MISCELLANEOUS IMPOSTORS AND IMPOSTURES.
Mary Tofts, the Rabbit Breeder, of Godalming--Progress and
Detection of her Impostures--Poisoning of St. Andre--The Bottle
Conjuror--Advertisements on this Occasion--Riot produced by
the Fraud--Squibs and Epigrams to which it gave rise--Case
of Elizabeth Canning--Violent Controversy which arose out of
it--She is found guilty of Perjury and transported--The Cock
Lane Ghost--Public Excitement occasioned by it--Detection
of the Fraud--Motive for the Imposture--The Stockwell
Ghost--The Sampford Ghost--Mystery in which the Affair was
involved--Astonishing Instance of Credulity in Perigo and his
Wife--Diabolical Conduct of Mary Bateman--She is hanged for
Murder--Metamorphosis of the Chevalier d’Eon--Multifarious
Disguises of Price, the Forger--Miss Robertson--The fortunate
Youth--The Princess Olive--Caraboo--Pretended Fasting--Margaret
Senfrit--Catherine Binder--The Girl of Unna--The Osnaburg
Girl--Anne Moore.
Towards the close of the year 1726, one of the most extraordinary
and impudent impostures on record was carried into execution by a
woman named Mary Tofts, the wife of a poor journeyman clothworker at
Godalming, in Surrey. She is described as having been of “a healthy
strong constitution, small size, fair complexion, a very stupid and
sullen temper, and unable to write or read.” Stupid as she was supposed
to be, she had, however, art enough to keep up for a considerable time
the credit of her fraud. She pretended to bring forth rabbits; and she
accounted for this monstrous deviation from the laws of nature, by
saying, that “as she was weeding in a field, she saw a rabbit spring up
near her, after which she ran, with another woman that was at work just
by her; this set her a longing for rabbits, being then, as she thought,
five weeks enceinte; the other woman perceiving she was uneasy, charged
her with longing for the rabbit they could not catch, but she denied
it. Soon after, another rabbit sprung up near the same place, which she
endeavoured likewise to catch. The same night she dreamt that she was
in a field with those two rabbits in her lap, and awaked with a sick
fit, which lasted till morning; from that time, for above three months,
she had a constant and strong desire to eat rabbits, but being very
poor and indigent could not procure any.”
At first sight, it would seem that so gross an imposition, as that
which was attempted by Mary Tofts, must have been unanimously scouted.
But this was by no means the case. So well did she manage, and so ready
are some people to be deceived, that she actually deluded her medical
attendant, Mr. Howard, a man of probity, who had practised for thirty
years. There can be no doubt of his belief that, in the course of about
a month, he had aided her to bring forth nearly twenty rabbits.
The news of these marvellous births spread far and wide, and soon found
numerous believers. It attracted the attention of even George the
First, who sent down to Godalming his house surgeon, Mr. Ahlers, to
inquire into the fact. Ahlers went back to London fully convinced that
he had obtained ocular and tangible proof of the truth of the story;
so much so, indeed, that he promised to procure for Mary a pension.
Mr. St. Andre, the king’s surgeon and anatomist, was despatched in the
course of a day or two, to make a further examination. He also returned
to the metropolis a firm believer. The rabbits, which he and Ahlers
carried with them, as testimonies, had the honour of being dissected
before his majesty. An elaborate report of all the circumstances
relative to their production and dissection, and to his visit to
Godalming, was published by St. Andre, and the public mind consequently
began to be agitated in an extraordinary manner. A furious controversy
arose between the credulous and the incredulous, in which Whiston is
said to have borne a part, by writing a pamphlet, to show that the
miracle was the exact completion of a prophecy in Esdras. On the other
hand, the caricaturists of the incredulous faction exerted themselves
to cast ridicule on their opponents. Among these was Hogarth, who
published an engraving called Cunicularii, or the Wise Men of Godliman.
Though the report, by St. Andre, contained many circumstances which
were palpably calculated to excite a suspicion of fraud, the multitude
was as blind to them as he had been. The delusion continued to spread,
and even the king himself was enrolled among the believers. The rent
of rabbit warrens, it is affirmed, sunk to nothing, as no one would
presume to eat a rabbit. The trick was, however, on the point of being
found out. To Queen Caroline, then Princess of Wales, is ascribed the
merit of having been active in promoting measures to undeceive the
people.
