A member of the European Union, Belgium is located between the Netherlands, Germany, and France. The country takes its name from its first recorded inhabitants, ancient Celts known as Belgae, and has a rich history, having been a province of the Roman Empire, the heart of the Carolingian dynasty, and a celebrated medieval textile center. Today, among its many great attractions are such historic cities as Brussels, Ghent, and Bruges, together with museums of Flemish art. While it is a country of scientific advances (a world leader in heart and lung transplants as well as in fertility treatments [World 2000, 129]), it is also, according to many, a place of miracles.

I made my first investigative pilgrimage to Belgium in 1998 (accompanied by local skeptic Tim Trachet). I returned in 2006 (with Dutch science writer and translator Jan Willem Nienhuys) as a side excursion from travels in the Netherlands (Nickell 2007a). On both occasions, I looked at purported wonders such as the healing shrine known as the Belgian Lourdes, an ancient miracle statue, and a vial of the Holy Blood of Christ.

The Belgian Lourdes

I have twice visited the Shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes (named after the famous healing-spring grotto in the French Pyrenees) at Oostakker, Belgium. The shrine’s most celebrated miracle is the healing of a laborer named Pierre De Rudder, whose lower left leg was broken by a felled tree in 1867. Reportedly, De Rudder refused amputation and for eight years suffered constant pain from his open and festering wound. Then in April 1875, he visited the Oostakker shrine where, allegedly, he was instantaneously healed, after which he “walked normally until his death in 1898” at age seventy-six (Neiman 1995, 100–101). On July 25, 1908, the Holy See of Bruges declared the healing supernatural.

Over time, a number of legends grew up about the case, including a claim that De Rudder had been treated by professor Thiriar, physician to King Léopold II (a claim dropped by the miraculists after a denial by Thiriar himself). More significantly, it was claimed that prior to 1875 De Rudder’s unmended leg could be twisted at the fracture point to the extent of revolving the foot half a turn (i.e., putting the heel in front). Then, when De Rudder was allegedly cured in 1875, the mending was “instantaneous.” Unfortunately, most of the important testimony in the case went unrecorded for eighteen years, and memories of this age are subject to error (Delcour 1987).

For example, Dr. Van Hoestenberghe claimed that he had performed the twisting movement on De Rudder’s leg, when in fact the physician’s recollection was a false memory. A letter he had written on May 12, 1875 (which had become lost by the time of a canonical inquiry in 1893 but was rediscovered by 1957) revealed that he had not performed the twist, nor even seen it, but had only heard persons talk about it.

Moreover, the twist was apparently not demonstrated at the point of the fracture by showing the naked leg. Instead, it was done with the leg clothed, so the observers could not know where the twist actually occurred. This is a crucial point because certain supple persons can turn their feet almost completely around, like De Rudder, without benefit of any abnormal mobility.1 Although some claimed the leg was uncovered when they saw De Rudder twist it, two men who were present for his demonstrations “well over a hundred times” stated the leg was never naked on those occasions (Delcour 1987). De Rudder’s eagerness to demonstrate the effect at every opportunity suggests not a suffering man happy to suffer more but someone performing a stunt with a purpose—one that will soon become clear.

As to the supposed instantaneous nature of the healing, that claim depends on the dubious testimony of just three persons: an illiterate woman who was apparently represented by hearsay and a father and son who seemed eager to help certify a miracle. (Their story even improved over the years.)

In contrast is the evidence that De Rudder had actually undergone “a certain improvement” about fourteen months after the accident. We know that the Viscount who employed De Rudder at the time of the accident gave the invalid worker a pension, characterized as a “nice salary.” It was rumored about the village that De Rudder was malingering in order to effect a life of ease.

After the Viscount died on July 26, 1874, his heir stopped the pension, whereupon De Rudder’s wife and daughter had to begin working. Some eight months later, De Rudder may have hit on a clever plan that would allow him to abruptly end his pretended disability so he could, necessarily, return to work: he went to Oostakker and claimed a miraculous cure. However, he returned home with a scar that, reported by Dr. Van Hoestenberghe, was “such as one finds a long time after a healing” (qtd. in Delcour 1987).

Other medical evidence likewise supports the view that De Rudder’s healing was less than miraculous. A broken leg such as he suffered could—with immobility and good hygiene—have healed without amputation. Besides, the bones (see figure 1) grew together obliquely in a fashion a surgeon would not have been proud of. Also, that which would have indeed been beyond nature—the reconstitution of De Rudder’s dead tendon—did not occur (De Meester 1957, 106). One touted proof that the cure was instantaneous comes from the absence of thickening of the bone callus at the mending site, but this thickening could have been reabsorbed by the body in several months or a few years ( Encyclopedia Britannica 2009, s.v. “callus”). Adrien Delcour (1987) concludes that the physicians who consider the De Rudder case miraculous almost unanimously do so on the basis that the cure was instantaneous, and that, as we have seen, is dependent on dubious testimony. Indeed, there is evidence to the contrary.

The De Rudder case gives one pause regarding other claims of miraculous healing at Oostakker, Lourdes, and elsewhere. Such certifications are often vague and unscientific. Miracle is not a scientific concept, and miracle claims are typically only those found to be “medically inexplicable.” Thus, claimants are engaging in a logical fallacy called “arguing from ignorance”—that is, drawing a conclusion based on a lack of knowledge (Nickell 2007, 202–205). The De Rudder case is even worse, since there is evidence that an injury, healed long before, was passed off as instantaneous—a miracle that wasn’t.

Miracle Statue

Figure 2. The little statue of the Virgin at Belgium's most-frequented pilgrimage site is said to be miraculous despite being a replacement.

Belgium’s most frequented pilgrimage site is Scherpenheuvel (Dutch for “sharp hill”) in the north-central part of the country. There, in the Middle Ages, stood a great, solitary oak that was visible from all around. The spot was a center of superstitious practices and pagan worship until, in the fourteenth century, a small wooden figure of the Virgin Mary was affixed to the tree, and the makeshift shrine began to gain fame. In time, miracles began to be attributed to the little statue (see figure 2).

The first reputed miracle occurred in 1514 when, according to a pious little legend, a shepherd or shepherd boy discovered the figurine lying on the ground and intended to take it home. However, the Virgin Mary miraculously transfixed him—froze him in place—preventing the statue’s removal. Subsequently, the shrine became more widely known.

In 1602, a little wooden chapel was built at the site, and the following year a new miracle was reported: the statue wept bloody tears, reportedly in protest over the religious schism then plaguing the Low Countries.

Still another miracle was said to have occurred in 1604 when troops of the Archduke Albert (the Spanish-appointed governor of the Low Countries) routed the Protestants and retook Ostend. Albert and his wife, the Archduchess Isabella, determined to thank God by commissioning the erection of a monumental baroque basilica at the site, inaugurated in 1627. Albert died in the meantime, but Isabella walked to the inauguration, giving rise to pilgrimages that have continued ever since, supplicants seeking their own miracles in the form of healings and other blessings ( Scherpenheuvel n.d.; Scherpenheuvel-Zichem n.d.; “Scherpenheuvel-Zichem” 2009).

What are we to make of the alleged miracles of Scherpenheuvel? First, we should remember that the site was considered magical before it was taken over by Catholic Christians, part of a common process known as syncretism in which one religion is grafted onto another. (For example, Catholic conquistadors in Mexico erected a shrine to the Virgin Mary on a hill where the Aztecs had a temple to their virgin goddess Tonantzin [Mullen 1998, 6; Smith 1983, 20; Nickell 1993, 29–34; Nickell 2004, 51–55].) In short, one may ask, are the alleged miracles of Scherpenheuvel attributable to the statue of the Virgin and the power of the Virgin herself or to pagan deities? Or might there have been no miracles at all?

The story of the transfixed shepherd boy is one of those vague, pious folktales lacking any evidence to support it. If we are prepared to believe a shepherd boy considered taking the statue, we can also believe it was only an attack of conscience that stayed his hand, and the rest of the tale is attributable to exaggeration.

As to the statue’s bloody tears, that figurine was not the same one that had transfixed the shepherd boy. The original had been stolen in 1580 when the region was pillaged by Dutch Protestant iconoclasts (those hostile to the worship of images). In other words, the statue that legendarily saved itself from a shepherd’s grasp was unable to stave off marauding anti-idolaters, suggesting at best its powers were limited.

Thus the bloody tears were produced by a replacement statue, and in any case, the phenomenon—judging from numerous modern examples—was likely a pious fraud. In 1985, for instance, a statue of the virgin that wept and bled in the home of a Quebec railroad worker proved on examination to have an applied mixture of blood and animal fat. When the room warmed from the body heat of the pilgrims, the substance liquefied and trickled realistically. In another case in Sardinia, Italy, in 1995, DNA tests on the blood revealed that it belonged to the statue’s owner (Nickell 2007b, 227–228). (Her attorney explained, “Well, the Virgin Mary had to get that blood from somewhere.”)

The 1604 military victory at Ostend does not seem so miraculous if one adopts the perspective of the Protestants or if one wonders why we should think statues miraculous when desirable things happen (a statue’s theft is prevented, a battle won) but not unmiraculous when bad things occur (a statue is stolen, marauders overrun the land).

Given the image of the Virgin Mary as healer and protectress (Mullen 1998, 10), it is not surprising that desperate people still seek miracles at Scherpenheuvel, where I have witnessed the votive candles, the fervent prayers, the posted notes beseeching “Moeder Maria” for supernatural assistance. Such help may seem to come to those who count only the good luck; otherwise they discount the bad or even—sad to say—blame themselves for not praying hard enough.

The Holy Blood

John Calvin (1543, 226) critically observed that alleged blood of Jesus “is exhibited in more than a hundred places,” one of the most celebrated being the Basilica of the Holy Blood in Bruges. I twice visited the site, and on the second occasion (October 25, 2006) I was able to hold in my hands the reliquary supposedly containing the very blood of Christ (figure 3). It has been called “Europe’s holiest relic” (Coupe 2009, 132).

According to legend, the Bruges relic was obtained in Palestine in the mid-twelfth century, during the Second Crusade, by Thierry of Alsace. He allegedly received it from his relative Baldwin II, then King of Jerusalem, as a reward for meritorious service. However, chronicles of the crusades fail to mention the relic being present in Jerusalem (Aspeslag 1988, 10). Sources claim that Thierry, Count of Flanders, brought the relic to Bruges in 1150, while another source reports it arrived in 1204. In any event, the earliest document that refers to it dates from 1270 (Catholic Encyclopedia 1913, s.v. “Bruges”; Aspeslag 1988, 9–11).

The reliquary, housed in the twelfth-century Basilica of the Holy Blood, is now brought out daily for veneration by the faithful. Although mistakenly characterized by at least one source as “a fragment of cloth stained with what is said to be the blood of Christ” (McDonald 2009, 145), it in fact consists of “clotted blood” contained in a vial set in a glass-fronted cylinder, each end of which is covered with gold coronets decorated with angels. The vial (made of rock crystal rather than glass) has been determined to be an eleventh-or twelfth-century Byzantine perfume bottle.

In 1310 Pope Clement V issued a papal bull granting indulgences to pilgrims who visited the chapel at Bruges and venerated the blood. At that time, believers claimed the blood miraculously returned to its original liquid state every Friday at noon. This not only sounds like a magic trick, but it evokes the similar “miracle” of the blood of St. Januarius at Naples—a phenomenon that forensic analyst John F. Fischer and I replicated, utilizing a mixture of olive oil, melted beeswax, and red pigment. In addition to St. Januarius, some twenty other saints have reportedly yielded magically liquefying blood. My Italian colleague, chemist Luigi Garlaschelli, externally examined one of these in its sealed vial and discovered that the “blood” simply liquefied whenever the temperature rose (Nickell 2007c, 44–49, 169–170).

Unfortunately, the Holy Blood at Bruges soon stopped liquefying, supposedly as the result of some blasphemy that occurred later in 1310. The miracle recurred only one more time, in 1388 (Aspeslag 1988, 11).

Naturally, I wanted to get a good look at the “blood,” so I twice stood in the pilgrims’ line, supposedly to pray over the reliquary (again, see figure 3). In fact, although I bowed respectfully, I used the two brief occasions to scrutinize the substance. I observed that it had a waxen look and was bespeckled with “coagulated drops” that have suspiciously remained red (Bruges 1998, 28) unlike real blood, which blackens with age (Kirk 1974, 194–195).

In brief, the Holy Blood of Bruges lacks a credible provenance, since it has no record for a dozen centuries after the death of Jesus and is contained in a medieval bottle. It appeared with a profusion of other dubious blood relics, including several with which it had in common the property of liquefying and resolidifying, suggestive of a magic trick. Both that behavior and its current appearance are incompatible with genuine old blood and are instead indicative of a pious fraud.

Note

1. States Adrien Delcour (1987): “At the price of slight hip dislocation certain rather supple persons (the author of the present lines, for example) can manage without effort to turn their foot around, with the great toe almost to the back by rotation [of] the ankle. This exercise should have been easier for De Rudder because he had lost the extender tendon of the big toe.”

References

• Aspeslag, Pierre. 1988. Chapel of the Holy Blood, Bruges. Ostend, Belgium: s.v. Van Mieghem A.
• Bruges Tourist Guide. 1998. Brussels, Belgium: Editions THILL S.A.
• Calvin, John. 1543. Treatise on Relics, trans. Count Valerian Krasinski 1854; 2nd ed. Edinburgh: John Stone, Hunter, and Col., 1870, 217–218. (Reprinted without translator’s notes but with an introduction by Joe Nickell, Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 2009.)
• Catholic Encyclopedia. 1913. New York: Encyclopedia Press.
• Coupe, Alison, ed. 2009. Michelin Belgium Luxembourg (travel guide). Watford, Herts, England: Michelin Apa Publications.
• Delcour, Adrien. 1987. A great ‘Lourdes miracle’: the cure of Pierre de Rudder or, what is the value of testimony? A paper by Delcour of Brussels, Belgium, translated by Jan Willem Nienhaus.
• De Meester, Canon A. 1957. Report of the Holy See of Bruges; cited in Delcour 1987.
• Kirk, Paul L. 1974. Crime Investigation, 2nd ed. New York: John Wiley and Sons.
• McDonald, George. 2009. Frommer’s Belgium, Holland & Luxembourg, 11th ed. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley.
• Mullen, Peter. 1998. Shrines of Our Lady. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
• Nieman, Carol. 1995. Miracles: The Extraordinary, the Impossible and the Divine. New York: Viking Studio Books.
• Nickell, Joe. 1993. Looking for a Miracle. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books.
• —. 2004. The Mystery Chronicles: More Real-Life X-Files. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 2007a. The Netherlands: Visions and revisions. Skeptical Inquirer 31:6(Nov./Dec.), 16–19.
• —. 2007b. Adventures in Paranormal Investigation. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 2007c. Relics of the Christ. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky.
• Notre Dame de Lourdes a Oostakker. 1975. Souvenir booklet in French (“Imprimature Gradae, 7–4–1975, O. Schelfhout, vic. Gen.”), distributed at the shrine.
• Scherpenheuvel: Famous Shrine of Our Lady. N.d. Pilgrimage information sheet in English, provided at the basilica.
• Scherpenheuvel-Zichem. N.d. Large color folder with text in four languages. Brabant, Belgium: Hageland.
• Scherpenheuvel-Zichem. 2009. Available online at http://enwikipedia.org/wiki/Scherpenheuvel-Zichem (accessed August 4, 2009).
• Smith, Jody Brant. 1983. The Image of Guadalupe. Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
• World Desk Reference, 3rd ed. 2000. New York: Dorling Kindersley Publishing.

Legendary American singer Elvis Presley is heralded not only as the major innovator, “The King,” of rock ’n’ roll but also as a godlike figure inviting comparison with Jesus—complete with alleged healings and resurrection-like appearances. Looking at this mythology in the making can provide

insights into the mythology that developed around the central figure of Christianity two millennia before. Here, we analyze Elvis’s developing myth, study a recorded séance, visit two sites—one where Elvis’s apparitions have been reported (figure 1) and another where the apparitions sometimes eat (figure 2)—and consider other sidelights.

