Blog |
7/24/24
I just finished my morning "rounds" of news items and YouTube videos relating to Mathew Franklin Whittier and Abby Poyen Whittier's famous plagiarists. I didn't find anybody to write to, that I hadn't written to previously (searching my e-mail readers); and only a couple of videos to leave comments under. Readership of my papers, posted online, is way down, although the variety of papers is up somewhat, and the particular papers being accessed is encouraging. The only thing that's up, lately, is hits on this blog, which has gone from four or five, to more than 10 on several entries.
Perhaps people like to hear me complain? No...that's almost certainly not it.
I was thinking about the topic of Mathew's unsigned reviews and notices. It could be fairly interesting--enough to justify a new paper, actually. But it's the kind of thing you write on when people are familiar with, and interested in, your subject. You know, an article entitled "Dickens' toothbrush discovered" could get a lot of views. But one entitled "Mr. Sakellarios's toothbrush discovered" won't be nearly as popular.
So maybe I'll just go over the topic generally. The first thing to consider, of course, is whether I am attributing them correctly. Past-life intuitive memory, plus 15 years of familiarity with over 3,000 of Mathew's identified published works, says I probably am. I only claimed them as Mathew's own when I was pretty darned sure about it. Some of them are signed, and then there's no question (i.e., signed with an identifiable pseudonym). Some I know by writing style and context. But there have been a number of these which have turned out to be important clues.
I verified Mathew's authorship of his 1850 novel, "The Mistake of a Lifetime; Or, the Robber of the Rhine Valley," through a self-deprecating "Card" he published protesting bad reviews; and through his own, signed review of his own book. That's right, he got so exasperated that he reviewed his own book under a pseudonym. It's a fair-minded, honest review, not overly long. But I'm sure it was written in defiance--he felt that he wanted to explain what the book actually was, to counterbalance the mindless ridicule of the other critics. To make this a little more entertaining, let me see if I can grab a visual copy of that for you...
Was it ethical? I think it falls under the category of "civil disobedience," in the sense that his critics were so unfair, he had the right to at least present an honest, fair appraisal to the public. It does indeed seem to have sold quite well, but that's not why it was priced so low. Mathew would have insisted on this, because it was intended as moral instruction (along with the "spoonful of sugar" of entertainment), for the masses.
The following brief notice, bearing the same signature in the Oct. 8, 1846 weekly edition of the Boston "Chronotype," immediately set off alarm bells, for me.
Either I recognized it from dimly-awakened past-life memory, or there was something about the way he worded it. Mathew was calling attention to the reprinting of his own anonymously-published book. I found it, and obtained an antiquarian copy. And on the title page of that copy, was a mention that the unnamed author had also published another book:
I tracked it down, and "Richard White; Or, One-Eyed Dick of Massachusetts" had been published anonymously in 1841--the year Abby died. A whole host of clues were contained in these two books, but I'll only briefly mention a couple of them. First of all, while this was a book of juvenile moral instruction, it was also Mathew's own philosophical exploration of the cause of the criminal mind, or the career criminal. I've found this theme in any number of Mathew's works, and that includes "A Christmas Carol." You see, he was a Christian, who believed that everyone has an immortal soul; he also believed that none are forever lost, but that all are redeemable. But, at least as of 1841, he didn't yet accept reincarnation. So there's a quandary--what about career criminals?
I carried this question into my current lifetime, and I've solved the problem with reincarnation. But Mathew's conclusion was that career criminals--i.e., sociopaths--got that way as a result of certain inherent traits, which were made worse by their upbringing and early childhood experience. He also emphasized unhealthy peer influences. So this book follows the life-course of a career criminal. Several of Mathew's other books do the same, including one entitled "Harrie Lee: The Tempter and the Tempted," which he published under his own initials, "M.F.W.," in 1863.
The second inference I can draw from this book, is that he must have written it in 1840, during the months that Abby was, as I have extrapolated, convalescing in her father's native Guadeloupe. Very likely, she was under the care of her first cousin, Charles Poyen, who had introduced Mesmerism (hypnosis) to America in 1834. I have more clues regarding that, but the gist, here, is that Mathew wrote that book in 1840, and then published it in 1841--perhaps, before her death in March, hoping to make some much-needed cash while his business was failing and Abby was suffering from the poorly-insulated cheap hotel where they were forced to live.