The miraculous Mary Tofts was now brought to town, where she could be
more closely watched than at Godalming, and prevented from obtaining
the means of carrying on her imposture. Among those who took a part
on this occasion, the most conspicuous was Sir Richard Manningham, an
eminent physician and Fellow of the Royal Society; and he had at length
the satisfaction of detecting her. She held out, however, till her
courage was shaken by a threat to perform a dangerous operation upon
her, which threat was backed by another from a magistrate, that she
should be sent to prison. She then confessed, that the fraud had been
suggested to her by a woman, who told her, that she could put her into
a way of getting a good livelihood, without being obliged to work for
it as formerly, and promised continually to supply her with rabbits,
for which she was to receive a part of the gain. The farce terminated
by the Godalming miracle-monger being committed to Tothill Fields’
Bridewell.
The reputation of St. Andre, who had previously been much in favour
at court, was greatly injured by his conduct in this affair. The
public attention had once before been directed to him by a mysterious
circumstance; and his enemies did not fail now to advert to that
circumstance, and to charge him with having himself played the part
of an impostor. It appears that in February, 1724, he was summoned to
visit a patient, whom he had never before seen. The messenger led him
in the dark, through numerous winding alleys and passages, to a house
in a court, where he found the woman for whom he was to prescribe.
The man, after having introduced him, went out, and soon returned
with three glasses of liquor on a plate, one of which St. Andre was
prevailed on to take; but, “finding the liquor strong and ill-tasted,
he drank very little of it.” Before he reached his home he began to be
ill, and soon manifested all the symptoms of having taken poison. The
government offered a reward of two hundred pounds for the detection
of the offender, but he was never discovered. It was now asserted, by
the enemies of St. Andre, that the story of having been poisoned was
a mere fabrication, for the purpose of bringing him into practice.
This, however, could not have been the case; for the report, signed by
six eminent physicians, who attended him, abundantly proves that he
was, for nearly a fortnight, in the utmost danger, and that, according
to all appearance, his sufferings were caused by poison. We may,
therefore, conclude that, though he was an egregious dupe, with respect
to Mary Tofts, he was not, in this instance, an impostor.
“For when a man beats out his brains,
The devil’s in it if he feigns.”
In 1749, three-and-twenty years after the exposure of Mary Tofts, there
appeared, about the middle of January, the ensuing advertisement, which
seems to have been intended to try how far the credulous folly of the
town might be worked upon.
“At the new theatre in the Haymarket, on Monday next, the 16th instant,
is to be seen a person who performs the several most surprising things
following: viz. first, he takes a common walking-cane from any of the
spectators, and thereon plays the music of every instrument now in use,
and likewise sings to surprising perfection. Secondly, he presents you
with a common wine-bottle, which any one present may first examine;
this bottle is placed on a table, in the middle of the stage, and
he (without any equivocation) goes into it, in the sight of all the
spectators, and sings in it; during his stay in the bottle, any person
may handle it, and see plainly that it does not exceed a common tavern
bottle. Those on the stage or in the boxes may come in masked habits
(if agreeable to them), and the performer (if desired) will inform them
who they are.” The display of these wonders was to occupy two hours and
a half. The advertisement also promised that the conjuror, after the
performance, would show to any gentlemen or ladies, for, as Trapbois
phrases it, a proper “con-si-de-ra-tion,” the likeness of any deceased
friend or relative, with which they might also converse; would tell
their most secret thoughts; and would give them a full view of persons,
whether dead or alive, who had injured them.
At the same time with the above advertisement, there came forth
another, which may have either been intended to put the public on
their guard by its out-heroding Herod, or to make their credulity, if
possible, still more glaring, in case they should accept the invitation
of the Bottle Conjuror. It purported to be issued by Signor Capitello
Jumpedo, lately arrived from Italy, “a surprising dwarf, no taller
than a tobacco-pipe,” who could perform many wonderful equilibres on
the tight and slack rope, transform his body into above ten thousand
different shapes and postures, and who, after having diverted the
spectators two hours and a half, would “open his mouth wide, and jump
down his own throat.” This most “wonderfullest wonder of all wonders
as ever the world wondered at,” expressed his willingness to join in
performance with the Bottle Conjuror Musician.
