I suppose now you do not believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in hypnotism——” Said Van Helsing, in Dracula (1897). In my writing, I’ve been thinking a lot about that passage. Materialization is, basically, the manifestation of visions, if not actual solid objects, out of unknown matter. In Victorian occult practice, one might materialize spirits, during a seance. Indeed, seances were the conventional method of materializing things, spirits, or whatever they thought was special. Bram Stoker’s participation in the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn leaves the impression that Stoker either believed in the paranormal or had a keen interest in those, who did, not just through his writing and research for Dracula, but also in his personal life. Certainly, Jonathan Harker experiences materialization first-hand in Dracula’s castle: I was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the three ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhat safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight and where the lamp was burning brightly. Belief in materialization rose throughout the Victorian era and I'll venture to say, though it is only an educated guess, that belief in materialization was near its peak in the 1890s because vigourous debunking was beginning to take place and would carry on through the 1900s. One of the most successful frauds of the 1890s was praised by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, even after she had been caught faking it in almost every country she visited. Her name was Eusapia Paladino. Palandino used illusions and dark rooms to make it appear that she had the power of levitation ; that she could warp her body, by making it longer; and that she could materialize a number of things, including pots of flowers, the dead, spirit hands and wet faces in clay. In Warsaw, she inspired several colourful scenes in Boeslaw Prus’s novel Pharaoh (1894-95). In 1895, Palandino visited London. The founder of the Society for Physical Research, Frederic William Henry Myers invited her to his home, in Cambridge, for a series of investigations (note: when Victorians use the word “physical” in this context, they mean paranormal). Along with the physicist/writer/inventor Oliver Lodge and other “scientists,” Myers found Palandino to be nothing, but a trickster. Consequently, she was banned, by the Society, from participating in any further experiments (or seances) in Britain. Unfortunately for Myers, the investigation generated bad press for the Society, when the British Medical Journal published an article (9 November 1895) that called into question the scientific legitimacy of the the Society for having conducted the experiments in the first place. It would be comic if it were not deplorable to picture this sorry Egeria surrounded by men like Professor Sidgwick, Professor Lodge, Mr. F. H. Myers, Dr. Schiaparelli, and Professor Richet, solemnly receiving her pinches and kicks, her finger skiddings, her sleight of hand with various articles of furniture as phenomena calling for serious study. Three years later, in Paris, when Myers thought he had seen a real medium, he was reminded of his skepticism about Palandino, but refused to change his mind about her and faced further ridicule. Palandino practiced for the rest of her life and her fans ignored the fact that people called her a fraud, everywhere she went! In spite of all the hype about what a fraud she was, people, like Doyle and Myer’s friend in Paris, deeply believed in her abilities. It simply did not matter how many times she was photographed holding up a levitating table. Follow me on Twitter @TinyApplePress and like the Facebook page for updates!

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Out of all the silent film genres, one of the most popular is probably horror. Even people who don’t watch anything made before 1930…or, well, 1960…or, let’s face it, 1997…