Elvis

Elvis Aron Presley was born January 8, 1935, in East Tupelo, Mississippi. Influenced by the music around him (including that of the Pentecostal church he attended with his parents), he went on to blend largely white country-and-western music with predominantly black rhythm-and-blues to help create a new American pop-music genre, rock ’n’ roll. With songs like “Heartbreak Hotel,” “All Shook Up,” and “Jailhouse Rock,” plus more than thirty movies (beginning with Love Me Tender in 1956), he became a superstar.

However, by the late 1970s, Elvis’s performances were deteriorating, and his overweight appearance had begun to draw jokes. In 1977, allegations of drug abuse and odd behavior surfaced in a book by three of his former employees titled Elvis: What Happened? Before the star could respond to the charges, he was discovered dead on August 16 at his Memphis, Tennessee, mansion—Graceland. An autopsy revealed that drugs were a contributing factor (Collier’s Encyclopedia, s.v. “Elvis Aron Presley”).

Along with countless others, I can still recall where I was when the news came of Elvis’s death. I was in my apartment in West Los Angeles (where I was working as an armed guard while attending Paul Stader’s Hollywood Stunt School). As I noted in my personal journal for that Tuesday: “While [I was] writing, there was a knock at my door. I found a young man—about 19, drunk, beer can still in hand, tears streaming down his face—who told me Elvis had just died. That incident is evidence of the impact he had.”

Developing Mythology

Others, however, reacted with much deeper emotion. Many of Elvis’s followers began to exhibit a “deitific regard” toward the dead star (Banks 2004, 222), prompted in part by Elvis himself. Before his death, the biography Elvis: What Happened? reported:

While the rest of the world recognizes that Elvis Aron Presley is something more than an ordinary human being, the one person who believes that most passionately is Presley himself. He is addicted to the study of the Bible, mystical religion, numerology, psychic phenomena, and the belief in life after death. He firmly believes he has the powers of psychic healing by the laying on of hands. He believes he will be reincarnated. He believes he has the strength of will to move clouds in the air, and he is also convinced that there are beings on other planets. He firmly believes he is a prophet who was destined to lead, designated by God for a special role in life. (West et al. 1977, 157)

Now, following Elvis’s death, grandiose claims began to proliferate. Someone noticed that “Elvis” is an anagram of “lives.” Parallels have been drawn between Elvis and Jesus:

• For example, Elvis was said not to be buried in his grave but to be hiding elsewhere (Southwell and Twist 2004, 20). (In Matthew [28: 1–15], when Jesus’ tomb was found empty, the chief priests told the soldiers to say, “His disciples came by night and stole him away while we were asleep.”)
• After his death Elvis was reportedly witnessed boarding an airplane (Southwell and Twist 2004, 20), and there were subsequently “numerous accounts of ‘Elvis sightings’ in malls, burger restaurants, and airports throughout the United States” (Banks 1996). An Elvis Is Alive Museum was even created by a Baptist minister with displays of photographs, FBI files, and other memorabilia that supposedly provide evidence that the singer never died (“Elvis Is Alive” 2008). (In the gospels, after his resurrection, Jesus made appearances to his disciples and many others [e.g., John 20: 19–29; 1 Corinthians 15: 4–8].)
• In time, Elvis’s mythological status began to include “tales that recount his healings of illness, blindness, and sorrow through dreams and his music” (Banks 2004, 222). (As related, for example, in Luke [4:40–41; 18:43], Jesus went about healing the sick, the blind, and the possessed.)
• On the wall around Graceland, Elvis’s followers have written inscriptions: “Elvis, we believe always and forever”; “Elvis, you are my God and my King”; and “Elvis, every mountain I have had to climb, you carried me over on your back” (Banks 2004, 222). (The New Testament contains passages such as these: “The grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus” [1 Timothy 1:14] and “I rejoice in the Lord…. I can do all things in him who strengthens me” [Philippians 4: 10–13].)
• Great numbers of the faithful—some 10 percent of the American public—have visited Graceland “as a place of pilgrimage” (“Elvis Presley” 2008). (Christians make pilgrimages to Jerusalem and other sites associated with Jesus in order to venerate him.)
• There have even been “weeping” effigies of the star, like a plaster bust owned by a Dutch Elvis impersonator (“Weeping” 1997). (The phenomenon of weeping icons—rife with misperceptions and pious hoaxes—is frequently associated with Jesus, Mary, or a Christian saint [Nickell 2004, 324–330].)

Encounters

The “Elvis sightings” are especially persistent. They stem from the notions of conspiracy theorists who believe the star faked his death. The “evidence” is generally laughable. For example, on his gravestone, Elvis’s middle name appears not as Aron but “Aaron,” as it if were “a method of saying, ‘It’s not me’” (Brewer-Giorgio 1988, 55). In fact, although it is clear he himself used “Aron” (probably for its similarity to the name of his stillborn twin, Jesse Garon Presley), the more common spelling often appears and may even have been the original form (Brewer-Giorgio 1988, 50–61; “Elvis Presley” 2008).

Nevertheless, a still-alive Elvis has reportedly been seen by thousands of eyewitnesses. Critics, on the other hand, have suggested that the sightings can be explained by glimpses of Elvis impersonators (“Elvis” 2008) or even simple look-alikes. Some modern sightings—which emphasize Elvis pigging out on fast food—are obviously satirical (“Elvis Sighting” 2008) and examples of jokelore.

Other close encounters of the Elvis kind involve his ghost or spirit allegedly communicating with others through such means as automatic writing (in which Elvis guides the sensitive’s hand), séances (spirit-communication sessions often held by a “medium”), and astral encounters (achieved through out-of-body experiences). All of these have been utilized by one Dorothy Sherry, “a simple housewife” who has been billed as a “psychic go-between” for Elvis. “Ghost hunter” Hans Holzer tells her story in Star Ghosts. He insists: “Dorothy Sherry has never met Elvis Presley. She has not been to any concerts of his, does not collect his records or consider herself a fan of his” (1979, 61–62). Yet he says her contacts with Elvis are among the most “evidential” of his career.

Why, Sherry can even be possessed by Elvis, or at least Holzer claims (though shows us no photos) that he watched “the usually placid face of Dorothy Sherry change to a near-likeness of Elvis” as the star supposedly “controlled her.” Elvis then provided statements “in rapid succession which left no doubt,” Holzer insisted, “about his identity and actual presence in our midst” (63). Through Sherry, Elvis not only provided information supposedly unknown to her but revealed to her that, in her words, “he had known me in a previous life, and that I had been his wife” (67). “Dorothy,” Hans Holzer tells us, “went astral traveling with Elvis practically night after night” (68).

We thus receive the distinct impression that far from being uninterested in Elvis, Sherry is obsessed with him. Moreover, she has several traits that are associated with a fantasy-prone personality (such as professing psychic powers, having out-of-body experiences, receiving messages from higher entities, seeing apparitions, and so on) (Nickell 2001, 215; Wilson and Barber 1983).

Holzer does concede: “Although I haven’t the slightest doubt that Dorothy never read any books about Presley, nor any newspaper stories concerning him, the fact that these sources exist must be taken into account when evaluating the evidence obtained through her entranced lips” (1979, 62). Indeed, Holzer must know that the very sources used to authenticate spirit communication may be used by a medium (consciously or not) to glean the information in the first place. Alleged psychics and mediums have long made a practice of conducting secret research using the results as evidence, convincing the credulous of their paranormal ability. (For example, according to his former secretary, notorious medium Arthur Ford [1897–1971] traveled with a suitcase crammed with notes and clippings about whomever was to attend one of his séances [Christopher 1975, 143–144].)

In fact, some of the very information Dorothy Sherry offered as coming from Elvis’s spirit (for example an incident about a friend’s leg injury [Holzer 1979, 64]) was readily available in the book Elvis: What Happened? (West et al. 1977, 165). Moreover, some of the alleged information is doubtful. Sherry has Elvis telling her his mother had a weakness for drink, “a fact which has never been publicized for obvious reasons,” says Holzer (1979, 65). Actually, the allegation had indeed been made by “some Presley detractors” but was emphatically denied by Elvis’s close companions (West et al. 1977, 139). In any event, why would Elvis—otherworldly or not—choose to reveal derogatory information about the woman he regarded as a saint?

Holzer’s use of “psychics” in ghost-hunting was once examined in the Journal for the Society for Psychical Research. The reviewer found that Holzer’s verification methodology was so unsatisfactory as to “cast considerable doubt on the objectivity and reliability of his work as a whole” (qtd. in Berger and Berger 1991, 183). I myself have reviewed Holzer’s work and reached a similar conclusion (Nickell 1995, 61–63).

Elvis’s Ghost

Among the places Dorothy Sherry claims to have astrally traveled with Elvis is the Las Vegas Hilton. His spirit reportedly haunts “numerous locations” in the building (“Haunted” 2008), and the site is listed in Dennis William Hauck’s Haunted Places: The National Directory (1996, 262). (Again, see figure 1.)

In hopes of catching a glimpse of the specter, I visited the Hilton during a stay in Las Vegas. (Although I was there to receive an award, I decided to make the trip a working one as well.) I was accompanied to the famous hotel and casino by colleague Vaughn Rees (then with our CFI/West office in Los Angeles).

We prowled the spacious resort’s byways but were unable to see the King’s ghost. A security guard discounted the idea that Elvis haunted the site. So did an information agent, who responded, “Absolutely not!” She told us she had worked there for thirty-five years, extending back to the time when Presley actually performed at the hotel. (She added that her father had once received a Cadillac as a gift from him.) Yet she stated that she had never experienced—nor even heard of—Elvis’s ghost haunting the premises. Here, as elsewhere, it seems ghosts are only likely to appear to those with vivid imaginations.

Figure 2. The author at an Elvis-Eats-Here site (a restaurant at Underground Atlanta), part of American jokelore.

However, on one occasion I was challenged to explain a “spirit” photo of Elvis and his twin Jesse that supposedly depicted their visages and hands. In the photo, they appeared in mist behind an erstwhile Elvis impersonator who purports “to host the soul” of Jesse (“Best” 1994). The singer made highly emotional claims about the picture (a rejected shot from an entertainment magazine’s photo session). He called it “miraculous” and “supernatural.” However, I explained otherwise when he and I appeared together on the radio show The Night Side with Richard Syrett (CFRB Toronto, February 25, 2001).

I had in the meantime investigated the case with photo expert Rob McElroy. We learned from those on the photo shoot that the “mist” was cigarette smoke blown in blue light for effect. The photo effects were “an accident,” according to the art director. It was she who actually snapped that photo while a writer at the shoot darted in and out of the scene to adjust the singer’s collar. “I always knew it was me,” the writer admitted. The glitch was affected by the combined burst of light from the electronic flash and the slower (1/4-second) exposure from the camera’s shutter. The result was that the singer’s right hand and face were both sharp and blurred and that the intruding writer’s underexposed hand and face appeared as extra images (McElroy 2001). Not surprisingly, perhaps, the singer did not accept this explanation.

The impulse that prompts Elvis encounters is the emotional unwillingness of fans to accept his death. This is the same impulse that has helped fuel the Elvis-impersonator industry,2 just as it made possible the impostors of an earlier time who claimed to be the “real” death-surviving cult personalities of John Wilkes Booth, Jesse James, or Billy the Kid (Nickell 1993). However, no credible evidence that Elvis survived has surfaced since his reported death at age forty-two. And as the pathologist who performed the autopsy on him is quoted as saying, “If he wasn’t dead before I did the autopsy, he sure was afterwards!” (“Elvis” 2008).

Although his rocky life shows he was in many ways ill-suited for stardom—let alone mythology or, heaven forbid, deification—Elvis Presley does remain a larger-than-life figure for his influence on pop-culture and, especially, for music that will no doubt last for generations.

Acknowledgments

I wish once again to express my gratitude to Mel Lipman and the American Humanist Association for their coveted Isaac Asimov science award. I also want to thank Vaughn Rees and CFI Libraries director Tim Binga for their tireless help and John and Mary Frantz for financial assistance in my investigations.

Notes

1. Interviews by Joe Nickell (with Vaughn Rees), March 7, 2004. The information agent wrote her first name, “Roseanne,” on a hotel business card but did not otherwise want to be identified.
2. The “Elvis impersonators” phenomenon actually started years prior to the star’s death (“Elvis” 2008).

References

• Banks, Amanda Carson. 1996. In Brunvand 1996, 221–222.
• Berger, Arthur S., and Joyce Berger. 1991. The Encyclopedia of Parapsychology and Psychical Research. New York: Paragon House.
• “Best epiphany.” 1994. Hamilton This Month (now Hamilton Magazine), summer, 40.
• Brunvand, Jan Harold. 1996. American Folklore: An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Publishing.
• Christopher, Milbourne. 1975. Mediums, Mystics and the Occult. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company.
• Elvis Presley phenomenon. 2008. Wikipedia. Available online at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elvis_sightings (accessed August 4, 2008).
• Elvis Is Alive Museum again for sale on eBay. 2008. Buffalo News, September 23.
• The Elvis Sighting Bulletin Board. 2008. Available online at http://www.elvissightingbulletinboard.com (accessed August 4, 2008).
• Holzer, Hans. 1979. Star Ghosts. New York: Leisure Books.
• McElroy, Rob. 2001. Report of February 18, together with interview notes, etc., in author’s extensive case file.
• Nickell, Joe. 1993. Outlaw impostors. In Stein 1993, 112–113.
• —. 1995. Entities: Angels, Spirits, Demons, and Other Alien Beings. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books.
• —. 2001. Phantoms, frauds or fantasies? In Hauntings and Poltergeists: Multidisciplinary Perspectives, ed. James Houran and Rense Lange. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co.
• —. 2004. The Mystery Chronicles. Lexington, KY: The University Press of Kentucky.
• Southwell, David, and Sean Twist. 2004. Conspiracy Files. New York: Gramercy Books.
• Stein, Gordon. 1993. Encyclopedia of Hoaxes. Detroit: Gale Research.
• West, Red, Sonny West, and Dave Hebler. 1977. Elvis: What Happened? As told to Steve Dunleavy. New York: Ballantine.
• Wilson, Sheryl C., and Theodore X. Barber. 1983. The fantasy-prone personality. In Imagery, Current Theory, Research, and Application, ed. A.A. Sheikh, 340–387. New York: John Wiley and Sons.
• Joe Nickell, PhD, is CSI’s senior research fellow and author of numerous books. His Web site is http://www.joenickell.com.

The Lady Appears

The reported visits of the Virgin Mary to Fatima occurred in a time of trouble. After the fall of the Portuguese monarchy in 1910, there came a wave of anti-clerical sentiment and persecution, followed by various revolutionary conflicts and Portugal’s involvement in World War I.

On May 13, 1917, three shepherd children were tending their flock about two miles west of Fatima in a town near Ourém. The children were Lucia Santos, age ten, and her two cousins, nine-year-old Francisco Marto and his seven-year-old sister, Jacinta. A sudden flash of lightning sent the children fleeing down a slope, whereupon the two girls beheld the dazzling apparition of a beautiful lady, radiant in white light, standing among the holly-like leaves of a small holm oak.

Lucia was the only one who talked with the figure, who promised to identify herself at the end of a six-month period, during which time the children were to return to the site on the thirteenth day of each month. The woman said that all three of them would go to heaven but that Francisco, who could not see her, would have to recite many rosaries. When she instructed Lucia to have Francisco say the rosary, the boy became able to see the apparition, but he was still unable to hear her speak. After she instructed the children to pray for an end to the war, the lady vanished into the sky.

Even though the children had agreed that they should keep the event secret, once home, little Jacinta blurted out to her parents that she had shared in a vision of the Virgin Mary. News quickly spread throughout the town, and when the children revisited the site on June 13, they were accompanied by some fifty devout villagers. Kneeling in prayer at the oak, the children saw the woman glide down from heaven and take a position amid the oak’s foliage (Arvey 1990, 66; Rogo 1982, 221—223).