Though one might suppose that nothing short of insanity or idiocy
could bring spectators on such an occasion, yet it is certain that
the theatre was thronged with people of all degrees, from the highest
ranks of the peerage down to such of the humblest class as could raise
two shillings for admission to the gallery. That nothing might be
wanting to try the patience of the spectators, not a single fiddle had
been provided to amuse them. At length, tired of waiting, they became
restive; cat-calls, vociferations, and beating of feet and sticks on
the floor, were heard in discordant chorus. At this moment a man came
from behind the scenes, bowed, and announced that, if the performer
did not appear, the money should be returned. This annunciation was
succeeded by another person starting up in the pit, and stating that,
if double prices were given, the conjuror would get into a pint bottle.
This seems to have brought the multitude to the use of the small
portion of sense which nature had bestowed on them. They discovered
that they had been cheated, and they prepared to take vengeance on the
cheater. The throwing of a lighted candle from one of the boxes into
the pit was the signal for riot. All who thought that, in such cases,
the better half of valour is discretion, now became anxious to secure
their retreat. A rush accordingly took place towards the doors, and
numerous were the wigs, hats, swords, canes, and shoes, that were lost
in consequence. As the more timid part of the crowd forced their way
out, the mob which surrounded the house forced their way in. Joined by
these allies, the party which had remained behind began, and speedily
completed the work of destruction. The benches were torn up, the boxes
pulled down; and the scenes broken to pieces; the fragments were
then taken into the street, a huge bonfire was made of them, and the
stage-curtain was hoisted on a pole, as a standard, above the fire.
The guards were at last sent for, but before their arrival the mob
had disappeared, leaving nothing but smoking embers and a dismantled
theatre.
Foote and others were accused of having originated or shared in this
trick; but they disavowed any participation in it, and there seems
no reason to doubt their veracity. Some thick-skulled bigots gravely
asserted, that it was invented by a Jesuit, “to try how ripe the nation
was to swallow the absurdities of transubstantiation.” With more
likelihood, it was said that, in order to win a wager which he had
laid respecting the extreme gullibility of the public, the scheme was
contrived by a mischievous young nobleman.
For some time after the event, the newspapers were filled with
squibs and epigrams. Among the advertisements in ridicule of the
bottle-conjuror’s, one of the best purported to be from “the
body-surgeon of the Emperor of Monœmungi.” He thus terminated the
description of his budget of wonders: “He opens the head of a justice
of peace, takes out his brains, and exchanges them for those of a calf;
the brains of a beau, for those of an ass; and the heart of a bully,
for that of a sheep; which operations render the persons more rational
and sociable creatures than ever they were in their lives.”
In the next instance of imposture which occurred, those who were misled
could hardly be considered as blameworthy, the circumstances being
such as to account for their erroneous judgment. The case to which
allusion is here made, was that of Elizabeth Canning, in the year 1753.
This female, who was about eighteen years of age, after having been
absent twenty-eight days, returned home in a squalid and apparently
half-starved condition. The story which she told was that, as she was
proceeding at night from her uncle’s to the house of the person with
whom she lived as servant, she was attacked by two men, in Moorfields,
who first robbed her, gave her a blow on the temple, and then dragged
her along, she being part of the time in fits, till they reached a
house of ill-fame, kept by Susannah Wells, at Enfield Wash.
On her arrival there, she was accosted by a gipsy, named Mary Squires,
who asked her if she would “go their way; for if she would, she should
have fine clothes.” Supposing that Squires alluded to prostitution,
Canning replied in the negative; Squires, upon this, ripped up the
lace of her stays with a knife, took away the stays, and thrust her
into a back room like a hayloft, the window of which was boarded
inside. In that room she was imprisoned for twenty-seven days; her
only subsistence being a scanty portion of bread, some water, and a
small mince-pie, which she chanced to have in her pocket. At last, she
bethought her of breaking down the board, after which she crept on a
penthouse, whence she dropped on the ground. She then made the best of
her way home.
Universal pity was excited by the tale of her sufferings, and a
subscription was raised for her. The most violent public indignation
was expressed against the two criminals; and, while this ferment was
at its height, Wells and Squires were brought to trial. The evidence
of Elizabeth Canning was corroborated by that of Virtue Hall, and by
various circumstances, and the jury found both of the prisoners guilty.