Off on another tangent tonight, this time it's spy cameras. One of my main characters is a journalist, so, obviously, I was captivated by the National Museum's blog post about Victorian concerns over privacy. Their blog post focuses on a wonderful concealed vest camera, a camera to be worn around the neck, while discretely taking photos. In the early 1800s, cameras were introduced that allowed for light to be captured on photographic plates, producing an image. These early cameras took a long time to capture a photo, which meant that the subject had to stay still and the photographer needed to use a tripod (or something like a tripod) to keep the camera from moving. That's why you don't usually see people smiling in early-Victorian photographs. It doesn't matter how happy you are; if you hold a smile long enough, you start to look a little deranged. Sadly, sitting perfectly still and staring at a camera for five minutes had the same effect. It also meant that dead people were excellent and popular models. By the 1870s, new technology became available that allowed people to capture photos more quickly. Photos from this time on begin to appear more candid and, like our concealed vest camera above, cameras could be made smaller. In the 1880s and 1890s, people started to take up photography as a hobby. In the 1890s, the word "Kodak" became synonymous with camera and "Kodaking" was a verb for practicing photography because Kodak introduced a camera that used a portable roll of film in 1890. Constance Wilde took one of these with her travelling in the early 1890s, but mostly used it to take picture of sights, rather than people (bummer). I find pictures of people so much more interesting than pictures of places because people change faster and are more interactive (most of the time). Smaller and more fascinating cameras were being invented in the 1880s, like the concealable vest camera, but these were never as popular as the Kodak. Thinking of spy cameras, I've endeavoured to share a few of them with you here. J. Lancaster & Son began producing this marvelous watch camera in 1886. More detailed images of it can be found here. The year after that ad was printed, J. Lancaster & Son also featured a camera that was just small enough to fit in your pocket. I have no documented evidence that this next one was ever a real product. I'd be a little horrified, but still amused if it was because I've read various claims that not only was it a camera and a cigarette lighter, disguised as a book, but it was also a gun! I suppose that was for all those times Victorians craved a cigarette, while taking a photo of someone they were about to kill? If it was a gun, don't you think it would be difficult to aim and shoot with a book that could also set you on fire? And yet, this isn't the only device that links guns with photography in the 1890s. E.J. Marey, a French scientist and photographer, made a chronophotographic gun in 1882, not for shooting bullets at things, but for rapid-fire picture taking to aid in the study of movement. Marey was most interested in seeing how birds fly, but also studied humans, horses, dogs, sheep, donkeys, elephants, fish, insects, reptiles, and microscopic creatures. His longest-lasting impact on culture, was a study about how cats always land on their feet. He made the world's first cat video and we know what that did to the internet. I love that as soon as people could start taking candid pictures, they started taking pictures of cats. We all know that a cat can sit perfectly still all day, until you try to take its picture! Books were definitely a popular way to disguise a spy camera. In 1892, Scovill & Adams disguised a camera as a stack of three books, titled "French," "Latin," and "Shadows." This also included a classic leather strap (I don't understand how people ever used those to carry books). The name, "Demon Detective Camera," says so much about some of these small portable cameras. The British-made Demon was a cheap simple camera. The rear bears the manufacturer's name: "W. Phillips stamper Birmingham." The patent covering the camera belonged to W. O'Reilly. Some ads reported that 100,000 cameras had been made. They must have been kidding! I hope they were kidding? In 1885, the Marion & Company of London began producing the Marion's Parcel Detective Camera. As its name suggests, the camera was disguised as a parcel to conceal its actual purpose from the subjects of its photos. The most popular version was covered in brown paper and tied with string, like the typical parcels of the day. A more expensive version was also available covered in leather. As you can see in the ad, the gentleman holding it doesn't look suspicious at all! More detective cameras were manufactured in the 1900s, but are beyond the scope of this blog. As fun as these cameras are, I find them a little insidious. Readers of this blog will empathize with my affection for Oscar Wilde and Victorian scholars of homosexuality in the Victorian era will know that blackmail was a problem for anyone who didn't strictly adhere to cultural norms. The Demon Camera Depicts the hypocrisy of life and the frivolities of fashion unknown to its victims. Can be used on the promenade, in law courts, churches, and railway carriages; also in breach of promise divorce casesl in fact at all awkward moments when least expected. The artful maiden, the wily detective, the wronged wife will now collect damning evidence. The bad boy will levy black mail upon his sisters by illustrating family squabbles instead of angelic sweetness, and human happiness will now be within reach of all. And that's from the camera's own ad! Follow me on Twitter @TinyApplePress and like the Facebook page for updates!

Warning: the 1800s were especially spooky.

Even without YouTube you can open the door of the Cabaret of Hell and Heaven from 1890s Paris night scene through the memoir: Bohemian Paris of Today.

A blog by Essie Fox, all about the Edwardian era.

Even without YouTube you can open the door of the Cabaret of Hell and Heaven from 1890s Paris night scene through the memoir: Bohemian Paris of Today.

Happy Halloween everyone! While I was hoping very much to make a nice Nosferatu post for you all, sadly my schedule decided this was not to be. So I’ll simply save it for next year’s Ha…

Nineteenth-century urbanization unleashed the nation's anarchic spirits, turning holiday mischief into mayhem

Right, wrong -- they just can't stop it . This vintage postcard image was sent to me by loyal S&Per Greymatter (must be the brains of the...

Right, wrong -- they just can't stop it . This vintage postcard image was sent to me by loyal S&Per Greymatter (must be the brains of the...

[caption id="attachment_58284" align="alignleft" width="283"] Above: Margaret, at left, and Kate Fox, with their much-older sister, Leah, right. (WikiComm...

Even without YouTube you can open the door of the Cabaret of Hell and Heaven from 1890s Paris night scene through the memoir: Bohemian Paris of Today.

A blog by Essie Fox, all about the Edwardian era.

Can you imagine a world without horror movies? Their tropes are so familiar–monsters with bloody fangs, screaming teens, tired old jump scares–that it’s hard to imagine pop cultur…

Right, wrong -- they just can't stop it . This vintage postcard image was sent to me by loyal S&Per Greymatter (must be the brains of the...

Right, wrong -- they just can't stop it . This vintage postcard image was sent to me by loyal S&Per Greymatter (must be the brains of the...