Thus began a pattern that was repeated each month during the specified period, although the children were absent on August 13 (having been detained by secular authorities who disbelieved their tale and held them briefly for questioning in the public jail at Ourém). On July 13, the children claimed to have received a special revelation that the lady forbade them to disclose. The apparition remained invisible to the onlookers, but some reported seeing a little cloud rise from (or from behind) the tree, together with a movement of the tree’s branches “as if in going away the Lady’s dress had trailed over them” (Dacruz n.d.).

When the period ended on a stormy October 13, as many as seventy thousand people were gathered at the site anticipating the Virgin’s final visit, many anticipating a great miracle. Again, the figure appeared only to the children. Identifying herself as “the Lady of the Rosary,” she urged people to repent and to build a chapel at the site. After predicting an end to the war and giving the children certain undisclosed visions, the lady lifted her hands to the sky. Thereupon Lucia exclaimed, “The sun!” As everyone gazed upward to see that a silvery disc had emerged from behind the clouds, they experienced what is known in the terminology of Marian apparitions as a “sun miracle” (Arvey 1990, 69—71).

Miracle of the Sun

This Fatima “miracle” has been described in many very different ways. Some claimed that the sun spun pinwheel-like with colored streamers, while others maintained that it danced. One reported, “I saw clearly and distinctly a globe of light advancing from east to west, gliding slowly and majestically through the air.” To some, the sun seemed to be falling toward the spectators. Still others, before the “dance of the sun” occurred, saw white petals shower down and disintegrate before reaching the earth (Larue 1990, 195—196; Arvey 1990, 70—71; Rogo 1982, 227, 230—232).

Precisely what happened at Fatima has been the subject of much controversy. Church authorities made inquiries, collected eyewitness testimony, and declared the events worthy of belief as a miracle (Zimdars-Swartz 1991, 90). However, people elsewhere in the world, viewing the very same sun, did not see the alleged gyrations; neither did astronomical observatories detect the sun deviating from the norm (which would have had a devastating effect on Earth!). Therefore, more tenable explanations for the reports include mass hysteria and local meteorological phenomena such as a sundog (a parhelion or “mock sun”).

On the other hand, several eyewitnesses of the October 13, 1917, gathering at Fatima specifically stated they were looking “fixedly at the sun” or “tried to look straight at it” or otherwise made clear they were gazing directly at the actual sun (qtd. in Rogo 1982, 230, 231). If this is so, the “dancing sun” and other solar phenomena may have been due to optical effects resulting from temporary retinal distortion caused by staring at such an intense light or to the effect of darting the eyes to and fro to avoid fixed gazing (thus combining image, afterimage, and movement).

Most likely, there was a combination of factors, including optical effects and meteorological phenomena, such as the sun being seen through thin clouds, causing it to appear as a silver disc. Other possibilities include an alteration in the density of the passing clouds, causing the sun’s image to alternately brighten and dim and so seem to advance and recede, and dust or moisture droplets in the atmosphere refracting the sunlight and thus imparting a variety of colors. The effects of suggestion were also likely involved, since devout spectators had come to the site fully expecting some miraculous event, had their gaze dramatically directed at the sun by the charismatic Lucia, and excitedly discussed and compared their perceptions in a way almost certain to foster psychological contagion (Nickell 1993, 176—181).

Not surprisingly, perhaps, sun miracles have been reported at other Marian sites—at Lubbock, Texas, in 1989; Mother Cabrini Shrine near Denver, Colorado, in 1992; Conyers, Georgia, in the early to mid-1990s; and elsewhere, including Thiruvananthapuram, India, in 2008. Tragically, at the Colorado and India sites, many people suffered eye damage (solar retinopathy)—in some instances, possibly permanent damage (Nickell 1993, 196—200; Sebastian 2008).

At the Conyers site, the Georgia Skeptics group set up a telescope outfitted with a vision-protecting Mylar solar filter, and on one occasion I participated in the experiment. Becky Long, president of the organization, stated that more than two hundred people had viewed the sun through one of the solar filters and not a single person saw anything unusual (Long 1992, 3; see figure 1).

The Secrets

Those who believe in the Fatima “miracle” also cite certain predictions the apparition allegedly made to Lucia, one being that Jacinta and Francisco would soon die. Both did soon succumb to influenza: Francisco in 1919 and Jacinta the following year. However, Zimdars-Swartz observes, “much of what devotees today accept as the content of the apparition comes from four memoirs written by Lucia in the convent [where she later resided] between 1935 and 1941, many years after the series of experiences that constitute the apparition event” (Zimdars-Swartz 1991, 68). Indeed, Lucia recorded her first “prediction” of the children’s deaths in 1927—several years after the fact!

As to the other predictions, they were supposedly part of three secrets that had been delivered to Lucia by the apparition on July 13, 1917 (Gruner 1997, 290—291). Lucia’s Third Memoir gave the first secret as a vision of hell. The second was a statement that World War I would end, “but if people do not cease offending God, a worse one will break out during the pontificate of Pius XI” (who was pope from 1922 to 1939). However, since the Third Memoir was penned in August 1941, the so-called predictions were actually written after the fact (Zimdars-Swartz 1991, 198—199).

Before considering the important third secret of Fatima, and to fully comprehend the entire Fatima experience, we must look more closely at its central figure—not the Virgin Mary but Lucia de Jesus Santos. Born on March 22, 1907, to Antonio and Maria Rosa Santos, Lucia was the youngest of seven children. Five years younger than her next-oldest sibling, Lucia was a petted and spoiled child. Her sisters fostered in her a desire to be the center of attention by teaching her to dance and sing. At festivals, Lucia would stand on a crate to entertain an adoring crowd. Among her other talents was a gift for telling stories—fairy tales, biblical narratives, and saints’ legends—which made her popular with village children, as well as an ability to persuade others to do her bidding.

Two years before the famous series of apparitions occurred at Fatima, eight-year-old Lucia and three girlfriends claimed to have seen apparitions of a snow-white figure on three occasions. Lucia’s mother called the experiences “childish nonsense.” The following year, Lucia, Francisco, and Jacinta were thrice visited by an “angel.”

Lucia’s background is revealing. The seeds of her later visionary encounters were clearly contained in her childhood experiences and in her obviously fantasy-prone personality.1 Her charismatic ability to influence others drew little Francisco and Jacinta into the Fatima fantasy. As Zimdars-Swartz says of Lucia:

It is clear that she played the leading role in the scenario of the apparition itself. All accounts agree that she was the only one of the three seers to interact with both her vision and with the crowd, carrying on conversations with both while her two cousins stood by silently. She has said, moreover, and probably not incorrectly, that Francisco and Jacinta had been accustomed to follow her directives before the apparition began, that they turned to her for guidance afterwards, and that it was she who convinced them that they had to be very careful in their experiences. (Zimdars-Swartz 1991, 68)

Further evidence that Lucia orchestrated the fantasy and manipulated the other children is provided by certain incidents. For example, when Jacinta first told the story, she stated that the Virgin had said many things that she was unable to recall but “which Lucia knows.” Lucia’s own mother was convinced that her precocious daughter was, in her words, “nothing but a fake who is leading half the world astray” (qtd. in Zimdars-Swartz 1991, 71, 86).

Third Secret Revealed

But there was a third secret of Fatima, possessed by the Vatican since 1957 and the subject of endless interest and speculation (Gruner 1997, 291). Certain Catholic notables have claimed to have the third secret, but their credibility is at issue because they seem to describe documents that were not first hand in their accounts. Nevertheless, they have hinted that the text predicted another world war and a great disaster of some kind (see Kramer 2006).

In mid-2000, the Catholic Church revealed the third secret that was supposedly imparted to Lucia in 1917, which she set down as text in a 1944 letter. It was forwarded in 1957 to the Secret Archives of the Vatican’s Holy Office where it since reposed.

On Monday, June 26, 2000, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger—then prefect of church doctrine, now Pope Benedict XVI—spoke in a nationally televised news conference at the Vatican. Scrawled with a thick-nibbed pen in Portuguese—in wording Ratzinger characterized as “symbolic and not easy to decipher” (Valpy 2000)—Lucia had described seeing (at no specific time in the future) “an angel with a flaming sword in his left hand; flashing, it gave out flames that looked as though they would set the world on fire; but they died out in contact with the splendor that Our Lady radiated towards him from her right hand: pointing to the earth with his right hand, the angel cried out in a loud voice: ‘Penance, Penance, Penance!’”

The visionary continued describing the appearance of a “bishop dressed in white,” who was “afflicted with pain and sorrow” as he made his way through a ruined city. Moreover, “he prayed for the souls of the corpses he met on his way; having reached the top of the mountain, on his knees at the foot of the big Cross he was killed by a group of soldiers who fired bullets and arrows at him, and in the same way there died one after another, the other bishops, priests, men and women Religious.”

Now, many of the faithful have seen the text as having forecast the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II, who was shot and wounded by a Turk in 1981 (Fleishman 2000). However, nearly every aspect of the vision—if indeed it was supposed to predict the assassination attempt on John Paul—was in error. It described not a pope but a bishop, who was not killed, who was not shot by soldiers, certainly not by arrows (an implausibility attributable to a child’s imagination); neither were all of the other bishops and priests killed.

The vision only seems accurate if one engages in “retrofitting”—after-the-fact matching that fits statements to facts once they are known. This is the same process used to claim that the prognostications of Nostradamus (1503—1566), the French seer, accurately described future events (see Nickell 1989, 45—47). In the case of the “third secret,” the retrofitting involves counting the plausibly correct statements (e.g., the pope is “Bishop of Rome,” was dressed in white, and was struck by a would-be assassin’s bullet), while ignoring—or rationalizing—the many erroneous facts. Nevertheless, the Vatican statement claimed all three secrets represented authentic prophecy: “No one could have imagined all this” (qtd. in Valpy 2000).

In any event, many conspiracy-minded Catholics refuse to believe that the third secret has been fully revealed. They opine it may be “an indictment of most of the changes in the Church since Vatican II” (held 1962—1965) and would thus cause embarrassment to the current defenders of that council (Gruner 2006, 42). Meanwhile, the visionary who started it all, Lucia Santos—who became a Carmelite nun, Sister Lúcia of Jesus, and died on February 13, 2005—has been placed on the fast track to sainthood (“Lúcia” 2008). Certainly, the story will continue.

Acknowledgments

I wish to thank Luis Helbling (Nepean, Ontario, Canada), Sherman Harbeson (Milton, Florida), and Timothy Binga (director of CFI Libraries, Amherst, New York) for generous research assistance.

Note

1. For a discussion of fantasy proneness, see Wilson and Barber 1983.

References

• Arvey, Michael. 1990. Miracles: Opposing Viewpoints. Great Mysteries series. San Diego, CA: Greenhaven Press.
• Barss, Patchen. 2000. The sun-dance secret. National Post (Canada), May 13.
• Dacruz, Rev. V. n.d. Quoted in Rogo 1982, 224—225.
• Fleishman, Jeffrey. 2000. Vatican says “third secret” speaks of renewal. The Buffalo News, June 27.
• Gruner, Nicholas. 1997. Fatima Priest. Pound Ridge, NY: Good Counsel Publications.
• —. 2006. Living our daily lives in light of the Fatima secret. The Fatima Crusader 82 (Spring): 5—10, 40—51.
• Kramer, Paul. 2006. The third secret predicts: World War III and worse? The Fatima Crusader 82 (Spring): 11—13, 52—62.
• Larue, Gerald A. 1990. The Supernatural, the Occult, and the Bible. Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books.
• Lúcia Santos. 2008. Wikipedia. Available online at http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucia_dos_Santos (accessed September 3, 2008).
• Long, Becky. 1992. The Conyers apparitions. Georgia Skeptic 5(2) (March/April): 3.
• Nickell, Joe. 1989. The Magic Detectives. Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books.
• —. 1993. Looking for a Miracle: Weeping Icons, Relics, Stigmata, Visions and Healing Cures. Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books. (The present discussion is largely abridged from this work—pp. 176—181—and expanded to include revelation of the Third Secret.)
• Oliveira, Mario de. 1999. Fátima Nunca Mais (Fatima Never Again). Porto, Portugal: Campo des Letras.
• Rogo, Scott D. 1982. Miracles: A Parascientific Inquiry into Wondrous Phenomena. New York: Dial Press.
• Sebastian, Don. 2008. 50 people looking for solar image of Mary lose sight. Available online at www.dnaindia.com/dnaprint.asp?newsid=1152984 (accessed March 12, 2008).
• Valpy, Michael. 2000. The Vatican, devotees clash over Third Secret of Fatima. The Globe and Mail (Toronto, Canada), June 27.
• Visions: Messages from the Virgin Mary or delusions? 1989. Los Angeles Times, April 9.
• Wilson, Sheryl C., and Theodore X. Barber. 1983. The fantasy-prone personality: Implications for understanding imagery, hypnosis, and parapsychological phenomena. In Imagery, Current Theory, Research and Application, ed. Anees A. Sheikh, 340—390. New York: Wiley.
• Zimdars-Swartz, Sandra L. 1991. Encountering Mary. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

They embody legend: romantic, swashbuckling, heroic figures—enchanting rogues whose ghosts eternally guard their buried treasures, search for their lost heads, or simply beckon to the credulous from their supposed coastal haunts. I have sought their specters from New Orleans to Savannah, from North Carolina’s Ocracoke Island to Oak Island in Nova Scotia’s Mahone Bay. Here is a look at some of what I found; as usual, not everything was as it seemed.

Jean Lafitte

I began to think about pirates’ ghosts on an investigative trip to Louisiana in 2000, when a nighttime tour of New Orleans “haunted” spots took me to two sites associated with an unlikely American hero, Jean Lafitte.

Lafitte (ca. 1780–ca. 1825) became known as “The Terror of the Gulf” for his exploits as a smuggler, privateer (one licensed by a government to seize its enemy’s ships), and later pirate. Lafitte was transformed into a hero during the war of 1812. Suspected of complicity with British forces, he proved his loyalty to American General Andrew Jackson in 1815, spurning a British bribe of £30,000 and fighting heroically in defense of his adopted homeland during the Battle of New Orleans (Groom 2006).

Dead since approximately 1825, Jean Lafitte still reportedly gets around, haunting, some say, a New Orleans bar, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, at 941 Bourbon Street. One ghost guide claims the structure was built “around 1722” (Belanger 2005, 91), but other sources place it at least half a century later—no earlier than 1772 (Dickinson 1997, 54). (See also Herczog 2000, 255; Cook 1999, 52; Bultman 1998, 95.) Of briqueté entre poleaux construction (i.e., bricked between posts), it was stuccoed over at a later period and now is in “alarmingly tumbledown” condition (Cook 1999, 52). (See figure 1.) Some sources (e.g., Nott 1928, 37, 39) are skeptical of tales that Lafitte actually ran a blacksmith shop as a cover for smuggling, but, says one, “it makes a good story” (Downs and Edge 2000, 197).

Certainly, as I can attest, the place is darkly atmospheric, and both the ambiance and imbibed spirits, together with the power of suggestion, no doubt contribute to reported sightings of the pirate. However, even one ghost promoter concedes, “Such sightings may not withstand a sobriety test, but this does little to dampen the pervasive appeal of Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop and Bar” (Sillery 2001, 110). In other instances—as when a bartender reported that “a short, stout man walked out of the fireplace” (Belanger 2005, 91)—the circumstances are suggestive. The bartender may well have been tired (it was “late one rainy night”) and in a daydreaming state (he was “alone” with the soothing patter of rain), just the conditions known to prompt apparitional sightings in which images from the subconscious can momentarily be superimposed on the individual’s surroundings (Nickell 2001, 290–293).