Squires was condemned to death, and Wells was ordered to be branded,
and imprisoned for six months.
Squires would certainly have suffered had not Sir Crisp Gascoyne, who
was then Lord Mayor, fortunately interposed in her favour. Squires
herself solemnly declared that she could bring many witnesses to
prove that she was in the west of England during the whole of the
time that was sworn to by Canning. There were besides some startling
discrepancies between Canning’s evidence and the real situation of
places and things; and, to render the matter still more doubtful,
Virtue Hall, the main prop of Canning’s story, retracted her evidence.
Sir Crisp Gascoyne succeeded in obtaining a respite for Squires, during
which time so much testimony was obtained in her behalf, that a free
pardon was granted to her. Such, however, was the general prejudice in
Canning’s favour, that the benevolent exertions of Sir Crisp rendered
him extremely unpopular. Floods of ink were expended in pamphlets by
her defenders, among whom was the highly gifted author of Tom Jones.
Her opponents were equally active.
The mass of evidence against Canning at length became so enormous, that
it was resolved to put her upon her trial for perjury. The trial lasted
five days, and more than a hundred and twenty witnesses were examined.
Upwards of forty of them were brought forward to testify as to the
movements of Squires, and they traced her journeyings day by day, and
proved, by a chain of evidence of which not a single link was wanting,
that during the whole of the time charged against her by Canning she
was far distant in the west of England. The story told by Canning was
also shown to be in some parts contradictory, and in others at variance
with the facts. In conclusion, she was found guilty, and was sentenced
to seven years transportation. In August 1754, she was conveyed to New
England, where she is said to have married advantageously. Some time
before her departure, she published a declaration in which she repeated
her charge against Squires, in spite of the triumphant manner in which
that charge had been refuted; and, blindly faithful to her cause, many
of her partisans obstinately persevered in asserting her innocence.
A few years subsequently to the affair of Elizabeth Canning, there
occurred an event, which amply proved that superstition and credulity
were as flourishing as ever. In January 1762 the whole town was thrown
into a state of excitement by the imposture which bears the name of
“the Cock-lane Ghost,” so called from the place where the mummery was
performed, and the supposed agent in the performance. The scene in
which the farce commenced was the house of one Parsons, the parish
clerk of St. Sepulchre’s. As a preliminary to the proceedings, it was
reported that, nearly two years before the affair gained notoriety,
alarming knockings and scratchings had been heard by the daughter of
Parsons, a girl about twelve years old, and that she and others had
seen, at her father’s house, the apparition of a woman, surrounded by a
blazing light. The girl, on being questioned as to whom the apparition
resembled, said it was like Mrs. Kent, who had formerly been a lodger
there, and had died of the smallpox since her removal. The next step
was to throw out mysterious hints that Mrs. Kent had been murdered.
These rumours were soon spread abroad, and the credulous and the
curious rushed with headlong haste to witness the new marvels. The
knockings and scratchings had by this time become exceedingly violent.
It was now sagely resolved that several gentlemen, among whom a
clergyman acted a prominent part, should sit up by the bed-side of Miss
Parsons, to question the supposed ghost. As the ghost, it was imagined,
might be dumb, or have forgotten its native tongue, the clergyman
settled that it should reply by knocks; one knock being an affirmative
answer, and two knocks a negative. This arrangement having been made,
the ghost was interrogated, and it replied, that it was the spirit of a
woman named Kent, who had been poisoned.
As some persons suspected imposture, the girl was removed from her
home, and was successively put to bed at several houses; the number
of watchers was increased to nearly twenty, several of whom were
clergymen and ladies. Still the knockings and scratchings were
continued, and the same answers as before were made to questions. At
length, on being pressed to give some proof of its veracity, the ghost
consented to attend one of the gentlemen into the vault where the body
was buried, and manifest its presence by a knock upon the coffin.
