had truly concentrated all the powers of the realm in his own hands, and trouble awaited anyone who played games with such a real and imperial majesty!
However, notwithstanding all this imposing strength, this mighty domineering will, and this keen intelligence, a man was found bold enough to brave them all in the arena of pure humbug. It was toward the close of the[362] year 1667, when Louis, in the plenitude of military success, returned from his campaign in Flanders, where his invincible troops had proven too much for the broad breeched but gallant Dutchmen. In the short space of three months he had added whole provinces, including some forty or fifty cities and towns, to his dominions; and his fame was ringing throughout Christendom. It had even penetrated to the farthest East; and the King of Siam sent a costly embassy from his remote kingdom, to offer his congratulations and fraternal greeting to the most eminent potentate of Europe.
However, despite all this impressive strength, this powerful, dominating will, and this sharp intelligence, there was a man bold enough to challenge them all in the realm of pure deception. It was towards the end of the[362] year 1667, when Louis, at the height of his military success, returned from his campaign in Flanders, where his unbeatable troops had proven too much for the well-dressed but brave Dutchmen. In just three months, he had added entire provinces, including around forty or fifty cities and towns, to his territory; and his reputation was spreading throughout Christendom. It had even reached the far East, and the King of Siam sent an expensive diplomatic mission from his distant kingdom to offer his congratulations and friendly greetings to the most prominent ruler in Europe.
Louis had already removed the pageantries of his royal household to his magnificent new palace of Versailles, on which the wealth of conquered kingdoms had been lavished, and there, in the Great Hall of Mirrors, received the homage of his own nobles and the ambassadors of foreign powers. The utmost splendor of which human life was susceptible seemed so common and familiar in those days, that the train was dazzling indeed that could excite any very particular attention. What would have seemed stupendous elsewhere was only in conformity with all the rest of the scene at Versailles. But, at length, there came something that made even the pampered courtiers of the new Babylon stare—a Persian embassy. Yes, a genuine, actual, living envoy from that wonderful Empire in the East, which in her time had ruled the whole Oriental world, and still retained almost fabulous wealth and splendor.
Louis had already moved the trappings of his royal court to his stunning new palace at Versailles, which had been built with the riches of conquered kingdoms. There, in the Great Hall of Mirrors, he received the respect of his nobles and ambassadors from foreign nations. The highest levels of luxury in human life seemed so ordinary back then that it took something truly spectacular to catch anyone's attention. What would have been astonishing anywhere else was just part of the usual scene at Versailles. However, eventually, something happened that made even the privileged courtiers of this new Babylon stop and stare—a Persian embassy. Yes, a real, live envoy from that incredible Empire in the East, which had once dominated the entire Eastern world and still held almost mythical wealth and grandeur.
It was announced formally, one morning, to Louis, that His Most Serene Excellency, Riza Bey, with an interminable tail of titles, hangers-on and equipages,[363] had reached the port of Marseilles, having journeyed by way of Trebizond and Constantinople, to lay before the great “King of the Franks” brotherly congratulations and gorgeous presents from his own illustrious master, the Shah of Persia. This was something entirely to the taste of the vain French ruler, whom unlimited good fortune had inflated beyond all reasonable proportions. He firmly believed that he was by far the greatest man who had ever lived; and had an embassy from the moon or the planet Jupiter been announced to him, would have deemed it not only natural enough, but absolutely due to his preëminence above all other human beings. Nevertheless, he was, secretly, immensely pleased with the Persian demonstration, and gave orders that no expense should be spared in giving the strangers a reception worthy of himself and France.
It was officially announced one morning to Louis that His Most Serene Excellency, Riza Bey, along with an endless parade of titles, followers, and entourages,[363] had arrived in the port of Marseilles, having traveled through Trebizond and Constantinople, to present the great “King of the Franks” with brotherly congratulations and lavish gifts from his own distinguished master, the Shah of Persia. This was absolutely to the liking of the vain French ruler, whose boundless good luck had inflated his ego to unreasonable heights. He genuinely believed he was the greatest man to ever live; if an embassy from the moon or Jupiter had been announced, he would have thought it not only reasonable but entirely deserved due to his superiority over all other humans. Still, he was secretly thrilled by the Persian visit and ordered that no expense be spared in giving the guests a welcome that reflected both his status and that of France.
It would be needless for me to detail the events of the progress of Riza Bey from Marseilles to Paris, by way of Avignon and Lyons. It was certainly in keeping with the pretensions of the Ambassador. From town to town the progress was a continued ovation. Triumphal arches, bonfires, chimes of bells, and hurrahing crowds in their best bibs and tuckers, military parades and civic ceremonies, everywhere awaited the children of the farthest East, who were stared at, shouted at—and by some wretched cynics sneered and laughed at—to their hearts’ content. All modern glory very largely consists in being nearly stunned with every species of noise, choked with dust, and dragged about through the streets, until you are well nigh dead. Witness the Japanese Embassy and their visit to this country, where,[364] in some cases, the poor creatures, after hours of unmitigated boring with all sorts of mummery, actually had their pigtails pulled by Young America in the rear, and—as at the windows of Willard’s Hotel in Washington—were stirred up with long canes, like the Polar Bear or the Learned Seal.
It would be unnecessary for me to describe Riza Bey’s journey from Marseilles to Paris, passing through Avignon and Lyons. His trip certainly matched the expectations of the Ambassador. From city to city, the journey was met with ongoing celebrations. Triumphal arches, bonfires, ringing bells, and cheering crowds dressed in their finest awaited the visitors from the farthest East, who were gawked at, shouted at—and by some miserable cynics, mocked and laughed at—to their hearts' content. All modern glory largely consists of being nearly overwhelmed by noise, choking on dust, and being dragged through the streets until you’re completely exhausted. Just look at the Japanese Embassy and their visit to this country, where,[364] in some instances, the poor people, after hours of relentless tedium and various distractions, actually had their pigtails tugged by young Americans from behind, and—just like at the windows of Willard’s Hotel in Washington—were poked with long sticks, similar to a Polar Bear or a Learned Seal.
Still Riza Bey and his dozen or two of dusky companions did not, by any means, cut so splendid a figure as had been expected. They had with them some camels, antelopes, bulbuls, and monkeys—like any travelling caravan, and were dressed in the most outrageous and outlandish attire. They jabbered, too, a gibberish utterly incomprehensible to the crowd, and did everything that had never been seen or done before. All this, however, delighted the populace. Had they been similarly transmogrified, or played such queer pranks themselves, it would only have been food for mockery; but the foreign air and fame of the thing made it all wonderful, and, as the chief rogue in the plot had foreseen, blinded the popular eye and made his “embassy” a complete success.
Still, Riza Bey and his dozen or so dark-skinned companions did not, by any means, stand out as magnificently as expected. They had with them some camels, antelopes, bulbuls, and monkeys—just like any traveling caravan—and were dressed in the most outrageous and bizarre outfits. They chattered away in a language completely incomprehensible to the crowd, doing everything that had never been seen or done before. All this, however, thrilled the onlookers. If they had looked similarly transformed or played such strange tricks themselves, it would only have been a source of ridicule; but the foreign flair and reputation of the situation made it all seem incredible, and, as the main trickster in the scheme had anticipated, dazzled the crowd and turned his “embassy” into a total success.
At length, after some four weeks of slow progress, the “Persians” arrived at Paris, where they were received, as had been expected, with tremendous éclat. They entered by Barriére du Trône, so styled because it was there that Louis Quatorze himself had been received upon a temporary throne, set up, with splendid decorations and triumphal arches, in the open air, when he returned from his Flanders campaign. Riza Bey was upon this occasion a little more splendid than he had been on his way from the sea-coast, and really loomed[365] up in startling style in his tall, black, rimless hat of wool, shaped precisely like an elongated flower-pot, and his silk robes dangling to his heels and covered with huge painted figures and bright metal decorations of every shape and size unknown, to European man-millinery. A circlet or collar, apparently of gold, set with precious stones (California diamonds!) surrounded his neck, and monstrous glittering rings covered all the fingers, and even the thumbs of both his hands. His train, consisting of sword, cup, and pipe bearers, doctors, chief cooks, and bottle-washers, cork extractors and chiropodists (literally so, for it seems that sharing the common lot of humanity, great men have corns even in Persia,) were similarly arrayed as to fashion, but less stupendously in jewelry.
After about four weeks of slow travel, the "Persians" finally reached Paris, where they were welcomed, as expected, with great fanfare. They entered through the Barrière du Trône, named for the time Louis XIV had been welcomed there on a temporary throne, set up outdoors with impressive decorations and triumphal arches after his campaign in Flanders. Riza Bey, on this occasion, was more extravagant than he had been on his journey from the coast, standing out in his tall, black, rimless wool hat that looked like an elongated flower pot, and his silk robes trailing to his heels, covered in huge painted designs and bright metal ornaments of every shape and size unfamiliar to European fashion. A collar that looked like gold, adorned with precious stones (California diamonds!), encircled his neck, and enormous sparkling rings adorned all of his fingers, including his thumbs. His entourage, made up of sword, cup, and pipe bearers, doctors, head cooks, and bottle-washers, as well as cork extractors and chiropodists (yes, even the great are not immune to corns in Persia), were also dressed elegantly, but not as heavily adorned with jewelry.
Well, after the throng had scampered, crowded, and shouted themselves hoarse, and had straggled to their homes, sufficiently tired and pocket-picked, the Ambassador and his suite were lodged in sumptuous apartments in the old royal residence of the Tuileries, under the care and charge of King Louis’ own assistant Major-Domo and a guard of courtiers and regiments of Royal Swiss. Banqueting and music filled up the first evening; and upon the ensuing day His Majesty, who thus did his visitors especial honor, sent the Duc de Richelieu, the most polished courtier and diplomatist in France, to announce that he would graciously receive them on the third evening at Versailles.
Well, after the crowd had rushed around, pushed, and shouted themselves hoarse, and had staggered home, sufficiently exhausted and having lost some change, the Ambassador and his entourage were settled into luxurious rooms in the old royal residence of the Tuileries, under the supervision of King Louis's own steward and a guard of courtiers and regiments of Royal Swiss. The first evening was filled with feasting and music; and the next day, His Majesty, who was honoring his guests, sent the Duc de Richelieu, the most charming courtier and diplomat in France, to announce that he would graciously welcome them on the third evening at Versailles.
Meanwhile the most extensive preparations were made for the grand audience thus accorded; and when the appointed occasion had arrived, the entire[366] Gallery of Mirrors with all the adjacent spaces and corridors, were crowded with the beauty, the chivalry, the wit, taste, and intellect of France at that dazzling period. The gallery, which is three hundred and eighty feet in length by fifty in height, derives its name from the priceless mirrors which adorn its walls, reaching from floor to ceiling, opposite the long row of equally tall and richly mullioned windows that look into the great court and gardens. These windows, hung with the costliest silk curtains and adorned with superb historical statuary, give to the hall a light and aërial appearance indescribably enchanting; while the mirrors reflect in ten thousand variations the hall itself and its moving pageantry, rendering both apparently interminable. Huge marble vases filled with odorous exotics lined the stairways, and twelve thousand wax lights in gilded brackets, and chandeliers of the richest workmanship, shone upon three thousand titled heads.
Meanwhile, the most extensive preparations were made for the grand audience that was planned; and when the time arrived, the entire[366] Gallery of Mirrors, along with all the nearby spaces and corridors, was packed with the beauty, chivalry, wit, style, and intellect of France during that dazzling era. The gallery, which is three hundred eighty feet long and fifty feet high, gets its name from the priceless mirrors that decorate its walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, across from a long row of equally tall, richly detailed windows that overlook the great courtyard and gardens. These windows, draped with the finest silk curtains and adorned with stunning historical statues, give the hall a light and airy feel that is indescribably enchanting; while the mirrors reflect the hall and its moving spectacle in countless variations, making both seem endless. Huge marble vases filled with fragrant exotic flowers lined the stairways, and twelve thousand wax lights in gilded brackets and magnificent chandeliers illuminated three thousand titled heads.
Louis the Great himself never appeared to finer advantage. His truly royal countenance was lighted up with pride and satisfaction as the Envoy of the haughty Oriental king approached the splendid throne on which he sat, and as he descended a step to meet him and stood there in his magnificent robes of state, the Persian envoy bent the knee, and with uncovered head presented the credentials of his mission. Of the crowd that immediately surrounded the throne, it is something to say that the Grand Colbert, the famous Minister, and the Admiral Duquesne were by no means the most eminent, nor the lovely Duchess of Orleans and her companion, the bewitching Mademoiselle de Kerouaille,[367] who afterward changed the policy of Charles II, of England, by no means the most beautiful personages in the galaxy.
Louis the Great himself never looked better. His truly royal face was lit up with pride and satisfaction as the envoy of the proud Oriental king approached the magnificent throne where he sat. As he stepped down to greet him and stood there in his stunning robes of state, the Persian envoy knelt and, with his head uncovered, presented the credentials of his mission. Among the crowd that quickly gathered around the throne, it's worth noting that Grand Colbert, the famous Minister, and Admiral Duquesne were not even the most distinguished, nor was the lovely Duchess of Orleans and her companion, the enchanting Mademoiselle de Kerouaille,[367] who later influenced the policies of Charles II of England, the most attractive figures in that gathering.
A grand ball and supper concluded this night of splendor, and Riza Bey was fairly launched at the French court; every member of which, to please the King, tried to outvie his compeers in the assiduity of his attentions, and the value of the books, pictures, gems, equipages, arms, &c., which they heaped upon the illustrious Persian. The latter gentleman very quietly smoked his pipe and lounged on his divan before company, and diligently packed up the goods when he and his “jolly companions” were left alone. The presents of the Shah had not yet arrived, but were daily expected via Marseilles, and from time to time the olive-colored suite was diminished by the departure of one of the number with his chest on a special mission (so stated) to England, Austria, Portugal, Spain, and other European powers.
A grand ball and supper wrapped up this night of extravagance, and Riza Bey was officially welcomed at the French court; every member, eager to impress the King, tried to outdo each other in their attentiveness and the value of the books, paintings, gems, carriages, weapons, &c., that they showered upon the distinguished Persian. The latter gentleman calmly smoked his pipe and relaxed on his divan in front of guests, and diligently packed up the gifts when he and his “jolly companions” were left alone. The gifts from the Shah hadn’t arrived yet but were expected daily via Marseilles, and occasionally the olive-colored group shrank as one of their number departed with his trunk on a so-called special mission to England, Austria, Portugal, Spain, and other European powers.
In the meantime, the Bey was feted in all directions, with every species of entertainment, and it was whispered that the fair ones of that dissolute court were, from the first, eager in the bestowal of their smiles. The King favored his Persian pet with numerous personal interviews, at which, in broken French, the Envoy unfolded the most imposing schemes of Oriental conquest and commerce that his master was cordially willing to share with his great brother of France. At one of these chatty tête-á-têtes, the munificent Riza Bey, upon whom the King had already conferred his own portrait set in diamonds, and other gifts worth sev[368]eral millions of francs, placed in the Royal hand several superb fragments of opal and turquoise said to have been found in a district of country bordering on the Caspian sea, which teemed with limitless treasures of the same kind, and which the Shah of Persia proposed to divide with France for the honor of her alliance. The king was enchanted; for these mere specimens, as they were deemed, must, if genuine, be worth in themselves a mint of money; and a province full of such—why, the thought was charming!
In the meantime, the Bey was celebrated everywhere, with all kinds of entertainment, and it was rumored that the beautiful women of that extravagant court were eager to share their smiles from the very start. The King treated his Persian favorite to numerous private meetings, during which, in broken French, the Envoy shared impressive plans for Eastern conquest and trade that his master was more than happy to discuss with his major ally in France. During one of these casual conversations, the generous Riza Bey, to whom the King had already given his own portrait set in diamonds and other gifts worth several million francs, placed several stunning pieces of opal and turquoise in the King's hand. These gems were said to have been found in a region near the Caspian Sea, known for its endless treasures, and which the Shah of Persia intended to share with France to honor their alliance. The king was thrilled; for these were just small samples, as they were considered, but if genuine, they must be worth a fortune on their own; and a province full of such treasures—well, that thought was delightful!
Thus the great King-fish was fairly hooked, and Riza Bey could take his time. The golden tide that flowed in to him did not slacken, and his own expenses were all provided for at the Tuileries. The only thing remaining to be done was a grand foray on the tradesmen of Paris, and this was splendidly executed. The most exquisite wares of all descriptions were gathered in, without mention of payment; and one by one the Persian phalanx distributed itself through Europe until only two or three were left with the Ambassador.
Thus the great Kingfish was securely caught, and Riza Bey could take his time. The steady flow of gold coming in didn’t slow down, and his expenses were fully covered at the Tuileries. The only thing left to do was a grand raid on the merchants of Paris, and this was carried out splendidly. The finest goods of all kinds were collected, without any mention of payment; and one by one, the Persian group spread out across Europe until only two or three remained with the Ambassador.
That morning three men, without either caftans or robes, but very much resembling the blacklegs of the day in their attire and deportment, had left the Tuileries at daylight with a bag and a bundle, and returned no more. They were Riza Bey and his last body-guard;[369] the bag and the bundle were the smallest in bulk but the most precious in value of a month’s successful plunder. The turquoises and opals left with the King turned out, upon close inspection, to be a new and very ingenious variety of colored glass, now common enough, and then worth, if anything, about thirty cents in cash.
That morning, three men, dressed like the ordinary workers of the day and without any traditional clothing, left the Tuileries at dawn with a bag and a bundle, and they never returned. They were Riza Bey and his last bodyguard; the bag and the bundle were small in size but contained the most valuable items from a month of successful theft. The turquoises and opals left with the King were, upon closer inspection, a new and clever type of colored glass that was pretty common at the time and was worth, at most, about thirty cents in cash.
Of course, a hue and cry was raised in all directions, but totally in vain. Riza Bey, the Persian Shah, and the gentlemen in flower-pots, had “gone glimmering through the dream of things that were.” L’etat c’est moi had been sold for thirty cents! It was afterward believed that a noted barber and suspected bandit at Leghorn, who had once really traveled in Persia, and there picked up the knowledge and the ready money that served his turn, was the perpetrator of this pretty joke and speculation, as he disappeared from his native city about the time of the embassy in France, and did not return.
Of course, there was an outcry from all sides, but it was completely useless. Riza Bey, the Persian Shah, and the guys in flower pots had "vanished into the fantasy of what once was." L’etat c’est moi had been sold for thirty cents! Later on, it was thought that a well-known barber and suspected bandit in Leghorn, who had actually traveled in Persia and made some money during his time there, was the one who pulled off this clever prank and scheme, as he went missing from his hometown around the time of the embassy in France and never came back.
All Europe laughed heartily at the Grand Monarque and his fair court-dames, and “An Embassy from Persia” was for many years thereafter an expression similar to “Walker!” in English, or “Buncombe!” in American conversation, when the party using it seeks to intimate that the color of his optics is not a distinct pea-green!
All of Europe laughed heartily at the Grand Monarch and his lovely court ladies, and “An Embassy from Persia” became a phrase for many years afterward similar to “Walk away!” in English or “Buncombe!” in American conversation, when someone wants to suggest that a person’s view is not exactly on point!
IX. RELIGIOUS HUMBUGS.
CHAPTER XLIV.
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND; OR, YANKEE SUPERSTITIONS.—MATTHIAS THE IMPOSTOR.—NEW YORK FOLLIES THIRTY YEARS AGO.
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND; OR, YANKEE SUPERSTITIONS.—MATTHIAS THE IMPOSTOR.—NEW YORK FOLLIES THIRTY YEARS AGO.
There is a story that on a great and solemn public occasion of the Romish Church, a Pope and a Cardinal were, with long faces, performing some of the gyrations of the occasion, when, instead of a pious ejaculation and reply, which were down in the programme, one said to the other gravely, in Latin “mundus vult decipi;” and the other replied, with equal gravity and learning, “decipiatur ergo:” that is, “All the world chooses to be fooled.”—“Let it be fooled then.”
