Thanks to the generosity of Dr. Clare Mingins, I’m pleased to offer not one but three (!) copies of a fascinating book as a prize for the latest draw, into which all current and new supporters on Patreon (at the “Galileo” level and above) will be entered.
Franz Anton Mesmer, the Discoverer of Animal Magnetism is a new improved and annotated English translation of substantial parts from an important biography of F. A. Mesmer – one of the most controversial and perhaps misunderstood figures in the history of medicine. The original text was published in German in 1856, by the famous physician and poet Justinus Kerner, who was himself a well-known practitioner of mesmerism.
Cover of the new English edition of Kerner’s Mesmer biography, corrected and annotated with a preface by Dr. Clare Mingins.
Unlike the edition available on Amazon, the copies donated by the book’s editor, Dr. Mingins, are illustrated, which add to the value of the copies you can win. (Otherwise, illustrated copies can only be purchased from her directly at lightreflectionshypnotherapy@yahoo.co.uk.)
Image of Justinus Kerner’s original German edition.
If you’re already a Forbidden Histories supporter on Patreon, you will enter the draw automatically. If not, simply make a pledge at the “Galileo” level (and above) by the deadline for this prize draw on
31 March 2021.
About the editor of Kerner’s Mesmer biography:
Dr. Clare Mingins is a physician with a deep interest in the non-verbal aspect of hypnotherapy and healing, and how the insights of healers of the past may help us today, especially from exploring the techniques and thought of Mesmer and his followers. She is currently engaged in writing in this area.
I went down a D E E P mesmerism hole several years ago when teaching a Dickens course. Dickens was ::obsessed:: with mesmerism (which might be attributed to his interest in power in general), and considered himself a skilled practitioner. This is my favorite Dickens mesmerism story:
Dickens and his wife Catherine are on vacation in Italy (because Europe is cheap at this time, and also the English who could afford to do so just generally did some kind of Grand Tour of Europe), where they meet another vacationing couple, as you do, a Swiss banker and his wife, Emile de la Rue, and his wife, Augusta.
Augusta suffered from a broad spectrum of complementary ailments that can be boiled down to “being a woman in the 19th century.” She had terrible nightmares, sometimes waking nightmares, hallucinations, and fits. Doctors would say that her womb was wandering (though there ::where:: is never specified, mostly because men can’t find anything on a woman), but Dickens knew he could cure her with mesmerism.
Dickens mesmerised Augusta de la Rue. A lot. Like, a suspicious “a lot.” (The part of the story I won’t go into is how this exacerbated issues between Dickens and his wife Catherine, which ultimately led to his leaving her.) Several times a day, Dickens would sit with Augusta in incredibly intimate ways — especially for the time (though I think we today would also look on these tête-à-têtes with some suspicion, too). Augusta reported benefitting from these sessions, and her ailments largely abated while the Dickens and the de la Rues were together in Italy.
Vacations end, as vacations do; the de la Rues were returning home to Switzerland; and the Dickenses were continuing with their tour of Europe. The question that troubled Dickens and Augusta was: what happens if her ailments returned? So Dickens comes up with this plan: he tells her that at specific times each day, she was to think ::very hard:: about him, and he would think ::very hard:: about her, and through the power of mesmerism, he would be able to treat her remotely.
Did it work? That’s tough to answer! It depends on how you define “work.” But the idea of two people just concentrating really hard while also purchasing trinkets and souvenirs delights me every time ::I:: think really hard about it.
Thanks for this wonderful story, Mike! