During the year 1863, when the ghost illusion was one of the topics of
the day, the famous George Cruikshank wrote a pamphlet, entitled—“A
Discovery concerning Ghosts, with a Rap at the ‘Spirit Rappers,’
illustrated with Cuts, and dedicated to the ‘Ghost Club.’” Curious
to say, he says nothing respecting the Polytechnic ghost, but is
exercised chiefly with famous stories of ghosts and apparitions, which
it is alleged have appeared to various persons. The author examines
analytically a number of them, and comes to the conclusion that the
persons relating them usually deceived themselves or other people, and
that most of the stories are mental hallucinations. The inimitable
George, as his friends delighted to call him, treats with profound
contempt the spirit rappers, and all the cheats and fortune-telling
mendicants who try to impose on innocent people with their bad
conjuring tricks—people who might have got through the world safely;
but the fatal chord is struck, and they go from bad to worse, until
they end in a mad house.
The whole tribe of persons who made money directly or indirectly out
of what they called spirit mediums, &c., fairly howled upon me in
the lecture room, and, threatening personal violence, I was for some
time attended home at night by the most stalwart of our Polytechnic
employés; for, like Cruikshank, I vigorously denounced the traders in
spirits, founding my arguments on the belief that God was too merciful
to us to add to the troubles of this world the fear and trembling
brought about by pretended communication with the invisible world.
The first story I told at my Polytechnic “Strange Lecture” had a very
simple plot.
It represented the room of a student who was engaged burning the
midnight oil, and, looking up from his work, sees an apparition of
a skeleton. Resenting the intrusion he rises, seizes a sword or a
hatchet which is ready to his hand, and aims a blow at the ghost; which
instantly disappeared again and again to return.
This ghost was admirably performed by my assistant, whom we called Ye
Perringe, who, wearing a cover of black velvet, held the real skeleton
in his arms and made the fleshless bones assume the most elegant
attitudes, the lower part from the pelvis downward being attired in
white linen, and the white skeleton ghost assuming a sitting posture,
so that it appeared to come out of the floor.
Although this exhibition only lasted a few minutes, it drew hundreds
and thousands of pounds to the treasury of the Polytechnic. In fact, as
already stated, I was obliged to remove to the larger theatre of the
Institute.
The next ghost story was told in the large theatre; and it illustrated
Charles Dickens’s story of the “Haunted Man.” At the same time was
shown “Cupid and the Love-Letter.” When the curtain drew up, a peasant
girl was discovered using her spinning-wheel and demurely thinking of
something not told to the audience.
The ghost of a very pretty little boy dressed as Cupid now appears at
her elbow, and discharges an arrow from his bow, which pierces the
heart of the susceptible village girl. She attempts to caress the
pretty Cupid, who eludes her kind advances, and is now discovered on
the other side. The maiden turns to kiss him, but he is gone. At last,
relenting, Cupid gives her a love-letter from some affectionate swain,
which she takes and shows triumphantly to the audience, and leaving the
girl to read it, the curtain again descended. These two illustrations
of the ghost illusion ran for fifteen months without alteration, and
were succeeded by many others—viz., Scrooge and Marley’s Ghost, by
Charles Dickens; the Ghost of the diving bell; the knight watching his
armour; the poor author tested; the Ghost of Napoleon I. at St. Helena;
and the Ghost in _Hamlet_, pronounced by a leading R.A. as being nearly
perfect, only wanting a little different colour in the walls of the
ramparts, which I adopted with his ultimate satisfaction and approval.
The late Walter Montgomery took a great interest in the ghost
proceedings, and assisted me greatly in arranging the scenes with due
regard to the dramatic art. There is a mystery about his tragic end
which deserves solution, and his brother-in-law told me at Brisbane,
Queensland, that he did _not_ commit suicide, but was shot by somebody
else.