There’s a story that during a significant and serious public event of the Catholic Church, a Pope and a Cardinal were, with serious expressions, taking part in the rituals of the occasion when, instead of a devout prayer and response as planned, one said to the other solemnly in Latin, “mundus vult decipi;” and the other answered, with equal seriousness and knowledge, “decipiatur ergo:” which means, “All the world chooses to be fooled.”—“Let it be fooled then.”
This seems, perhaps, a reasonable way for priests to talk about ignorant Italians. It may seem inapplicable to cool, sharp, school-trained Protestant Yankees. It is not, however—at least, not entirely. Intelligent Northerners have, sometimes, superstition enough in them to make a first-class Popish saint. If it had not been so, I should not have such an absurd religious humbug to tell of as Robert Matthews, notorious in our goodly city some thirty years ago as “Matthias, the Impostor.”
This might seem like a sensible way for priests to talk about uninformed Italians. It may appear irrelevant to composed, sharp, academically trained Protestant Northerners. However, that's not entirely true. Smart Northerners can sometimes have enough superstition in them to be a first-rate Catholic saint. If that weren't the case, I wouldn't have such a ridiculous religious fraud to discuss as Robert Matthews, who was infamous in our fine city about thirty years ago as “Matthias, the Impostor.”
In the summer of 1832, there was often seen riding[371] in Broadway, in a handsome barouche, or promenading on the Battery (usually attended by a sort of friend or servant,) a tall man, of some forty years of age, quite thin, with sunken, sharp gray eyes, with long, coarse, brown and gray hair, parted in the middle and curling on his shoulders, and a long and coarse but well-tended beard and mustache. These Esau-like adornments attracted much attention in those close-shaving days. He was commonly dressed in a fine green frock-coat, lined with white or pink satin, black or green pantaloons, with polished Wellington boots drawn on outside, fine cambric ruffles and frill, and a crimson silk sash worked with gold and with twelve tassels, for the twelve tribes of Israel. On his head was a steeple-crowned patent-leather shining black cap with a shade.
In the summer of 1832, a tall man in his forties could often be seen riding[371] in Broadway, in a stylish carriage, or walking on the Battery (usually accompanied by a kind of friend or servant). He was quite thin, had sunken, sharp gray eyes, and long, coarse brown and gray hair that was parted in the middle and curled on his shoulders. He also had a long but well-groomed beard and mustache. These Esau-like features drew a lot of attention in those days of close shaving. He typically wore a fine green frock coat lined with white or pink satin, black or green pants, shiny Wellington boots, elegant cambric ruffles and frills, and a crimson silk sash adorned with gold and twelve tassels, representing the twelve tribes of Israel. On his head, he sported a shiny black patent-leather cap with a steeple crown and a brim.
Thus bedizened, this fantastic-looking personage marched gravely up and down, or rode in pomp in the streets. Sometimes he lounged in a bookstore or other place of semi-public resort; and in such places he often preached or exhorted. His preachments were sufficiently horrible. He claimed to be God the Father; and his doctrine was, in substance, this:—“The true kingdom of God on earth began in Albany in June 1830, and will be completed in twenty-one years, or by 1851. During this time, wars are to stop, and I, Matthias, am to execute the divine judgments and destroy the wicked. The day of grace is to close on December 1, 1836; and all who do not begin to reform by that time, I shall kill.” The discourses by which this blasphemous humbug supported his pretensions were a hodge-podge of impiety and utter nonsense, with rants, curses and[372] cries, and frightful threats against all objectors. Here is a passage from one;—“All who eat swine’s flesh are of the devil; and just as certain as he eats it he will tell a lie in less than half an hour. If you eat a piece of pork, it will go crooked through you, and the Holy Ghost will not stay in you; but one or the other must leave the house pretty soon. The pork will be as crooked in you as rams’ horns.” Again, he made these pleasant points about the ladies: “They who teach women are of the wicked. All females who lecture their husbands their sentence is: ‘Depart, ye wicked, I know you not.’ Everything that has the smell of woman will be destroyed. Woman is the cap-sheaf of the abomination of desolation, full of all deviltry.” There, ladies! Is anything further necessary to convince you what a peculiarly wicked and horrible humbug this fellow was?
Thus dressed up, this fantastically looking person marched seriously up and down, or rode proudly through the streets. Sometimes he lounged in a bookstore or another semi-public place; and in such spots, he often preached or urged people to follow him. His sermons were quite disturbing. He claimed to be God the Father, and his main message was this:—“The true kingdom of God on earth started in Albany in June 1830, and will be completed in twenty-one years, by 1851. During this time, wars will stop, and I, Matthias, will carry out divine judgments and destroy the wicked. The day of grace will end on December 1, 1836; and anyone who doesn’t start to reform by then, I will kill.” The speeches that this blasphemous fraud used to back his claims were a mix of impiety and complete nonsense, filled with rants, curses, and[372] terrifying threats against anyone who opposed him. Here's a snippet from one: “All who eat pork are of the devil; and as surely as they eat it, they will tell a lie in less than half an hour. If you eat a piece of pork, it will twist inside you, and the Holy Ghost won’t stay in you; one or the other has to leave the house pretty soon. The pork will be as twisted in you as ram's horns.” Again, he made these delightful points about women: “Those who teach women are wicked. All women who lecture their husbands have this sentence: ‘Depart, you wicked, I don’t know you.’ Everything that has the scent of a woman will be destroyed. Woman is the tip of the spear of desolation, full of all evil.” There, ladies! Is anything more needed to show you what a particularly wicked and horrible fraud this guy was?
If we had followed this impostor home, we should have found him lodged, during most of his stay in New-York city, with one or the other of his three chief disciples. These were Pierson, who commonly attended him abroad, Folger, and—for a time only—Mills. All three of these men were wealthy merchants. In their handsome and luxuriously-furnished homes, this noxious humbug occupied the best rooms, and controlled the whole establishment, directing the marketing, meal times, and all other household-matters. Master, mistress (in Mr. Folger’s home,) and domestics were disciples, and obeyed the scamp with an implicitness and prostrate humility even more melancholy than absurd, both as to housekeeping and as to the ceremonies, washing of feet,[373] etc., which he enjoined. When he was angry with his female disciples, he frequently whipped them; but, being a monstrous coward, he never tried it on a man. The least opposition or contradiction threw him into a great rage, and set him screaming, and cursing, and gesticulating like any street drab. When he wished more clothes, which was pretty often, one of his dupes furnished the money. When he wanted cash for any purpose indeed, they gave it him.
If we had followed this fraud back home, we would have found him staying, for most of his time in New York City, with one of his three main followers. These were Pierson, who usually accompanied him when he went out, Folger, and—for a brief period—Mills. All three of these men were wealthy merchants. In their nice and lavishly furnished homes, this deceitful charlatan took the best rooms and ran the entire household, managing the shopping, meal times, and all other domestic affairs. The master, the mistress (in Mr. Folger’s home), and the servants were all his followers, and they obeyed this conman with a level of submission and humility that was more tragic than ridiculous, both in terms of household management and the rituals, like foot washing,[373] that he insisted on. When he got angry with his female followers, he often hit them; but, being a complete coward, he never tried that with men. Even the slightest disagreement would send him into a furious rage, making him scream, curse, and gesture wildly like a common troublemaker. Whenever he wanted more clothes, which was quite frequently, one of his victims would give him the money. Whenever he needed cash for anything, they handed it over.
This half-crazy knave and abominable humbug was Robert Matthews, who called himself Matthias. He was of Scotch descent, and born about 1790, in Washington county, New York; and his blood was tainted with insanity, for a brother of his died a lunatic. He was a carpenter and joiner of uncommon skill, and up to nearly his fortieth year lived, on the whole, a useful and respectable life, being industrious, a professing Christian of good standing, and (having married in 1813) a steady family-man. In 1828 and 1829, while living at Albany, he gradually became excited about religious subjects; his first morbid symptoms appearing after hearing some sermons by Rev. E. N. Kirk, and Mr. Finney the revivalist. He soon began to exhort his fellow-journeymen instead of minding his work, so uproariously that his employer turned him away.
This somewhat crazy guy and awful fraud was Robert Matthews, who called himself Matthias. He was of Scottish descent, born around 1790 in Washington County, New York; his family had a history of mental illness, as one of his brothers died insane. He was a skilled carpenter and joiner, and until he was nearly forty, he led a generally useful and respectable life—he was hardworking, a professing Christian in good standing, and after marrying in 1813, a committed family man. In 1828 and 1829, while living in Albany, he became increasingly obsessed with religious topics; his first troubling signs appeared after listening to some sermons by Rev. E. N. Kirk and revivalist Mr. Finney. He soon started preaching to his fellow workers instead of focusing on his job, so loudly that his boss ended up firing him.
He discovered a text in the Bible that forbid Christians to shave. He let his hair and beard grow; began street-preaching in a noisy, brawling style; announced that he was going to set about converting the whole city of Albany—which needed it badly enough, if we may believe the political gentlemen. Finding however,[374] that the Lobby, or the Regency, or something or other about the peculiar wickedness of Albany, was altogether too much for him, he began, like Jonah at Nineveh, to announce the destruction of the obstinate town; and at midnight, one night in June, 1826, he waked up his household, and saying that Albany was to be destroyed next day, took his three little boys—two, four, and six years old—his wife and oldest child (a daughter refusing to go,) and “fled to the mountains.” He actually walked the poor little fellows forty miles in twenty-four hours, to his sister’s in Washington county. Here he was reckoned raving crazy; was forcibly turned out of church for one of his brawling interruptions of service, and sent back to Albany, where he resumed his street-preaching more noisily than ever. He now began to call himself Matthias, and claimed to be a Jew. Then he went on a long journey to the Western and Southern States, preaching his doctrines, getting into jail, and sometimes fairly cursing his way out; and, returning to New York city, preached up and down the streets in his crazy, bawling fashion, sometimes on foot and sometimes on an old bony horse.
He found a passage in the Bible that forbids Christians from shaving. He let his hair and beard grow out, started street-preaching loudly and aggressively, and declared his intention to convert the entire city of Albany—which definitely needed it, according to the local politicians. However, realizing that the Lobby, or the Regency, or whatever it was about Albany's unique wickedness was far too much for him, he began, like Jonah in Nineveh, to proclaim the city’s impending destruction. One night in June 1826, he woke up his family and told them Albany was going to be destroyed the next day. He took his three young boys—two, four, and six years old—along with his wife and oldest child (who refused to go), and “fled to the mountains.” He actually walked those poor kids forty miles in twenty-four hours to his sister’s place in Washington County. There, people considered him to be mad; he was forcibly escorted out of church for one of his disruptive outbursts and sent back to Albany, where he resumed his street-preaching even more loudly. He started calling himself Matthias and claimed to be a Jew. He then embarked on a long journey to the Western and Southern States, preaching his beliefs, getting arrested, and sometimes cursing his way out of jail; and upon returning to New York City, he preached up and down the streets in his wild, shouting manner, sometimes on foot and sometimes on an old, skinny horse.
His New York city dupes, Elijah Pierson and Benjamin H. Folger and their families, together with a Mr. Mills and a few more, figured prominently in the chief chapter of Matthews’ career, during two years and a half, from May, 1832, to the fall of 1834.
His New York City associates, Elijah Pierson and Benjamin H. Folger along with their families, as well as Mr. Mills and a few others, played a significant role in the main chapter of Matthews' career, lasting two and a half years, from May 1832 to the fall of 1834.
Pierson and Folger were the leaders in the folly. These men, merchants of wealth and successful in business, were of that sensitive and impressible religious nature which is peculiarly credulous and liable to [375]enthusiasms and delusions. They had been, with a number of other persons, eagerly engaged in some extravagant religious performances, including excessive fasts and asceticisms, and a plan, formed by one of their lady friends, to convert all New York by a system of female visitations and preachings—a plan not so very foolish, I may just remark, if the she apostles are only pretty enough!
Pierson and Folger were at the forefront of the madness. These men, wealthy merchants who had succeeded in business, possessed a sensitive and impressionable religious disposition that made them particularly gullible and prone to [375]enthusiasms and delusions. They, along with several others, were enthusiastically involved in some over-the-top religious activities, such as extreme fasting and ascetic practices, as well as a plan devised by one of their female friends to convert all of New York through a series of female visits and preaching—a plan that might not be so foolish after all, I should point out, if the female apostles are attractive enough!
Pierson, the craziest of the crew, besides other wretched delusions, had already fancied himself Elijah the Tishbite; and when his wife fell ill and died a little while before this time, had first tried to cure her, and then to raise her from the dead, by anointing with oil and by the prayer of faith, as mentioned in the Epistle of Saint James.
Pierson, the wildest of the group, had among his many crazy ideas believed he was Elijah the Tishbite; and when his wife got sick and passed away shortly before this, he first attempted to heal her and then to bring her back to life by anointing her with oil and praying earnestly, as described in the Epistle of Saint James.
Curiously enough, a sort of lair or nest, very soft and comfortable, was thus made ready for our religious humbug, just as he wanted it worst; for in these days he was but seedy. He heard something of Pierson, I don’t know how; and on the 5th of May, 1832, he called on him. Very quickly the poor fellow recognized the long-bearded prophetical humbug as all that he claimed to be—a possessor and teacher of all truth, and as God himself.
Curiously enough, a kind of hideaway or nest, very soft and cozy, was prepared for our religious fraud, just the way he liked it most; because at this time he was quite shabby. He heard something about Pierson, I don’t know how; and on May 5, 1832, he went to see him. It didn’t take long for the poor guy to recognize the long-bearded prophetic fraud as everything he claimed to be—a holder and teacher of all truth, and even as God himself.
Mills and Folger easily fell into the same pitiable foolery, on Pierson’s introduction. And the lucky humbug was very soon living in clover in Mills’ house, which he chose first; had admitted the happy fools, Pierson and Folger, as the first two members of his true church; Pierson, believing that from Elijah the Tishbite he had become John the Baptist, devoted him[376]self as a kind of servant to his new Messiah; and the deluded men began to supply all the temporal wants of the impostor, believing their estates set apart as the beginning of the material Kingdom of God!
Mills and Folger quickly fell into the same ridiculous trap after Pierson's introduction. The fortunate charlatan was soon living comfortably in Mills' house, which he picked first; he welcomed the foolish Pierson and Folger as the first two members of his true church. Pierson, convinced that he had transformed from Elijah the Tishbite into John the Baptist, dedicated himself as a sort of servant to his new Messiah. The misled men started to provide for all the impostor's material needs, thinking their wealth was the start of the material Kingdom of God!
After three months, some of Mills’ friends, on charges of lunacy, caused Mills to be sent to Bloomingdale Asylum, and Matthias to be thrust into the insane poor’s ward at Bellevue, where his beard was forcibly cut off, to his extreme disgust. His brother, however, got him out by a habeas corpus, and he went to live with Folger. Mills now disappears from the story.
After three months, some of Mills’ friends accused him of being insane, and he was sent to Bloomingdale Asylum. Matthias was also placed in the insane poor’s ward at Bellevue, where they forcibly cut off his beard, which he hated. However, his brother managed to get him released through a habeas corpus, and he went to live with Folger. Mills then disappears from the story.
Matthias remained in the full enjoyment of his luxurious establishment, until September, 1834, it is true, with a few uncomfortable interruptions. He was always both insolent and cowardly, and thus often irritated some strong-minded auditor, and got himself into some pickle where he had to sneak out, which he did with much ease. In his seedy days the landlord of a hotel in whose bar-room he used to preach and curse, put him down when he grew too abusive, by coolly and sternly telling him to go to bed. Mr. Folger himself had one or two brief intervals of sense, in one of which, angered at some insolence of Matthias, he seized him by the throat, shook him well, and flung him down upon a sofa. The humbug knowing that his living was in danger, took this very mildly, and readily accepted the renewed assurances of belief which poor Folger soon gave him. In the village of Sing Sing where Folger had a country-seat which he called Mount Zion, Matthias was exceedingly obnoxious. His daughter had married a Mr. Laisdell; and the humbug, who claimed[377] that all Christian marriages were void and wicked, by some means induced the young wife to come to Sing Sing, where he whipped her more than once quite cruelly. Her husband came and took her away after encountering all the difficulty which Matthias dared make; and, at a hearing in the matter before a magistrate, he was very near getting tarred and feathered, if not something worse, and the danger frightened him very much.
Matthias enjoyed his luxurious lifestyle until September 1834, though with a few uncomfortable interruptions. He was both arrogant and cowardly, which often irritated someone strong-willed enough to challenge him, landing him in some trouble that he would easily escape from. During his rougher days, the landlord of a hotel where he used to preach and rant put him in his place when he got too abusive by calmly and firmly telling him to go to bed. Mr. Folger had a couple of moments of clarity, one of which occurred when he got fed up with Matthias's arrogance, grabbed him by the throat, shook him, and threw him onto a sofa. Knowing his livelihood was at stake, Matthias took it quite lightly and quickly accepted the fresh promises of belief that poor Folger soon offered him. In the village of Sing Sing, where Folger had a country house he called Mount Zion, Matthias was extremely unpopular. His daughter had married a Mr. Laisdell, and the fraud, who claimed that all Christian marriages were invalid and sinful, somehow convinced the young wife to come to Sing Sing, where he cruelly whipped her several times. Her husband came to take her back after facing all the challenges Matthias threw at him; during a hearing about the situation in front of a magistrate, Matthias came very close to getting tarred and feathered, or worse, which scared him quite a bit.
He barely escaped being shaved by violence, and being thrown overboard to test his asserted miraculous powers, at the hands of a stout and incredulous farmer on the steamboat between Sing Sing and New York. While imprisoned at Bellevue before his trial, he was tossed in a blanket by the prisoners, to make him give them some money. The unlucky prophet dealt out damnation to them in great quantities; but they told him it wouldn’t work, and the poor humbug finally, instead of casting them into hell, paid them a quarter of a dollar apiece to let him off. When he was about to leave Folger’s house, some roguish young men of Sing Sing forged a warrant, and with a counterfeit officer seized the humbug, and a second time shaved him by force. He was one day terribly “set back” as the phrase is, by a sharpish answer. He gravely asserted to a certain man that he had been on the earth eighteen hundred years. His hearer, startled and irreverent, exclaimed:
He barely escaped being attacked and thrown overboard to prove his claimed miraculous powers by a tough and skeptical farmer on the steamboat between Sing Sing and New York. While he was locked up at Bellevue before his trial, other inmates threw him in a blanket to try to get some money from him. The unfortunate prophet yelled at them with threats of damnation, but they told him it wouldn't work, and the poor fraud eventually, instead of sending them to hell, paid them a quarter each to let him go. Just as he was about to leave Folger’s house, some mischievous young men from Sing Sing made a fake warrant and, with a phony officer, grabbed the fraud and forcibly shaved him again. One day he was really thrown off guard by a sharp response. He confidently told a man that he had been on earth for eighteen hundred years. The listener, shocked and disrespectful, exclaimed:
“The devil you have! Do you tell me so?”
“The devil you have! Are you really saying that to me?”
“I do,” said the prophet.
"I do," said the prophet.
“Then,” rejoined the other, “all I have to say is, you are a remarkably good-looking fellow for one of your age.”
“Then,” replied the other, “all I have to say is, you’re a really good-looking guy for someone your age.”
[378]The confounded prophet grinned, scowled, and exclaimed indignantly:
[378]The frustrated prophet grinned, frowned, and exclaimed angrily:
“You are a devil, Sir!” and marched off.
“You're a devil, sir!” and marched off.
In the beginning of August, 1834, the unhappy Pierson died in Folger’s house, under circumstances amounting to strong circumstantial evidence that Matthias, with the help of the colored cook, an enthusiastic disciple, had poisoned him with arsenic. The rascal pretended that his own curse had slain Pierson. There was a post mortem, an indictment, and a trial, but the evidence was not strong enough for conviction. Being acquitted, he was at once tried again for an assault and battery on his daughter by the aforesaid whippings; and on this charge he was found guilty and sent to the county jail for three months, in April, 1835. The trial for murder was just before—the prophet having lain in prison since his apprehension for murder in the preceding autumn. Mr. Folger’s delusion had pretty much disappeared by the end of the summer of 1834. He had now become ruined, partly in consequence of foolish speculations jointly with Pierson, believed to be conducted under Divine guidance, and partly because his strange conduct destroyed his business reputation and standing. The death of Pierson, and some very queer matters about another apparent poisoning-trick, awakened the suspicions of the Folgers; and after a good deal of scolding and trouble with the impostor, who hung on to his comfortable home like a good fellow, Folger finally turned him out, and then had him taken up for swindling. He had been too foolish himself, however, to maintain this charge; but, shortly after, the[379] others, for murder and assault, followed, with a little better success.