This is most likely to happen with imaginative individuals, especially those having fantasy-prone personalities. Psychics and mediums typically have characteristics associated with fantasizers (such as encountering apparitions, communicating with paranormal entities, and so on [Wilson and Barber 1983]). Consider a New Orleans ghost guide who calls herself “Bloody Mary”—a self-described “mystic,” “psychic,” and “medium” who believes she has had previous lives (qtd. in Belanger 2005, 88–90). She writes:

The first time in this lifetime that I entered Lafitte’s I was compelled to stare into the dual smithy (now turned fireplace). Staring at me from the center was a pair of eyes—free floating, with no face to be seen. My eyes and his were locked in a trance for some time until the eyes simply poofed into two bursts of flame and disappeared. That, of course, broke my trance, and when I bent down again to recheck the scene, nothing was to be seen. I checked for mirrors, candles, and such mundane things that might explain what I saw, but I found none. Shrugging my shoulders, I simply decided it was a sign of welcome. (qtd. in Belanger 2005, 91)

Elsewhere she has felt rooms “calling” to her, has sensed a “time portal,” and has been lured to a room by “astral travel,” saying, “I truly believe I had stayed there before.” She has spirits who travel with her, sees a spectral resident in her hallways, and will “occasionally invite inside and outside spirits to parties” (qtd. in Belanger 2005, 88–91). Over the years I have observed a correlation between fantasy proneness and intensity of ghostly experiences (Nickell 2001, 299). “Bloody Mary” provides further evidence of the link.

“Ghost” photos taken by patrons at the Lafitte Blacksmith Shop and Bar have been described by Victor C. Klein (1999, 54) as exhibiting “strange luminous, somewhat amorphous, translucent cloudlike images.” Although he does not reproduce the photos, the descriptions are consistent with the camera’s flash rebounding from smoke or mist. Note Barbara Sillery’s comment (2001, 110) that “the pirate has been frequently sighted in the smoky haze of the dimly lit rooms” (emphasis added) that are illuminated entirely by candles (Herczog 2000, 255). Not a single ghost has ever been authenticated by mainstream science, which attributes them to myriad non-supernatural causes (see Nickell 1994, 146–159; 2008).

Not far from Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is a slate-paved pedestrian walkway known as Pirates Alley. It is supposedly haunted by the famous pirate, but—as one source acknowledges—“every historic site in New Orleans claims the ghost of Jean Lafitte” (“Pirates” 2009). The claim for Pirates Alley is that Lafitte met Andrew Jackson there in 1815 to plan the Battle of New Orleans; however, the alley was not actually constructed until the 1830s (Cook 1999, 25). (See figure 2.)

Lafitte’s ghost is also reputed to make appearances at La Porte, Texas (east of Houston). Legendarily, Lafitte buried a treasure there, consisting of gold and jewels and allegedly protected by his ghost. However, the treasure-guarding ghost is a common folklore motif (or story element) (Thompson 1955, 2: 429), and reports of some residents having been “awakened in the middle of the night by Lafitte’s ghost, dressed in a red coat, standing at the foot of their beds” are easily explained as waking dreams. These occur in a state between wakefulness and sleep, and they are responsible for countless ghostly visitations (Nickell 1995, 41, 46, 55).

Captain Flint

Some sources associate Lafitte (if not his ghost) with another place, Pirates’ House Restaurant in Savannah, Georgia, where I investigated and had a pleasant lunch on March 24, 2004. A more cautious source states only that “famous pirates such as Jean Lafitte came to port in Savannah,” so it is “reasonable to suppose that many of them came to the Pirates [sic] House to enjoy a bit of grog, a sea chanty, and a coarse joke or two.” This source (“Legend” 2009) adds:

There are some who believe that the spirits of pirates still inhabit the Pirates House. Mysterious lights have been seen in the old seamen’s quarters, and noises heard, apparitions that cannot be pegged to any human activity. There are those who have sensed presences and scenes of ancient violence. Yet others have passed years without noticing anything unusual in the building suggesting that the only piratical activity still in the house is the imbibing of generous quantities of ale by the witnesses to these events.

A popular ghost guide—Haunted Places: The National Directory (Hauck 1996, 141)—alleges that the restaurant was once Lafitte’s home, adding, however, “it is the ghost of another notorious pirate known as Captain Flint, who haunts the place.”

A “History” (2009) provided by the restaurant’s Web site, states

’Tis said that old Captain Flint, who originally buried the fabulous treasure on Treasure Island, died here in an upstairs room. In the story, his faithful mate, Billy Bones, was at his side when he breathed his last, muttering ‘Darby bring aft the rum.’ Even now, many swear that the ghost of Captain Flint still haunts the Pirates’ House on moonless nights.

Figure 2. Pirate's Alley is another supposedly haunted site in New Orleans' French Quarter. Photo by Joe Nickell

It helps here to realize that “Captain Flint” was a fictitious character in Robert Louis Sevenson’s tale of greedy pirates and revenge, Treasure Island (1883). Although it is claimed that “Captain Flint” was modeled on a historical character, that remains unproved, and there is only a supposed connection to Pirates’ House (“Legend” 2009; “Captain Flint” 2009). This case is instructive in showing that an apparently fictional character can haunt a place just as convincingly as a real one!

Captain Kidd

Treasure Island appears to be a source for other tales involving pirates’ ghosts and the buried treasures they allegedly guard—none more famous than that of “Captain” William Kidd. A seventeenth-century privateer for the British against the French off the coast of North America, Kidd later became an outright pirate. British authorities declared him such, arrested him at Boston, and transported him to England. There he was tried, convicted, and hanged in 1701. His remains were displayed publicly, in a dangling iron cage, as a warning to others (Cawthorne 2005, 169–191; Klein 2006, 51–64).

“After his death,” according to a scholarly source, “Kidd became a legendary figure in both England and the U.S. He became the hero of many ballads, his ghost was seen on several occasions, and numerous attempts were made to discover a fabulous treasure that he supposedly buried in various points ranging from Oak Island, Nova Scotia, to Gardiner’s Island, New York” (Benet’s 1987, 529). In addition to Treasure Island, the Kidd legend also strongly influenced Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, “The Gold Bug” (1843). Treasure was recovered from Kidd, but even before his hanging rumors spread that there was much, much more. (Klein 2006, 58). (See also Shute 2002; Beck 1973, 337–338.)

Although proof or even credible evidence is lacking, Oak Island in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia, is believed by many to contain a fabulous treasure—possibly Kidd’s imagined trove. The island is steeped in legends about ghosts who guard the fabled “money pit.” The focus of “the world’s longest and most expensive treasure hunt” (O’Connor 1988, 4), this is a shaft, dug and re-dug for some two centuries, representing an inverted monument to greed, folly, and even death (Crooker 1993, 92–93; Nickell 2001, 219–234).

I visited Oak Island in mid 1999 after giving a presentation at a forensic conference in nearby New Brunswick. Although at the time the area was guarded by a no-trespassing sign rather than pirates’ ghosts, I was able to access the island by a causeway and spend quality time with Dan Blankenship, dubbed “Oak Island’s most obsessive searcher” (O’Connor 1988, 145). The next day I viewed the remainder of the island by boat, piloted by local private eye Jim Harvey. After considerable subsequent research (Nickell 2001, 219, 234), I concluded that the “money pit” and accompanying “pirate tunnels” were natural cavern features, that the treasure was fictitious, and that many of the cryptic elements in the Oak Island saga were attributable to “Secret Vault” rituals of the Freemasons. Indeed, the long “search” for Oak Island’s legendary treasure was carried out largely by prominent Nova Scotia Masons.

Over the years, the legendary pirate-guarded treasure has also been the target of dowsers, psychics, dream interpreters, and other mystics—not one of them successful. If the site was indeed guarded by a ghost—of Kidd or an anonymous pirate—he seems not to have known he was wasting his effort on a nonexistent treasure trove.

Blackbeard

Of history’s most notorious pirates, Edward Teach surely tops the list. Born possibly in Bristol, England, circa 1680, Teach, like others of his ilk, turned from privateering to piracy, his trademark jet beard earning him his sobriquet “Blackbeard.” His “terrifying appearance, daring raids and murderous exploits” made him an enduring legend (Klein 2006, 76). He plundered the Atlantic coast, but when he planned to establish a fort at Ocracoke, an island off North Carolina’s Outer Banks, the governor of neighboring Virginia responded. The governor persuaded the Virginia Assembly to post a £100 reward for Blackbeard, dead or alive, and lesser rewards for his men.

On November 22, 1718, two sloops under the command of Lt. Robert Maynard confronted Blackbeard’s Adventure at Ocracoke. After unleashing a broadside against the Jane, Teach and his men boarded her, only to be overwhelmed by armed men hidden in the cargo hold. In the ensuing fight Maynard attacked Teach with pistol and sword, finally decapitating him. When its companion sloop pulled up, decks of the Jane were awash in blood. Maynard suspended Teach’s head as a trophy from his sloop’s bowsprit (Klein 2006, 76–87; Cawthorne 2005, 199–207).

Today, Ocracoke is as lush with legends as it is with scenery. My wife and I visited Ocracoke on our honeymoon in 2006. The name itself has a Blackbeard legend attached: Supposedly, during the night before his encounter with Maynard, Blackbeard was impatient for dawn, crying out, “O crow cock! O crow cock!”—hence the name of the inlet and the island. Actually, long before Blackbeard, old maps show the area below Cape Hatteras with the name Wokokon. Sometimes spelled Woccocock, this apparently Native American name evolved (its W dropped) to Occocock (various spellings) and then to the present Ocracoke (Rondthaler, n.d.).

Other Blackbeard legends fare no better. One holds that after he was decapitated, his corpse was tossed overboard, where it swam “three times” around the sloop before finally sinking (Cawthorne 2005, 205). Of course, since this is scientifically impossible, it little matters that another source says it was “several times” (Klein 2006, 86). Still another best describes it with appropriate sarcasm as “seven times, or was it eleven times, or perhaps by this time it is seven times eleven” (Rondthaler n.d.). There are variations of the tale (to folklorists, variants are evidence of the folkloric process). One version states “that Teach’s headless body ran wildly around the deck before throwing itself into the sea” (Pickering 2006, 74). Another variant combines two legends, having Blackbeard’s severed head circling the ship and simultaneously crying out “O crow Cock! O crow, Cock!” supposedly because Blackbeard wanted morning light to help him find his body (Walser 1980, 12–14).

Sightings of Blackbeard’s ghost commonly involve familiar folklore motifs. Endlessly, we are told, Blackbeard wanders Ocracoke searching for his lost head (Elizabeth and Roberts 2004, 13). So ubiquitous is this motif that I have encountered it in various countries (see, for example, “Headless Ghosts I Have Known” [Nickell 2006]). It is one that neither raconteurs nor the credulous can resist, though for others it is so hackneyed as to seem a caricature of the ghost-tale genre.

So is the legend of Blackbeard’s ghost searching for his treasure—not at Ocracoke but at the Isles of Shoals in Maine and New Hampshire, as well as on Smith and Langier Islands in Chesapeake Bay (D’Agostino 2008, 110–111). But these have a suspiciously literary quality and seem of relatively late vintage, probably deriving from the Kidd legends.

Blackbeard is just one of four ghosts alleged to haunt Ocracoke—or only three if the “old man with a big, bushy beard” that appears in a museum’s upstairs window (Elizabeth and Roberts 2004, 10) is the pirate himself. But that is not claimed, and the ghost of the historic David Williams House (now the Ocracoke Preservation Society Museum) not only has his head on his shoulders, but the house dates from 1900, long after Blackbeard’s time. The ghost tale is even more recent. Julia Howard (2006), the Museum’s director since 1972, told me she believes the story was fabricated by a docent (since deceased) whom she described as “a character.” Howard also related how a volunteer once accommodated a mother whose boys had wanted to see the ghost. While they were outside looking up, the volunteer surreptitiously jiggled the curtains, creating a “ghost”—as real as any, pirate or not. l

References

• Beck, Horace. 1973. Folklore and the Seas. Edison, N.J.: Castle Books.
• Belanger, Jeff. 2005. Encyclopedia of Haunted Places: Ghostly Locales from Around the World. Franklin Lakes, N.J.: New Page Books.
• Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia (3rd ed.). 1987. New York: Harper & and Row.
• Bultman, Bethany Ewald. 1998. New Orleans. Oakland, Calif.: Compass American Guides.
• Captain Flint. 2009. Wikipedia, available online at Wikipedia; accessed March 16, 2009.
• Cawthorne, Nigel. 2005. A History of Pirates: Blood and Thunder on the High Seas. Edison, N.J.: Chartwell Books.
• Cook, Samantha. 1999. New Orleans: The Mini Rough Guide. New York: Rough Guides.
• Crooker, William S. 1993. Oak Island Gold. Halifax, Nova Scotia: Nimbus Publishing Ltd.
• D’Agostino, Thomas. 2008. Pirate Ghosts and Phantom Ships. Atglen, Pa.: Schiffer Publishing.
• Dickinson, Joy. 1997. Haunted City: An Unauthorized Guide to the Magical, Magnificent New Orleans of Anne Rice. Secaucus, N.J.: Citadel Press.
• Downs, Tom, and John T. Edge. 2000. New Orleans, second ed. Hawthorn, Victoria, Australia: Lonely Planet.
• Groom, Winston. 2006. Patriot Fire. New York: Knopf.
• Hauck, Dennis William. 1996. Haunted Places: The National Directory. New York: Penguin.
• Herczog, Mary. 2000. Frommer’s 2001 New Orleans. Foster City, Calif.: IDG Books Worldwide.
• History (Pirates’ House). 2009. Available online at thepirateshouse.com; accessed March 13, 2009.
• Howard, Julia. 2006. Interview by Joe Nickell, April 11.
• Klein, Shelley. 2006. The Most Evil Pirates in History. New York: Barnes and Noble.
• Klein, Victor C. 1999. New Orleans Ghosts II. Metairie, La.: Lycanthrope Press.
• The legend of the Pirates’ House. 2009. Available online at bestreadguide.excursia.com; accessed March 13, 2009.
• Nickell, Joe. 1994. Camera Clues: A Handbook for Photographic Investigation. Lexington, Ky.: University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 1995. Entities: Angels, Spirits, Demons, and Other Alien Beings. Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books.
• —. 2001. Real-Life X-Files: Investigating the Paranormal. Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 2006. Headless ghosts I have known. Skeptical Briefs 16(4) (December): 2–4.
• —. 2008. Photoghosts: Images of the spirit realm? Skeptical Inquirer 32(4) (July/August): 54–56.
• Nott, G. William. 1928. A Tour of the Vieux Carré. New Orleans: Tropical Printing Co.
• O’Connor, D’Arcy. 1988. The Big Dig: The $10 Million Search for Oak Island’s Legendary Treasure. New York: Ballantine.
• Pickering, David. 2006. Pirates. London: Collins.
• Pirates Alley Café reviews. 2009. Available online at tripadvisor.com; accessed March 13, 2009.
• Rondthaler, Alice K. N.d. The Story of Ocracoke (pamphlet). Ocracoke, N.C.: Channel Press.
• Shute, Nancy. 2002. Kidding about the captain. U.S. News and World Report, August 26–Sept. 2, 52.
• Sillery, Barbara. 2001. The Haunting of Louisiana. Gretna, Louisiana: Pelican Publ. Co.
• Thompson, Stith. 1955. Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, revised ed. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1989.
• Walser, Richard. 1980. North Carolina Legends. Raleigh, N.C.: North Carolina Dept. of Cultural Resources.

In his treatise, Calvin (1509—1564) disparaged the proliferating alleged shrouds of Christ, mentioning a few by location, including one at Nice, another at Aix-la-Chapelle, and still another at Besan­çon (Calvin 1543, 237). Yet he does not (for reasons that will become clear) list that most famous of shrouds, the Shroud of Turin. Nevertheless, he does seem to refer to it when he mentions Jesus’ shroud having borne “the full-length likeness of a human body on it” (Calvin 1543, 239). Except for later copies, the Shroud of Turin is apparently unique in bearing the image of a supposed crucifixion victim.1

However, that “shroud” did not have Turin added to its name until the cloth was taken to that city—in a shrewd political move by its then-owner, Duke Emmanuel Philibert of Savory—in 1578, long after Calvin’s death. It therefore seemed likely that that cloth was one of the others mentioned by Calvin.