When the appointed hour arrived, “the spirit was very seriously
advertised, that the person to whom the promise was made of striking
the coffin, was then about to visit the vault, and that the performance
of the promise was then claimed. The company, at one, went into the
church, and the gentleman to whom the promise was made, went, with one
more, into the vault. The spirit was solemnly required to perform its
promise, but nothing more than silence ensued. The person supposed to
be accused by the ghost then went down, with several others, but no
effect was perceived. Upon their return they examined the girl, but
could draw no confession from her. Between two and three she desired,
and was permitted, to go home with her father.”
This want of punctuality in the ghost gave a fatal blow to its
reputation. Even the most besotted of the believers were staggered
by it. A flimsy attempt was therefore made to restore the ghost’s
credit, by asserting that the coffin and corpse had been removed,
which, of course, had prevented the spirit from giving the signal;
but on examination they were found to be safe in the vault. Stricter
precautions were now taken to guard against deception being practised
by the girl; her bed was slung like a hammock, in the middle of the
room, and she was closely watched. Driven to her last shifts, she
contrived to secrete, but not unseen, a bit of board previously to her
being put to bed, and having, as she thought, secured the necessary
materials for carrying on the trick, she ventured to declare that she
would bring the ghost at six the next morning. In the morning she
accordingly began to make the accustomed sounds, and, on being asked if
she had in the bed any wood to strike upon, she positively denied the
fact. The bed-clothes were then opened, the board was found, and this
simple process annihilated the Cock Lane Ghost.
Mr. Kent, the accused person, had, in the mean while, proved his
innocence, by certificates from the physician and apothecary who
attended upon the deceased female. The base attack upon his character
appears to have been prompted by revenge. While lodging with Parsons
he had lent him some money, which, after much forbearance, he was
compelled to recover by a suit at law. The malignant offender, however,
did not escape punishment; he, with others who had lent themselves to
his imposture, being ultimately brought to trial, and found guilty of a
conspiracy.
In 1778, the Stockwell ghost, as it was denominated, spread terror in
the village from whence it derived its name, and was for some time a
subject of general conversation and wonderment. Its pranks have been
described in Sir Walter Scott’s amusing “Letters on Demonology and
Witchcraft,” and consequently it is unnecessary to dwell upon them here.
For a long period after this, it would seem that ghosts were either out
of fashion, or had become averse from exhibiting before multitudes,
and were determined to confine their efforts to the scaring of
country bumpkins. It was not till 1810 that a supernatural case of
any importance occurred. This case was, it must be owned, far more
interesting and startling than its predecessors; it having been managed
with such consummate skill as to baffle all attempts to penetrate the
mystery. The house of Mr. Chave at Sampford Peverell, in Devonshire,
was the scene on which the wonders were acted for several months. The
spiritual agent appears to have occasionally assumed the form of some
nondescript animal, which always eluded pursuit, and to have had an
extreme dislike of women, whom it always pummelled unmercifully. The
Rev. C. Colton, the author of Lacon, who endeavoured, but in vain,
to find out the cause of the disturbance, tells us that he examined
several females who had slept in the house, many of whom were on oath,
and they all, without exception, agreed in affirming that “their
night’s rest was invariably destroyed by violent blows from some
invisible hand, by an unaccountable and rapid drawing and withdrawing
of the curtains, by a suffocating and almost inexpressible weight,
and by a repetition of sounds, so loud as at times to shake the whole
room.” Numerous other respectable witnesses also testified, and offered
to do so on oath, to various astonishing circumstances. Suspicions
having been expressed that the whole was a juggle, carried on by Mr.
Chave and his servants, they made an affidavit denying, in the most
explicit terms, any knowledge whatever of the manner in which the
sights and sounds were produced. A reward of 250_l._ was at length
offered to any one who would throw light on this obscure subject.
Tempting as this bait was, no one came forward to seize it. After a
while the hubbub ceased; but, like Junius, the mischievous disturber of
Sampford Peverell remains to this day undiscovered.