In early August 1834, the unfortunate Pierson died at Folger's house, under circumstances that suggested strong circumstantial evidence that Matthias, with help from the enthusiastic colored cook, had poisoned him with arsenic. The scoundrel claimed that his own curse had killed Pierson. There was a post-mortem, an indictment, and a trial, but the evidence wasn't strong enough for a conviction. After being acquitted, he was immediately tried again for assault and battery on his daughter due to the aforementioned whippings; he was found guilty and sentenced to three months in county jail in April 1835. The murder trial occurred just before this—Matthias had been in prison since his arrest for murder the previous autumn. By the end of summer 1834, Mr. Folger's delusions had mostly faded. He was now in ruins, partly due to foolish speculations with Pierson, which he believed were Divinely inspired, and partly because his bizarre behavior ruined his business reputation and standing. The death of Pierson, along with some very odd incidents concerning another apparent poisoning attempt, raised suspicions among the Folgers; after a lot of scolding and trouble with the impostor, who clung to his comfortable home, Folger finally kicked him out and then had him arrested for swindling. However, he had been too foolish to maintain this charge; shortly after, the[379] subsequent cases for murder and assault followed, with a bit more success.
This imprisonment seems to have put a sudden and final period to the prophetical and religious operations of Master Matthias, and to the follies of his victims, too. I know of no subsequent developments of either kind. Matthias disappears from public life, and died, it is said, in Arkansas; but when, or after what further career, I don’t know. He was a shallow knave, and undoubtedly also partly crazy and partly the dupe of his own nonsense. If he had not so opportunely found victims of good standing, he would not have been remembered at all, except as George Munday, the “hatless prophet,” and “Angel Gabriel Orr,” are remembered—as one more obscure, crazy street-preacher. And as soon as his accidental supports of other people’s money and enthusiasm failed him, he disappeared at once. Many of my readers will remember distinctly, as I do, the remarkable career of this man, and the humiliating position in which his victims were placed. In the face of such an exposition as this of the weakness and credulity of poor human nature in this enlightened country of common schools and colleges, in the boasted wide-awake nineteenth century, who shall deny that we can study with interest and profit the history of impositions which have been practiced upon mankind in every possible phase throughout every age of the world, including the age in which we live? There is literally no end to these humbugs; and the reader of these pages, weak as may be my attempts to do the subject justice, will learn that there is no country, no period, and[380] no sphere in life which has not been impiously invaded by the genius of humbug, under more disguises and in more shapes than it has entered into the heart of man to conceive.
This imprisonment seems to have brought a sudden and definitive end to the prophetic and religious activities of Master Matthias, as well as the foolishness of his followers. I’m not aware of any developments since then. Matthias fades from public life and is said to have died in Arkansas, but I don’t know when or what else he was involved in afterward. He was a shallow con artist, who was undoubtedly partly crazy and also a victim of his own nonsense. If he hadn’t conveniently found well-respected victims, he wouldn’t be remembered at all, except like George Munday, the “hatless prophet,” or “Angel Gabriel Orr”—just another obscure, crazy street preacher. And once his accidental benefits from other people's money and enthusiasm dried up, he vanished immediately. Many of my readers will recall, as I do, the remarkable journey of this man and the embarrassing position of his victims. In light of such a revelation about the weakness and gullibility of poor human nature in this supposedly enlightened country of public schools and colleges, during this celebrated and aware nineteenth century, who can deny that we can study the history of the deceptions practiced on humanity in every conceivable way throughout every era, including our own? There is virtually no end to these frauds; and while my attempts to do the topic justice might be lacking, readers will learn that there is no country, no time, and no area of life that has not been shamelessly infiltrated by the genius of deception, taking on more forms and disguises than one can imagine.
CHAPTER XLV.
A RELIGIOUS HUMBUG ON JOHN BULL.—JOANNA SOUTHCOTT.—THE SECOND SHILOH.
A RELIGIOUS FRAUD ON JOHN BULL.—JOANNA SOUTHCOTT.—THE SECOND SHILOH.
Joanna Southcott was born at St. Mary’s Ottery in Devonshire, about the year 1750. She was a plain, stout-limbed, hard-fisted farmer lass, whose toils in the field—for her father was in but very moderate circumstances—had tawned her complexion and hardened her muscles, at an early age. As she grew toward woman’s estate, necessity compelled her to leave her home and seek service in the city of Exeter, where for many years, she plodded on very quietly in her obscure path, first, as a domestic hireling, and subsequently as a washer woman.
Joanna Southcott was born in St. Mary’s Ottery, Devonshire, around 1750. She was a plain, sturdy, and hard-working farmer's daughter, whose labor in the fields—since her father was only in modest circumstances—had tanned her skin and toughened her muscles from a young age. As she grew into adulthood, she had to leave her home and find work in the city of Exeter, where she spent many years quietly following her humble path, first as a domestic worker and later as a washerwoman.
I have an old and esteemed friend on Staten Island whose father, still living, recollects Joanna well, as she used to come regularly to his house of a Monday morning, to her task of cleansing the family linen. He was then but a little lad, yet he remembers her quite well, with her stout, robust frame, and buxom and rather attractive countenance, and her queer ways. Even then she was beginning to invite attention by her singular manners and discourse, which led many to believe her demented.
I have an old and valued friend on Staten Island whose father, still alive, remembers Joanna well, as she used to come over every Monday morning to clean the family laundry. He was just a little kid back then, but he recalls her vividly, with her strong, sturdy build, and her plump and somewhat charming face, along with her odd behavior. Even then, she was starting to draw attention with her unique ways and speech, which made many think she was crazy.
[381]It was at Exeter that Joanna became religiously impressed, and joined the Wesleyan Methodists, as a strict and extreme believer in the doctrines of that sect. During her attendance upon the Wesleyan rites, she became intimate with one Sanderson, who, whether a designing rogue, or only a very fanatical believer, pretended that he had discovered in the good washerwoman a Bible prodigy; and it was not long before the poor creature began literally, to “see sights” and dream dreams of the most preternatural description, for which Sanderson always had ready some very telling interpretation. Her visions were of the most thoroughly “mixed” character withal, sometimes transporting her to the courts of heaven, and sometimes to a very opposite region, celebrated for its latent and active caloric. When she ranged into the lower world, she had a very unpleasant habit of seeing sundry scoffers and unbelievers (in herself) belonging to the congregation, in very close but disadvantageous intercourse with the Evil One, who was represented as having a particular eye to others around her, even while they laid claim to special piety. Of course, such revelations as these could not be tolerated in any well regulated community, and when some most astounding religious gymnastics performed by Joanna in the midst of prayers and sermons, occurred to heap up the measure of her offences, it became full time to take the matter in hand, and the prophetess was expelled. Now, those whom she had not served up openly with brimstone, agreeing with her about those whom she had thus “cooked,” and delighted in their own exemption from that sort of dressing, seceded in[382] considerable numbers, and became Joanna’s followers. This gave her a nucleus to work upon, and between 1790 and 1800, she managed to make herself known throughout Britain, proclaiming that she was to be the destined Mother of the Second Messiah, and although originally quite illiterate, picking up enough general information and Bible lore, to facilitate her publication of several very curious, though sometimes incoherent works. One of the earliest and most startling of these was her “Warning to the whole World, from the Sealed Prophecies of Joanna Southcott, and other communications given since the writings were opened on the 12th of January, 1803.” This foretold the close approach of the great red dragon of the Revelations, “with seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads,” and the birth of the “man-child who was to rule all nations with a rod of iron.”
[381]It was in Exeter that Joanna became deeply religious and joined the Wesleyan Methodists as a strict and fervent believer in their doctrines. While participating in Wesleyan rituals, she became close with a man named Sanderson, who, whether he was a manipulative trickster or simply a very passionate believer, claimed to have found a biblical miracle in the good washerwoman. It didn't take long for Joanna to start literally “seeing visions” and dreaming supernatural dreams, for which Sanderson always had a compelling interpretation ready. Her visions were incredibly varied, sometimes taking her to the courts of heaven and other times to a very opposite place known for its intense heat. When she ventured into this lower realm, she developed an unsettling habit of seeing various scoffers and doubters (in herself) from her congregation in very compromising situations with the Evil One, who seemed particularly interested in others around her, even as they claimed to be especially devout. Naturally, such revelations could not be accepted in any decentlyrun community, and when Joanna’s most astonishing religious outbursts during prayers and sermons piled up as her offenses, it became necessary to take action, and she was expelled. Those she hadn’t publicly condemned with fire and brimstone, agreeing with her about those she had “cooked,” relished their own escape from that kind of treatment, and a significant number left to follow Joanna. This gave her a base to build upon, and between 1790 and 1800, she made a name for herself across Britain, declaring that she was destined to be the Mother of the Second Messiah. Although she was initially completely uneducated, she managed to gather enough general knowledge and biblical information to publish several intriguing, albeit sometimes disjointed, works. One of the earliest and most shocking of these was her “Warning to the whole World, from the Sealed Prophecies of Joanna Southcott, and other communications given since the writings were opened on the 12th of January, 1803.” This proclaimed the imminent arrival of the great red dragon from the Revelations, “with seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads,” along with the birth of the “man-child who was to rule all nations with a rod of iron.”
In 1805, a shoemaker named Tozer built her a chapel in Exeter at his own expense, and it was, from the first, constantly filled on service-days with eager worshipers. Here she gave exhortations, and prophesied in a species of religious frenzy or convulsion, sometimes uttering very heavy prose, and sometimes the most fearful doggerel rhyme resembling—well—perhaps our album effusions here at home! Indeed, I can think of nothing else equally fearful. In these paroxysms, Joanna raved like an ancient Pythoness whirling on her tripod, and to just about the same purpose. Yet, it was astonishing to see how the thing went down. Crowds of intelligent people came from all parts of the United Kingdom to listen, be converted, and to receive the[383] “seals” (as they were called) that secured their fortunate possessor unimpeded and immediate admission to heaven. Of course, tickets so precious could not be given away for nothing, and the seal trade in this new form proved very lucrative.
In 1805, a shoemaker named Tozer built her a chapel in Exeter at his own expense, and it was, from the very beginning, always filled on service days with eager worshippers. Here she delivered sermons and prophesied in a kind of religious frenzy or convulsion, sometimes issuing heavy prose and other times the most terrible doggerel rhyme resembling—well—maybe our casual rhymes at home! Honestly, I can't think of anything else quite as alarming. In these fits, Joanna raved like an ancient oracle spinning on her tripod, and for pretty much the same reason. Yet, it was surprising to see how well it was received. Crowds of educated people came from all over the United Kingdom to listen, be converted, and receive the[383] “seals” (as they were called) that guaranteed their fortunate possessor unimpeded and immediate entry to heaven. Naturally, such valuable tickets couldn’t be given away for free, and the seal trade in this new form turned out to be very profitable.
The most remarkable of all these conversions was that of the celebrated engraver, William Sharp, who, notwithstanding his eminent position as an artist, by no means bore out his name in other things. He had previously become thoroughly imbued with the notions of Swedenborg, Mesmer, and the famous Richard Brothers, and was quite ripe for anything fantastic. Such a convert was a perfect godsend to Joanna, and she was easily persuaded to accompany him to London, where her congregations rapidly increased to enormous proportions, even rivaling those now summoned by the “drum ecclesiastical” and orthodox of the Rev. Mr. Spurgeon.
The most remarkable of all these conversions was that of the famous engraver, William Sharp, who, despite his prominent status as an artist, didn't live up to his name in other areas. He had already become deeply influenced by the ideas of Swedenborg, Mesmer, and the well-known Richard Brothers, making him ready for anything outlandish. This kind of convert was a perfect opportunity for Joanna, and she was easily convinced to go with him to London, where her followers quickly grew to massive numbers, even competing with those drawn by the "drum ecclesiastical" and the orthodox Rev. Mr. Spurgeon.
The whole sect extended until, in 1813, it numbered no less than one hundred thousand members, signed and “sealed”—Mr. Sharp occupying a most conspicuous position at the very footstool of the Prophetess. Late in 1813, appeared the “Book of Wonders,” “in five parts,” and it was a clincher. Poor Sharp came in largely for the expenses, but valiantly stood his ground against it all. At length, in 1814, the great Joanna dazzled the eyes of her adherents and the world at large with her “Prophecies concerning the Prince of Peace.” This delectable manifesto flatly announced to mankind that the second Shiloh, so long expected, would be born of the Prophetess at midnight, on October 19, in that[384] same year, i. e. 1814. The inspired writer was then enceinte, although a virgin, as she expressly and solemnly declared, and in the sixty-fourth year of her age. Among the other preternatural concomitants of this anticipated eventful birth, was the fact that the period of her pregnancy had lasted for several years.
The entire sect grew until, in 1813, it had no fewer than one hundred thousand members, all signed and “sealed”—Mr. Sharp held a very prominent position right at the Prophetess's feet. Late in 1813, the “Book of Wonders” appeared, “in five parts,” and it was a game-changer. Poor Sharp absorbed a lot of the expenses but bravely held his ground through it all. Finally, in 1814, the great Joanna amazed her followers and the world with her “Prophecies concerning the Prince of Peace.” This enticing manifesto boldly told humanity that the long-awaited second Shiloh would be born to the Prophetess at midnight on October 19 of that[384] same year, i. e. 1814. The inspired writer was then pregnant, though a virgin, as she clearly and solemnly stated, and in the sixty-fourth year of her age. Among the other supernatural aspects of this anticipated birth was the fact that her pregnancy had lasted for several years.
Of course, this stupendous announcement threw the whole sect into ecstasies of religious exultation; while, on the other hand, it afforded a fruitful subject of ridicule for the utterly irreverent London pamphleteers. Poor Sharp, who had caused a magnificent cradle and baby-wardrobe to be got ready at his own expense, was most unmercifully scored. The infant was caricatured with a long gray beard and spectacles, with Sharp in a duster carefully rocking him to sleep, while Joanna the Prophetess treated the engraver to some “cuts” in her own style, with a bunch of twigs.
Of course, this amazing announcement sent the whole group into a frenzy of religious joy; on the flip side, it provided plenty of material for the completely disrespectful London pamphleteers to mock. Poor Sharp, who had arranged for a beautiful cradle and baby wardrobe at his own expense, was mercilessly ridiculed. The baby was illustrated with a long gray beard and glasses, while Sharp, wearing a duster, gently rocked him to sleep, and Joanna the Prophetess treated the engraver to some “cuts” in her own unique style, using a bunch of twigs.
On the appointed night, the street in which Joanna lived was thronged with the faithful, who, undeterred by sarcasm, fully credited her prediction. They bivouacked on the side-walks in motley crowds of men, women, and children; and as the hours wore on, and their interest increased, burst forth into spontaneous psalmody. The adjacent thoroughfares were as densely jammed with curious and incredulous spectators, and the mutton pie and ballad businesses flourished extensively. The interior of the house, with the exception of the sick chamber, was illuminated in all directions, and the dignitaries of the sect held the ante-rooms and corridors, “in full fig,” to receive the expected guest. But the evening passed, then midnight came, then morning, but[385] alas! no Shiloh; and, little by little, the disappointed throngs dispersed! Poor Joanna, however, kept her bed, and finally, after many fresh paroxysms and prophecies, on the 27th of December, 1814, gave up the ghost—the indefatigable Sharp still declaring that she had gone to heaven for a season, only to legitimatize the unborn infant, and would re-arise again from death, after four days, with the Shiloh in her arms. So firm was this faith in him and many other respectable persons, that the body of the Prophetess was retained in her house until the very last moment. When the dissection demanded by the majority of the sect could no longer be delayed, that operation was performed, and it was found that the subject had died of ovarian dropsy; but was—as she had always maintained herself to be—a virgin. Dr. Reece, who had been a devout believer, but was now undeceived, published a full account of this and all the other circumstances of her death, and another equally earnest disciple bore the expenses of her burial at St. John’s Wood, and placed over her a tombstone with appropriate inscriptions.
On the designated night, the street where Joanna lived was packed with believers who, unfazed by mockery, fully believed her prediction. They set up camp on the sidewalks in colorful groups of men, women, and children; as the hours passed and their excitement grew, they broke into spontaneous singing. The nearby streets were just as crowded with curious and doubtful onlookers, and vendors of mutton pies and songs thrived. The inside of the house, except for the sick room, was lit up in every direction, and the leaders of the group dressed in their best to welcome the anticipated guest. But the evening went by, then midnight came, then morning, yet[385] sadly! there was no Shiloh; and slowly, the disappointed crowds began to disperse. Poor Joanna, however, remained in bed and finally, after many more fits and prophecies, passed away on December 27, 1814—the tireless Sharp still claiming that she had gone to heaven for a while, just to validate the unborn child, and would rise again after four days with Shiloh in her arms. So strong was this belief among him and many other respectable people that the body of the Prophetess stayed in her house until the very end. When the autopsy demanded by most of the group couldn't be delayed any longer, it was performed, revealing that she had died of ovarian dropsy; yet she had been—just as she always claimed—a virgin. Dr. Reece, a once-devout believer who was now disillusioned, published a comprehensive account of this and all the other details surrounding her death, while another equally dedicated follower covered the costs of her burial at St. John's Wood and placed a gravestone with fitting inscriptions over her.
As late as 1863, there were many families of believers still existing near Chatham, in Kent; and even in this country can here and there be found admirers of the creed of Joanna Southcott, who are firmly convinced that she will re-appear some fine morning, with Sanderson on one side of her and Sharp on the other.
As late as 1863, many families of believers were still living near Chatham in Kent; and even today, you can sometimes find people in this country who admire the teachings of Joanna Southcott and are convinced that she will show up one beautiful morning, with Sanderson on one side and Sharp on the other.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE FIRST HUMBUG IN THE WORLD.—ADVANTAGES OF STUDYING THE IMPOSITIONS OF FORMER AGES.—HEATHEN HUMBUGS.—THE ANCIENT MYSTERIES.—THE CABIRI.—ELEUSIS.—ISIS.
THE FIRST HUMBUG IN THE WORLD.—ADVANTAGES OF STUDYING THE IMPOSTURES OF PAST AGES.—HEATHEN HUMBUGS.—THE ANCIENT MYSTERIES.—THE CABIRI.—ELEUSIS.—ISIS.
The domain of humbug reaches back to the Garden of Eden, where the Father of lies practised it upon our poor, innocent first grandmother, Eve. This was the first and worst of all humbugs. But from that eventful day to the present moment, falsehood, hypocrisy, deception, imposition, cant, bigotry, false appearances and false pretences, superstitions, and all conceivable sorts of humbugs, have had a full swing, and he or she who watches these things most closely, and reflects most deeply upon these various peculiarities, bearings, and results, will be best qualified to detect and to avoid them. For this reason, I should look upon myself as somewhat of a public benefactor, in exposing the humbugs of the world, if I felt competent to do the subject full justice.
The world of deceit goes back to the Garden of Eden, where the Father of lies tricked our poor, innocent first grandmother, Eve. This was the first and worst deception. Since that significant day until now, lies, hypocrisy, deception, trickery, pretense, bigotry, false appearances, superstitions, and all kinds of deception have flourished. Those who pay the closest attention to these issues and think deeply about their various aspects, implications, and outcomes will be the best equipped to spot and avoid them. For this reason, I would see myself as somewhat of a public servant in exposing the deceptions of the world if I believed I could do the topic justice.