We now know the shroud Calvin referred to as being at Besançon was merely one of the copies of the relic now at Turin (Wilson 1979, 300). The cloth at Aix-la-Chapelle was apparently the same one that was later kept at St. Cornelius Abbey in Compiègne, where it was venerated for nine centuries until (as with the shroud at Besançon) it was destroyed during the French Revolution (Conway 1915; Nickell 1998, 53). Yet another, the Cadouin shroud,2 survived the French Revolution only to be proved in 1935 to be an eleventh-century Moslem cloth (Nickell 1998, 53). A couple of other shrouds referenced by Calvin are quite obscure, which doubtless would not be the case had either borne an image of Jesus’ body.

Finally, there was the shroud at Nice. My research revealed that, in fact, the cloth now known as the Shroud of Turin was kept in Nice from 1537 until 1549 (Wilson 1979, 219, 263). This was the very time that Calvin was writing his treatise, published in 1543. Therefore, when he wrote of a shroud at Nice, he was clearly referring to the image-bearing one that is today the subject of such controversy.

If there is any doubt of this, it is dispelled by Calvin himself in his French text (see Higman 1970, 65) where (omitted by his English translator [Krasinski 1870, 237]) he states that the shroud at Nice was “transporté là de Chambery.” Indeed, the famous shroud was transported to Nice (via Turin, Milan, and Vercelli) from its home at Cham­béry (then-capitol of the duchy of Savoy) for
protection during the war (Wilson 1979, 262—263; Nickell 1998, 26).

That shroud (now the Shroud of Turin) had first appeared in about 1355 at a small church in Lirey, France. According to a bishop’s report written in 1389 to the Avignon pope, Clement VII, an artist ad­mitted he had “cunningly painted” the image of the crucified Christ on the cloth. Stylistic and iconographic elements corroborate a medieval artistic origin. So do modern carbon-14 tests, which yielded a date range of circa 1260—1390 ad, consistent with the time of the reported forger’s confession. Famed microanalyst Walter C. McCrone had previously determined that the image had been rendered by an artist using red ocher and vermilion tempera paint (Nickell 1998; 2007).

Calvin was not privy to the historical and scientific evidence we now have. Nonethe­less, his arguments against the authenticity of the infamous shroud then at Nice are sound. He asks,

How is it possible that those sacred historians, who carefully related all the miracles that took place at Christ’s death, should have omitted to mention one so remarkable as the likeness of the body of our Lord remaining on its wrapping sheet? This fact undoubtedly deserved to be recorded. St. John, in his Gospel, relates even how St. Peter, having entered the sepulchre, saw the linen clothes lying on one side, and the napkin that was about his head on the other; but he does not say that there was a miraculous impression of our Lord’s figure upon these clothes, and it is not to be imagined that he would have omitted to mention such a work of God if there had been any thing of this kind. (1543, 238)

As to that image, Calvin notes that the appearance on a single cloth of such a “full-length likeness of a human body” gives its own evidence of falsehood. He observes:

Now, St. John’s Gospel, chapter nineteen, says that Christ was buried according to the manner of the Jews; and what was their custom? This may be known by their present custom on such occasions, as well as from their books, which describe the ancient ceremony of interment, which was to wrap the body in a sheet, to the shoulders, and to cover the head with a separate cloth. This is precisely how the evangelist described it, saying, that St. Peter saw on one side the clothes with which the body had been wrapped, and on the other the napkin from about his head.

In brief, concludes Calvin, “either St. John is a liar,” or anyone who promotes such a shroud is “convicted of falsehood and deceit” (Calvin 1543, 239).

Imaged shroud or not, Calvin has this to say about the various Holy Shrouds:

Now, I ask whether those persons were not bereft of their senses who could take long pilgrimages, at much expense and fatigue, in order to see sheets, of the reality of which there were no reasons to believe, but many to doubt; for whoever admitted the reality of one of these sudaries [shrouds3] shown in so many places, must have considered the rest as wicked impostures set up to deceive the public by the pretence that they were each the real sheet in which Christ’s body had been wrapped. But it is not only that the exhibitors of this one and the same relic give each other mutually the lie, they are (what is far more important) positively contradicted by the Gospel. (1543, 237)

His reference to shrouds at “so many places” is not an overstatement, since there were once some forty-three of them in Europe alone, according to Thomas Humber in The Sacred Shroud (1978, 78).

Calvin’s criticisms of the Shroud of Turin are still relevant today, as are his views on other Christian relics. For example, he observes that the alleged blood of Jesus “is exhibited in more than a hundred places.”

He continues:

Now, I appeal to the judgment of every one whether it is not an evident lie to maintain that the blood of Jesus Christ was found, after a lapse of seven or eight hundred years, to be distributed over the whole world, especially as the ancient church makes no mention of it? (Calvin 1543, 226—227)

 In 2006, I visited the Basi­lica of the Holy Blood in Bruges, Belgium, and held in my hands a reliquary of the venerated substance. Stored in what has been determined to be a medieval Byzantine perfume bottle, it is suspiciously red—unlike genuine old blood, which blackens with age (Nickell 2007, 169).

Calvin also ridiculed the countless fragments and splinters that are alleged to be from Jesus’ cross. He suggested that “if we were to collect all these pieces of the true cross exhibited in various parts, they would form a whole ship’s cargo” (Calvin 1543, 233). He goes on to criticize the rival Holy Grails, Holy Lances, and other pious frauds (many of which were later destroyed during religious wars and, especially, the French Revolution [Krasinski 1870, 281 f.n.]).

He is particularly incensed about the vials of the Virgin Mary’s milk, observing that “there is not perhaps a town, a convent, or nunnery, where it is not shown in large or small quantities. Indeed, had the Virgin been a wet-nurse her whole life, or a dairy, she could not have produced more than is shown as hers in various parts.” He concludes, “How they obtained all this milk they do not say, and it is superfluous here to remark that there is no foundation in the Gospels for these foolish and blasphemous extravagances” (1543, 249).

Calvin sums up by asking: “Where may we find one real relic of which we may feel certain that it is such as is represented?” (1543, 280). That is, of course, a rhetorical question.        l

Notes

1. Evidence shows that a possible exception—a cloth at Constantinople predating the Turin Shroud—was a face cloth rather than a shroud (see Nickell 1998, 53—54).
2. This shroud was omitted from Calvin’s list by the English translator (Krasinski 1854, 237).
3. “Sudary”—from the Latin sudarium—was used by Calvin’s English translator. But that term refers to a facecloth (the “napkin” in John 20:7), not a “suaire” (Calvin’s French) or “shroud.”

References

• Calvin, John. 1543. Treatise on Relics, trans. by Count Valerian Krasinski, 1854; 2nd ed. Edinburgh: John Stone, Hunter, and Company, 1870; reprinted with an introduction by Joe Nickell, Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books, 2009.
• Conway, Sir W. Martin. 1915. The Treasures of Saint Denis. Available online at http://vreoll.fa.pitt.
  edu/medart/texts/Saint-Denis/Conway2.html; accessed December 12, 2007.
• Higman, Francis M., ed. 1970. Jean Calvin: Three French Treatises. London: Athlone Press.
• Humber, Thomas. 1978. The Sacred Shroud. New York: Pocket Books.
• Krasinski, Count Valerian. 1870. Translation (with introduction and notes) of Calvin’s A Treatise on Relics (1543), 2nd ed. (first ed. publ. 1854). Edin­burgh: John Stone, Hunter and Company.
• Nickell, Joe. 1998. Inquest on the Shroud of Turin. Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books.
• —. 2007. Relics of the Christ. Lexington, Ky.: University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 2009. Introduction in Treatise on Relics by John Calvin. Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books.
• Wilson, Ian. 1979. The Shroud of Turin, rev. ed. Garden City, New York: Image Books.
• Joe Nickell, PhD, is CSI’s senior research fellow and author of numerous books, including Relics of the Christ. His Web site is available at http://www.joenickell.com.

On a six-day trip to the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador (in part for a television documentary), I encountered some very large creatures: several moose (the largest land mammal of the region), to whom I gave the right of way in return for their photos; a stuffed polar bear (towering upright almost nine feet tall), which had ambled into St. Anthony one spring; and, from a circus truck that overturned ahead of me on the Viking Trail, two camels and a sweet Asian elephant named Limba.

I did not encounter humpback whales, although I took an excursion boat out in very rough water to see great icebergs making their way south from Greenland. (I had better luck with humpbacks on an Alaska excursion [Nickell 2007a].) Neither did I catch a glimpse of another leviathan that occasionally haunts the region’s coastal waters:the giant squid, known at lengths in excess of seventy-five feet and the subject of numerous hair-raising adventures (Fitzgerald 2006, 50–71). (For our book Lake Monster Mysteries, Benjamin Radford [2006, 5] photographed the world’s best-preserved specimen at a museum in St. John’s.)

What I was really searching for—having been brought to the village of Robert’s Arm by a television crew for the History Channel’s popular series, Monster Quest (which later aired on September 17, 2008)—was a legendary lake monster said to inhabit the cold, deep, blue waters of Crescent Lake. It has been dubbed “Cressie,” and the village’s welcoming signboard proclaims it “The ‘Loch Ness’ of Newfoundland!”

“Cressie”

Figure 2. Giant eel or otter lookalike?

Sightings of a “monster” in the lake date back to the turn of the last century when a resident known as “Grandmother Anthony” spied a giant serpentine creature while she was picking berries. From the 1940s to the present, there have been a dozen or so sightings, although without photographs to date. Most descriptions are of a dark, eel-like creature, up to twenty-five or more feet long (Bragg 1995; Radford and Nickell 2006, 89–95).

Its locomotion is typically described as “rolling” or “undulating” (Bragg 1995); indeed, “when the head was up, the back was  down” (Colbourne 2008). Consequently, the contortions of the elongated creature seemingly produced “humps” (Short 2008; see figure 1).

A typical sighting occurred in 1991, when retired school teacher Fred Parsons (an engaging man whom I met in Robert’s Arm) saw a creature surface while crossing the lake. It was dark brown, swimming in an undulating fashion, and, Parsons estimated, over twenty feet long (Bragg 1995; see also Radford and Nickell 2006, 92–93). Of course eyewitness testimony can be unreliable. An experiment I conducted for Monster Quest, using a log of known length that we towed and anchored at a mid-lake position, demonstrated that people viewing something from a distance can easily overestimate its size by forty percent or greater.¹

There are other reasons to be skeptical of a monster in Crescent Lake, one of which is that a single creature could neither live for centuries nor reproduce itself. A breeding herd of several individuals would be required for the species to continue propagating over time. But then where is a single floating or beached carcass? It is true that the lake is connected to the Atlantic Ocean, scarcely two miles distant, by Tommy’s Arm Brook. However as Bragg (1995) concedes, no great creature has ever been seen navigating the outlet.

Giant Eel?

Because “Cressie” is often likened to a giant eel (Bragg 1995; Eberhart 2002, I:114; Monster 2008), someone gave it the quasi-scientific name Cressiteras anguilloida (Eberhart 2002, I:114). Actually, this is unlikely as a scientific name that might be bestowed—if a giant-eel specimen were verified. Eels (a group of fishes having snakelike bodies and lacking pelvic fins) are of the order Anguilliformes, and true eels comprise the family Anguillidae. The American eel, for example, is Anguilla rostrata (Collins 1959, 475). Related eels include the marine conger eels (Conger oceanicus), which attain a length of six to nine feet, and the morays of tropical reefs. The Pacific moray (Thyrsoidea macrurus), up to a foot longer, “is probably the largest known species” (Colliers Encyclopedia 1993, s.v. “Moray”).

Now, while Crescent Lake does reportedly host freshwater American eels, these are normally under five feet long. Divers from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), who allegedly surfaced on the lake with “descriptions of giant eels as thick as a man’s thigh” (Bragg 1995), probably encountered a different creature—if indeed, the incident actually happened: The RCMP could not confirm the occurrence to Monster Quest. Indeed, whatever Cressie is, it is clearly not a giant eel. The eyewitness descriptions of a giant creature, swimming on the surface of the water and moving in an up-and-down fashion, are completely wrong for an eel.

Eels, in fact, are bottom-dwelling creatures (“Freshwater” 2008a, 2008b; “Eel” 2008), and their locomotion, while wavelike, is actually from side-to-side, as I confirmed by studying them at Aquarium Niagara in Niagara Falls, New York (where I am a member and once served as “Animal Trainer for a Day”). For my Monster Quest research, the aquarium’s exhibits supervisor, Dan Arcara, graciously allowed me to study an American eel and a moray eel, gently prodding the latter from its den with a pole so I could document on videotape its sideways-oscillating swimming style.

Moreover, the sightings of Cressie invariably occur during daytime, whereas the common freshwater eel “is nocturnal in its habits, sleeping or lying in the mud during the day” (“Freshwater” 2008a).

Cressie Lookalike

There is, in fact, an actual creature that is dark-colored, swims both under water and at the surface—where its wake can make it appear much longer, and moves in an undulating (rising and falling) manner. Its scientific name is Lontra canadensis,² the northern river otter (Nickell 2007c).

In addition, multiple otters swimming in a line can give the effect of a single giant serpentine creature slithering with an up-and-down movement through water. This effect was observed as early as 1930 by a marine biologist (Gould 1934, 115–116) and has since been documented many times (e.g., Nickell 2007b). Newfoundland is shown (by the National Audubon Society Field Guide to Mammals [Whitaker 1996, 782–785]) to be a definite habitat for the northern river otter. (See figure 2.)

I have been accused of seeming to suggest this effect as a solution to all lake monster reports (Coleman 2007), but in fact that grossly mischaracterizes my position. In Lake Monster Mysteries, I acknowledged other lake-monster imitators, including fish (such as sturgeon and gar), long-necked birds, windslicks, boat wakes, and logs (which may be propelled from the lake bottom by methane gas produced by decomposition [Monk 2004]). Swimming mammals like deer and beaver have also been mistaken for lake monsters. For instance, during the filming of the Monster Quest program, a mysterious and seemingly lengthy creature swimming under the surface of the lake created a brief sensation but proved to be a beaver.

I apply otters as a solution to some mystery sightings, according to the principle of Occam’s razor (that the simplest credible solution, the one making the fewest assumptions, is to be preferred). When a sighting could most credibly be explained as one or more otters, like some of the Cressie sightings, then that is necessarily the preferred hypothesis. Other sightings may be attributed to other causes. However, should Cressie surface in a more credible form, I would certainly be willing to reopen the case.

Acknowledgments

In addition to those mentioned in the text, I wish to thank the residents of Robert’s Arm, Newfoundland, who generously hosted a reception for the Monster Quest crew and me, complete with a wonderful seafood dinner and ceremony naming each of us an “Honorary Newfoundlander.”

I also wish to thank CMJ Productions—including producer Leo Singer, production staffer Saskia DeBoer, and the film crew, as well as CFI Libraries director Timothy Binga for their help.

Notes

1. This was conducted on Saturday, June 14, 2008. Two of the three participants—Bradley Rideout and Effie Colbourne—had reported seeing “Cressie.” Brad estimated the 14.25-foot log at 18 feet, Effie at 20 (although first saying “20 to 30”), and the other participant at 20 feet.
2. Formerly Lutra canadensis.