The sands of the year 1863 had been nearly run out, and I had taken the
ghost to Manchester to a lecture hall then under the skilful management
of Mr. Peacock, when another great success was scored—various London
theatres took out licences to use the ghost; notably the Haymarket,
under Mr. Benjamin Webster; The Britannia, under Mr. and Mrs. Lane;
Drury Lane, under Mr. Chatterton, also subsequently and after the
famous ghost trial before the Lord Chancellor. The Music Halls no
longer tried to infringe the patent, but those who required it paid
their fees for licences to do so.
The famous ghost trial came on in September at the private residence of
the Lord Chancellor Westbury, who very graciously agreed to hear this
patent case at once, because his lordship was informed by my solicitor,
Mr. Walter Hughes, junr., that if he could not do so the Polytechnic
Ghost would most likely be swamped by the multiplicity of imitators,
good, bad, or indifferent.
Accordingly, one cold and chilly day I went down into Hampshire,
accompanied only by my solicitor, Mr. Walter Hughes, junior, of the
firm of Hughes, Masterman, and Hughes, 56, New Broad Street. On arrival
we were shown into his Lordship’s drawing-room, where, to my dismay,
I found a little army of solicitors and barristers drawn up as if in
battle array, and sitting in a row against the right-hand wall of the
room.
His Lordship’s secretary courteously came forward, and, noticing we
were somewhat cold, placed chairs for us near the fire, and pulled up a
table for our use on which to take notes.
We all rose respectfully when the Lord Chancellor entered, and, being
requested by him to remain seated, the case was opened by his Lordship
asking who appeared for the Plaintiffs, the music hall proprietors. At
least four answered, “I do, my Lord,” and we in the minority could only
give an answer from one voice—viz., that of my then young solicitor.
The music hall people came down with two newspaper reporters to record
their certain victory over me, but which, as it turned out, was a
mistake, because the reporters could only tell the truth and record the
verdict given in my favour.
The Lord Chancellor, so far as I can remember (and I have no notes),
then addressed the Plaintiffs—
1st. I shall require you to show cause by what right or
authority you appear before me this day.
2nd. I will hear you on the general merits of the case.
3rd. And lastly, on the novelty which the Defendant
seeks to have completed under the protection of a
Patent, and which novelty you appear to deny.
One of the barristers then rose, and after saying that he would bow
with submission to anything his Lordship might suggest or rule,
commenced his argument by calling attention to the fact that the number
of days allowed by the Patent Law had already elapsed, and by sections
so-and-so I had lost the opportunity of getting the Patent sealed
within the proper time allowed between granting Provisional Protection
and sealing the Patent.
After he had ended, the Lord Chancellor asked if the Plaintiffs through
their counsel had anything more to urge on this first point. They all
bowed, and said “No.”
His Lordship now said: “It is very true what you state respecting the
wording of the Patent Act, _but_ if you will turn to sections so-and-so
you will find that the Law Officers of the Crown have full power to
grant an extension of the time for completing and sealing the Patent
on the proper application of the Defendant’s solicitors, and as that
application has already been made and granted, it must be evident that,
though the Defendant exceeded the time usually allowed, he had full
permission to do so from the constituted authorities. I will now hear
you on the general merits of the case.”
* * * * *
Here the learned counsel exhausted his law and rhetoric in making
out there was really nothing to patent, for who could catch hold of
a ghost? And more legal technicalities were advanced and argued than
I can remember at this distance of time—viz., twenty-six years ago.
However, his Lordship again asked, “Have you anything more to urge on
this point?” and received the same reply, “No, my Lord, we have not.”
The Chancellor then replied _in extenso_, exposed all the sophistries
of the arguments, and whilst complimenting the counsel on his learning
and the care which he had bestowed upon the case, said again that there
was nothing in the arguments that militated against the sealing of the
Patent. Of course, they could take action at common law, and try the
case before the judges appointed to try such cases if they thought
proper, and, supported by affidavits resulting from a trial at common
law, could bring the case again before him.