In another part of the country, a few years before the Sampford ghost
began his vagaries, a fatal example of excessive credulity was afforded
by a man and his wife, named Perigo. The wife being ill, Perigo applied
to one Mary Bateman to cure her. Bateman declined the task, but said
that she had a friend at Scarborough, a Miss Blyth, who could “read the
stars,” and remove all ailments whether of body or mind. To enable this
reader of the stars to gain a knowledge of the disease, it was said to
be necessary that the sick woman should send her a petticoat; it was
accordingly delivered to Bateman. There was, in truth, no such person
as Blyth; but a pretended answer from her was read to the credulous
Perigos, in which they were told that they must communicate with her
through the medium of Bateman. As a commencement, they were directed
to give Bateman five guinea notes, who would return an equal number in
a small bag; but they were informed that, if curiosity induced them to
look into the bag, the charm would be broken, and sudden death would
ensue. In this manner forty guineas were at various times obtained, all
of which, they were assured, would be found in the bag when the moment
came for its being opened. Demand followed demand without intermission,
and still the poor deluded beings continued to satisfy them. Clothing
of all kinds, bedding, a set of china, edible articles, and thirty
pounds more, were among the sacrifices which were made to the rapacious
impostor. On one occasion the fictitious Miss Blyth ordered Perigo to
buy her a live goose, for the purpose of being offered up as a burnt
offering to her familiar, for the purpose of destroying the works of
darkness.
The work of darkness was, indeed, approaching to its consummation.
Beggared by the repeated calls on his purse, Perigo began to be anxious
to open the bags, and regain possession of the contents. Unable any
longer to put him off, the female fiend brought a packet, which she
said came from Scarborough, and contained a potent charm. The contents
were to be mixed in a pudding, prepared for the purpose, and of that
pudding no one was to eat but Perigo and his wife. They obeyed, and the
consequences were such as might be expected. The husband ate sparingly,
for he disliked the taste, and he escaped with only suffering severe
torture; the wife fell a victim.
It will scarcely be believed that, so deeply rooted was her credulity,
the unfortunate woman, even when she was almost in her death agony,
extorted from her husband a promise to follow the directions of the
murderess. Two or three days after the wife had ceased to exist, a
letter came, pretending to be from Miss Blyth, which seemed more like
the composition of an incarnate demon than of a human being. Instead of
expressing the slightest sorrow, it attributed the death of the woman
to her having dared to touch the bags; and it added a threat which was
not unlikely to send a weak-minded man to join his murdered partner:
“Inasmuch as your wife,” said the writer, “has done this wicked thing,
she shall rise from the grave; stroke your face with the cold hand of
death; and you shall lose the use of one side.”
Had his blood been any thing but snow-broth, so much injury and insult
must have roused him. But the wretched gull long persisted to yield
a blind obedience to his infamous deceiver, who fleeced him without
mercy. It was not till he was rendered desperate by the threats of his
creditors, that he ventured to open the bags. He, of course, found them
filled with trash. His neighbours, to whom he bewailed his hard fate,
were possessed of more courage and sense than he was, and they carried
Mary Bateman before a magistrate. She was committed for the murder of
the wife, was found guilty at York assizes, and suffered on the gallows
the penalty of her crime.
The next character who claims our attention, though living for a great
part of his life under a disguise, must not be branded as an impostor.
The person alluded to is the celebrated Chevalier, generally known as
Madam, D’Eon. This remarkable individual, who was born at Tonnerre, in
France, in 1728, was of a good family. D’Eon was a man of brilliant
parts, a writer by no means contemptible on various subjects, an
accomplished diplomatist, and a brave officer. At one period he was
minister plenipotentiary to the British court. A bitter quarrel with
the Count de Guerchy, who succeeded him as ambassador, is assigned as
the reason for his not returning to France. It is probable, however,
that the real cause of his stay in this country was his acting as
private agent of Louis the Fifteenth, by whom he was allowed a pension.
D’Eon continued to reside in London for fourteen years, and was in
habits of friendship with the most distinguished persons.
Now comes the mystery; which still remains, and perhaps must ever
remain, unsolved. Rumours, at first faint, but daily acquiring
strength, had long been floating about, that D’Eon was a woman. There
were certain feminine indications in his voice and person, and he was
known to be averse from all affairs of gallantry, and to manifest
extreme caution with respect to females. At length it began to be
generally believed, both in England and France, that he had no title
to wear the dress of a male. Wagers, to a large amount, were laid
upon this subject; and, in 1777, one of them produced an indecent
trial before Lord Mansfield. “The action was brought by Mr. Hayes,
surgeon, against Jacques, a broker and underwriter, for the recovery
of seven hundred pounds; Jacques having, about six years before,
received premiums of fifteen guineas per cent., for every one of which
he stood engaged to return a hundred guineas, whenever it should be
proved that the Chevalier D’Eon was actually a woman.” In this cause,
three seemingly unexceptionable witnesses, two of whom were of the
medical profession, positively swore that they had obtained such
proof as admitted of no contradiction that D’Eon was of the female
sex. A verdict was in consequence given for the plaintiff; but it was
afterwards set aside on a point of law.