References

• Bragg, R.A. 1995. Have you seen Cressie? In Wanda Jackman, Bonnie Warr, and Russell A. Bragg, Remembrances of Robert’s Arm. Corner Brook, Newfoundland: Western Star Publishers, 14.
• Colbourne, Effie. 2008. Interview for Monster Quest (Monster 2008).
• Coleman, Loren. 2007. Otter nonsense. Available online at cryptomundo.com; accessed June 6.
• Eberhart, George M. 2002. Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology (in two vols.). Santa Barbara, Calif.: ABC-CL10.
• Eel. 2008. From Wikipedia, available online at en.wikipedia.org; accessed August 20, 2008.
• Fitzgerald, Jack. 2006. Newfoundland Adventures: In Air, on Land, at Sea. St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador: Creative Publishers.
• Freshwater eels. 2008a. Available online at gamefishingguide.com; accessed August 8, 2008.
• Freshwater vs. saltwater moray eels revisited. 2008b. Available online at Saltaquarium.about.com; accessed August 20, 2008.
• Gould, Rupert T. 1934. The Loch Ness Monster; reprinted Secaucus, N.J.: Citadel Press, 1976.
• Monk, Jerry. 2004. Letter to the editor. Fortean Times 185 (July): 76.
• Monster Quest eyewitnesses. 2008. Transcript of preliminary interviews for Monster Quest, provided to author September 6.
• Nickell, Joe. 2007a. Mysterious entities of the Pacific Northwest, part I. Skeptical Inquirer 31:1 (January/February), 20–22.
• —. 2007b. Lake monster lookalikes. Skeptical Briefs. June, 6–7.
• —. 2007c. The Loch Ness critter. Skeptical Inquirer 31:5 (September/October), 15–16.
• Radford, Benjamin, and Joe Nickell. 2006. Lake Monster Mysteries: Investigating the World’s Most Elusive Creatures. Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky.
• Rideout, Bradley. 2008. Interview for Monster Quest (Monster 2008).
• Short, Vivian. 2008. Interview for Monster Quest (Monster 2008).
• Whitaker, John O., Jr. 1996. National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mammals. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

Shades of The Amityville Horror! Take a house reeking of death, bring in a “demonologist,” commission a professional writer to enhance the alleged events, Hollywoodize the resulting book into a horror/thriller flick, and shamelessly bandy about the word true in promotional copy. This formula lured moviegoers to The Amityville Horror (1979); now—current hucksters hope—The Haunting in Connecticut, “based on true events,” will entice a new generation of credulous screamers. But here is some of the real truth I encountered in my investigation of the case in 1992 and 1993.

Background

It’s an old story—in more ways than one. In 1986 the family of Allen and Carmen Snedeker (respectively a stone-quarry foreman and former bowling alley cocktail waitress) moved into an old residence, known as the Hallahan House, in Southington, Connecticut. The family included three sons, ages thirteen, eleven, and three (the two oldest being Carmen’s by a previous marriage), and a six-year-old daughter; two nieces would later follow.

It is disputed whether the Snedekers knew when they moved in on June 30 that the house had been a funeral home. They maintained they did not; however, some neighbors insisted otherwise, and the previous owners emphatically stated that the Snedekers were informed of the house’s former use prior to their moving in. In any case, the family soon discovered in the basement a box of coffin handles, a chain-and-pulley casket lift, and a blood drainage pit—unmistakable relics of the previous business, the Hallahan Funeral Home.

The creepy setting may well have had a powerful suggestive effect. Spooky phenomena began with the oldest son, Philip, whose basement bedroom was adjacent to the gruesome area. Soon he reported seeing ghosts, although his parents say they first attributed this to cobalt treatments he was receiving for Hodgkin’s disease. Philip’s personality changed drastically: he began wearing leather, developed an interest in demonology, and even reportedly broke into a neighbor’s home, telling his mother he wanted a gun so he could kill his stepfather (Corica and Smith 1988a; Rivard 1988; Carpenter 1988).

The phenomena allegedly continued for two years. A seventeen-year-old niece claimed an unseen hand fondled her on occasion as she lay in bed, and there were many other reported occurrences, including more apparitions, noises, and physical attacks—especially alleged demonic sexual attacks on Carmen Snedeker (Carpenter 1988; Corica and Smith 1988a).

Then the Snedekers brought in notorious “demonologist” Ed Warren and his “clairvoyant” wife Lorraine. The couple made a business—some would say a racket—of spirits. They came to be called many things, ranging from “passionate and religious people” to “scaremongers” and “charlatans” (Duckett 1991). Already having helped promote the Amityville “horror” and a similar West Pittston, Pennsylvania, “nightmare” (Curran 1988), they continued their modus operandi of arriving at a “haunted” house and transforming the case into a “demonic” one, in keeping with their own medieval-style Catholic beliefs. (Like the Lutzes at Amityville and the Smurls at West Pittston, the Snedekers were self-described devout Catholics.)

Bringing with them two “psychic researchers” (the Warrens’ grandson and nephew), Ed and Lorraine Warren moved into the house for nine weeks. While denying there was any book deal in progress, the researchers had in fact made just such an arrangement. Mrs. Snedeker had already told her upstairs neighbor about the deal, saying she and her husband were to receive one-third of the profits (Carpenter 1988; Corica and Smith 1988a, 1988b).

Soon both Al and Carmen Snedeker were publicly claiming to have been raped and sodomized by demons—the same claim made in a previous case involving the Warrens (Nickell 1995, 131). They would repeat these claims on national television shows—notably on Sally Jessy Raphael—to promote their book with the Warrens, In a Dark Place: The Story of a True Haunting (Warren, et al. 1992). It was written with professional horror-tale writer Ray Garton and timed—like the Sally show—for Halloween promotion, 1992.

Investigation

Although I had earlier appeared with Carmen Snedeker on The Maury Povich Show (taped March 2, 1992), my investigation intensified when Sally Jessy Raphael producers sent me an advance copy of the Warrens and Snedekers’ book and invited me on the show. I later visited Southington as a guest of one of the Snedekers’ neighbors.

On the Sally show (taped October 19, aired October 30), I appeared with the Warrens and Snedekers as well as several of the latter’s skeptical Southington neighbors. Ed made veiled threatening asides to me (not aired) and, offstage, swore like a sailor. During the taping, the Snedekers sat on a brass bed while telling their story of demonic sexual attack.

Among their most effective critics was Mrs. Kathy Altemus, who lived across the street from the Snedekers during their entire residence in the Hallahan House. Beginning in mid-July 1988, Mrs. Altemus kept a journal of events relating to 208 Meriden Avenue. As she told Sally, “I discovered that there were usually things going on in the neighborhood that explained the things they put in the newspaper.” The journal—which she generously shared with me to help “expose the truth” (Altemus 1993)—juxtaposes her written records with news clippings arranged chronologically. The result is revealing. For instance, the television program A Current Affair mentioned the sound of clanking chains in the house, presumably from the coffin lift in the basement. But Mrs. Altemus’s journal shows that the noise most likely was from a truck that passed by, making a sound like it was “dragging a chain.” Other events also had credible explanations, some attributable to various passersby mentioned in the journal as “pulling pranks on the ‘haunted house’” (Nickell 1995, 137, 147 n. 98),

The journal also sheds light on another event. As sensationalized in the New Britain Herald, either a “bizarre coincidence or ghost” was indicated by a power outage—caused by a tree limb that fell onto an electrical line outside the Hallahan House just after A Current Affair broadcast “a segment on the Snedeker family of that address.” According to the paper a utility spokesman “was at a loss to explain just why the limb chose that particular time to knock out the power.” In fact, however, the incident did not occur at the time of the television program but approximately two hours later. Besides, as the journal makes clear, such outages have occurred several times on tree-lined Meriden Avenue, when limbs have fallen on the uninsulated line. Such an event, in fact, actually occurred when I was in Southington at the Altemus home in June 1993. It seems unlikely that demonic forces were heralding my arrival or had no better means of attempting to scare me away.

Long before the Sally show, in response to the Warrens’ shameless media exploitation, the Snedekers’ landlady—who had served them with an eviction notice for failing to pay their rent—had responded to the supernatural claims. She and her husband, she said, had owned the property for two and a half years and experienced no problems with it.

“Personally, my husband and I do not believe in ghosts and to us, the whole issue seems ridiculous. I find it ironic that after more than two years as tenants, suddenly we are told about these alleged ghosts and then read in the paper that the Warrens will be conducting a seminar and will be charging the public for it.

“If the ghosts really are there, then why did the Snedekers stay there over two years and why are they staying there now? Are they looking for publicity or profit, or what?” the landlady said (qtd. in DiMauro and Starmack 1989).

The Snedekers’ upstairs neighbor had similar views. Calling the Warrens “con artists,” she said: “I haven’t experienced anything. I definitely know that no one has been raped up here.” She told reporters that the Warrens, who she was convinced were exploiting the situation for personal gain, “have caused a lot of problems here and they are not ghost problems” (Corica and Smith 1988b).

Other revealing information came to light in Southington—about Philip Snedeker’s drug use, vandalism, and other misbehavior. There was even an explanation for the sexual touching that Carmen’s niece had felt “from an unseen hand.” The boy was actually caught fondling his nieces while they slept. “Steven” (as he is called in the book) “was taken away by the police that afternoon. He was questioned, at which time he confessed that he’d been fondling the girls while they slept at night, and that he’d attempted unsuccessfully to have sex with his twelve-year-old cousin.” He was later taken to the juvenile detention center, where a psychiatrist diagnosed him as schizophrenic (Warren et al. 1992, 145–147).

Conclusions

Many people branded the Warren-Snedeker-Garton book fiction. Said the husband of the Snedekers’ landlady: “It’s a fraud. It’s a joke. It’s a hoax. It’s Halloween.” He added, “It’s a scheme to make money.” Those comments appeared in a brilliantly titled newspaper article (Schmidt 1992), “Couple sees ghost; skeptics see through it.” As indicated by the evidence—the publicity-seeking actions in the case and the timing of the book for Halloween promotion—there is reason to doubt the motives of those involved. If the case did not originate as a hoax, I concluded from my original investigation (Nickell 1995, 139), people could scarcely be blamed for thinking it has been transformed into one.

Subsequent developments have only supported that conclusion. Some of the co-authors of the Warrens’ books have reportedly since admitted that Ed Warren (who died in 2006) told them to make up incidents and details to create “scary” stories (Nickell 2006). Ray Garton, the award-winning horror writer who wrote the book about the Southington case—on which The Haunting in Connecticut movie is based—has now effectively repudiated that book. He says he is glad that it went out of print, adding: “The family involved, which was going through some serious problems like alcoholism and drug addiction, could not keep their story straight, and I became very frustrated; it’s hard writing a non-fiction book when all the people involved are telling you different stories” (“Ray Garton” 2009). So much for the movie being “Based on True Events.”

References

• Carpenter, Bryant. 1988. Southington haunting is daunting. Record-Journal (Meriden, Connecticut), August 13.
• Corica, Susan, and Glenn Smith. 1988a. An unworldly being. Herald Extra (New Britain, Connecticut), August 15.
• —. 1988b. Haunted house claim clouded by tenant, landlord dispute. Herald, August 29.
• Curran, Robert, with Jack and Janet Smurl and Ed and Lorraine Warren. 1988. The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare. New York: St. Martin’s.
• Dimauro, Ken, and Jeanne Starmack. 1989. Demonic presence said to plague family. Observer, August 18.
• Duckett, Jodi. 1991. The Morning Call (Allentown, Pennsylvania), November 5, 1991.
• I was raped by a ghost. 1992. Sally Jessy Raphael show transcript (no. 1084), Multimedia Entertainment, October 30.
• Nickell, Joe. 1995. Entities: Angels, Spirits, Demons, and Other Alien Beings. Amherst, New York: Prometheus Books.
• —.2006. Death of a demonologist: Ed Warren dead at 79. Skeptical Inquirer 30:6 (November/December), 8.
• Rivard, Kathy. 1988. Southington family spooked by house. Bristol Press (Bristol, Connecticut), August 11.
• Schmidt, Karen. 1992. Couple sees ghost; skeptics see through it. Hartford Courant, October 30.
• Warren, Ed, Lorraine Warren, Al Snedeker, and Carmen Snedeker, with Ray Garton. 1992. In a Dark Place: The Story of a True Haunting. New York: Villard Books.
• Wikipedia. 2009. Ray Garton. Accessed February 27, 2009.

Among certain reputedly miraculous images of Jesus—said to be acheiropoietos or “not made by hands”—was the Image of Edessa, known later to the Byzantines as the Mandylion (or “holy towel”). I was able to view this image, part of a traveling exhibition of “Vatican Splendors,” in Cleveland, Ohio, on September 1, 2008. It bore the title “The Mandylion of Edessa,” although the official exhibition catalog held some surprise revelations (“Mandylion” 2008). I would discover others.

The Legend

The story of the Edessan Image is related in a mid-fourth-century Syriac manuscript, The Doctrine of Addai. It tells how King Abgar of Edessa (now Urfa in south-central Turkey), afflicted with leprosy, sent a messenger named Ananias to deliver a letter to Jesus requesting a cure. In the letter (according to a tenth-century report [qtd. in Wilson 1979, 272–290]), Abgar sends “greetings to Jesus the Savior who has come to light as a good physician in the city of Jerusalem” and who, he has heard, “can make the blind see, the lame walk . . . heal those who are tortured by chronic illnesses, and . . . raise the dead.” Abgar decided that Jesus either is God himself or the Son of God, and so he entreats Jesus to “come to me and cure me of my disease.” He notes that he has heard of the Jews’ plan to harm Jesus and adds, “I have a very small city, but it is stately and will be sufficient for us both to live in peace.”

Abgar, so the story goes, instructed Ananias that if he were unable to persuade Jesus to return with him to Edessa, he was to bring back a portrait instead. But while Ananias sat on a rock drawing the portrait, Jesus summoned him, divining his mission and the fact of the letter Ananias carried. After reading it, Jesus responded with a letter of his own, writing, “Blessed are you, Abgar, in that you believed in me without having actually seen me.” Jesus said that while he must fulfill his mission on earth, he would later send one of his disciples to cure Abgar’s suffering and to “also provide your city with a sufficient defense to keep all your enemies from taking it.” After entrusting the letter to Ananias, “The Savior then washed his face in water, wiped off the moisture that was left on the towel that was given to him, and in some divine and inexpressible manner had his own likeness impressed on it.” Jesus gave Ananias the towel to present to Abgar as “consolation” for his disease.

Quite a different version of the story (see Wilson 1979, 277–278) holds that the image was impressed with Jesus’ bloody sweat during his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane (Luke 22: 44). (This anticipates the still later tradition of Veronica’s Veil, wherein Veronica, a woman from Jerusalem, was so moved by Jesus’ struggling with his cross on the way to execution that she wiped his face on her veil or kerchief, thus imprinting it with his bloody sweat. Actually, the term veronica is simply a corruption of the Latin words vera iconica, “true images” [Nickell 2007, 71–76].) In this second version of the story, Jesus’ disciple Thomas held the cloth for safekeeping until Jesus ascended to heaven, whereupon it was then sent to King Abgar.

Significantly, the earliest mention of the Abgar/Jesus correspondence—an account of circa ad 325 by Bishop Eusebius—lacks any mention of the holy image (Nickell 1998, 45). Also, in one revealing fourth-century text of The Doctrine of Addai, the image is described not as of miraculous origin but merely as the work of Hannan (Ananias), who “took and painted a portrait of Jesus in choice paints, and brought it with him to his lord King Abgar” (qtd. in Wilson 1979, 130).

Historian Sir Steven Runciman has denounced all versions of the legend as apocryphal: “It is easy to show that the story of Abgar and Jesus as we now have it are untrue, that the letters contain phrases copied from the gospels and are framed according to the dictates of later theology” (qtd. in Sox 1978, 52).

The Mandylion’s Journey

Nevertheless, Runciman adds, “that does not necessarily invalidate the tradition on which the story was based ...” (qtd. in Sox 1978, 52). The best evidence in the case would be the image itself, but which image? There have been several, each claimed to be the miraculous original. Obviously, only one could be authentic, but does it even still exist?

The Mandylion has a gap in its provenance (or historical record) of several centuries. It was reportedly transferred in 944 to Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire, along with the purported letter from Jesus to King Abgar. The image may once have been incorporated into a triptych of the tenth century. Its side panels, now reposing in the monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai, illustrate the pious legend of Abgar receiving the image. Interestingly, the panels portray Abgar as having the features of Byzantine Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitos.

