CHAPTER III.
THE CLAIM OF THE INVENTOR.

In the present century, when so many facilities exist for the diffusion of knowledge, and when every new discovery and invention is eagerly welcomed and immediately noised abroad to every country of the globe, it is hard to believe that the inventor of an instrument of the highest scientific value, destined to play an important part in social and commercial life, should have been suffered to live and die in unrecognised obscurity. Still harder is it to believe that his invention passed into almost complete oblivion, unacknowledged by most of the leading scientific men of his day and generation. But hardest of all is it to believe that when at last attempts were made to give to him, whose name and fame had thus been permitted to languish, the credit of the splendid researches in which he wore his life away, those attempts could be met on the one hand by an almost complete apathy, and on the other by a chorus of denial, not only that any such invention was made, but that the inventor had ever intended to invent anything of the kind. Yet nothing less than this has happened. Philipp Reis, the inventor of the Telephone, the first to scheme, and carry out into execution, an instrument for conveying to a distance by means of electric currents the tones of human speech and human song, is no longer amongst the living. He cannot reclaim for himself the honours that have been showered upon the heads of others, who, however worthy of those honours they were—none will deny that—were only not the first to deserve them. In his quiet grave, in the obscurity of the German village where his daily work was done, he sleeps undisturbed by the strife of tongues. To him it matters nothing now, whether his genius be recognised and his invention applauded, or whether ignorance, and calumny, and envy, alike decry both. Nevertheless, the memory of him and of his work will live, and will descend to posterity as of one whom his own generation knew not, whose peculiar greatness passed unheeded save by a chosen few. Nor will posterity be the less ready to accord honour to him who in his own day could not even obtain justice. Yet something more than a mere historic justice for the poor schoolmaster of Friedrichsdorf does the world owe; justice to the great invention that is now imperishably associated with his name: justice to the struggling family whom, instead of enriching, it impoverished; and, not least, the justice of patience, whilst the story of his life and work, and the words he himself has written thereupon, are unfolded.

The point at issue, and for which justice has been invoked, and of which ample proof is given in these pages, is not whether Philipp Reis invented a telephone—that is not denied—but whether Philipp Reis invented the Telephone. The irony of fate, not to say the curious ignorance which is often called by a less polite name, has decreed by the mouth of popular scientific writers, of eminent engineers, and of accomplished barristers, that Reis’s invention was not an instrument for transmitting human speech at all—was not intended even for this—that it was a purely musical instrument in its inception, and that it has always so remained. These clever persons begin to persuade themselves of this view, and forthwith invent a question-begging epithet, and dub the instrument as a mere “tone-telephone”! If some unprejudiced person ventures to speak of Reis’s instrument as having, as a matter of history, transmitted speech, all the contemptuous reply that he gets from the eminent somebody, who poses as an authority for the moment, is: Oh, but, you know, it was only a tone-telephone, a musical toy, and when some one was singing to it you fancied you caught the words of the song which, during singing, were occasionally projected along with the music. I’ve always regarded the accounts of its transmission of speech as a good joke; all it could possibly do was occasionally to utter an articulate noise in combination with a musical tone. Besides, you know, Mr. Reis was a musical man, who only intended it to sing, and if it spoke it only spoke by accident; but such an accident never did or could occur, because the construction of it shows that it not only did not but could not transmit speech. If Mr. Reis had really penetrated the fundamental principle of the articulating telephone, he would have arranged his instruments very differently; and then, you know, if he really had transmitted speech the discovery would have attracted so much attention at the time. Moreover, if he had meant it to talk, he would have called it the articulating telephone, and not a telephone for transmitting tones, you know; no one before Graham Bell ever dreamed of using a tympanum to catch articulate sounds, or had he done so he would have been laughed at.

To all such clap-trap as this—and there has been enough ad nauseam of such—the one reply is silence, and a mute appeal to the original writings of Reis and his contemporaries, and to the tangible witness of inexorable scientific facts. All the most important of these will be found in their appropriate places. They amply establish the following points:—

Before proceeding to discuss these three points we will pause for a moment, first to clear away a lurking verbal fallacy, then to point out the partial historic acknowledgment already conceded to Reis’s claims.

Reis did not call his instrument an “articulating telephone.” Neither did he call it a “tone telephone.” He called it simply “The Telephone” (Das Telephon),[6] as will be seen in his own first memoir (p. 57). He did speak of his instrument again and again as an instrument “for reproducing tones.” But it must be remembered that the German word Ton (plural Töne) used by Reis is more nearly equivalent to our English word “sound,” and includes articulate as well as musical tones, unless the context expressly indicates otherwise. So that when Reis talked of the Reproduction of Tones he was using words which did not limit his meaning to musical tones, as indeed his memoirs show in other ways. He started from a consideration of the mechanical structure of the human ear, and endeavoured to construct an instrument on those lines because the ear can take up all kinds of tones. Reis was not so foolish as to imagine that the construction of the human ear was solely designed for musical, to the exclusion of articulate tones. We are not aware that the epithet, Tone-Telephone, was ever applied to Reis’s instruments until it became advisable(!) to seek a means of disparaging an old invention in order to exalt a new one. And it is a curious point that the true musical “tone-telephones,” i.e. instruments designed expressly to transmit specific musical tones for the purpose of multiple telegraphy, were invented (by Varley, Gray, La Cour, Graham Bell, and Edison) long after Reis’s Telephone, between the years 1870 and 1876. All these were dependent practically upon the tuning-fork system of vibration, whereas Reis’s system was based on the tympanum of the ear. To classify Reis’s invention with these would be absurd.

Having shown the fallacy bound up in the term “tone-telephone,” we will dismiss the point with the remark that henceforth it will be a waste of time to argue with any person who applies that question-begging epithet to Reis’s invention.

Partial historic acknowledgments of Reis’s claims as inventor of The Telephone have been made from time to time by those best qualified to speak.