Next to the fearful humbug practiced upon our first parents, came heathen humbugs generally. All heathenism and idolatry are one grand complex humbug to begin with. All the heathen religions always were, and are still, audacious, colossal, yet shallow and foolish, humbugs. The heathen humbugs were played off by the priests, the shrewdest men then alive. It is a curi[387]ous fact that the heathen humbugs were all solemn. This was because they were intended to maintain the existing religions, which, like all false religions, could not endure ridicule. They always appealed to the pious terrors of the public, as well as to its ignorance and appetite for marvels. They offered nothing pleasant, nothing to love, nothing to gladden the heart and lift it up in joyful gratitude, true adoration, and childlike confidence, prayer, and thanksgiving. On the contrary, awful noises, fearful sights, frightful threats, foaming at the mouth, dark sayings, secret processions, bloody sacrifices, grim priests, costly offerings, sleeps in darksome caverns to wait for a dream from the god—these were the machineries of the ancient heathen. They were as crude and as ferocious as those of the King of Dahomey, or of the barbarous negroes of the Guinea coast. But they often show a cunning as keen and effective as that of any quack, or Philadelphia lawyer, or Davenport Brother, or Jackson Davis of to-day.
Next to the scary deception inflicted on our first parents came the general deceptions of paganism. All paganism and idolatry are essentially one huge complex deception from the start. All pagan religions have always been, and still are, bold, massive, yet superficial and silly deceptions. The pagan deceptions were orchestrated by the priests, who were the smartest people alive at the time. It's a curious fact that these pagan deceptions were all serious. This was because they were meant to uphold the existing religions, which, like all false religions, couldn’t survive mockery. They always played on the pious fears of the public, as well as its ignorance and thirst for wonders. They offered nothing pleasant, nothing to love, nothing to fill the heart with joy and uplift it in thankful gratitude, true reverence, and childlike confidence, prayer, and thanksgiving. On the contrary, there were terrible sounds, frightening sights, horrifying threats, foaming at the mouth, dark sayings, secret rituals, bloody sacrifices, grim priests, expensive offerings, long sleeps in dark caves waiting for a dream from the god—these were the methods of the ancient pagans. They were as crude and as savage as those of the King of Dahomey or the savage tribes of the Guinea coast. Yet, they often displayed a cunning as sharp and effective as that of any charlatan, or Philadelphia lawyer, or the Davenport Brothers, or Jackson Davis today.
The most prominent of the heathen humbugs were the mysteries, the oracles, the sibyls (N. B., the word is often mis-spelled sybils,) and augury. Every respectable Pagan religion had some mysteries, just as every respectable Christian family has a bible—and, as an ill-natured proverb has it, a skeleton. It was considered a poor religion—a one horse religion, so to speak—that had no mysteries.
The most notable of the pagan deceits were the mysteries, the oracles, the sibyls (note that the word is often misspelled as sybils), and augury. Every respectable pagan religion had some mysteries, just like every respectable Christian family has a Bible—and, as an unkind saying goes, a skeleton. It was seen as a weak religion—a one-horse religion, so to speak—that had no mysteries.
The chief mysteries were those of the Cabiri, of Eleusis, and of Isis. These mysteries used exactly the same kind of machinery which proves so effective every day in modern mysteries, viz., shows, processions, voices,[388] lights, dark rooms, frightful sights, solemn mummeries, striking costumes, big talks and preachments, threats, gabbles of nonsense, etc., etc.
The main mysteries were those of the Cabiri, Eleusis, and Isis. These mysteries employed the same methods that are highly effective in today's mysteries, like shows, parades, speeches, lighting effects, dark rooms, scary sights, serious performances, eye-catching costumes, grand speeches and sermons, threats, meaningless chatter, and so on.
The mysteries of the Cabiri are the most ancient of which anything is known. These Cabiri were a sort of “Original old Dr. Jacob Townsends” of divinities. They were considered senior and superior to Jupiter, Neptune, Plato, and the gods of Olympus. They were Pelasgic, that is, they belonged to that unknown ancient people from whom both the Greek and the Latin nations are thought to have come. The Cabiri afterward figured as the “elder gods” of Greece, the inventors of religion, and of the human race in fact, and were kept so very dark that it is not even known, with any certainty, who they were. The ancient heathen gods, like modern thieves, very usually objected to pass by their real names. The Cabiri were particularly at home in Lemnos, and afterward in Samothrace.
The mysteries of the Cabiri are the oldest known. These Cabiri were like the "Original old Dr. Jacob Townsends" of gods. They were considered older and superior to Jupiter, Neptune, Plato, and the gods of Olympus. They were Pelasgic, meaning they belonged to that unknown ancient people from whom both the Greek and Latin nations are believed to have originated. The Cabiri later became known as the "elder gods" of Greece, the creators of religion, and of humanity itself, and they were so enigmatic that it’s not even clear who they really were. The ancient pagan gods, like modern-day criminals, often chose not to reveal their true names. The Cabiri were especially associated with Lemnos and later with Samothrace.
Their mysteries were of a somewhat unpleasant character, as far as we know them. The candidate had to pass a long time almost starved, and without any enjoyment whatever; was then let into a dark temple, crowned with olive, tied round with a purple girdle, and frightened almost to death with horrid noises, terrible sights of some kind, great flashes of light and deep darkness between, etc., etc. There was a ceremony of absolution from past sin, and a formal beginning of a new life. It is a curious fact, that this performance seems to have been a kind of pious marine insurance company; as the initiated, it was believed, could not be drowned. Perhaps they were put in a way to obtain a[389] drier strangulation. The reason why these ceremonies were kept so successfully secret, is plain. Each man, as he was let in, and found what nonsense it was, was sure to hold his tongue and help the next man in, as in the modern case of the celebrated “Sons of Malta.” It is to be admitted, however, to the credit of the Cabiri, that a doctrine of reformation, or of living a better practical life, seems to have been part of their religion. This is an interesting recognition, by heathen consciences, of one of the greatest moral truths which Christianity has enforced. Something of the same kind can be traced in other heathen mysteries. But these heathen attempts at virtue invariably rotted out into aggravations of vice. No religion except Christianity ever contained the principle of improvement in it. Bugaboos and hob-goblins may serve for a time to frighten the ignorant into obedience; but if they get a chance to cheat the devil, they will be sure to do it. Nothing but the great doctrine of Christian love and brotherhood, and of a kind and paternal Divine government, has ever proved to be permanently reformatory, and tending to lift the heart above the vices and passions to which poor human nature is prone.
Their mysteries were somewhat unsettling, based on what we know. The candidate had to endure a long period of near starvation, without any enjoyment; then they were taken into a dark temple, crowned with an olive wreath, wrapped in a purple belt, and almost scared to death by frightening noises, terrifying sights, great flashes of light, and deep darkness, among other things. There was a ceremony for absolution from past sins and a formal start to a new life. It's interesting to note that this ritual seemed to act like a kind of solemn marine insurance; it was believed that those initiated could not drown. Perhaps they were set up to face a drier form of strangulation. The reason these ceremonies were kept so successfully secret is clear. Each person, once they entered and realized how absurd it was, would be sure to stay quiet and assist the next person in, similar to the modern case of the famous “Sons of Malta.” However, it should be acknowledged, to the credit of the Cabiri, that a doctrine of reformation, or living a better life, appeared to be part of their faith. This is an intriguing acknowledgment by non-Christians of one of the greatest moral truths that Christianity has promoted. Similar themes can be traced in other ancient mysteries. But these non-Christian attempts at virtue consistently deteriorated into worse vices. No religion besides Christianity has ever contained the principle of improvement within it. Scary stories and bogeymen might temporarily frighten the uninformed into compliance; but if given the chance to outsmart the devil, they certainly will. Only the profound principles of Christian love, brotherhood, and a compassionate, paternal Divine governance have ever proven to be truly transformative, helping to elevate the heart above the vices and passions to which human nature often succumbs.
The mysteries of Eleusis were celebrated every year at Eleusis, near Athens, in honor of Ceres, and were a regular “May Anniversary,” so to speak, for the pious heathens of the period. It took just nine days to complete them; long enough for a puppy to get its eyes open. The candidates were very handsomely put through. On the first day, they got together; on the second, they took a wash in the sea; on the third, they[390] had some ceremonies about Proserpine; on the fourth, no mortal knows what they did; on the fifth, they marched round a temple, two and two, with torches, like a Wide-Awake procession; on the sixth, seventh, and eighth, there were more processions, and the initiation proper, said to have been something like that of Free-masonry; so that we may suppose the victims rode the goat and were broiled on the gridiron. On the ninth day, the ceremony, they say, consisted in overturning two vessels of wine. I fear by this means that they all got drunk; and the more so, because the coins of Eleusis have a hog on one side, as much as to say, We make hogs of ourselves.
The mysteries of Eleusis were celebrated every year in Eleusis, near Athens, in honor of Ceres, and they were kind of a "May Anniversary" for the devout pagans of the time. It took just nine days to complete, which was long enough for a puppy to open its eyes. The participants were treated very well. On the first day, they gathered together; on the second, they took a wash in the sea; on the third, they had some ceremonies for Proserpine; on the fourth, nobody really knows what they did; on the fifth, they marched around a temple in pairs, carrying torches, like a Wide-Awake procession; on the sixth, seventh, and eighth, there were more processions, along with the actual initiation, which is said to have been a bit like Free-masonry; so we can assume the participants went through some wild rituals. On the ninth day, the ceremony supposedly involved overturning two vessels of wine. I worry that this made them all drunk; and even more so because the coins from Eleusis have a pig on one side, almost implying, "We make fools of ourselves."
There was a set of mysteries at Athens, called Thesmophoria, and one at Rome, called the mysteries of the Bona Dea, which were celebrated by married women only. Various notions prevailed as to what they did. But can there be any reasonable doubt about it? They were, I fear, systematic conspirators’ meetings, in which the more experienced matrons instructed the junior ones how to manage their husbands. If this was not their object, then it was to maintain the influence of the heathen clergy over the heathen ladies. Women have always been the constituents of priests where false religions prevailed, as they have, for better purposes, of the ministers of the Gospel among Christians.
There was a set of mysteries in Athens called Thesmophoria, and another in Rome known as the mysteries of the Bona Dea, which were only celebrated by married women. Different ideas circulated about what actually happened during these events. But can there really be any reasonable doubt about it? I fear they were systematic meetings for conspirators, where the more experienced women taught the younger ones how to handle their husbands. If that wasn’t their main goal, then it was to keep the influence of pagan clergy over pagan women. Women have always been a part of the priesthood where false religions prevailed, just as they have, for better reasons, been involved with the ministers of the Gospel among Christians.
The mysteries of the goddess Isis, which originated in Egypt, were, in general, like those of Ceres at Eleusis. The Persian mysteries of Mithra, which were very popular during part of the latter days of the Roman empire, were of the same sort. So were those of Bacchus, Juno,[391] Jupiter, and various other heathen gods. All of them were celebrated with great solemnity and secrecy; all included much that was terrifying; and all of their secrets have been so faithfully kept that we have only guesses and general statements about the details of the performances. Their principal object seems to have been to secure the initiated against misfortunes, and to gain prosperity in the future. Some have imagined that very wonderful and glorious truths were revealed in the midst of these heathen humbugs. But I guess that the more we find out about them, the bigger humbugs they will appear, as happened to the travelers who held a post mortem on the great heathen god in the story. This was a certain very terrible and powerful divinity among some savage tribes, of whom dreadful stories were told—very authentic, of course! Some unbelieving scamps of travelers, by unlawful ways, managed to get into the innermost sacred place of the temple one night. They found the god to be done up in a very large and suspicious looking bundle. Having sacrilegiously cut the string, they unrolled one envelop of mats and cloths after another, until they had taken off more than a hundred wrappers. The god grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller; and the wonder of the travelers what he could be, larger and larger. At last, the very innermost of all the coverings fell off, and the great heathen god was revealed in all his native majesty. It was a cracked soda-water bottle! This indicates—what is beyond all question the fact—that the heathen mysteries had their foundation in gas. Indeed, the whole composition of these impositions was,[392] gammon, deception, hypocrisy—Humbug! Truly, the science of Humbug is entitled to some consideration, simply for its antiquity, if for nothing else.
The mysteries of the goddess Isis, which started in Egypt, were, in general, similar to those of Ceres at Eleusis. The Persian mysteries of Mithra, which were very popular during the later days of the Roman Empire, were similar as well. The same goes for those of Bacchus, Juno,[391] Jupiter, and various other pagan gods. All of them were celebrated with great seriousness and secrecy; they included a lot that was frightening; and all of their secrets have been kept so well that we only have guesses and general statements about the details of the rituals. Their main purpose seems to have been to protect the initiated from misfortunes and to ensure future prosperity. Some have speculated that very wonderful and glorious truths were revealed amongst these pagan scams. But I think that the more we discover about them, the more they will seem like scams, much like the travelers who examined a post mortem of the great pagan god in the story. This was a certain terrifying and powerful deity worshiped by some savage tribes, about whom dreadful stories were told—very authentic ones, of course! Some skeptical travelers, through questionable means, managed to sneak into the innermost sacred area of the temple one night. They found the god wrapped up in a very large and suspicious-looking bundle. After sacrilegiously cutting the string, they unwrapped layer after layer of mats and cloths until they had removed more than a hundred coverings. The god became smaller and smaller, and the travelers' curiosity about what he could be grew larger and larger. Finally, when the very last covering fell away, the great pagan god was revealed in all his native glory. It was a cracked soda-water bottle! This shows—without a doubt—that the pagan mysteries were based on nonsense. In fact, the entire foundation of these deceptions was,[392] trickery, deceit, hypocrisy—Humbug! Truly, the science of Humbug deserves some recognition, if only for its long history.
CHAPTER XLVII.
Something must be said about the Oracles, the Sibyls, and the Auguries; which, besides the mysteries elsewhere spoken of, were the chief assistant humbugs or side shows used for keeping up the great humbug heathen religion.
Something needs to be said about the Oracles, the Sibyls, and the Auguries; which, in addition to the mysteries mentioned elsewhere, were the main supporting tricks or side shows used to maintain the major falsehood of the pagan religion.
One word about the regular worship of heathenism; what maybe called their stated services. They had no weekly day of worship, indeed no week, and no preaching such as ours is; that is, no regular instruction by the ministers of religion, intended for all the people. They had singing and praying after their fashion; the singing being a sort of chant of praise to whatever idol was under treatment at the time, and the praying being in part vain repetitions of the name of their god, and for the rest a request that the god would do or give whatever was asked of him as a fair business transaction, in return for the agreeable smell of the fine beef they had just roasted under his nose, or for whatever else they had given him; as, a sum of money, a pair of pantaloons (or whatever they wore instead,) a handsome golden cup. This made the temple a regular shop,[393] where the priests traded off promised benefits for real beef; coining blessings into cash on the nail; a very thorough humbug. Such public religious ceremonies as the heathen had were mostly annual, sometimes monthly. There were also daily ones, which were, however, the daily business of the priests, and none of the business of the laymen. To return to the subject.
One word about the regular worship of paganism, or what could be called their scheduled services. They didn’t have a specific day for worship, no concept of a week, and no preaching like we do; that is, there was no regular teaching from religious leaders aimed at everyone. They did have singing and praying in their own way; the singing was a type of chant to whatever idol was being honored at the moment, and the praying involved mostly empty repetitions of their god's name, along with requests for the god to grant their wishes as if it were a business deal, in exchange for the pleasant aroma of the fine beef they had just roasted nearby, or for other offerings like money, a pair of pants (or whatever they wore instead), or a nice golden cup. This turned the temple into a sort of marketplace,[393] where the priests traded promised favors for actual beef; converting blessings into cash right then and there; a complete sham. The public religious ceremonies the pagans had were mostly held once a year, sometimes monthly. There were also daily rituals, but those were primarily the routine work of the priests and not something the average person was involved in. To get back to the main topic.
All the heathen oracles, old and new (for abundance of them are still agoing,) sibyls, auguries and all, show how universally and naturally, and humbly and helplessly too, poor human nature longs to see into the future, and longs for help and guidance from some power, higher than itself.
All the pagan oracles, old and new (since many of them are still around), sybils, prophecies, and everything else, demonstrate how universally and naturally, as well as with humility and helplessness, poor human nature yearns to glimpse the future and seeks help and guidance from a power greater than itself.
Thus considered, these shallow humbugs teach a useful lesson, for they constitute a strong proof of man’s inborn natural recognition of some God, of some obligation to a higher power, of some disembodied existence; and so they show a natural human want of exactly what the Christian revelation supplies, and constitute a powerful evidence for Christianity.
Thus viewed, these superficial frauds teach a valuable lesson, as they provide strong evidence of humanity's inherent recognition of some form of God, an obligation to a higher power, and a belief in some kind of spiritual existence. They reveal a fundamental human desire for what the Christian revelation offers, serving as compelling support for Christianity.
All the heathen religions, I believe, had oracles of some kind. But the Greek and Latin ones tell the whole story. Of these there were over a hundred; more than twenty of Apollo, who was the god of soothsaying, divination, prophecy, and of the supernatural side of heathen humbug generally; thirty or forty collectively of Jupiter, Ceres, Mercury, Pluto, Juno, Ino (a very good name for a goddess that gave oracles, though she didn’t know!), Faunus, Fortune, Mars, etc., and nearly as many of demi-gods, heroes, giants, etc., such as Amphiaraus, Amphilochus, Trophonius, Geryon, Ulysses,[394] Calchas, Æsculapius, Hercules, Pasiphae, Phryxus, etc. The most celebrated and most patronized of them all was the great oracle of Apollo, at Delphi. The “little fee” appears to have been the only universal characteristic of the proceedings for obtaining an answer from the god. Whether you got your reply in words spoken by the rattling of an old pot, by observing an ox’s appetite, throwing dice, or sleeping for a dream, your own proceedings were essentially the same. “Terms invariably net cash in advance or its equivalent.” A fine ox or sheep sacrificed was cash; for after the god had had his smell (those ladies and gentlemen appear to have eaten as they say the Yankees talk—through their noses,) all the rest was put carefully away by the reverend clergy for dinner, and saved so much on the butcher’s bill. If your credit was good, you might receive your oracle and afterward send in any little acknowledgment in the form of a golden goblet, or statue, or vase, or even of a remittance in specie. Such gifts accumulated in the oracle at Delphi and to an immense amount, and to the great emolument of Brennus, a matter of fact Gaulish commander, who, at his invasion of Greece, coolly carried off all the bullion, without any regard to the screeches of the Pythoness, and with no more scruples than any burglar.
All the non-Christian religions, I think, had some sort of oracles. But the Greek and Roman ones really tell the whole story. There were over a hundred of them; more than twenty associated with Apollo, who was the god of predictions, divination, prophecy, and generally the supernatural side of pagan nonsense; thirty or forty for Jupiter, Ceres, Mercury, Pluto, Juno, Ino (a fitting name for a goddess who gave oracles, even if she didn’t know!), Faunus, Fortune, Mars, etc., and almost as many for demi-gods, heroes, giants, etc., like Amphiaraus, Amphilochus, Trophonius, Geryon, Ulysses,[394] Calchas, Æsculapius, Hercules, Pasiphae, Phryxus, and others. The most famous and frequently visited was the grand oracle of Apollo at Delphi. The “small fee” seemed to be the only common feature of the process for getting an answer from the god. Whether your reply came from the rattling of an old pot, watching an ox eat, tossing dice, or dreaming, your actions were basically the same. “Terms always require cash up front or its equivalent.” A fine ox or sheep sacrificed was cash; because after the god had taken his sniff (those folks seemed to eat as the Yankees say they talk—through their noses), everything else was carefully saved by the respected clergy for dinner, cutting down the butcher’s bill. If you had good credit, you might receive your oracle and then send a small thank-you gift later in the form of a golden goblet, statue, vase, or even cash. Such gifts piled up at the oracle at Delphi to a massive amount, greatly benefiting Brennus, a practical Gallic commander who, when invading Greece, casually took all the gold without caring about the cries of the Pythoness and with no more hesitation than any burglar.
The Delphian oracle worked through a woman, who, on certain days, went and sat on a three-legged stool over a hole in the ground in Apollo’s temple. This hole sent out gas; which, instead of being used like that afforded by holes in the ground at Fredonia, N. Y., to illuminate the village, was much more shrewdly em[395]ployed by the clerical gentlemen to shine up the knowledge-boxes of their customers, and introduce the glitter of gold into their own pockets. I merely throw out the hint to any speculating Fredonian who owns a hole in the ground. Well, the Pythia, as this female was termed, warmed up her understanding over this hole, as you have seen ladies do over the register of a hot-air furnace, and becoming excited, she presently began to be drunk or crazy, and in her fit she gabbled forth some words or noises. These the priests took down, and then told the customer that the noises meant so-and-so! When business was brisk they worked two Pythias, turn and turn about (or, as they say at sea, watch and watch), and kept a third all cocked and primed in case of accident, besides; for this gas sometimes gave the priestess (literally) fits, which killed her in a few days.