After the Venetians conquered Constantinople in 1204 during the Fourth Crusade, the Mandylion was reportedly transferred to the West, where its history becomes confused. Three traditions develop, each associated with a different “original” of the image:

1. Parisian Mandylion. Allegedly obtained by Emperor Baldwin II and sold or donated by him in 1247, this image was eventually acquired by King Louis IX (1214–1270), who had it installed in the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris. It was lost in 1792, apparently destroyed during the French Revolution (“Mandylion” 2008; Wilson 1991, 129).
2. Genoese Mandylion. Although this image reportedly can be traced back to the tenth century, its verifiable history dates from 1362 when then Byzantine Emperor John V donated it to Genoa’s Doge Leonardo Montaldo. After Montaldo died in 1384, the Mandylion was bequeathed to the Genoese Church of St. Bartholomew of the Armenians, arriving in 1388. It remains there, displayed in a gilt-silver, enameled frame of the fourteenth-century Palaeologan style. The image itself is on a cloth that has been glued to a wooden board (“Mandylion” 2008; “Image” 2008; Wilson 1991, 113–114, 137–138).
3. Vatican Mandylion. This image (figure 1) has no certain history before the sixteenth century, when it was known to be kept at the convent of San Silvestro in Capito. In 1517, the nuns were reportedly forbidden to exhibit it, so it would not compete with the church’s Veronica. And in 1587 it was mentioned by one Cesare Baromio. In 1623 it received its silver frame, donated by Sister Dionora Chiarucci. It remained at San Silvestro until 1870 when, during the war that completed the unification of Italy, Pope Pius IX had it removed to the Vatican for safekeeping. Except when traveling, it still reposes in the Vatican’s Matilda chapel (“Mandylion” 2008; “Image” 2008; Wilson 1991, 139–140).

These are the three Edessan Mandylions that have been claimed as original. Others—such as a seventeenth-century Mandylion icon in Buckingham Palace in London, surrounded by painted panels (Wilson 1979, 111)—need not concern us here.

Image Analysis

The Vatican now concedes (in the words of the official Vatican Splendors exhibit catalog [“Mandylion” 2008]) that “... the Mandylion is no longer enveloped today by any legend of its origin as an image made without the intervention of human hands....”

In the summer of 1996, the Vatican Museum’s chemistry and painting restoration laboratory analyzed their Mandylion. It was taken out of its baroque reliquary and removed from its silver-sheet frame (made in 1623). Glued to a cedar support panel was the linen cloth on which the face of Christ was clearly “painted,” although the non-destructive tests were insufficient to specifically confirm that the painting medium was tempera.

While “the thin layer of pigment showed no traces of overpainting,” there were nonetheless “alterations in the execution of the nose, mouth, and eyes” that were “observed in the x-rays and thermographic and reflectographic photographs.” Specifically, the nose had once been shorter, “so that the image originally must have had a different physiognomy” (“Mandylion” 2008, 57–58).

The museums’ scholars learned (according to “Mandylion” 2008, 56):

The version in the Vatican and the one in Genoa are almost wholly identical in their representation, form, technique, and measurements. Indeed, they must at some point in their history have crossed paths, for the rivet holes that surround the Genoese image coincide with those that attach the Vatican Mandylion to the cut-out sheet of silver that frames the image. ... So this silver frame, or one like to it, must also have originally covered the panel in Genoa.

Iconography

The Mandylion clearly has been copied and recopied, as if the different versions were just so many “icons” (as they are now called). It is not surprising that many of them appeared. According to Thomas Humber (1978, 92), “Soon the popular demand for more copies representing the ‘true likeness’ of Christ was such that selected artists were allowed or encouraged to make duplications.” Indeed, “there was, conveniently, another tradition supporting the copies: the Image could miraculously duplicate itself.”

Because icons were traditionally painted on wood, the fact that both the Vatican and Genoese Mandylions are on linen suggests that each was intended to be regarded as the original Edessan Image. That image was described in the tenth-century account as “a moist secretion without coloring or painter’s art,” an “impression” of Jesus’ face on “linen cloth” that—as is the way of legend—“eventually became indestructible” (qtd. in Wilson 1979, 273).

While the original image appears lost to history, Ian Wilson (1979, 119–121) goes so far as to argue that the Edessan Image has survived—indeed, that it is nothing less than the Shroud of Turin, the alleged burial cloth of Jesus! To the obvious rejoinder that the early Mandylions bore only a facial image whereas the Turin “shroud” bears full length frontal and dorsal images, Wilson argues that the latter may have been folded in such a way as to exhibit only the face. Also there is an eighth-century account of King Abgar receiving a cloth with the image of Jesus’ whole body (“Image” 2008). Unfortunately, the Turin cloth has no provenance prior to the mid-fourteenth century when—according to a later bishop’s report to the pope—an artist confessed it was his handiwork. Indeed, the image is rendered in red ocher and vermilion tempera paint—not as a positive image but as a negative one, as if it were a bodily imprint. Moreover, the cloth has been radiocarbon dated to the time of the forger’s confession (Nickell 1998). (Another image-bearing shroud—of Besançon, France—did not come from Constantinople in 1204 as alleged but was clearly a sixteenth-century copy of the Turin fake [Nickell 1998, 64].)

The evidence is lacking, therefore, that any of these figured cloths ever bore a “not-made-by-hands” image. Instead, they have evolved from unlikely legend to Edessan portrait to self-duplicating Mandylions to proliferating “Veronicas” to full-length body image—all supposedly of the living Jesus—and thence to imaged “shrouds” with simulated frontal and dorsal bodily imprints. Finally, modern science and scholarship have revealed the truth about these pious deceptions.

Acknowledgments

My wife Diana Harris accompanied and assisted me on this investigation. I am also grateful to Alan Zoppa for computer enhancement of the photo, which was taken under extremely low-light conditions.

References

• Humber, Thomas. 1978. The Sacred Shroud. New York: Pocket Books.
• Image of Edessa. 2008. From Wikipedia, available online at http://enwikipedia.org/wiki/Image_of_Edessa; accessed September 5, 2008.
• Mandylion of Edessa. 2008. Vatican Splendors: From Saint Peter’s Basilica, The Vatican Museums and the Swiss Guard. Vatican City State: Governatorato, 55–58.
• Nickell, Joe. 1998. Inquest on the Shroud of Turin: Latest Scientific Findings. Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus Books.
• Sox, H. David. 1978. File on the Shroud. London: Coronet Books.
• Wilson, Ian. 1979. The Shroud of Turin: The Burial Cloth of Jesus Christ? Revised ed. Garden City, N.Y.: Image Books.
• —. 1991. Holy Faces, Secret Places: An Amazing Quest for the Face of Jesus. New York: Doubleday.

Given the ubiquitousness of vampires, those undead beings who are driven by bloodlust (and who thrive in movies like 2008’s popular Twilight), it should not be surprising that historically there have been instances of reputed vampirism in the United States, notably in New England. And today there is a veritable vampire industry in New Orleans. I have investigated these cultural trends on site, tracking the legendary creatures to their very graves.

New England

New England has always been an admixture of both austere skepticism and passionate superstition. Vampire legends lurk in the latter. According to one vampirologist, “The presence in New England of a strongly rooted vampire mythology is something of an enigma to folklorists. There is quite simply no other area in all of North America with such wealth of vampire lore” (Rondina 2008, 165).

One of the best known examples is the case of nineteen-year-old Mercy Lena Brown in Exeter, Rhode Island, in 1892—a case that supposedly influenced Bram Stoker, author of Dracula (1897). As Katherine Ramsland (2002, 18) concisely tells the story:

George Brown lost his wife and then his eldest daughter. One of his sons, Edwin, returned and once again became ill, so George exhumed the bodies of his wife and daughters. The wife and first daughter had decomposed, but Mercy’s body—buried for three months—was fresh and turned sideways in the coffin, and blood dripped from her mouth. They cut out her heart, burned it, and dissolved the ashes in a medicine for Edwin to drink. However, he also died, and Mercy Brown became known as Exeter’s vampire.

Accounts of the exhumation in the Providence Journal of March 19 and 21, 1892, acknowledge that the Browns died of consumption (tuberculosis). They do not mention the corpse of Lena (as she was actually known) being turned on its side or blood dripping from the mouth. The exhumation was conducted by a young Harold Metcalf, MD, from the city of Wickford. “Dr. Metcalf reports the body in a state of natural decomposition, with nothing exceptional existing,” stated the Journal. “When the doctor removed the heart and the liver from the body a quantity of blood dripped therefrom, but this he said was just what might be expected from a similar examination of almost any person after the same length of time from disease.” The article added, “The heart and liver were cremated by the attendants” (“Exhumed” 1892).

A follow-up article (“Vampire” 1892) noted that the heart’s blood was “clotted and decomposed . . . just what might be expected at that stage of decomposition.” The correspondent acknowledged the custom of an afflicted person consuming the ashes to effect a cure, stating, “In this case the doctor does not know if this latter remedy was resorted to or not, and he only knows from hearsay how ill the son Edwin is, never having been called to attend him.”

And so ends “Unarguably the best known incident of historical vampirism in America,” indeed the story of “The Last Vampire” (Rondina 2008, 83, 99). However, there are many other reported cases typically involving consumption. The victim’s lethargy, pale appearance, coughing of blood, and contagiousness all suggested to the superstitious the result of a “vampire’s parasitic kiss” (Citro 1994, 71).

The Demon Vampire

In 2008 I went in search of vampire cases in Vermont. Apparently the earliest reported vampire incident took place in Manchester in 1793. Four years earlier, Captain Isaac Burton—a deacon in the congregational church—wed Rachel Harris. Judge John S. Pettibone (1786 —1872) picks up the story:

She was, to use the words of one who was well acquainted with her, “a fine, healthy, beautiful girl.” Not long after they were married she went into a decline and after a year or so she died of consumption. Capt. Burton after a year or more married Hulda Powel, daughter of Esquire Powel by his first wife. Hulda was a very healthy, good-looking girl, not as handsome as his first wife. She became ill soon after they were married and when she was in the last stages of consumption, a strange infatuation took possession of the minds of the connections and friends of the family. They were induced to believe that if the vitals of the first wife could be consumed by being burned in a charcoal fire it would effect a cure of the sick second wife. Such was the strange delusion that they disinterred the first wife who had been buried about three years. They took out the liver, heart, and lungs, what remained of them, and burned them to ashes on the blacksmith’s forge of Jacob Mead. Timothy Mead officiated at the altar in the sacrifice to the Demon Vampire who it was believed was still sucking the blood of the then living wife of Captain Burton. It was the month of February and good sleighing. Such was the excitement that from five hundred to one thousand people were present. This account was furnished me by an eye witness of the transaction.

Not only is Judge Pettibone’s informant unnamed, but his manuscript (which still exists in the Manchester Historical Society [Harwood 2008]) is of uncertain date, although penned sometime between 1857 and 1872 (Proceedings 1930, 147). I located a Burton family history (Holman 1926) that makes no mention of the vampire tale but does confirm the sequence of marriages and deaths. (Captain Burton married Rachel Harris on March 8, 1789, and she died on February 1, 1790. He married Hulda Powell on January 4, 1791, and she succumbed on September 6, 1793.)

Therefore, the Pettibone account could be true. The salient point, however, is that belief in “the Demon Vampire” was indeed nothing more than a “strange delusion.” Pettibone places the bizarre sacrifice about three years after Rachel’s burial, which means the event occurred in early 1793, and Huldah died later that year. Clearly, anti-vampire magic was no cure for consumption.

I attempted to locate Rachel’s grave. Isaac Burton and his fourth wife Dency Raymond (1774—1864) are buried together in the old section of Dellwood Cemetery in Manchester (Holman 1926, 25—28). The graves were relocated there from the old burial ground on the village green, today’s courthouse site, where many old, unmarked graves are thought yet to remain (Harwood 2008). Among them may be the lost grave of the beautiful but unfortunate Rachel Harris.

On Woodstock Green

Another story comes from Woodstock, where sources claim a vampire’s heart was burned on the public green around 1829. The earliest account appeared in The Journal of American Folklore (Curtin 1889, 58—59). The story was later retold in the Boston Transcript, followed by an expanded version “Vampirism in Woodstock” in the October 9, 1890, Vermont Standard (quoted in Stephens 1970, 71—74). This gave the man’s family name as Corwin. (Composite, garbled versions have since appeared [e.g., “Vampire Incidents” 2008].) According to the original source (Curtin 1889, 58):

The man had died of consumption six months before and his body buried in the ground. A brother of the deceased fell ill soon after, and in a short time it appeared that he too had consumption; when this became known the family determined at once to disinter the body of the dead man and examine his heart. Then they reinterred the body, took the heart to the middle of Woodstock Green, where they kindled a fire under an iron pot, in which they placed the heart, and burned it to ashes.

Figure 2. The author uses chalk to enhance the tombstone of Josiah Spaulding, which is topped with the familiar image of the Angel of Death.

Unfortunately, not only was the story sixty years old at the time it appeared, but the writer failed to give any source other than an “old lady” in Woodstock who “said she saw the disinterment and the burning with her own eyes.” The editor of The Vermont Standard added much supplementary material, claiming that the pot of ashes was buried under a seven-ton granite slab and that persons digging at the site a decade later encountered a sulfurous smell and smoke. This reference to the fires of Hell reveal the editor’s writing as tongue-in-cheek, even sarcastic, and discredits his other details: the man’s name as Corwin and burial in the Cushing Cemetery. Small wonder that no one of that name is buried in that graveyard—as shown by cemetery records (Stillwell and Proctor 1977) and confirmed by a search among the old tombstones by my wife and me (see also Crosier 1986; Wendlong 1990).

Misunderstanding the editor’s satire, popular writers have tended either to give too much credence to the story or to debunk or dismiss it altogehter. Possibly the original account did contain a nucleus of truth, an early account of consumption and superstitious belief associated with it.

The Killing Vine

Yet another old case, again involving consumption and associated superstition, has been reinterpreted by moderns as a “vampire incident” (“Vampire” 2008; Rondina 2008, 104). The story, in David L. Mansfield’s The History of the Town of Dummerston (1884)—itself an account written some ninety years after the events and based on oral tradition—has become somewhat garbled by writers copying writers. Therefore, I tracked down a copy of the original text for study. It relates that Lieutenant Leonard Spaulding died of consumption in 1788, aged fifty-nine, father of eleven children. Mansfield states (1884, 27):

Although the children of Lt. Spaulding, especially the sons, became large, muscular persons, all but one or two died under 40 years of age of consumption, and their sickness was brief.

It is related by those who remember the circumstance; after six or seven of the family had died of consumption, another daughter was taken, it was supposed, with the same disease. It was thought she would die, and much was said in regard to so many of the family’s dying of consumption when they all seemed to have the appearance of good health and long life. Among the superstitions of those days, we find it was said that a vine or root of some kind grew from coffin to coffin, of those of one family, who died of consumption, and were buried side by side; and when the growing vine had reached the coffin of the last one buried, another one of the family would die; the only way to destroy the influence or effect, was to break the vine; take up the body of the last one buried and burn the vitals, which would be an effectual remedy: Accordingly, the body of the last one buried was dug up and the vitals taken out and burned, and the daughter, it is affirmed, got well and lived many years. The act, doubtless, raised her mind from a state of despondency to hopefullness [sic].

Now, Spaulding and his wife Margaret (who died in 1827) were buried in separate cemeteries and in unmarked graves. However, I located all but two of the children’s graves, including a row of six in the Dummerston Center Cemetery (figures 1 and 2).