There was one point which the Lord Chancellor alluded to. He said:
“Great stress had been laid on the impossibility of patenting a mere
intangible nothing, viz., a ghost; but as he understood, the Defendant
did not patent the shadowy result called the Ghost, but an apparatus
for ‘Exhibiting Dramatic and other Performances,’ and without this
apparatus no ghost could be rendered visible to an audience.” His
lordship then continued: “I will now hear you on the novelty of the
proposed invention, which your affidavits declare is not new, but an
imitation of something already exhibited.”
The learned counsel now made various statements, supported apparently
by affidavits from persons who alleged that they had seen the ghost
a long time before, and, in fact, had used the very same apparatus I
had employed or words to that effect. For instance, an old playbill
emanating from the Old Tivoli Gardens, Margate—not perhaps the most
refined place of entertainment, in fact, no ladies appeared to visit
the place say, in 1851, when I heard a lady in tights discourse a song
the burthen of which was—
“Take care, John Bull, or else you’ll be done
In the Great Exhibition of ’51.”
The playbill was laid upon his Lordship’s table, who, taking hold
of it, asked, “Is this the playbill alluded to?” and threw it on
the floor. I suppose the counsel was not attending to some point of
etiquette, and ought to have produced his playbill in the form of a
High Chancery Court affidavit. The playbill alluded to a ghost that was
to be shown, and counsel again called attention to their plan of the
ghost apparatus, which he was instructed to say was the same or very
similar to that used by Defendant. The affidavit of some other dramatic
professional was also brought forward with several others; but all
things come to an end, and at last the same distinct question rang out:
“Have you anything more to urge on this question of novelty?” with the
answer as before. “No, your Lordship.”
Lord Westbury commenced by alluding to the drawing brought forward
by the Plaintiffs, and said, “I have examined the affidavit and
the drawings, and find it is as nearly as possible a copy of the
Defendant’s own drawing deposited in confidence in the archives of
the Patent Office, and when I visit that establishment will take care
to enquire who has presumed to allow the Plaintiffs permission to
copy the Defendant’s original drawing of the apparatus used to show
the ghost. I well remember,” continued his Lordship, “being taken
to the house of Belzoni, the distinguished traveller, and seeing an
effect no doubt somewhat similar to that produced by the Defendant’s
apparatus, but I could not for one moment compare the toy of Belzoni
with the refined and complete contrivances used by the Defendant at
the Royal Polytechnic. An affidavit has been put in by the Plaintiffs,
sworn to by a person calling himself a ‘nigger minstrel.’ He is
elsewhere denominated an ‘Ethiopian Serenader,’ who had seen the
Defendant’s ghost shown years ago—a very respectable man, no doubt,
in his vocation; but to put the evidence of such a person against
the affidavits of Michael Faraday, Sir David Brewster, and Professor
Wheatstone, is a manifest absurdity. I, therefore, rule that the Great
Seal of England be at once attached to the Defendant’s patent, and that
the Plaintiffs do pay the costs.”
After certifying for the costs and having a little conversation with
my solicitor and self, his Lordship withdrew, and we all went back
to town. The reader can imagine my feelings of joy at the successful
upshot of this trial when he learns that I had already received large
sums for licences which I must have refunded if the case had gone
against me.
For many years the ghost at the Polytechnic pursued its successful
career, and earned £12,000 in a comparatively short space of time. I
received an illuminated address of thanks, with a handsome honorarium,
from the directors, and subsequently they presented my bust in marble
to my late dear wife, with a letter from the Rev. J. B. Owen, M.A., the
highly-gifted chairman of the old Royal Polytechnic.
Very few persons could understand how the ghost was produced, although
many persons wrote about and explained it; even the distinguished
philosopher, Michael Faraday, when I took him behind the scenes, said,
with his usual love of truth: “Do you know, Mr. Pepper, I really don’t
understand it.” I then took his hand, and put it on one of the huge
glass plates, when he said, “Ah! now I comprehend it; but your glasses
are kept so well protected I could not see them even behind your
scenes.”