The Delphian oracle operated through a woman who, on certain days, would sit on a three-legged stool over a hole in the ground in Apollo’s temple. This hole released gas; which, instead of being used like the gas from holes in the ground at Fredonia, N. Y., to light up the village, was much more cleverly used by the priests to enhance their customers’ understanding while also lining their own pockets with gold. I merely suggest this to any enterprising Fredonian who has a hole in the ground. Well, the Pythia, as this woman was called, warmed her mind over this hole, like you’ve seen women do over the register of a hot-air furnace, and getting worked up, she soon began to act drunk or crazy, and in her state she babbled some words or sounds. The priests recorded these, and then told the customer that the sounds meant so-and-so! When business was good, they operated two Pythias, taking turns (or, as they say at sea, watch and watch), and kept a third one ready on standby in case of emergency, since the gas sometimes gave the priestess (literally) fits, which could kill her in a few days.
Other oracles gave answers in many various ways. The priest quietly wrote down whatever answer he chose; or inspected the insides of a slaughtered beast, and said that the bowels meant this and that. At Telmessus the inquirer peeped into a well, where he must see a picture in the water which was his answer; at any rate, if this wouldn’t do he got none. This plan was evidently based on the idea that “truth is at the bottom of a well.” At Dodona, they hung brass pots on the trees and translated the banging these made when the wind blew them together. At Pheræ, you whispered your question in the ear of the image of Mercury, and then shutting your ears until you got out of the market-place, the first remark you heard from anybody was the answer, and you might make the best of it. At Plut[396]o’s oracle at Charæ, the priest took a dream, and in the morning told you what he chose. In the cave of Trophonius, after various terrifying performances, they pulled you through a hole the wrong way of the feathers, and then back again, and then stuck you upon a seat, and made you write down your own oracle, being what you had seen, which would, I imagine, usually be “the elephant.”
Other oracles provided answers in many different ways. The priest quietly wrote down whatever response he chose; or examined the insides of a sacrificed animal, claiming that the organs indicated this or that. At Telmessus, the seeker peeked into a well, where he had to see a vision in the water that served as his answer; if that didn’t work, he wouldn’t get anything. This method was clearly based on the idea that “truth is at the bottom of a well.” At Dodona, they hung brass pots from trees and interpreted the sounds they made when the wind knocked them together. At Pheræ, you whispered your question into the ear of a statue of Mercury, and then, while closing your ears until you were out of the marketplace, the first thing you heard from anyone was the answer, which you had to make the most of. At Plut[396]o’s oracle at Charæ, the priest interpreted a dream and told you what he chose in the morning. In the cave of Trophonius, after a series of frightening rituals, they pulled you through a hole the wrong way and then back again, and then made you sit down and write your own oracle based on what you had seen, which would likely end up being “the elephant.”
And so-forth, and so on. Humbug ad libitum!
And so on, and so forth. Nonsense as you wish!
Like some of the more celebrated modern fortune-tellers, the managers of the oracles were frequently shrewd fellows, and could often pick up the materials of a very smart and judicious answer from the appearance of the customer and his question. Very often the answer was sheer nonsense. It was, in fact, believed by many that as a rule you couldn’t tell what the response meant until after it was fulfilled, when you were expected to see it. In many cases the answers were ingeniously arranged, so as to mean either a good or evil result, one of which was pretty likely.
Like some of the more famous modern fortune-tellers, the managers of the oracles were often sharp individuals and could usually gather enough information for a clever and sensible response just from the customer's appearance and their question. Frequently, the answers were complete nonsense. In fact, many believed that you typically couldn’t understand what the response meant until after it happened, when you were supposed to recognize it. In many instances, the answers were cleverly worded to indicate either a positive or negative outcome, one of which was quite likely.
Thus, one of the oracles answered a general who asked after the fate of his campaign as follows: (the ancients, remember, using no punctuation marks) “Thou shalt go thou shalt return never in war shalt thou perish.” The point becomes visible when you first make a pause before “never,” and then after it.
Thus, one of the oracles responded to a general who asked about the outcome of his campaign as follows: (the ancients, remember, using no punctuation marks) “You will go, you will return; you will never perish in war.” The meaning becomes clear when you first pause before “never,” and then after it.
On a similar occasion, the Delphic oracle told Crœsus that if he crossed the River Halys he would overthrow a great empire. This empire he chose to understand as that of Cyrus, whom he was going to fight. It came out the other way, and it was his own empire[397] that was overthrown. The immense wisdom of the oracle, however, was tremendously respected in consequence!
On a similar occasion, the Delphic oracle told Crœsus that if he crossed the River Halys, he would overthrow a great empire. He interpreted this to mean Cyrus's empire, which he was about to fight. Instead, it turned out that his own empire[397] was the one that was overthrown. The immense wisdom of the oracle, however, was greatly respected as a result!
Pyrrhus, of Epirus, on setting off against the Romans, received equal satisfaction, the Pythia telling him (in Latin) what amounted to this:
Pyrrhus of Epirus, when he prepared to go against the Romans, felt equally pleased, as the Pythia informed him (in Latin) that it meant this:
“I say that you Pyrrhus the Romans are able to conquer!”
“I say that you, Pyrrhus, the Romans can overcome!”
Pyrrhus took it as he wished it, but found himself sadly thimble-rigged, the little joker being under the wrong cup. The Romans beat him, and most wofully too.
Pyrrhus got what he wanted, but ended up feeling deceived, the little trickster being under the wrong cup. The Romans defeated him, and quite badly too.
Trajan was advised to consult the oracle at Heliopolis, about his intended expedition against the Parthians. The custom was to send your query in a letter; so Trajan sent a blank note in an envelope. The god (very naturally) sent back a blank note in reply, which was thought wonderfully smart; and so the imperial dupe sent again, a square question:
Trajan was advised to consult the oracle at Heliopolis about his planned campaign against the Parthians. The usual practice was to send your question in a letter, so Trajan sent a blank note in an envelope. The god (as expected) replied with a blank note, which everyone thought was incredibly clever; and so the imperial fool sent another note, this time with a clear question:
“Shall I finish this war and get safe back to Rome?”
“Should I end this war and safely return to Rome?”
The Heliopolitan humbug replied by sending a piece of an old grape-vine cut into pieces, which meant either: “You will cut them up,” or “They will cut you up;” and Trajan, like the little boy at the peep-show who asked: “which is Lord Wellington and which is the Emperor Napoleon?” had paid his penny and might take his choice.
The Heliopolitan trickster responded by sending a section of an old grapevine cut into pieces, which signified either: “You will cut them up,” or “They will cut you up;” and Trajan, like the little boy at the carnival who asked: “Which one is Lord Wellington and which one is Emperor Napoleon?” had paid his penny and could choose whichever he wanted.
Sometimes the oracles were quite jocular. A man asked one of them how to get rich? The oracle said: “Own all there is between Sicyon and Corinth.” Which places are some fifteen miles apart.
Sometimes the oracles were pretty funny. A man asked one of them how to get rich. The oracle replied, “Own everything that’s between Sicyon and Corinth.” Those places are about fifteen miles apart.
Another fellow asked how he should cure his gout?[398] The oracle coolly said: “Drink nothing but cold water!”
Another guy asked how he should treat his gout?[398] The oracle calmly replied: “Drink only cold water!”
The Delphic oracle, and some of the others, used for a long time to give their answers in verses. At last, however, irreverent critics of the period made so much fun of the peculiarly miserable style of this poetry, that the poor oracle gave it up and came down to plain prose. Every once in a while some energetic and cunning man, of skeptical character, insisted on having just such an answer as he wanted. It was well known that Philip of Macedon bought what responses he wished at Delphi. Anybody with plenty of money, who would quietly “see” the priests, could have such a response as he chose. Or, if he was a bull-headed, hard-fisted, fighting-man, of irreligious but energetic mind, the priests gave him what he wished, out of fear. When Themistocles wanted to encourage the Greeks against the Persians, he “fixed” Delphi by bribes. When Alexander the Great came to consult the same oracle, the Pythia was disinclined to perform. But Alexander rather roughly gave her to understand that she must, and she did. The Greek and Roman oracles finally all gave out not far from the time of Christ’s coming, having gradually become more or less disreputable for many years.
The Delphic oracle, along with some others, used to provide their answers in verse for a long time. Eventually, though, irreverent critics of the time ridiculed the notably poor style of this poetry so much that the oracle abandoned it in favor of plain prose. From time to time, some determined and clever skeptic insisted on getting just the answer they wanted. It was well-known that Philip of Macedon would buy the responses he wanted at Delphi. Anyone with lots of money who could discreetly "see" the priests could get the response they desired. Or, if they were a bull-headed, tough, fighting type with an irreverent but energetic mind, the priests would give them what they wanted out of fear. When Themistocles wanted to rally the Greeks against the Persians, he "fixed" Delphi with bribes. When Alexander the Great came to consult the same oracle, the Pythia was reluctant to proceed. But Alexander made it clear, rather forcefully, that she had to, and she did. The Greek and Roman oracles eventually all faded away not long before the arrival of Christ, having become increasingly disreputable over the years.
All the heathen nations, as I have said, had their oracles too. The heathen Scandinavians had a famous one at Upsal. The Getae, in Scythia, had one. The Druids had them; so did the Mexican priests. The Egyptian and Syrian divinities had them; in short, oracles were quite as necessary as mysteries, and con[399]tinue so in heathen religions. The only exception, I believe, is in Mohammedanism, whose votaries save themselves any trouble about the future by their thorough fatalism. They believe so fully and vividly that everything is immovably predestinated, being at the same time perfectly sure of heaven at last, that they quietly receive everything as it comes, and don’t take the least trouble to find out how it is coming.
All the pagan nations, as I mentioned, had their own oracles too. The pagan Scandinavians had a famous one at Upsal. The Getae in Scythia had one. The Druids had them; so did the Mexican priests. The Egyptian and Syrian deities had them; in short, oracles were just as essential as mysteries, and they continue to be so in pagan religions. The only exception, as far as I know, is in Islam, where followers avoid worrying about the future because of their strong sense of fatalism. They believe so completely and vividly that everything is strictly predestined, while also being perfectly confident about reaching heaven in the end, that they simply accept whatever comes their way and don’t bother trying to figure out how it’s coming.
The Sibyls were women, supposed to be inspired by some divinity, who prophesied of the future. Some say there was but one; some two, three, four, or ten. All sorts of obscure stories are told about the time and place of their activity. There was the Persian or Chaldean, who is said to have foretold with many details the coming and career of Christ; the Lybian, the Delphic, the Cumæan, much honored by the Romans, and half a dozen more. Then there was Mantho, the daughter of Tiresias, who was sent from Thebes to Delphi in a bag, seven hundred and twenty years before the destruction of Troy. These ladies lived in caves, and among them are said to have composed the Sibylline books, which contained the mysteries of religion, were carefully kept out of sight at Rome, and finally came into the hands of the Emperor Constantine. They were burned, one story has it, about fifty years after his death. But there are some Sibylline books extant, which, however, are among the most transparent of humbugs, for they are full of all sorts of extracts and statements from the Old and New Testaments. I do not believe there ever were any Sibyls. If there were any, they were probably ill-natured and desperate old[400] maids, who turned so sour-tempered that their friends had to drive them off to live by themselves, and who, under these circumstances, went to work and wrote books.
The Sibyls were women thought to be inspired by a divine force, who made predictions about the future. Some claim there was only one; others say two, three, four, or even ten. There are all sorts of vague stories about when and where they operated. There was the Persian or Chaldean Sibyl, who supposedly predicted Christ’s arrival and life in great detail; the Libyan, the Delphic, the Cumæan, who were especially revered by the Romans, and several others. Then there was Mantho, the daughter of Tiresias, who was sent from Thebes to Delphi in a bag, seven hundred and twenty years before Troy was destroyed. These women lived in caves, and they are said to have created the Sibylline books, which contained religious secrets. These texts were carefully hidden in Rome and eventually came into the possession of Emperor Constantine. According to one story, they were burned about fifty years after his death. However, some Sibylline books still exist, which, honestly, seem like clear fakes, since they are filled with random extracts and statements from the Old and New Testaments. I don't believe there ever were any Sibyls. If they did exist, they were probably cranky and desperate old maids, who became so unpleasant that their friends had to send them off to live alone, and under those circumstances, they decided to write books.
I must crowd in here a word or two about the Auguries and the Augurs. These gentlemen were a sort of Roman priests, who were accustomed to foretell future events, decide on coming good or bad fortune, whether it would do to go on with the elections, to begin any enterprise or not, etc., by means of various signs. These were thunder; the way any birds happened to fly; the way that the sacred chickens ate; the appearance of the entrails of beasts sacrificed, etc., etc. These augurs were, for a long time, much respected in Rome, but, at last, the more thoughtful people lost their belief in them, and they became so ridiculous that Cicero, who was himself one of them, said he could not see how one augur could look another in the face without laughing.
I need to squeeze in a few words about the Auguries and the Augurs. These guys were a kind of Roman priests who used to predict future events and determine whether good or bad fortune was on the way. They decided if it was wise to go ahead with elections or start new ventures by interpreting various signs. These signs included thunder, how birds were flying, how the sacred chickens were eating, the appearance of the entrails from sacrificed animals, and so on. For a long time, these augurs were highly respected in Rome, but eventually, more thoughtful people lost faith in them, and they became so ridiculous that Cicero, who was one of them, remarked that he couldn’t understand how one augur could look another in the eye without laughing.
It is humiliating to reflect how long and how extensively such barefaced and monstrous humbugs as these have maintained unquestioned authority over almost the whole race of man. Nor has humanity, by any means, escaped from such debasing slavery now; for millions and millions of men still believe and practice forms and ceremonies even more absurd, if possible, than the Mysteries, Oracles, and Auguries.
It’s embarrassing to think about how long and how widely such blatant and outrageous frauds have held unquestioned power over almost all of humanity. And humanity hasn’t really escaped from this degrading slavery yet; millions of people still believe in and practice rituals and ceremonies that are even more ridiculous, if that’s possible, than the Mysteries, Oracles, and Auguries.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
MODERN HEATHEN HUMBUGS.—FETISHISM.—OBI.—VAUDOUX.—INDIAN POWWOWS.—LAMAISM.—REVOLVING PRAYERS.—PRAYING TO DEATH.
MODERN HEATHEN HUMBUGS.—FETISHISM.—OBI.—VOODOO.—INDIAN POWWOWS.—LAMAISM.—REVOLVING PRAYERS.—PRAYING TO DEATH.
A scale of superstition and religious beliefs of to-day, arranged from the lowest to the highest, would show many curious coincidences with another scale, which should trace the history of superstitions and religious beliefs backward in time toward the origin of man. Thus, for instance, the heathen humbugs, whether revolting or ridiculous, which I am to speak of in this chapter, are in full blast to day; and they furnish perfect specimens of the beliefs which prevailed among the heathen of four thousand and of eighteen hundred years ago; of the Chaldee and Canaanite superstitions, and equally of those of the Romans under Augustus Cæsar.
A scale of today's superstitions and religious beliefs, arranged from the lowest to the highest, would reveal many interesting coincidences with another scale that traces the history of these beliefs back to the origins of humanity. For example, the pagan nonsense, whether disturbing or laughable, that I will discuss in this chapter is very much alive today; it serves as a perfect example of the beliefs that were common among pagans four thousand and eighteen hundred years ago, as well as those of the Chaldeans and Canaanites, and similarly those of the Romans during the time of Augustus Caesar.
The most dirty, vulgar, low, silly and absurd of all the superstitions in the world are, as is natural, those of the darkest minded of all the heathen, who have any superstition at all. For, as if for the humiliation of our proud human nature, there are really some human beings who seem to have too little intellect even to rise to the height of a superstition. Such are the Andaman Islanders, who crawl on all fours, wear nothing but a plaster of mud to keep the musquitos off, eat bugs, and grubs, and ants, and turn their children out to shift for[402] themselves as soon as the little wretches can learn to crawl and eat bugs.
The dirtiest, most vulgar, low, silly, and absurd superstitions in the world, not surprisingly, belong to the most primitive and superstitious people. It’s almost like a reflection on our proud human nature that there are actually some people who seem too simple-minded even to have a superstition. Take the Andaman Islanders, for example. They crawl on all fours, wear only mud to ward off mosquitoes, eat bugs, grubs, and ants, and kick their children out to fend for themselves as soon as they can crawl and eat bugs.
These lowest of superstitions are Fetishism and Obi, believed and practiced by negro tribes, and, remember this, even by their ignorant white mistresses in the West Indies and in the United States, to day. Yes, I know where Southern refugee secessionist women are living in and about New York city at this moment, who really believe in the negro witchcraft called Obi, practiced by the slaves.
These basic superstitions are Fetishism and Obi, believed in and practiced by Black tribes, and, remember, even by their uneducated white mistresses in the West Indies and the United States today. Yes, I'm aware of Southern refugee women from the secessionist side who are currently living in and around New York City, and who genuinely believe in the Black witchcraft known as Obi, practiced by the enslaved individuals.
A Fetish is anything not a living being, worshiped because supposed to be inhabited by some god. In some parts of Africa the Fetishes are a sort of guardian divinity, and there is one for each district like a town constable; and sometimes one for each family. The Fetish is any stone picked up in the street—a tree, a chip, a rag. It may be some stone or wooden image—an old pot, a knife, a feather. Before this precious divinity the poor darkeys bow down and worship, and sometimes, sacrifice a sheep or a rooster. Each more important Fetish has a priest, and here is where the humbug comes in. This gentleman lives on the offerings made to the Fetish, and he “exploits” his god, as a Frenchman would say, with great profit.
A fetish is anything that isn’t a living being, revered because it’s believed to be inhabited by a god. In some regions of Africa, fetishes serve as a kind of guardian spirit, with one for each area, similar to a town constable; sometimes there’s even one for each family. A fetish can be any stone found in the street, a tree, a piece of wood, or a rag. It might also be a stone or wooden figure—an old pot, a knife, or a feather. Before this revered object, people bow down and worship, and sometimes offer a sheep or a rooster as sacrifice. Each more significant fetish has a priest, and this is where the trickery comes into play. This individual lives off the offerings made to the fetish, and he “exploits” his god, as a Frenchman would put it, for considerable profit.
Obi or Obeah, is the name of the witchcraft of the negro tribes; and the practitioner is termed an Obi-man or Obi-woman. They practice it at home in Africa, and carry it with them to continue it when they are made slaves in other lands. Obi is now practiced, as I have already hinted, in Cuba and in the Southern States, and is believed in by the more ignorant and foolish white people, as[403] much as by their barbarous slaves. Obi is used only to injure, and the way to perform it upon your enemy is, to hire the Obi man or woman to concoct a charm, and then to hide this, or cause it to be hidden, in some place about the person or abode of the victim where he will find it. He is expected thereupon to fall ill, to wither and waste away, and so to die.
Obi or Obeah is the term for the witchcraft practiced by African tribes, and those who practice it are called Obi-men or Obi-women. They use it at home in Africa and continue its practice when they are enslaved in other countries. Obi is now practiced, as I’ve mentioned, in Cuba and the Southern States, and it is believed by some of the more ignorant and foolish white people, just as much as by their enslaved individuals. Obi is only used to harm, and to cast it on an enemy, you would hire an Obi man or woman to create a charm, then hide it or cause it to be hidden in a place where the victim will find it. It is expected that the victim will then become ill, deteriorate, and eventually die.
Absurd as it may seem, this cursing business operates with a good deal of certainty on the poor negroes, who fall sick instantly on finding the ball of Obi, two or three inches in diameter, hidden in their bed, or in the roof, or under the threshold, or in the earthen floor of their huts. The poor wretches become dejected, lose appetite, strength, and spirits, grow thin and ill, and really wither away and die. It is a curious fact, however, that if under these circumstances you can cause one of them to become converted to Christianity, or to become a Christian by profession, he becomes at once free from the witches’ dominion and quickly recovers.