Unfortunately for the quaint legend related by oral tradition, the graves (whether linked by hidden underground vines or not) are not placed consecutively in the order of the family members’ deaths. Neither did the last of the six, Josiah, die very close in time to the previous sibling’s demise, since more than five-and-a-half years passed since the death of John. Of course, the family may well have been plagued by consumption, and it is possible Josiah’s body was disinterred and the vitals burned. In any event, he was indeed followed in death by one of Leonard Spaulding’s daughters, as the legend states, since after he died only Olive remained alive. Apparently, she lived on for years, moving with a second husband to Brattleboro (Mansfield 1884, 26)—perhaps this being the secret of her having avoided the contagion!

In New Orleans

In sharp contrast to vampire legends of New England are those of New Orleans. While Louisiana indeed has a folk tradition of werewolves (the Loup-Garous of the Cajuns), the vampire culture there is not folklore but fakelore.

When I investigated various topics in the New Orleans area in 2000 (Nickell 2004, 140—161, 165—175), I found frequent references to vampires. The various nighttime tours focusing on cemeteries, voodoo, and ghosts invariably touted vampires as well, and guides (like mine) regaled tourists with spine-tingling tales of the “undead.”

Anne Rice (born Howard Allen O’Brien in 1941) inspired legions of fans with her series of erotic horror novels, beginning with Interview with the Vampire (1976). Until she repudiated the genre, returned to her Catholic faith, and moved from New Orleans in 2005, many Rice devotees made pilgrimages to the Big Easy. Some walking tours included Rice’s home or the location of the filming of Interview. There was even a tour book, Haunted City: An Unauthorized Guide to the Magical, Magnificent New Orleans of Anne Rice (Dickinson 1997).

According to Victor C. Klein, who has compiled two books of New Orleans ghost legends, “Throughout my extensive researches I have never encountered any tangible trace of Vampirism in Louisiana or New Orleans.” He adds, “The genesis for such beliefs is directly attributable to the commercial imagination of Ms. Rice and the cebretonic endomorphs who, in their mad dash to establish a subjective species of identity and immortality, elevate her works to gospel status” (1999, 106). He also speaks of “the hyperbolic balderdash which spews forth from the black garbed tour guides who are more interested in money and sensationalism than accurate historical research” (1999, 64).

I recall one of the more responsible guides laughingly telling me how a customer once inquired about a particular grave featured in a Rice story and would not be convinced that the site was purely fictional. But I think the evidence shows that that grave is just as authentically vampiric as any real graves in New Orleans, New England, Europe, or elsewhere.

Acknowledgments

My wife, Diana G. Harris, helpfully accompanied me on my trip to Vermont. Timothy Binga, director of CFI Libraries, provided much research assistance, and I am grateful to Paul Loynes for typesetting and indeed the entire Skeptical Inquirer staff for help at all levels.

I am especially grateful to the following gracious Vermont people and institutions for their crucial assistance: in Woodstock, the staff of the Norman Williams Public Library, including reference-desk attendant John Donaldson, and the staff of the Woodstock Inn and Resort (for free coffee and tea!); in Dummerston, Town Clerk Pam McFadden and historian Paul Normandeau; and in Manchester, the staff of the Mark Skinner Library, Assistant Town Clerk Bear Scovil, Dellwood Cemetery caretaker Kurt Baccei, and, especially, curator of the Manchester Historical Society, Dr. Judy Harwood.

References

• Bunson, Matthew. 2000. The Vampire Encyclopedia. New York: Gramercy Books.
• Citro, Joseph A. 1994. Green Mountain Ghosts, Ghouls and Unsolved Mysteries. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.
• Crosier, Barney. 1986. Vermont’s vampire heart. Rutland Herald, October 26.
• Curtin, Jeremiah. 1889. European folk-lore in the United States. Journal of American Folklore. 2:4 (March), 56—59.
• Dickinson, Joy. 1997. Haunted City: An Unauthorized Guide to the Magical, Magnificent New Orleans of Anne Rice. Secaucus, N.J.: Citadel Press.
• “Exhumed the Bodies . . . .” 1892. Provincetown Journal, March 19 (reprinted in Rondina 2008, 86—87).
• Hard, Walter R., Jr., and Janet C. Greene, eds. 1970. Mischief in the Mountains. Montpelier, Vermont: Vermont Life Magazine.
• Harwood, Judy. 2008. Personal communication, May 21, July 9.
• Holman, Winifred Lovering. 1926. Descendants of Josiah Burton of Manchester, Vt. Concord, N.H.: The Rumford Press.
• Klein, Victor C. 1999. New Orleans Ghosts II. Metairie, La.: Lycanthrope Press.
• Mansfield, David L. 1884. The History of the Town of Dummerston. Ludlow, Vt.: Published by Miss A.M. Hemenway.
• Nickell, Joe. 2004. The Mystery Chronicles: More Real-Life X-Files. Lexington, Ky.: University Press of Kentucky.
• Pettibone, Judge John S. N.d. The early history of Manchester. In Proceedings 1930, 147—166.
• Proceedings of the Vermont Historical Society. 1930. New series, vol. 1, no. 4.
• Ramsland, Katherine. 2002. The Science of Vampires. New York: Berkley Boulevard Books.
• Rice, Anne. 1976. Interview with the Vampire, New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
• Rondina, Christopher. 2008. Vampires of New England. N.p.: On the Cape Publications.
• Stevens, Rockwell. 1970. “The Vampire’s Heart,” in Hard and Greene 1970, 71—80.
• Stoker, Bram. 1897. Dracula. Reprinted, New York: Barnes & Noble, 2003.
• Stillwell, Dorothy, and Dorothy L. Proctor. 1977. Cushing cemetery file; typescript at Norman Williams Public Library, Woodstock, Vermont.
• Vampire incidents in New England. 2008. Available online at www.foodforthedead.com/map.swf; accessed May 9.
• “The Vampire Theory.” 1892. Providence Journal, March 21; reprinted in Rondina 2008, 89—96.
• “Vampirism in Woodstock.” 1890. Vermont Standard, October 9; reprinted in Stephens 1970, 71—74.
• Wendling, Kathy. 1990. Woodstock’s vampire: The heart of the legend. Vermont Standard, October 25.

“Quack of Quacks”

Most sources, following an untrustworthy biography, give Cagliostro’s real name as Giuseppe Balsamo, born in Palermo in 1743. He often claimed to have been a gypsy and, indeed, “he might well have been” (Randi 1995, 52). Reportedly, by the age of thirteen he was a seminarian and soon thereafter turned his talent as an artist to counterfeiting theater tickets, then advanced to forging a will so that a marquis could obtain an illicit inheritance. Soon in and out of jail for various offences, he took up magic and fortunetelling, reinventing himself as a sorcerer by adding some chemical tricks he had learned. Using a version of the gypsies’ hokkani boro, “the great trick” (Nickell 2001, 179–184), he bilked a client of a sack of gold, which resulted in his first of many journeys to avoid arrest (King n.d., 21–60).

He became acquainted with alchemists in Messina and Malta, took the name Count Alessandro Cagliostro, and subsequently became a Freemason in London. His beautiful wife, Lorenza Feliciani (according to Guiley 1991, 77),

became his partner in various occult ventures, such as crystal-gazing, healing by laying on of hands, conjuring spirits, and predicting winning lottery tickets. They also sold magic potions, the elixir of life, and the philosopher’s stone. They held séances, transmuted metals, practiced necromancy, cast out demons, and hypnotized people.

Thomas Carlyle dubbed Cagliostro the “Quack of quacks” (1833, 31).

Before Cagliostro achieved fame, he and Lorenza lived a nomadic existence. According to Grete de Francesco in his The Power of the Charlatan (1939, 211–212):

The pair acquired consummate knowledge of their metier. After they had shown a materialization of the devil in one city, they entertained the next one with an exhibition of traditional magic art, changing hemp to silk, pebbles to pearls, powder to roses. They carried with them a mandrake root, locked in a casket lined with satin, and a crystal ball in which one could stare until one saw iridescent pictures: interiors of bedchambers, exotic landscapes, shapes of the past and future.

Here and there, the fake count and countess practiced the infamous “badger game,” a swindle in which a wife entices a would-be paramour into a compromising situation, whereupon her husband bursts in (usually with a witness) and badgers the victim into paying blackmail. Lorenza reportedly went on to have two actual affairs (King n.d., 69–70, 141–144, 206–207; cf. 267).

The pair staged theatrical deceptions—not only magic shows but séances in the form of elaborate suppers capped with spirit materializations. As well, Cagliostro used sleight of hand to cause “spirit writings” to appear on slips of paper (Waldman and Layden 1997, 85; Randi 1995, 53), foreshadowing similar trickery of the later Spiritualist movement (Nickell 2007, 39–47). They promoted their elixir of youth by personal example: Cagliostro claimed that he was centuries old, having even been witness to Jesus’ crucifixion, and that his beautiful wife, who was then in her twenties, was instead in her sixties (Randi 1995, 52–53).

In addition to his elixir, Cagliostro also claimed to possess the elusive materia prima, or “philosopher’s stone,” a magical powder capable of transmuting base metals into gold. By this supposed discovery, he laid claim to being the world’s true master alchemist. Actually, he learned that “It was only necessary to pretend that you possessed this secret, and immediately your house would be besieged by credulous dupes, eager to put down their money so that they might take a humble share in your success” (King n.d., 52). During one of his pretend transmutations, Cagliostro was observed slyly dropping a concealed lump of gold into a crucible before it entered the furnace (King n.d., 147).

A cleverer method that he may have used involved a crucible with a false bottom made of an amalgam with a low melting point. Beneath this was hidden some bits of gold. The phony alchemist would place some copper, chemical compounds, and his materia prima into the “empty” crucible, whereupon some gold would be found in the residue after it was heated. A similar trick was used to seemingly convert glass into diamonds (Gibson 1967, 35–36).

Strasbourg

Cagliostro and Lorenza frequently found themselves in trouble with authorities, but credulous patrons invariably came to their defense. Such a dupe was Louis René Édouard, the Cardinal de Rohan (1734—1803), who in 1779 had become bishop of Strasbourg, France.

From 1780 to 1783, Cagliostro and Lorenza resided in Strasbourg, living in a dwelling—now known as the Cagliostro House—at 12 rue de la Râpe. It was built in 1747, and its rococo portal (see figure 1) was inspired by paneling from a nearby palace (Strolling n.d.).

Cagliostro cultivated Cardinal de Rohan, who in any case could not have failed to learn of his alleged wonder-workings since Cagliostro had been initiated into the anticlerical Order of Illuminati (founded in 1776 by Adam Weishaupt), whose publicist had hyped the sorcerer’s arrival in Strasbourg:

The whole town was agog with excitement, awaiting the visit of the wonderful Count Cagliostro, the famous healer who performed miraculous cures for the sick, the practised sorcerer who controlled spirits both good and bad, the learned alchemist who could transmute base metals into gold. (King n.d., 155)

Cagliostro set up his own Egyptian Masonic Order, which he used to form bonds with the aristocracy. His healing services attracted hundreds of sick persons, and he took credit for the effects of the power of suggestion, the excitement-triggered release of endorphins that reduce pain temporarily, and the body’s own natural healing mechanisms. Like many modern show-biz faith healers (Nickell 2007, 95–103), he had a collection of cast-off crutches and canes. He also gave public séances on the order of today’s phony “psychic mediums” like John Edward and Sylvia Browne (King n.d., 154–161).

Riehen

Cagliostro’s fame spread to Switzerland. A wealthy ribbon manufacturer of Basel, Jakob Sarasin, sent his ailing wife to Strasbourg to be treated by Cagliostro. She stayed there from April 1781 to September 1782, eventually recovering. Meanwhile, her husband frequently visited her in Strasbourg, and Cagliostro and Lorenza often visited Sarasin at his Basel home in return. Through Sarasin, Cagliostro met other reputable men in Basel and decided to establish a summer home there. The residence still stands in the nearby village of Riehen at 13 Basel Street (see figures 2 and 3).

Perhaps as early as 1782, this Riehen residence was “used by the false Count Alexander Cagliostro for séances of his mysterious Egyptian Lodge” (“Map” n.d.). On occasion until 1786, the rituals (which continued until 1789) were personally directed by the Grand Kofta himself. The small structure has since been renovated several times, and nothing remains as a reminder of those days but “two small pictures”—one of “the self-confident-looking adventurer,” the other of his wife, “a southern European beauty” (Iselin 1923, 185–188).

The End

In 1785, Cagliostro stormed Paris. However, he was soon involved in the scandal known as the Affair of the Diamond Necklace, primarily due to his friendship with Cardinal Rohan. The cardinal, in attempting to ingratiate himself with Marie Antoinette, was duped by the Countess of Lamotte to purchase the necklace for the queen. However, the countess’s husband apparently absconded with the booty to London, and Marie Antoinette denied either authorizing the purchase or receiving the necklace. In 1786 the countess, Cardinal de Rohan, Cagliostro, and others were brought to trial. Rohan and Cagliostro were acquitted but exiled. The countess was sentenced to be flogged, branded, and imprisoned, although she later escaped. The affair added to the unpopularity of Marie Antoinette and thus contributed to the French Revolution of 1789–1799.

Cagliostro ended up in Rome but was arrested in 1789 for heresy as a Freemason. He was sentenced to death by the Inquisition, but the Pope commuted his sentence to life imprisonment. Lorenza was imprisoned in a convent, and Cagliostro died in prison in 1795 (King n.d., 217–251; Francesco 1939, 213–221).

Called “the Last of the Sorcerers” by his perhaps most sympathetic biographer, Frank King, Cagliostro died when science was already revealing the lies of the claims of sorcerers—from alchemists to zodiac forecasters. Yet belief in sorcery is far from dead, as a visit to any bookstore will confirm. There, we can open one of the current crop of uncritical books and see Cagliostro pop out like a jack-in-the-box—wearing the persona of a “psychic” or the guise of a medical quack or other hustler. It seems to me we are inundated with Cagliostros, and I include those TV producers who make endless shows and crockumentaries on the paranormal that are an affront to science. If nothing else, the review prompted by this brief pilgrimage to two historic Cagliostro sites serves as a reminder to be ever vigilant regarding extraordinary claims.

Acknowledgments

I am supremely grateful to John and Mary Frantz, whose creation of an investigative fund makes such investigative trips possible, and Martin Mahner of CFI/Germany, who escorted me around Europe. His skills as driver, translator, investigator, and traveling companion are inestimable. I am also extremely appreciative of the gracious hospitality of the Blochs, Michael and Katalin, who hosted us in Basel. Michael drove us to the Cagliostro house in Riehen and provided published information, which he and Martin translated. And once again I am grateful for research assistance from CFI Libraries Director Tim Binga and to the entire CFI staff.

References

• Carlyle, Thomas. 1833. Count Cagliostro. Frazer’s Magazine, July/August, 23–83.
• Francesco, Grete de. 1939. The Power of the Charlatan (translated from the German). New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press.
• Gibson, Walter. 1967. Secrets of Magic: Ancient and Modern. New York: Grosset and Dunlap.
• Guiley, Rosemary Ellen. 1991. Encyclopedia of the Strange, Mystical, and Unexplained. New York: Gramercy Books.
• Iselin, D.L.E. 1923. Gesschichte des Dorfes Riehen, (History of the Village Riehen). Basel, Switzerland: Helbing and Lichtenhahn.
• King, Frank. N.d. [1929]. Cagliostro, The Last of the Sorcerers: A Portrait. London: Jarrolds.
• Map of Riehen and Bettingen. N.d. [ca. 1955]. Basel: O.P. Schwarz. Translated for me by Michael Bloch, from his copy.
• Nickell, Joe. 2001. Real-Life X-Files: Investigating the Paranormal. Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky.
• —. 2007. Adventures in Paranormal Investigation. Lexington, Ky.: The University Press of Kentucky.
• Randi, James. 1995. The Supernatural A-Z: The Truth and the Lies. London: Brockhampton Press.
• Strolling in Strasbourg: From the Middle Ages until today, the architecture of the city in 6 itineraries. N.d. Strasbourg: Office of Tourism. 1982.
• Waldman, Carl, and Joe Layden. 1997. The Art of Magic. Los Angeles: General Publishing Group.