Hot Meals.
POWELL, THE FIRE-EATER.
“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:—
Genius unrewarded.
We have been lately honoured with the presence of the celebrated Mr. Powell, who, I suppose, must formerly have existed in a comet; and by one of those unforeseen accidents which sometimes happen to the most exalted characters, has dropped from its tail.
His common food is brimstone and fire, which he licks up as eagerly as a hungry peasant would a mess of pottage; he feeds on this extraordinary diet before princes and peers, to their infinite satisfaction; and such is his passion for this terrible element, that if he were to come hungry into your kitchen, while a sirloin was roasting, he would eat up the fire, and leave the beef.
It is somewhat surprising, that the friends of real merit have not yet promoted him, living, as we do, in an age favourable to men of genius: Mr. Johnson has been rewarded with a pension for writing, and Mr. Sheridan for speaking well; but Mr. Powell, who eats well, has not yet been noticed by any administration. Obliged to wander from place to place, instead of indulging, himself in private with his favourite dish, he is under the uncomfortable necessity of eating in public, and helping himself from the kitchen fire of some paltry alehouse in the country.
O tempora! O mores![81]
[81] Lounger’s Common Place Book