Absurd as it might sound, this curse thing works with a good amount of certainty on the poor Black individuals, who get sick as soon as they find the ball of Obi, about two or three inches in diameter, hidden in their bed, in the roof, under the threshold, or in the dirt floor of their huts. These unfortunate people become depressed, lose their appetite, strength, and spirit, become thin and sickly, and really waste away and die. It’s interesting to note, however, that if you can get one of them to convert to Christianity, or to identify as a Christian, he suddenly becomes free from the witches’ control and quickly gets better.
The ball of Obi—or, as it is called among the Brazilian negroes, Mandinga—may be made of various materials, always, I believe, including some which are disgusting or horrible. Leaves of trees and scraps of rag may be used; ashes, usually from bones or flesh of some kind; pieces of cats’ bones and skulls, feathers, hair, earth, or clay, which ought to be from a grave; teeth of men and of snakes, alligators or other beasts; vegetable gum, or other sticky stuff; human blood, pieces of eggshell, etc., etc. This mixture is curiously like that in the witches’ caldron in Macbeth, which,[404] among other equally toothsome matters, contained frogs’ toes, bats’ wool, lizards’ legs, owlets’ wings, wolfs’ teeth, witches’ mummy, Jew’s liver, tigers’ bowels, and lastly, as a sort of thickening to the gravy, baboon’s blood.
The Obi ball—or what the Brazilian Black community calls Mandinga—can be made from various materials, often including some that are pretty disgusting. It might include leaves from trees and scraps of cloth; ashes, usually from bones or flesh; pieces of cats’ bones and skulls, feathers, hair, soil, or clay, ideally from a grave; teeth from humans and snakes, alligators, or other beasts; vegetable gum, or other sticky substances; human blood, bits of eggshell, etc., etc. This mixture is oddly similar to what’s found in the witches’ cauldron in Macbeth, which,[404] among other equally unappetizing ingredients, had frogs’ toes, bats’ wool, lizards’ legs, owlets’ wings, wolf’s teeth, witches’ mummy, Jew’s liver, tigers’ bowels, and finally, to thicken the mixture, baboon’s blood.
A creole lady, now at the North, recently told a friend of mine that “the negroes can put some pieces of paper, or powder, or something or other in your shoes, that will make you sick, or make you do anything they want!” The poor foolish woman told this with a face full of awe and eyes wide open. Another lady known to me, long resident at the South, tells me that the belief in this sort of devilism is often found among the white people.
A Creole woman, now in the North, recently told a friend of mine that “Black people can put some pieces of paper, or powder, or whatever in your shoes that will make you sick or do anything they want!” The poor, gullible woman shared this with a look of amazement and wide eyes. Another woman I know, who has lived in the South for a long time, says that this kind of superstition is often believed among white people.
The practices called Vaudoux or Voudoux, are a sort of Obi; being, like that, an invoking of the aid of some god to do what the worshipers wish. The Vaudoux humbug is quite prevalent in Cuba, Hayti, and other West India islands, where there are wild negroes, or where they are still imported from Africa. There is also a good deal of this sort of humbug among the slaves in New Orleans, and cases arising from it have recently quite often appeared in the police reports in the newspapers of that city.
The practices known as Vaudoux or Voudoux are a type of Obi; similarly, they involve calling on the help of a deity to fulfill the desires of the worshipers. Vaudoux is quite widespread in Cuba, Haiti, and other Caribbean islands, especially where there are indigenous African populations or where people are still being brought over from Africa. There's also a significant amount of this kind of practice among the enslaved people in New Orleans, and incidents arising from it have recently been appearing frequently in the police reports of the city's newspapers.
The Vaudoux worshipers assemble secretly, with a kind of chief witch or mistress of ceremonies; there is a boiling caldron of hell-broth, a la Macbeth; the votaries dance naked around their soup; amulets and charms are made and distributed. During a quarter of a century last past, some hundreds of these orgies have been broken up by the New Orleans police, and probably as many more have come off as per programme.[405] The Vaudoux processes are most frequently appealed to for the purposes of some unsuccessful or jealous lover; and the Creole ladies believe in Vaudouxism as much as in Obi.
The Vaudoux worshipers gather in secret, led by a kind of chief witch or ceremony leader; there’s a boiling cauldron of hellish brew, a la Macbeth; the participants dance naked around their stew; amulets and charms are created and shared. Over the past twenty-five years, the New Orleans police have disrupted hundreds of these gatherings, and likely just as many have taken place as planned.[405] The Vaudoux rituals are often called upon by those seeking help with an unsuccessful or jealous lover; and the Creole women believe in Vaudouxism as strongly as they do in Obi.
In the West Indies, the Vaudoux orgies are more savage than in this country. It is but a little while since in Hayti, under the energetic and sensible administration of President Geffrard, eight Vaudoux worshipers were regularly tried and executed for having murdered a young girl, the niece of two of them, by way of human sacrifice to the god. They tied the poor child tight, put her in a box called a humfort, fed her with some kind of stuff for four days, and then deliberately strangled her, beheaded her, flayed her, cooked the head with yams, ate of the soup, and then performed a solemn dance and chant around an altar with the skull on it.
In the West Indies, the Voodoo rituals are more brutal than in this country. Not long ago in Haiti, under the strong and sensible leadership of President Geffrard, eight Voodoo worshipers were tried and executed for murdering a young girl, the niece of two of them, as a human sacrifice to their god. They tied the poor child tightly, placed her in a box called a humfort, fed her some kind of substance for four days, and then deliberately strangled her, beheaded her, skinned her, cooked the head with yams, ate the soup, and then held a solemn dance and chant around an altar with the skull on it.
The Caffres in Southern Africa have a kind of humbug somewhat like the Obi-men, who are known as rainmakers. These gentlemen furnish what blessing and cursing may be required for other purposes; but as that country is liable to tremendous droughts, their best business is to make rain. This they do by various prayers and ceremonies, of which the most important part is, receiving a large fee in advance from the customer. The rain-making business, though very lucrative, is not without its disadvantages; for whenever Moselekatse, or Dingaan, or any other chief sets his rainmaker at work, and the rain was not forthcoming as per application, the indignant ruler caused an assegai or two to be stuck through the wizard, for the encourage[406]ment of the other wizards. This was not so unreasonable as it may seem; for if the man could not make rain when it was wanted, what was he good for?
The Caffres in Southern Africa have a sort of scam that’s similar to the Obi-men, who are known as rainmakers. These guys provide whatever blessings or curses might be needed for other reasons; but since the region often faces severe droughts, their main gig is to make it rain. They do this through various prayers and ceremonies, with the most crucial part being that they receive a hefty fee upfront from the client. The rain-making business, although quite profitable, has its downsides; whenever Moselekatse, Dingaan, or any other chief has their rainmaker do their thing, and the rain doesn’t show up as requested, the frustrated leader would have a spear or two aimed at the wizard to discourage the other wizards. This wasn’t as unreasonable as it might sound; if a guy can’t make it rain when it’s needed, what use is he?
The ceremonies of the pow-wows or medicine-men of the North American Indians, are less brutal than the African ones. These soothsayers, like the Obi-men, prepared charms for their customers, usually, however, not so much to destroy others as to protect the wearer. These charms consist of some trifling matters tied up in a small bag, the “medicine-bag,” which is to be worn round the neck, and will, it is supposed, insure the wearer the special help and protection of the Great Spirit. The pow-wows sometimes do a little in the cursing line.
The ceremonies of the pow-wows or medicine men of the North American Indians are less brutal than those in Africa. These soothsayers, like the Obi men, create charms for their clients, but usually not to harm others; their main focus is on protecting the wearer. These charms consist of small items wrapped in a little bag, known as the “medicine bag,” which is meant to be worn around the neck. It is believed to provide the wearer with special help and protection from the Great Spirit. Occasionally, pow-wows might also engage in some cursing.
There is a funny story of a Puritan minister in the early times of New England, who coolly defied one of the most famous Indian magicians to play off his infernal artillery. A formal meeting was had, and the pow-wow rattled his traps, howled, danced, blew feathers, and vociferated jargon until he was perfectly exhausted, the old minister quietly looking at him all the time. The savage humbug was dumbfounded, but quickly recovering his presence of mind, saved his home-reputation by explaining to the red gentlemen in breech-cloths and nose-rings, that the Yankee ate so much salt that curses wouldn’t take hold on him at all.
There’s a funny story about a Puritan minister in early New England who boldly challenged one of the most famous Indian magicians to show off his tricks. They had a formal meeting, and the magician rattled his instruments, howled, danced, blew feathers around, and shouted nonsense until he was totally worn out, while the old minister just watched him the whole time. The magician was stunned but quickly regained his composure and managed to save his reputation by explaining to the Native Americans in their traditional attire that the Yankee ate so much salt that curses wouldn’t work on him at all.
The Shamans (or Schamans) of Siberia, follow a very similar business, but are not so much priestly humbugs as mere conjurors. The Lamas, or Buddhist leaders of Central and Southern Asia are, however, regular priests, again, and may be said, with singular propriety, to “run their machine” on principles of thorough reli[407]gious humbug, for they do really pray by a machine. They set up a little mill to go by water or wind, which turns a cylinder. On this cylinder is written a prayer, and every time the barrel goes round once, it counts, they say, for one prayer. It may be imagined how piety intensifies in a freshet, or in a heavy gale of wind! And there is a ludicrous notion of economy, as well as a pitiable folly in the conception of profiting by such windy supplications, and of saving all one’s time and thoughts for business, while the prayers rattle out by the hundred at home. Only imagine the pious fervor of one of these priests in a first-class Lowell mill, of say a hundred thousand spindles. Print a large edition of some good prayer and paste a copy on each spindle, and the place would seem to him the very gate of a Buddhist heaven. He would feel sure of taking heaven by storm, with a sustained fire of one hundred thousand prayers every second. His first requisite for a prosperous church would be a good water-power for prayer-mills. And yet, absurd as these prayer-mills of the heathen really are, it may not be safe to bring them under unqualified condemnation: for who among us has not sometimes heard windy prayers even in our Christian churches? Young clergymen are especially liable and, I might say, prone to this mockery. These, however, are but exceptions to the general Christian rule, viz.: that the Omniscient careth only for heart-service; and that, before Him, all mere lip-service or machine-service, is simply an abomination.
The shamans of Siberia have a similar approach, but they aren't just priestly charlatans; they're more like conjurers. The lamas, or Buddhist leaders of Central and Southern Asia, are regular priests, and it’s fair to say they operate their system based on complete religious trickery, as they actually pray using a mechanism. They set up a small mill powered by water or wind, which turns a cylinder. On this cylinder is a written prayer, and each time the cylinder makes a full turn, they claim it counts as one prayer. Just imagine how fervent the prayer becomes during a flood or a strong wind! There's a ridiculous idea of efficiency, not to mention a foolishness in thinking they can profit from such windy prayers, while also saving all their time and thoughts for business, letting the prayers rattle out by the hundreds at home. Just picture the devotion of one of these priests in a top-notch Lowell mill, with about a hundred thousand spindles. They could print a large edition of a good prayer and stick a copy on each spindle, and to him, it would seem like the very entrance to a Buddhist paradise. He would be confident that he could bombard heaven with a continuous flow of one hundred thousand prayers every second. His main requirement for a thriving church would be a good water source for prayer mills. Yet, as absurd as these heathen prayer mills are, it might not be wise to completely condemn them; after all, who among us hasn't heard empty prayers in our own Christian churches? Young clergymen are particularly prone to this kind of mockery. However, these are just exceptions to the broader Christian principle: that the Omniscient cares only for genuine heart service, and that before Him, all mere lip service or mechanical prayers are simply an abomination.
A less innocent kind of praying is one of the religious humbugs of the bloody and cruel Sandwich Islands form[408] of heathenism. Here a practice prevailed, and does yet, of paying money to a priest to pray your enemy to death. For cash in advance, this bargain could always be made, and so groveling was the spiritual cowardice of these poor savages, that, like the negro victim of Obi, the man prayed at seldom failed to sicken as soon as he found out what was going on, and to waste away and die.
A less innocent form of praying is one of the religious scams from the bloody and cruel Sandwich Islands, a type of heathenism. Here, a practice existed, and still exists, of paying a priest to pray your enemy to death. For cash upfront, this deal could always be made, and the spiritual weakness of these poor people was so extreme that, like the victim of Obi, the person being prayed for often fell ill as soon as they realized what was happening, ultimately wasting away and dying.
This bit of heathen humbug now in operation, from so many distant portions of the earth, shows how radically similar is all heathenism. It shows, too, how mean, vulgar, filthy, and altogether vile, is such religion as man, unassisted, contrives for himself. It shows, again, how sadly great is the proportion of the human race still remaining in this brutal darkness. And, by contrast, it affords us great reason for thankfulness that we live in a land of better culture, and happier hopes and practices.
This bit of pagan nonsense happening in so many far-off places shows how fundamentally similar all paganism is. It also reveals how low, crude, dirty, and completely disgusting is the kind of religion that people, without any help, create for themselves. Furthermore, it highlights how many people are still stuck in this brutal darkness. In contrast, it gives us plenty of reasons to be thankful that we live in a place with better culture, and more hopeful and positive practices.
CHAPTER XLIX.
ORDEALS.—DUELS.—WAGER OF BATTLE.—ABRAHAM THORNTON.—RED HOT IRON.—BOILING WATER.—SWIMMING.—SWEARING.—CORSNED.—PAGAN ORDEALS.
ORDEALS.—DUELS.—WAGER OF BATTLE.—ABRAHAM THORNTON.—RED HOT IRON.—BOILING WATER.—SWIMMING.—SWEARING.—CORSNED.—PAGAN ORDEALS.
Ordeals belong to times and communities of rudeness, violence, materialism, ignorance, gross superstition and blind faith. The theory of ordeals is, that God will miraculously decide in the case of any accused person referred to Him. He will cause the accused to be vic[409]torious or defeated in a duel, will punish him on the spot for perjury, and if the innocent be exposed to certain physical dangers, will preserve him harmless.
Ordeals are a product of societies marked by brutality, violence, materialism, ignorance, extreme superstition, and blind faith. The idea behind ordeals is that God will intervene miraculously in the case of any accused individual brought before Him. He will make the accused victorious or defeated in a duel, punish them immediately for lying under oath, and if the innocent person faces specific physical threats, He will keep them safe.
The duel, for instance, used to be called the “ordeal by battle,” and was simply the commitment of the decision of a cause to God. Duels were regularly prefaced by the solemn prayer “God show the right.” Now-a-days nobody believes that skill with a pistol is going to be specially bestowed by the Almighty, without diligent practice at a mark. Accordingly, the idea of a divine interposition has long ago dropped out of the question, and duelling is exclusively in the hands of the devil and his human votaries,—is a purely brutal absurdity. But in England, so long was this bloody, superstitious humbug kept up, that any hardened scoundrel who was a good hand at his weapon might, down to the year 1819, absolutely have committed murder under the protection of English law. Two years before that date, a country “rough” named Abraham Thornton, murdered his sweetheart, Mary Ashford, but by deficiency of proof was acquitted on trial. There was however a moral conviction that Thornton had killed the girl, and her brother, a mere lad, caused an appeal to be entered according to the English statute, and Thornton was again arraigned before the King’s Bench. In the mean time his counsel had looked up the obsolete proceedings about “assize of battle,” and when Thornton was placed at the bar he threw down his glove upon the floor according to the ancient forms, and challenged his accuser to mortal combat. In reply, the appellant, Ashford, set forth facts so clearly showing[410] Thornton’s guilt as to constitute (as he alleged,) cause for exemption from the combat, and for condemnation of the prisoner. The court, taken by surprise, spent five months in studying on the matter. At last it decided that the fighting man had the law of England on his side, admitted his demand, and further, found that the matters alleged for exemption from combat were not sufficient. On this, poor William Ashford, who was but a boy, declined the combat by reason of his youth, and the prisoner was discharged, and walked in triumph out of court, the innocent blood still unavenged upon his hands. The old fogies of Parliament were startled at finding themselves actually permitting the practice of barbarisms abolished by the Greek emperor, Michael Palaeologus, in 1259, and by the good King Louis IX of France in 1270; and two years afterwards, in 1819, the legal duel or “assize of battle” was by law abolished in England. It had been legal there for five centuries and a half, having been introduced by statute in 1261.
The duel, for example, used to be called the “ordeal by battle,” and was simply a way of leaving the decision of a case to God. Duels were usually preceded by the solemn prayer “God show the right.” Nowadays, no one believes that skill with a pistol is something God magically grants without practicing diligently. As a result, the idea of divine intervention has long since disappeared, and dueling has become entirely a matter of human folly—it's a purely brutal absurdity. But in England, this bloody, superstitious nonsense persisted for so long that any hardened criminal skilled with a weapon could, up until 1819, literally commit murder under the protection of English law. Two years before that, a country “rough” named Abraham Thornton murdered his girlfriend, Mary Ashford, but was acquitted due to lack of evidence. However, there was a strong moral belief that Thornton had killed her, and her young brother had an appeal filed according to English law, bringing Thornton back before the King’s Bench. Meanwhile, his lawyer had researched the outdated practice of “assize of battle,” and when Thornton stood in court, he dropped his glove on the floor as per the old tradition, challenging his accuser to a duel. In response, the appellant, Ashford, presented facts that clearly demonstrated [410] Thornton’s guilt, claiming they provided justification for avoiding combat and condemning the defendant. The court, caught off guard, spent five months considering the case. Eventually, it ruled that the fighter had the law of England backing him, accepted his challenge, and determined that the reasons given for avoiding combat were insufficient. Consequently, poor William Ashford, who was just a boy, declined the duel due to his age, and the defendant was released, walking out of court triumphantly, the innocent blood still unavenged on his hands. The old-timers in Parliament were shocked to find themselves actually allowing practices that had been abolished by the Greek emperor, Michael Palaeologus, in 1259, and by the good King Louis IX of France in 1270; and two years later, in 1819, the legal duel or “assize of battle” was abolished by law in England. It had been legal there for five and a half centuries, having been introduced by statute in 1261.
Before that time, the ordeals by fire and by water were the regular legal ones in England. These were known even to the Anglo Saxon law, being mentioned in the code of Ina, A. D., about 700. It appears that fire was thought the most aristocratic element, for the ordeal by fire was used for nobles, and that by water for vulgarians and serfs. The operations were as follows: When one was accused of a crime, murder for instance, he had his choice whether to be tried “by God and his country,” or “by God.” If he chose the former he went before a jury. If the latter, he under[411]went the ordeal. Nine red hot ploughshares were laid on the ground in a row. The accused was blindfolded, and sent to walk over them. If he burnt himself he was guilty; if not, not. Sometimes, instead of this, the accused carried a piece of red hot iron of from one to three pounds’ weight in his hand for a certain distance.
Before that time, trials by fire and water were the usual legal practices in England. These were known even in Anglo-Saxon law, as mentioned in the code of Ina, around A.D. 700. It seems that fire was considered the more noble element, as the trial by fire was reserved for aristocrats, while the trial by water was for commoners and serfs. Here's how it worked: When someone was accused of a crime, like murder, they could choose to be judged “by God and their peers” or “by God.” If they chose the first option, they went before a jury. If they chose the latter, they underwent the ordeal. Nine red hot ploughshares were laid in a row on the ground. The accused was blindfolded and made to walk over them. If they burned themselves, they were deemed guilty; if not, they were innocent. Sometimes, instead of that, the accused had to carry a piece of red hot iron weighing between one to three pounds for a certain distance.
The ordeal by water was, in one form at least, the same wise alternative in after years so often offered to witches. The accused was tied up in a heap, each arm to the other leg, and flung into water. If he floated he was guilty, and must be killed. If he sank and drowned, he was innocent—but killed. Trial was therefore synonymous with execution. The nature of such alternatives shows how important it was to have a character above suspicion! Another mode was, for the accused to plunge his bare arm into boiling water to the elbow. The arm was then instantly sealed up in bandages under charge of the clergy for three days. If it was then found perfectly well, the accused was acquitted; if not, he was found guilty.