Remember, I have recently shared with you that Mathew and Abby co-published "La Fontaine: A Present for the Young" in 1839, and that in 1841, after Abby's death, Mathew's friend and fellow-abolitionist Elizur Wright published the entire set of translated poems under his own name--presumably, with Mathew's blessing.
So now you can see how I have painstakingly pieced together Mathew and Abby's literary and personal history, over a period of 15 years, making new discoveries on an almost daily basis. Skeptics blithely assume I'm just making these things up out of my imagination. No, it's a result of piecing together thousands of bits of evidence. So much, that it took me over 3,000 pages to present it, as a literal account of my research process, in my two e-books. It's all recorded for posterity. But skeptics can't be bothered with that. God knows, it might take months of their time, which they would rather spend reading memes on Facebook. Or, in the case of scholars, studying something of far less historical importance.
Let's give just one more example. But before I do, I want to explain that some of these notices and reviews provided clues regarding the famous plagiarists--and in several cases, under the same pseudonym," i.e., a "star" or single asterisk--over a period of many years. That's right, Mathew, writing in different decades, for different newspapers, but under the same pseudonym. He exposed Edgar Allan Poe as having stolen "The Raven" in the 1845 New York "Tribune," signing as the "star" (erroneously assumed, by scholars, to have been written by Margaret Fuller); he did the same thing, with the same signature, in the August, 1853 "Waverley Magazine." Also signing as the "star" in the January 1868 Portland "Transcript," he told posterity in code, reviewing one of Charles Dickens public readings, that Abby had been the original co-author of "A Christmas Carol." In 1857, signing "S" (for the "star") he exposed Elizabeth Barrett Browning as a plagiarist, also in code. He said she was "well known as the author of a few very beautiful, and many very ugly, poems," which translated means, "She stole a few beautiful poems from me and Abby, but all of the ones she wrote were ugly." Signing with the "star," in the "Tribune," he said, in code, that the rumor that Margaret Fuller was the author of that review series was mistaken, i.e., he called her a "mistaken Clorinda." In unsigned reviews, he inferred--as I mentioned recently--that Dickens was incapable of having written the authentic mystical elements in "A Christmas Carol"; and he exposed his plagiarist, Charles P. Burnham, as a criminal.
But let's look at another one of these little meaningful references Mathew made, which led me to an entirely new series. I had identified, by style and world view, a series in the Portland "Transcript," in the years 1849-55, signed "Caleb Leathers," as Mathew. He had adopted the persona of a philosophical farmer from Kennebunkport, Maine (roughly 30 miles south of Portland). This series provides a wealth of information concerning Mathew's philosophical views. One could, for example, compare it to the historical "star"-signed series which scholars mistakenly believe was written by Margaret Fuller, and one would find a 100% match. Likewise a later review series for this same paper, the "Transcript," which Mathew signed "M.D.W." But in any case, in the June 23, 1855 edition of the "Transcript," is this brief aside by Caleb Leathers:
When Mathew waxes eloquent about an author like this, tongue-in-cheek, it's one of his own literary personae. So I found "K.N. Pepper" in "The Knickerbocker," and it's obviously Mathew. It's basically his long-running character, "Ethan Spike" (the only one the scholars recognize as his), in verse. The premise is hilarious. Some fellow named "P. Pepper Podd" has discovered a rustic poetic genius, or what he imagines is one, named "K.N. Pepper" (phonetically, "cayene pepper"). The editor of the "Knickerbocker" goes along with the gag. The poems are God-awful--but as satire, they're utterly brilliant. I've traced the series to an actual rural poet whom I think Mathew was poking fun at. Scholars have naively and mistakenly attributed this series to one James W. Morris, who published a compilation along with his own pieces (with Mathew's skeptical approval), but never mind. I just wanted to show you how that one tiny clue led me to this entire shelf, mostly filled with "K.N. Pepper" in original copies of "The Knickerbocker."
Now, when I contradict academic scholars who think they know everything there is to know--about famous authors, and obscure ones, as well--they brush me off like an annoying fly. But you know what the truth of the matter is? Aside from the fact that I've made a real discovery of an important, unsuspected historical author, I've done far more research, and better research, than they have. To a large extent, they are in the business of perpetuating and defending myths, while I am doggedly pursuing the truth of the matter, whether the results go for me or against me.
Best regards,
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