The humiliating manner in which, by this trial, he was brought before
the English public induced D’Eon to quit England. But it is a singular
circumstance that M. de Vergennes, one of the French ministers, in
a letter which he wrote to D’Eon, declared it to be the king’s will
that he “should resume the dress of his sex,”--meaning the dress of a
woman--and that this injunction was repeated on the Chevalier arriving
in France. It was obeyed, and, till the end of his long life, D’Eon
dressed, and was looked upon, as one of the softer sex. Early in the
French revolution, he returned to England, still as a female, and
remained here till his decease in 1810. Death proved the folly of
those who had forced him into petticoats; for his manhood was placed
beyond all doubt by an anatomical examination of the body. Why he was
metamorphosed, and why he continued to acquiesce in the change when
he might have safely asserted his sex, there appear to be no means of
discovering.
A being of a far different stamp comes next before us; Charles Price,
nicknamed Patch, a man who applied talents of no common order to the
vilest purposes. He was possessed of courage, penetration, foresight,
and presence of mind, and he degraded all these qualities by rendering
them subservient to fraud. No man ever was so perfect a master of the
art of disguise. Price, who was the son of a clothesman in Monmouth
Street, was not out of his boyhood when he began to manifest his
skill in cheating. When he was an apprentice, he put on the garb of a
gentleman, assumed the name of Bolingbroke, and defrauded his master
of a large quantity of goods. So well did he act his part, that his
master did not know him, and, when Price returned home, he was ordered
to carry the goods to the pretended Mr. Bolingbroke. His dishonest
practices were at last detected, and he ran away. For this conduct his
father disinherited him.
Price was afterwards a valet, and went the tour of Europe with Sir
Francis Blake Delaval. While he was at Copenhagen, he wrote a pamphlet
in vindication of the unfortunate Queen Matilda. He was subsequently
a brewer, a distiller, an inmate of the King’s Bench for having
defrauded the revenue, a lottery office keeper, and a gambler in the
Alley. His plausible manners gained for him a wife with a considerable
fortune, but he soon dissipated the money. About 1780, he began to
forge upon the Bank. To detect him was difficult, for he made his own
paper, with the proper water-marks, manufactured his own ink, engraved
his own plates, and, as far as possible, was his own negotiator. His
career, in spite of every effort to arrest it, was continued for six
years; in the course of which time he is said to have assumed no less
than forty-five disguises; he was by turns thin, corpulent, active,
decrepit, blooming with health, and sinking under disease. At last, in
1786, he was committed to Tothill Fields’ Bridewell, where, to escape
the shame of a public execution, he put a period to his existence.
Numerous instances might be adduced of individuals, gifted with
abilities far inferior to those of Price, who have levied contributions
to an enormous amount upon the credulity of the public. It must suffice
to give a specimen of them:--one was Miss Robertson, of Blackheath,
who, by representing herself as having had a large estate bequeathed
to her, contrived to make a multitude of egregious dupes; another was
an adventurer known as “The Fortunate Youth,” who employed a similar
pretence, and was equally successful. A third, whose pretension took a
higher flight, must not be forgotten. The late Mrs. Serres, who assumed
the title of Princess Olive of Cumberland, and pretended also to be
descended from a line of Polish princes, has secured for herself a
conspicuous place in the annals of imposture.
The most amusing, and perhaps the least noxious, of modern cheats,
was a female, who assumed the name of Caraboo. She pretended to be
a native of Javasu, in the Indian Ocean, and to have been carried
off by pirates, by whom she had been sold to the captain of a brig.
