Sketches of Imposture, Deception, and Credulity

by R. A. Davenport

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.”