A Voyage to Cacklogallinia appeared in London, in 1727, from the pen of a pseudonymous "Captain Samuel Brunt." Posterity has continued to preserve the anonymity of the author, perhaps more jealously than he would have wished. Whatever his real parentage, he must for the present be referred only to the literary family of which his progenitor "Captain Lemuel Gulliver" is the most distinguished member. Like so many other works of that period, A Voyage to Cacklogallinia has sometimes been attributed to Swift; its similarities to the fourth book of Gulliver's Travels are unmistakable. Again, the work has sometimes been attributed to Defoe. There is, however, no good reason to believe that either Defoe or Swift was concerned in its authorship, except in so far as both gave impetus to lesser writers in this form of composition.
Fortunately the authorship of the work is of little importance. It lives, not because of anything remarkable in the style or anything original in its author's point of view, but because of its satiric reflection of the background of its age. It is republished both because of its historical value and because of its peculiarly contemporary appeal today. Its satire needs no learned paraphernalia of footnotes; it can be readily understood and appreciated by readers in an age dominated on the one hand by economics and on the other, by science. Its satire—not too subtle—is as pertinent in our own period as it was two hundred years ago. Its irony is concerned with stock exchanges and feverish speculation. It is a tale of incredible inflation and abrupt and devastating depression. Its "voyage to the moon" has not lost its appeal to men and women who can still remember a period when human flights seemed incredible and who have lived to see "flying chariots" spanning oceans and continents and ascending into the stratosphere.
The first and most obvious interest of the tale is in its reflection of economic conditions in the early eighteenth century. The period following the Revolution of 1688 saw tremendous changes in attitudes toward credit and speculation. A new and powerful economic instrument was put into the hands of men who had not yet discovered its dangers. With the natural confusion which ensued between "credit" and "wealth," with a new emphasis upon the possible values inherent in "expectations of wealth" rather than immediate control over money, an unheard-of speculative emphasis appeared in business. The rapid increase in new trades and new industrial systems afforded possibilities of immediate rise to affluence. The outside public engaged in speculation to a degree not before known. Exaggerated gains, violent fluctuations in prices, meteoric rises and collapses—these gave rein to a gambling spirit perennial in man. The word "Projects" enters into literature as a recurrent motif, strangely familiar to our present generation, which needs only to turn Defoe's Essay on Projects into contemporary language to see the similarities between the year 1697 and the year 1939. That essay is filled with talk of "new Inventions, Engines, and I know not what, which have rais'd the Fancies of Credulous People to such height, that merely on the shadow of Expectation, they have form'd Companies, chose Committees, appointed Officers, Shares, and Books, rais'd great Stocks, and cri'd up an empty Notion to that degree that People have been betray'd to part with their Money for Shares in a New-Nothing."
Of the many speculative schemes of the early eighteenth century, none is better known than the "South Sea Bubble." After a long period during which English trade with the Spanish West Indies was carried on by subterfuge, an Act of Parliament in 1710 incorporated into a joint-stock company the state creditors, upon the basis of their loan of ten million pounds to the Government and conferred upon them the monopoly of the English trade with the Indies. In spite of these advantages, however, the South Sea Company found itself so hampered and limited in credit that it offered to convert the national debt into a "single redeemable obligation" to the company in return for a monopoly of British foreign trade outside England. The immediate and spectacular effect of that offer is reflected in the many descriptions, both serious and satiric, of an era of speculation which to many generations might seem incredible—though not to this generation which has itself lived through an orgy of speculation.
Clearly the South Sea Bubble, which reached its climax in 1720, was the chief source of Captain Samuel Brunt's satire, which has an important place in the minor literature called forth by the wild speculation connected with the Bubble.[1] If the "Projects" proposed to Captain Brunt[2] seem extreme to any modern reader, let him turn to the list of "bubbles," still accessible in many places.[3] Nothing in Brunt is so fantastic as many of the actual schemes suggested and acted upon in the eighteenth century. The possibility of extracting gold from the mountains of the moon is no more fanciful than several of the proposals seriously received by Englishmen under the spell of speculation. As in the kingdom of Cacklogallinia, so in London, men mortgaged their homes and women sold their jewels [4] in order to purchase shares in wildcat companies, born one day, only to die the next. As the anonymous author of one of many South Sea Ballads wrote in his "Merry Remarks upon Exchange Alley Bubbles":
Our greatest ladies hither come,
And ply in chariots daily;
Oft pawn their jewels for a sum
To venture in the Alley.
The meteoric rise in the price of shares in the moon-mountain project of the Cacklogallinians is no greater than the actual rise in prices of shares during the South Sea Bubble, when, between April and July, 1720, shares rose from £120 to £1,020. The fluctuating market of the Cacklogallinian 'Change, which responded to every rumor, follows faithfully the actual situation in London in 1720; and the final crash which shook Cacklogallinian foundations—subtly suggested by Brunt's unwillingness to return and face the enraged multitude—is an echo of the crash which shook England when the Bubble was pricked.
But its reflection of the economic background of the age is not the only reason for the interest and importance of A Voyage to Cacklogallinia, either in its generation or in our own. The little tale has its place in the history of science, particularly in that movement of science which, beginning with the "new astronomy" in the early seventeenth century, was to produce one of the most important chapters in the history of aviation.[5] So far as literature is concerned, A Voyage to Cacklogallinia belongs to the literary genre of "voyages to the moon" which from Lucian to H.G. Wells (even to modern "pulp magazines") have enthralled human imagination. Yet while its fantasy looks back to Lucian's Icaro-Menippus, who flew to the moon by using the wing of a vulture and the wing of an eagle, its suggestion of the growing scientific temper of modern times makes it much more than mere fantasy. In the semilegendary history of Iran is to be found a tale, retold by Firdausi in the Shaknameh of Kavi Usan, who "essayed the sky To outsoar angels" by fastening four eagles to his throne. The Iranian motif was adopted in the romances of Alexander the Great and so passed into European literature. The researches of Leonardo da Vinci upon the muscles of birds and the principles of the flight of birds brought over to the realm of science ideas long familiar in tale and legend. Francis Bacon did not hesitate to suggest in his Natural History (Experiment 886) that there are possibilities of human flight by the use of birds and "advises others to think further upon this experiment as giving some light to the invention of the art of flying."
John Wilkins, one of the most influential early members of the Royal Society, in his Mathematicall Magick,[6] in 1648, suggested "four several ways whereby this flying in the air hath been or may be attempted." He listed, as the second, "By the help of fowls." Ten years earlier there appeared in England during the same year two works which were to have great influence in popularizing the theme of light: Wilkins's Discovery of a World in the Moone,[7] a serious semiscientific work on the nature of the moon and the possibility of man's flying thither, and a prose romance by Francis Godwin, The Man in the Moone: or, A Discourse of a Voyage thither by D. Gonsales.[8] These two works were largely responsible for the emergence of the old theme of flight to the moon in imaginative literature; the English translation of Lucian at almost the same time perhaps aided in advancing the popularity of the idea.
The similarities between Brunt's romance and Godwin's tale a century earlier are too striking to be fortuitous, and, indeed, there is no question that Brunt used Godwin as one of his chief sources. An earlier Robinson Crusoe, an idyllic Gulliver's Travels, Godwin's The Man in the Moone helped to establish in English literature the vogue of the traveler's tale to strange countries. Domingo, like Captain Samuel Brunt, draws from the "exotic" tradition. Both travelers find themselves in strange lands; both experience many other adventures before they make their way to the moon, drawn by birds.