The trial by water was, at least in one way, the same foolish option that was frequently presented to witches in later years. The accused was tied up in a way that each arm was bound to the opposite leg and tossed into water. If they floated, they were guilty and had to be executed. If they sank and drowned, they were innocent—but still dead. So, trial was essentially the same as execution. This kind of choice shows how crucial it was to have a reputation beyond suspicion! Another method involved the accused plunging their bare arm into boiling water up to the elbow. The arm was then immediately wrapped in bandages and monitored by clergy for three days. If it was found to be perfectly fine afterward, the accused was cleared; if not, they were declared guilty.
Another ordeal was expurgation or compurgation. It was a simple business—“as easy as swearing;” very much like a “custom house oath.” It was only this: the accused made solemn oath that he was not guilty, and all the respectable men he could muster came and made their solemn oath that they believed so too. This is much like the jurisprudence of the Dutch justice of the peace in the old story, before whom two men swore that they saw the prisoner steal chickens. The thief however, getting a little time to collect tes[412]timony, brought in twelve men who swore that they did not see him take the chickens. “Balance of evidence overwhelmingly in favor of the prisoner,” said the sapient justice (in Dutch I suppose,) and finding him innocent in a ratio of six to one, he discharged him at once.
Another ordeal was expurgation or compurgation. It was a straightforward process—“as easy as swearing;” very much like a “custom house oath.” It was simply this: the accused swore an oath that he was not guilty, and all the respectable people he could gather came to swear that they believed him too. This is similar to the old story of the Dutch justice of the peace, where two men swore they saw the prisoner steal chickens. The thief, however, took a little time to gather testimony, bringing in twelve men who swore they did not see him take the chickens. “Balance of evidence overwhelmingly in favor of the prisoner,” said the wise justice (in Dutch, I suppose), and finding him innocent at a ratio of six to one, he immediately discharged him.
This ordeal by oath was reserved for people of eminence, whose word went for something, and who had a good many thorough-going friends.
This trial by oath was meant for important people, whose words carried weight and who had a lot of loyal friends.
Another sort of ordeal was reserved for priests. It was called corsned. The priest who took the ordeal by corsned received a bit of bread or a bit of cheese which was loaded heavily, by way of sauce, with curses upon whomsoever should eat it falsely. This he ate, together with the bread of the Lord’s supper. Everybody knew that if he were guilty, the sacred mouthful would choke him to death on the spot. History records no instance of the choking of any priest in this ordeal, but there is a story that the Saxon Earl Godwin of Kent took the corsned to clear himself of a charge of murder, and (being a layman) was choked. I fully believe that Earl Godwin is dead, for he was born about the year 1000. But I have not the least idea that corsned killed him.
Another type of trial was set aside for priests. It was called corsned. The priest who underwent the corsned trial received a piece of bread or cheese that was heavily cursed, meant to punish anyone who ate it wrongfully. He consumed this along with the bread from the Lord’s supper. Everyone knew that if he were guilty, the sacred bite would choke him instantly. History has no record of any priest choking during this ordeal, but there is a story that the Saxon Earl Godwin of Kent took the corsned to prove his innocence against a murder allegation, and (being a layman) was choked. I fully believe that Earl Godwin is dead, as he was born around the year 1000. However, I have no belief that corsned caused his death.
The priests had the management of ordeals, which, being appeals to God, were reckoned religious ceremonies. They of course much preferred the swearing and eating and hot iron and water ordeals, which could be kept under the regulation of clerical good sense. Not so with the ordeal by battle. No priests could do anything with the wrath of two great mad ugly brutes,[413] hot to kill each other, and crazy to risk having their own throats cut or skulls cleft rather than not have the chance. In consequence, the whole influence of the Romish church went against the ordeal by battle, and in favor of the others. Thus the former soon lost its religious element and became the mere duel; a base indulgence of a beast’s passion for murder and revenge. The progress of enlightenment gradually pushed ordeals out of court. Mobs have however always tried the ordeal by water on witches.
The priests managed the ordeals, which were considered religious ceremonies since they were appeals to God. They obviously preferred the swearing, eating, and hot iron and water ordeals, which they could control through clerical judgment. The same couldn’t be said for the ordeal by battle. No priest could manage the fury of two angry, ugly fighters ready to kill each other, willing to risk their own lives just to have that chance. As a result, the entire influence of the Roman church opposed the ordeal by battle and supported the others. This led the former to lose its religious significance and become just a duel; a shameful expression of a beast's urge for murder and revenge. The advancement of knowledge gradually eliminated ordeals from the courtroom. However, mobs have always resorted to the water ordeal for witches.[413]
Almost all the heathen ordeals have depended on fire, water, or something to eat or drink. Even in the Bible we find an ordeal prescribed to the Jews (Numbers, chap v.,) for an unfaithful wife, who is there directed to drink some water with certain ceremonies, which drink God promises shall cause a fatal disease if she be guilty, and if not, not. It is worth noticing that Moses says not a word about any “water of jealousy,” or any other ordeal, for unfaithful husbands!
Almost all the pagan trials have relied on fire, water, or something to eat or drink. Even in the Bible, we see a trial prescribed for the Jews (Numbers, chap v.) for an unfaithful wife, where she is instructed to drink some water with specific rituals, which God promises will cause a fatal illness if she is guilty, and if not, then she will be fine. It's interesting to note that Moses doesn’t mention any “water of jealousy” or any other trial for unfaithful husbands!
This drinking or eating ordeal prevails quite extensively even now. In Hindostan, theft is often enquired into by causing the suspected party to chew some dry rice or rice flour, which has some very strong curses stirred into it, corsned fashion. After chewing, the accused spits out his mouthful, and if it is either dry or bloody, he is guilty. It is easy to see how a rascal, if as credulous as rascals often are, would be so frightened that his mouth would be dry, and would thus betray his own peccadillo. Another Hindoo mode was, to give a certain quantity of poison in butter, and if it did no harm, to acquit. Here, the man who mixes the dose[414] is evidently the important person. In Madagascar they give some tangena water. Now tangena is a fruit of which a little vomits the patient, and a good deal poisons or kills him; a quality which sufficiently explains how they manage that ordeal.
This eating or drinking trial is still widely practiced today. In India, theft is often investigated by having the suspected person chew some dry rice or rice flour mixed with strong curses, in a method called corsned. After chewing, the accused spits out the mixture, and if it is either dry or bloody, he is considered guilty. It's easy to see how a scoundrel, if as gullible as they often are, would become so scared that his mouth would dry up, leading to his own confession. Another method used by Hindus involves giving a certain amount of poison mixed with butter; if it doesn't harm him, he is acquitted. Here, the person who prepares the mixture[414] clearly holds the key role. In Madagascar, they use some tangena water. Tangena is a fruit that makes someone vomit in small amounts but can poison or kill in larger doses, which explains how they conduct that trial.
Ordeals by fire and water are still practiced, with some variations, in Hindostan, China, Pegu, Siberia, Congo, Guinea, Senegambia and other pagan nations. Some of those still in use are odd enough. A Malabar one is to swim across a certain river, which is full of crocodiles. A Hindoo one is, for the two parties to an accusation to stand out doors, each with one bare leg in a hole, he to win who can longest endure the bites they are sure to get. This would be a famous method in some of the New Jersey and New York and Connecticut seashore lowlands I know of. The mosquitoes would decide cases both civil and criminal, at a speed that would make a Judge of the Supreme Court as dizzy as a humming-top. Another Hindoo plan was for the accused to hold his head under water while a man walked a certain distance. If the walker chose to be lazy about it, or the prisoner had diseased lungs, this would be a rather severe method. The Wanakas in Eastern Africa, draw a red hot needle through the culprit’s lips—a most judicious place to get hold of an African!—and if the wound bleeds, he is guilty. In Siam, accuser and accused are put into a pen and a tiger is let loose on them. He whom the tiger kills is guilty. If he kills both, both are guilty; if neither, they try another mode.
Ordeals by fire and water are still practiced, with some variations, in Hindostan, China, Pegu, Siberia, Congo, Guinea, Senegambia, and other pagan nations. Some of these methods are quite unusual. In Malabar, one such ordeal involves swimming across a river teeming with crocodiles. Another Hindu method requires both parties in a dispute to stand outside, each with one bare leg in a hole; the one who can endure the bites the longest wins. This could be an interesting practice in some lowland areas of New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut, where mosquitoes would settle both civil and criminal cases at a speed that would leave a Supreme Court Judge feeling dizzy. Yet another Hindu approach involved the accused holding his head underwater while a man walked a specified distance. If the walker took too long or the prisoner had lung issues, this could be quite a harsh ordeal. The Wanakas in Eastern Africa draw a red-hot needle through the culprit’s lips—a rather effective way to get a confession! If the wound bleeds, that means he is guilty. In Siam, both the accuser and accused are placed in a pen, and a tiger is released. The one the tiger kills is deemed guilty. If the tiger kills both, then both are guilty; if neither is harmed, they try a different method.
Blackstone says that an ordeal might always be tried[415] by attorney. I should think this would give the legal profession a very lively time whenever the courts were chiefly using tigers, poison, drowning, fire and red hot iron, but not so much so when a little swearing or eating was the only thing required.
Blackstone says that a trial could always be done[415] through an attorney. I would imagine this would keep lawyers pretty busy whenever the courts primarily used tigers, poison, drowning, fire, and hot iron, but not so much when only a bit of swearing or eating was involved.
This whole business of ordeals is a singular superstition, and the extent of its employment shows how ready the human race is to believe that God is constantly influencing even their ordinary private affairs. In other words, it is in principle like the doctrine of “special providence.” Looked at as a superstition however—considered as a humbug—the history of ordeals show how corrupt becomes the nuisance of religious ways of deciding secular business, and how proper is our great American principle of the separation of state and church.
This whole concept of ordeals is a unique superstition, and the extent to which it’s used shows how eager people are to believe that God is always influencing even their everyday personal matters. In other words, it’s essentially like the idea of “special providence.” Viewed as a superstition—considered as a fraud—the history of ordeals reveals how corrupt it is to let religious methods decide secular matters, highlighting the necessity of our fundamental American principle of separating church and state.
CHAPTER L.
APOLLONIUS OF TYANA.
Apollonius of Tyana.
The annals of ancient history are peculiarly rich in narratives of pretension and imposition, and either owing to the greater ignorance and credulity of mankind, or the superior skill of gifted but unscrupulous men in those days, present a few examples that even surpass the most remarkable products of the modern science of humbug.
The records of ancient history are surprisingly full of stories about deceit and trickery, and whether because people were more gullible and naive back then or because of the exceptional abilities of clever but unprincipled individuals, there are some examples that outdo even the most impressive feats of today’s con artists.
One of their most surprising instances—in fact, perhaps, absolutely the leading impostor—was the sage or[416] charlatan (for it is difficult to determine which) known as Apollonius Tyanæus so called from Tyana, in Cappadocia, Asia Minor, his birthplace, where he first saw the light about four years earlier than Christ, and consequently more than eighteen and a half centuries ago. His arrival upon this planet was attended with some very amazing demonstrations. With his first cry, a flash of lightning darted from the heavens to the earth and back again, dogs howled, cats mewed, roosters crowed, and flocks of swans, so say the olden chroniclers—probably geese, every one of them—clapped their wings in the adjacent meadows with a supernatural clatter. Ushered into the world with such surprising omens as these, young Apollonius could not fail to make a noise himself, ere long. Sent by his doting father to Tarsus, in Cilicia, to be educated, he found the dissipations of the place too much for him, and soon removed to Ægæ, a smaller city, at no great distance from the other. There he adopted the doctrines of Pythagoras, and subjected himself to the regular discipline of that curious system whose first process was a sort of juvenile gag-law, the pupils being required to keep perfectly silent for a period of five years, during which time it was forbidden to utter a single word. Even in those days, few female scholars preferred this practice, and the boys had it all to themselves, nor were they by any means numerous. After this probation was over, they were enjoined to speak and argue with moderation.
One of their most surprising examples—in fact, probably the top impostor—was the sage or[416] charlatan (it's hard to decide which) known as Apollonius of Tyana, named after his birthplace in Tyana, Cappadocia, Asia Minor, where he was born about four years before Christ, and thus over eighteen and a half centuries ago. His arrival on this planet was marked by some truly astonishing signs. At his first cry, a flash of lightning shot from the sky to the earth and back, dogs howled, cats meowed, roosters crowed, and flocks of swans—though likely more accurately geese—flapped their wings in the nearby fields with an otherworldly noise. With such surprising signs surrounding his birth, young Apollonius couldn’t help but attract attention himself before long. His doting father sent him to Tarsus in Cilicia for his education, but he found the distractions of the place too much to handle and quickly moved to Ægæ, a smaller city close by. There, he adopted the teachings of Pythagoras and committed to the rigorous discipline of that strange system, which required pupils to remain completely silent for five years, during which they were forbidden to say a single word. Even then, few female students chose this path, leaving the boys to carry it out, and they weren't very numerous either. After this period of silence, they were instructed to speak and debate with restraint.
At Ægæ there stood a temple dedicated to Æsculapius, who figured on earth as a great physician and compounder of simples, and after death was made a god. The[417] edifice was much larger and more splendid than the Brandreth House on Broadway, although we have no record of Æsculapius having bestowed upon the world any such benefaction as the universal pills. However, unlike our modern M. D.s, the latter was in the habit of re-appearing after death, in this temple, and there holding forth to the faithful on various topics of domestic medicine. Apollonius was allowed to take up his residence in the establishment, and, no doubt, the priests initiated him into all their dodges to impose upon the people. Another tenet of the Pythagorean faith was a total abstinence from beans, an arrangement which would be objectionable in New England and in Nassau street eating houses.
At Ægæ, there was a temple dedicated to Æsculapius, who was known on earth as a great doctor and herbalist, and after death, he became a god. The [417] building was much bigger and more impressive than the Brandreth House on Broadway, although we have no record of Æsculapius giving the world any gift like universal pills. However, unlike our modern doctors, he would reappear after death in this temple, speaking to the faithful about various topics related to everyday medicine. Apollonius was allowed to live there, and surely the priests taught him all their tricks to deceive the people. Another belief of the Pythagorean faith was complete abstinence from beans, which would be quite controversial in New England and in Nassau street diners.
Apollonius however, who knew nothing of Yankees or Nassau street, manfully completed his novitiate. Restored at length to the use of beans and of his talking apparatus, he set forth upon a lecturing tour through Pamphylia and Cilicia. His themes were temperance, economy, and good behavior, and for the very novelty of the thing, crowds of disciples soon gathered about him. At the town of Aspenda he made a great hit, when he “pitched into” the corn merchants who had bought up all the grain during a period of scarcity, and sold it to the people at exorbitant prices. Of course, such things are not permitted in our day! Apollonius moved by the sufferings of women and children, took his stand in the market place, and with his stylus wrote in large characters upon a tablet the following advice to the speculators in grain:
Apollonius, who didn't know anything about Yankees or Nassau Street, bravely finished his training. Once he was finally able to eat beans and use his talking device again, he went on a speaking tour through Pamphylia and Cilicia. His topics were about self-control, saving money, and good behavior, and because it was something different, crowds of followers quickly gathered around him. In the town of Aspenda, he really made an impact when he went after the corn merchants who had hoarded all the grain during a shortage and were selling it to people at outrageous prices. Of course, that kind of thing wouldn’t fly today! Moved by the struggles of women and children, Apollonius stood in the marketplace and wrote in big letters on a tablet this advice for the grain speculators:
“The earth, the common mother of all, is just.[418] But, ye being unjust, would make her a bountiful mother to yourselves alone. Leave off your dishonest traffic, or ye shall be no longer permitted to live.”
“The earth, our shared mother, is fair.[418] But you, being unfair, want to make her a generous mother just for yourselves. Stop your dishonest dealings, or you won’t be allowed to live anymore.”
The grain-merchants, upon beholding this appeal, relented, for there was conscience in those days; and, moreover, the populace had prepared torches, and proposed to fry a few of the offenders, like oysters in bread-crumbs. So they yielded at once, and great was the fame of the prophet. Thus elevated in his own opinion, Apollonius, still preaching virtue by the wayside, set out for Babylon, after visiting the cities of Antioch, Ephesus, etc., always attracting immense crowds. As he penetrated further toward the remote East, his troops of followers fell off, until he was left with only three companions, who went with him to the end. One of these was a certain Damis, who wrote a description of the journey, and, by the way, tells us that his master spoke all languages, even those of the animals. We have men in our own country who can talk “horse-talk” at the races, but probably none so perfectly as this great Tyanean. The author of “The Ruined Cities of Africa,” a recent publication, informs us that at Lamba, an African village, there is a leopard who can “speak.” This would go to show that the “animals,” are aspiring in a direction directly the opposite of the acquirements of Apollonius, and I shall secure that leopard, if possible, for exhibition in the Museum, and for a fair consideration send him to any public meeting where some one is needed who will come up to the scratch!
The grain merchants, upon seeing this plea, gave in, because there was a sense of conscience back then; plus, the people had gotten torches ready and suggested roasting a few of the wrongdoers, like oysters in breadcrumbs. So they quickly agreed, and the prophet gained great fame. Feeling quite proud of himself, Apollonius continued preaching virtue by the roadside and set off for Babylon after visiting cities like Antioch and Ephesus, always drawing huge crowds. As he traveled deeper into the far East, his group of followers dwindled until he was left with just three companions who stayed with him until the end. One of them was a guy named Damis, who wrote about the journey and mentioned that his master spoke all languages, even those of animals. We have people in our country who can "talk horse" at the races, but probably none as well as this great Tyanean. The author of “The Ruined Cities of Africa,” a recent book, tells us that in Lamba, an African village, there's a leopard that can “speak.” This suggests that the “animals” are aspiring in a direction completely opposite to the talents of Apollonius, and I'll try to get that leopard, if possible, to showcase in the Museum, and for a fair fee, send him to any public event where someone is needed who can rise to the occasion!
But, to resume. On his way to Babylon, Apollonius[419] saw by the roadside a lioness and eight whelps, where they had been killed by a party of hunters, and argued from the omen that he should remain in that city just one year and eight months, which of course turned out to be exactly the case. The Babylonish monarch was so delighted with the eloquence and skill of the noted stranger, that he promised him any twelve gifts that he might choose to ask for, but Apollonius declined accepting anything but food and raiment. However, the King gave him camels and escort to assist his journey over the northern mountains of Hindostan, which he crossed, and entered the ancient city of Taxilia. On the way, he had a high time in the gorges of the hills with a horrible hobgoblin of the species called empusa by the Greeks. This demon terrified his companions half out of their wits, but Apollonius bravely assailed him with all sorts of hard words, and, to literally translate the old Greek narrative, “blackguarded” him so effectually that the poor devil fled with his tail between his legs. At Taxilia, Phraortes, the King, a lineal descendant of the famous Porus—and truly a porous personage, since he was renowned for drinking—gave the philosopher a grand reception, and introduced him to the chief of the Brahmins, whose temples he explored. These Hindoo gentlemen opened the eyes of Apollonius wider than they had ever been before, and taught him a few things he had never dreamed of, but which served him admirably during his latter career. He returned to Europe by way of the Red Sea, passing through Ephesus, where he vehemently denounced the speculators in gold and other improper persons. As[420] they did not heed him, he predicted the plague, and left for Smyrna. Sure enough, the pestilence broke out just after his departure, and the Ephesians telegraphed to Smyrna, by the only means in their power, for his immediate return; gold, in the meanwhile, falling at least ten per cent. Apollonius reappeared in the twinkling of an eye, suddenly, in the very midst of the wailing crowd, on the market place. Pointing to a beggar, he directed the people to stone that particular unfortunate, and they obeyed so effectually, that the hapless creature was in a few moments completely buried under a huge heap of brickbats. The next morning, the philosopher commanded the throng to remove the pile of stones, and as they did so, a dog was discovered instead of the beggar. The dog sprang up, wagged his tail, and made away at “two-forty” and with him the pestilence departed. For this feat, the Ephesians called Apollonius a god, and reared a statue to his honor. The appellation of divinity he willingly accepted, declaring that it was only justice to good men. In these degenerate days, we have accorded the term to only one person, “the divine Fanny Ellsler!” That, too, was a tribute to superior understanding!
