“Oh! for a muse of _fire_!”
One fire burns out another burning. The jack-puddings who swallow flame
at “the only booth” in every fair, have extinguished remembrance of
Powell the fire-eater--a man so famous in his own day, that his name
still lives. Though no journal records the time of his death, no line
eulogizes his memory, no stone marks his burial-place, there are two
articles written during his lifetime, which, being noticed here, may
“help his fame along” a little further. Of the first, by a correspondent
of Sylvanus Urban, the following is a sufficient abstract.
_Ashbourn, Derbyshire, Jan. 20, 1755._
Last spring, Mr. Powell, the famous fire-eater, did us the honour of a
visit at this town; and, as he set forth in his printed bills, that he
had shown away not only before most of the crowned heads in Europe, but
even before the Royal Society of London, and was dignified with a
curious and very ample silver medal, which, he said, was bestowed on him
by that learned body, as a testimony of their approbation, for eating
what nobody else could eat, I was prevailed upon, at the importunity of
some friends, to go and see a sight, that so many great kings and
philosophers had not thought below their notice. And, I confess, though
neither a superstitious nor an incurious man, I was not a little
astonished at his wonderful performances in the fire-eating way.
After many restless days and nights, and the profoundest researches into
the nature of things, I almost despaired of accounting for the strange
phenomenon of a human and perishable creature eating red hot coals,
taken indiscriminately out of a large fire, broiling steaks upon his
tongue, swallowing huge draughts of liquid fire as greedily as a country
squire does roast beef and strong beer. Thought I to myself, how can
that element, which we are told is ultimately to devour all things, be
devoured itself, as familiar diet, by a mortal man?--Here I stuck, and
here I might have stuck, if I had not met with the following anecdote by
M. Panthot, doctor of physic and member of the college of Lyons:--
“The secret of fire-eating was made public by a servant to one
Richardson, an Englishman, who showed it in France about the year 1667,
and was the first performer of the kind that ever appeared in Europe. It
consists only in rubbing the hands, and thoroughly washing the mouth,
lips, tongue, teeth, and other parts that are to touch the fire, with
pure spirit of sulphur. This burns and cauterizes the epidermis, or
upper skin, till it becomes as hard as thick leather, and every time the
experiment is tried it becomes still easier than before. But if, after
it has been very often repeated, the upper skin should grow so callous
and horny as to become troublesome, washing the parts affected with very
warm water, or hot wine, will bring away all the shrivelled or parched
epidermis. The flesh, however, will continue tender and unfit for such
business till it has been frequently rubbed over again with the same
spirit.
“This preparative may be rendered much stronger and more efficacious, by
mixing equal quantities of spirit of sulphur, sal ammoniac, essence of
rosemary, and juice of onions.
“The bad effects which frequently swallowing red-hot coals, melted
sealing wax, rosin, brimstone, and other calcined and inflammable
matter, might have had upon his stomach, were prevented by drinking
plentifully of warm water and oil, as soon as he left the company, till
he had vomited all up again.”
My author further adds, that any person who is possessed of this secret,
may safely walk over burning coals, or red-hot plough-shares; and he
fortifies his assertion by the example of blacksmiths and forgemen, many
of whom acquire such a degree of callosity, by often handling hot
things, that they will carry a glowing bar of iron in their naked hands,
without hurt.
Whether Mr. Powell will take it kindly of me thus to have published his
secret, I cannot tell; but as he now begins to drop into years, has no
children that I know of, and may die suddenly, or without making a will,
I think it is a great pity so genteel an occupation should become one of
the _artes perditæ_, as possibly it may, if proper care is not taken;
and therefore hope, after this information, some true-hearted Englishman
will take it up again for the honour of his country, when he reads in
the newspapers, _Yesterday died, much lamented, the famous Mr._ Powell.
_He was the best, if not the only fire-eater in this world, and it is
greatly to be feared his art is dead with him._
* * * * *
Notwithstanding the preceding disclosure of Powell’s “grand secret,” he
continued to maintain his good name and reputation till after Dr.
Johnson was pensioned, in the year 1762. We are assured of the fact by
the internal evidence of the following article, preserved by a collector
of odd things, who obtained it he knew not how:--