Her first appearance was in the spring of 1817, at Almondsbury, in
Gloucestershire. Having been ill used on board the ship, she had
jumped overboard, she said, swam on shore, and wandered about for six
weeks before she came to Almondsbury. The deception was tolerably well
sustained for two months; but at the end of that time, she disappeared,
probably being aware that she was on the point of being detected. It
was found that she was a native of Witheridge, in Devonshire, where
her father was a cobbler. Caraboo appears to have taken flight to
America.[11] How she fared in that quarter of the world is not known;
but, in 1824, she returned to England, and hired apartments in New Bond
Street, where she exhibited herself to the public. She seems to have
excited little attention, and was soon forgotten.
A very frequent case of imposture has been that of women pretending to
have the power of going without food, and to have fasted for two, or
three, or more years. Irksome and distressing as such a deceit must be,
it has often been carried on, for a short time, so dexterously as to
lull the suspicions of those around, who, being thus thrown off their
guard, were satisfied that the abstinence, which perhaps was really
persevered in for a short time, could be prolonged to any indefinite
period.
Margaret Senfrit, the girl of Spires, was believed to have fasted
three years. Catherine Binder, after continuing an alleged fast for
five years, was separated from her parents, and placed under the care
of four women, who affirmed that she had not eaten or drunk any thing
for fourteen days, but had washed her mouth with brandy and water, to
comfort her head and heart.
A young girl of Unna, who was said to have remained without eating or
drinking for six months, was closely watched; the first night after her
removal she was caught drinking a large cup of ale.
About 1800, the Osnaburg girl created great speculation. She had
fasted, by report, a long time. Doubts arising, she was watched, and
escaped the ordeal with her integrity unimpeached; but, a second
watching having been undertaken by two medical men, her tricks were
soon discovered.
Between 1808 and 1813, considerable interest was excited by various
notices, in the newspapers and journals, respecting a woman of the
name of Moore, living at Tutbury, in Staffordshire, who, from long
illness, and other causes, was reported to have lost all desire for
food, and at length acquired the art of living without any nourishment
at all. No great alteration was visible in her appearance, her memory
was very strong, and her piety extremely edifying. Being backed by
medical testimony, the account was received as entitled to some credit;
but all doubts were removed by watching the patient for sixteen
days and nights, which took place in September 1808. From that time
she attracted crowds of visiters from all parts of the country, who
witnessed her condition with a sort of religious awe, and seldom
quitted her without exercising their generosity towards her. Dr.
Henderson visited her in 1812, in company with Mr. Lawrence. She was
in bed, with a large Bible before her; she asserted she had tasted
no solid food for upwards of five years, and no drink for four, and
had no desire for either; and that she had not slept or lain down
in bed for more than three. They left her, fully satisfied, from
certain circumstances, that the history of her long fasting was a mere
fabrication; and Dr. Henderson adduced many arguments to prove the
absurdity of the imposture. The greatest wonder in the history was the
blind infatuation of those who could for an instant entertain an idea
of its truth.
Her dread of the repetition of the watching was a very suspicious
circumstance, and seemed to imply that she had narrowly escaped
detection; she said, that for nobody in the world would she undergo
a repetition; her attendant styled it “a trial for her life.” Yet
watching her for a fortnight, though sufficiently irksome, could have
had nothing alarming, unless it involved the risk of starvation, which,
it was afterwards proved, it did in reality.
At the earnest solicitation of the Rev. Leigh Richmond, she, however,
consented to undergo another watching, assenting to its propriety as
necessary to the establishment of truth. In April 1813, the watch was
commenced by a committee of nineteen gentlemen, four remaining at one
time in the room. She caught a severe cold whilst removing her from her
bed, and at the end of a week she had a very severe attack of fever.
On the ninth day she thought herself dying, and was very anxious to
make an affidavit as to her innocence of all imposition. With great
solemnity, she said, “In the face of Almighty God, and on my dying
bed, I declare that I have used no deception, and that for six years
I have taken nothing but once, the inside of a few black currants;
for the last four years and a half, nothing at all.” In spite of this
protestation, strong suspicions of fraud were excited, and, finally,
evidence of guilt and falsehood were discovered. Concealment was now
useless, and at last she publicly expressed her contrition for her
long-continued imposture.
At one time, two hundred pounds, from the contributions of a wondering
and credulous population, was placed for her in the hands of two
respectable persons in the town; but this sum was subsequently
withdrawn. The total amount of what she received was not known; but, as
her children and one or two attendants lived with her during the six
years of deception, it must have been pretty considerable.