But, to get back on track. On his way to Babylon, Apollonius[419] saw a lioness and her eight cubs by the roadside, killed by a group of hunters. He interpreted this omen to mean he should stay in the city for exactly one year and eight months, which indeed happened. The Babylonian king was so impressed with the eloquence and skill of the famous stranger that he promised to give him any twelve gifts he wanted. However, Apollonius only accepted food and clothing. The king, nonetheless, provided him with camels and an escort to help him travel over the northern mountains of India, which he crossed to reach the ancient city of Taxila. During his journey, he had a terrifying encounter in the mountain gorges with a nasty creature called an empusa by the Greeks. This demon scared his companions almost out of their minds, but Apollonius bravely confronted him with a barrage of insults, and to put it plainly, “blackguarded” him so thoroughly that the poor thing ran off, tail between its legs. At Taxila, King Phraortes, a direct descendant of the famous Porus—and known for his love of drinking—gave the philosopher a grand welcome and introduced him to the head of the Brahmins, whose temples he explored. These Indian gentlemen opened Apollonius's eyes wider than ever before and taught him things he had never imagined, which later proved valuable in his career. He returned to Europe via the Red Sea, stopping in Ephesus, where he strongly condemned gold speculators and other unscrupulous individuals. As[420] they ignored him, he predicted a plague and left for Smyrna. Sure enough, the outbreak occurred soon after he left, and the Ephesians sent a telegram to Smyrna, with the only means they had, begging for his return; meanwhile, the price of gold dropped by at least ten percent. Apollonius suddenly reappeared in the blink of an eye, right in the middle of the distraught crowd in the marketplace. He pointed to a beggar and instructed the people to stone that unfortunate man. They followed his order so thoroughly that the beggar was quickly buried under a massive pile of stones. The next morning, the philosopher commanded the crowd to clear away the rocks, and as they did, they found a dog instead of the beggar. The dog jumped up, wagged its tail, and ran off at a brisk pace, taking the plague with it. For this act, the Ephesians hailed Apollonius as a god and erected a statue in his honor. He gladly accepted the title of divinity, stating it was only fair for good men. In these degraded times, we've given that title to just one person, “the divine Fanny Ellsler!” That, too, was a nod to exceptional understanding!
Our hero next visited Pergamus, the site of ancient Troy, where he shut himself up all night in the tomb of Achilles; and having raised the great departed, held conversation with him on a variety of military topics. Among other things, Achilles told him that the theory of his having been killed by a wound in the heel was all nonsense, as he had really died from being bitten by a puppy, in the back. If the reader does not believe[421] me, let him consult the original MS. of Damis. The same accident has disabled several great generals in modern times.
Our hero then traveled to Pergamus, the location of ancient Troy, where he spent the entire night in the tomb of Achilles. He managed to summon the great warrior and talked about various military topics. Among other things, Achilles revealed that the idea he was killed by a wound in his heel is just a myth; he actually died from a puppy bite in his back. If the reader doesn’t believe[421] me, they should check the original manuscript of Damis. This same incident has caused problems for several famous generals in modern times.
Apollonius next made a tour through Greece, visiting Athens, Sparta, Olympia, and other cities, and exhorting the dissolute Greeks to mend their evil courses. The Spartans, particularly, came in for a severe lecture on the advantages of soap and water; and, it is said, that the first clean face ever seen in that republic was the result of the great Tyanean’s teachings. At Athens, he cured a man possessed of a demon; the latter bouncing out of his victim, at length, with such fury and velocity as to dash down a neighboring marble statue.
Apollonius then traveled around Greece, visiting Athens, Sparta, Olympia, and other cities, encouraging the wayward Greeks to change their bad habits. The Spartans, in particular, received a harsh lesson on the benefits of soap and water; it’s said that the first clean face ever seen in that republic was thanks to the teachings of the great Tyanean. In Athens, he cast out a demon from a man; the demon jumped out of its host with such force and speed that it knocked down a nearby marble statue.
The Isle of Crete was the next point on the journey, and an earthquake occurring at the time, Apollonius suddenly exclaimed in the streets:
The Isle of Crete was the next stop on the journey, and with an earthquake happening at that moment, Apollonius suddenly shouted in the streets:
“The earth is bringing forth land.”
“The Earth is creating land.”
Folks looked as he pointed toward the sea, and there beheld a new island in the direction of Therae.
People looked as he pointed toward the sea, and there saw a new island in the direction of Therae.
He arrived at Rome, whither his fame had preceded him, just as the Emperor Nero had issued an edict against all who dealt in magic; and, although he knew that he was included in the denunciation, he boldly went to the forum, where he restored to life the dead body of a beautiful lady, and predicted an eclipse of the sun, which shortly occurred. Nero caused him to be arrested, loaded with chains, and flung into an underground dungeon. When his jailers next made their rounds, they found the chains broken and the cell empty, but heard the chanting of invisible angels.[422] This story would not be believed by the head jailer at Sing Sing.
He arrived in Rome, where his reputation had already spread, just as Emperor Nero had issued a decree against anyone involved in magic. Even though he knew he was part of this accusation, he confidently went to the forum, where he brought the lifeless body of a beautiful woman back to life and predicted a solar eclipse that soon happened. Nero had him arrested, chained up, and thrown into a dark dungeon. When his guards next came around, they found the chains broken and the cell empty, but they heard the songs of invisible angels.[422] This story would not be believed by the head jailer at Sing Sing.
Prolonging his trip as far as Spain, Apollonius there got up a sedition against the authority of Nero, and thence crossed over into Africa. This was the darkest period of his history. From Africa, he proceeded to the South of Italy and the island of Sicily, still discoursing as he went. About this time, he heard of Nero’s death, and returned to Egypt, where Vespasian was endeavoring to establish his authority. While in Egypt, he explored the supposed sources of the Nile, and learned all the lore of the Ethiopean necromancers, who could do any thing, even to making a black man white; thus greatly excelling the skill of after ages.
Prolonging his trip all the way to Spain, Apollonius started a rebellion against Nero's rule there, and then moved on to Africa. This was the darkest time in his life. From Africa, he traveled to Southern Italy and the island of Sicily, still sharing his teachings along the way. Around this time, he heard about Nero’s death and went back to Egypt, where Vespasian was trying to assert his authority. While in Egypt, he investigated the supposed sources of the Nile and learned all the knowledge of the Ethiopian sorcerers, who could do anything, even change a black man to white; thus, surpassing the skills of later generations.
Vespasian had immense faith in the Tyanean sage, and consulted him upon the most important matters of State. Titus, the successor of that monarch, manifested equal confidence, and regarded him absolutely as an oracle. Apollonius, who really seems to have been a most sensible politician, wrote the following brief but pithy note to Titus, when the latter modestly refused the crown of victory, after having destroyed Jerusalem.
Vespasian had great trust in the Tyanean sage and turned to him for advice on the most critical issues of State. Titus, Vespasian's successor, showed the same level of confidence and considered him a true oracle. Apollonius, who appeared to be a very practical politician, wrote a brief but impactful note to Titus when Titus humbly declined the crown of victory after conquering Jerusalem.
“Apollonius to Titus, Emperor of Rome, sendeth greeting. Since you have refused to be applauded for bloodshed and victory in war, I send you the crown of moderation. You know to what kind of merit crowns are due.”
“Apollonius to Titus, Emperor of Rome, sends greetings. Since you have chosen not to seek applause for bloodshed and victories in war, I am sending you the crown of moderation. You understand what kind of merit deserves a crown.”
Yet Apollonius was by no means an ultra peace man, for he strongly advocated the shaving and clothing of the Ethiopians, and their thorough chastisement when they refused to be combed and purified.
Yet Apollonius was definitely not an extreme pacifist, as he strongly supported the shaving and dressing of the Ethiopians, and their strict punishment when they resisted being groomed and cleaned up.
[423]When Domitian grasped at the imperial sceptre, the great Tyanean sided with his rival, Nerva, and having for this offence been seized and cast into prison, suddenly vanished from sight and reappeared on the instant at Puteoli, one hundred and fifty miles away. The distinguished Mr. Jewett, of Colorado, is the only instance of similar rapidity of locomotion known to us in this country and time.
[423]When Domitian took hold of the imperial scepter, the great Tyanean supported his opponent, Nerva, and for this offense, he was captured and thrown into prison. He suddenly disappeared and instantly reappeared in Puteoli, one hundred and fifty miles away. The notable Mr. Jewett, from Colorado, is the only known example of such rapid movement in our country and time.
After taking breath at Puteoli, the sage resumed his travels and revisited Greece, Asia Minor, etc. At Ephesus he established his celebrated school, and then, once more returning to Crete, happened to give his old friends, the Cretans, great offence, and was shut up in the temple Dictymna to be devoured by famished dogs; but the next morning was found perfectly unharmed in the midst of the docile animals, who had already made considerable progress in the Pythagorean philosophy, and were gathered around the philosopher, seated on their hind legs, with open mouths and lolling tongues, intently listening to him while he lectured them in the canine tongue. So devoted had they become to their eloquent instructor, and so enraged were they at the interruption when the Cretans re-opened the temple, that they rushed out upon the latter and made a breakfast of a few of the leading men.
After catching his breath at Puteoli, the wise man continued his journey and revisited Greece, Asia Minor, and more. In Ephesus, he set up his famous school, and then, returning to Crete, he unintentionally offended his old friends, the Cretans. They imprisoned him in the temple of Dictymna to be eaten by starving dogs. However, the next morning, he was found completely unharmed among the gentle animals, who had already made significant progress in Pythagorean philosophy. They gathered around the philosopher, sitting on their hind legs, with their mouths open and tongues hanging out, eagerly listening to him as he lectured them in barks. They had become so devoted to their charismatic teacher that when the Cretans reopened the temple, the dogs attacked them, having a feast on a few of the prominent individuals.
This is one of the last of the remarkable incidents that we find recorded of the mighty Apollonius. How he came to his end is quite uncertain, but some veracious chroniclers declare that he simply dried up and blew away. Others aver that he lived to the good old age of ninety-seven, and then quietly gave up the ghost at Tyana, where a temple was dedicated to his memory.
This is one of the last notable events recorded about the great Apollonius. How he ultimately met his end is pretty unclear, but some reliable historians claim that he just withered away and vanished. Others insist that he lived to the ripe old age of ninety-seven and then peacefully passed away in Tyana, where a temple was created in his honor.
[424]However that may be, he was subsequently worshiped with divine honors, and so highly esteemed by the greatest men of after days, that even Aurelian refused to sack Tyana, out of respect to the philosopher’s ashes.
[424]Whatever the case, he was later honored with divine worship and was so highly regarded by the greatest figures in later times that even Aurelian chose not to sack Tyana out of respect for the philosopher’s remains.
Dion Cassius, the historian, records one of the most remarkable instances of his clairvoyance or second sight. He states that Apollonius, in the midst of a discourse at Ephesus, suddenly paused, and then in a different voice, exclaimed, to the astonishment of all:—“Have courage, good Stephanus! Strike! strike! Kill the tyrant!” On that same day, the hated Domitian was assassinated at Rome by a man named Stephanus. The humdrum interpretation of this “miracle” is simply that Apollonius had a foreknowledge of the intended attempt upon the tyrant’s life.
Dion Cassius, the historian, notes one of the most incredible examples of his clairvoyance or second sight. He says that Apollonius, while speaking at Ephesus, suddenly stopped and, in a different voice, shouted, to everyone's shock: “Have courage, good Stephanus! Strike! Strike! Kill the tyrant!” On that very day, the despised Domitian was assassinated in Rome by a man named Stephanus. The straightforward explanation of this “miracle” is simply that Apollonius had prior knowledge of the planned attack on the tyrant’s life.
Long afterwards, Cagliostro claimed that he had been a fellow-traveler with Apollonius, and that his mysterious companion, the sage Athlotas, was the very same personage, who, consequently, at that time, must have reached the ripe age of some 1784 years—a lapse of time beyond the memory of even “the oldest inhabitant,” in these parts, at least!
Long after, Cagliostro claimed he had traveled alongside Apollonius and that his mysterious companion, the wise Athlotas, was the same person, who, at that time, must have been around 1784 years old—a span of time beyond the memory of even “the oldest inhabitant” in these parts, at least!
THE END.
THE END.
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The following typographical errors were corrected.
The following typos have been fixed.
| Page | Error | Correction |
| viii | EXPOSE | EXPOSÉ |
| viii | BY JOHN BULL | BY JOHN BULL. |
| viii | HOMEOPATHIC | HOMŒOPATHIC |
| ix | TWO-HUNDRED | TWO HUNDRED |
| ix | “ADVANTAGE CARDS.” | “ADVANTAGE-CARDS.” |
| x | DIVINING GOBLINS. | DIVINING.—GOBLINS. |
| x | SORCEROR. | SORCERER. |
| x | ZUTE | ZIITO |
| x | MR. WRIGHT'S SIGEL | MR. WRIGHT'S SIGIL |
| x | WHISKERFUSTICUS. | WHISKERIFUSTICUS |
| x | RELIGOUS HUMBUGS | RELIGIOUS HUMBUGS |
| x | IMPOSTER | IMPOSTOR |
| x | A RELIGOUS HUMBUG | A RELIGIOUS HUMBUG |
| 25 | attractt he | attract the |
| 32 | Quixotte. | Quixote |
| 32 | Great Britian | Great Britain |
| 37 | million of frances | million of francs |
| 39 | “California Menagrie,” | “California Menagerie,” |
| 47 | THE GOLDEN PIGEONS—GRIZZLY ADAMS—GERMAN CHEMIST—HAPPY FAMILY—FRENCH NATURALIST. | THE GOLDEN PIGEONS.—GRIZZLY ADAMS.—GERMAN CHEMIST.—HAPPY FAMILY.—FRENCH NATURALIST. |
| 56 | “Golden Australian Pigeons,” | ‘Golden Australian Pigeons,’” |
| 57 | PHELADELPHIA | PHILADELPHIA |
| 58 | package of Pease’s | package of “Pease’s |
| 60 | ‘pay,’ havn’t | ‘pay,’ haven’t |
| 64 | tragic scene.’ | tragic scene.” |
| 65 | is now published’ | is now published. |
| 79 | after the trying | after the tying |
| 91 | Britian | Britain |
| 92 | dextrously | dexterously |
| 110 | pretentions | pretensions |
| 111 | Presidental | Presidential |
| 115 | invocations, adressed | invocations, addressed |
| 115 | complete success | complete success. |
| 115 | in ecstacy | in ecstasy |
| 119 | Spirtual Photography | Spiritual Photography |
| 119 | MRS. COANT’S | MRS. CONANT’S |
| 119 | called the trance. | called the trance.” |
| 122 | occuping | occupying |
| 127 | professsed | professed |
| 136 | supervison | supervision |
| 141 | she was pregnant | she was pregnant. |
| 143 | guage-faucet | gauge-faucet |
| 147 | by this expose, | by this exposé |
| 156 | vermillion | vermilion |
| 161 | Cliquot | Clicquot |
| 170 | But you bid | “But you bid |
| 173 | persverance | perseverance |
| 180 | $200, | $200,” |
| 185 | cant | can’t |
| 189 | SUBTERANEAN | SUBTERRANEAN |
| 190 | prospecters | prospectors |
| 194 | Napolean | Napoleon |
| 195 | reaity | reality |
| 199 | matter of form;” | matter of form; |
| 200 | as follows: | as follows:” |
| 202 | impudence then | impudence than |
| 210 | they prefered | they preferred |
| 211 | odorifous | odoriferous |
| 211 | apprized | apprised |
| 213 | etc. etc., | etc., etc., |
| 213 | Holland! | Holland!” |
| 216 | April 21st. | April 21st, |
| 221 | merchandize | merchandise |
| 225 | Every body | Everybody |
| 227 | stock—The | stock—the |
| 228 | all winter | All winter |
| 229 | coin than than | coin than |
| 232 | CHAPTER XXVII. | CHAPTER XXVIII. |
| 234 | Popocatapetl | Popocatepetl |
| 237 | over to Williamsburgh | over to Williamsburg |
| 242 | FLORENCE | FLORENCE. |
| 245 | gullability | gullibility? |
| 246 | maccaroni | macaroni |
| 246 | sold almost- | sold almost |
| 252 | domicil | domicile |
| 265 | “The suggestion, | The suggestion, |
| 269 | with faces of | “with faces of |
| 271 | The “Albany | the “Albany |
| 271 | “the New York | the “New York |
| 274 | enclyclopedias | encyclopedias |
| 276 | Magnficent | Magnificent |
| 280 | Pensylvania | Pennsylvania |
| 281 | ridiculing Beecher. | ridiculing Beecher." |
| 281 | fusilade | fusillade |
| 284 | THE ACTOR | THE ACTOR. |
| 286 | sovereigns.” | sovereigns.’ |
| 287 | “Now Sir,” said he, “I wish | “‘Now Sir,’ said he, ‘I wish |
| 287 | this house alone.” | this house alone.’ |
| 288 | However, before | “However, before |
| 291 | futhermore | furthermore |
| 298 | ghost havin | ghost having |
| 305 | amissable | admissible |
| 307 | CHAPTER. XXX. | CHAPTER XXXVII. |
| 317 | Holy Ghost. | Holy Ghost.” |
| 318 | ho, ho! | ho, ho!” |
| 320 | failed; | failed: |
| 322 | swarthy and wizzened | swarthy and wizened |
| 324 | “prime-minister, | “prime-minister,” |
| 327 | Mr Worrall | Mr. Worrall |
| 334 | transmigra- | transmigration |
| 339 | elysium | Elysium |
| 339 | Antionette | Antoinette |
| 341 | remarked.” I | remarked. “I |
| 341 | Constantiople | Constantinople |
| 342 | What message | “What message |
| 342 | “She does | She does |
| 346 | from the the Court | from the Court |
| 348 | evidently had’nt | evidently hadn’t |
| 351 | could’nt seem | couldn’t seem |
| 354 | CHAPTER LXII. | CHAPTER XLII. |
| 355 | Raisonnée, | Raisonnée,” |
| 363 | Constantiople | Constantinople |
| 367 | arms, &c., | arms, &c., |
| 368 | hand seveeral | hand several |
| 368 | no Riza Rey | no Riza Bey |
| 375 | enthusiams | enthusiasms |
| 375 | ascetisms | asceticisms |
| 381 | intepretation | interpretation |
| 382 | doggrel | doggerel |
| 392 | HUMBUGS NO. 2 | HUMBUGS NO. 2. |
| 393 | know!) | know!), |
| 398 | hard-fisted | hard-fisted, |
| 403 | other beasts: | other beasts; |
| 423 | revisted | revisited |
| Ads 3 | N.B | N.B. |
| Ads 3 | United States | United States. |
| Ads 3 | in full | in full. |
| Ads 3 | MISERABLES—In | MISERABLES.—In |
| Ads 3 | self-culture | self-culture. |
| Ads 4 | MARIAN GREY— do | MARIAN GREY.— do. |
| Ads 5 | RUE | TRUE |
| Ads 5 | OW | HOW |
| Ads 5 | do | do. |
| Ads 5 | FEMME.) | FEMME). |
| Ads 7 | DRIFTING ABOUT, | DRIFTING ABOUT. |
| Ads 8 | ABOUT WOMEN | ABOUT WOMEN. |
| Ads 8 | HUGH MILLER | HUGH MILLER. |
The following words had inconsistent spelling and hyphenation:
The following words had inconsistent spelling and hyphenation:
- broom-stick / broomstick
- CONJUROR / CONJURER
- conjuror / conjurer
- conjurors / conjurers
- Christoforo / Cristoforo
- death-bed / deathbed
- etc. / &c.
- Ethiopean / Ethiopian
- fêted / feted
- ghost-like / ghostlike
- hand-bill / handbill
- hell-broth / hellbroth
- hob-goblins / hobgoblins
- hodge-podge / hodgepodge
- lamp-black / lampblack
- log-wood / logwood
- M.D. / M. D.
- meantime / mean time
- mosquitoes / musquitos
- New-York / New York
- sea-coast / seacoast
- sea-shore / seashore
- stock-broker / stockbroker
- to-day / to day
- Twenty-seventh street / Twenty-seventh Street
- Wall street / Wall Street
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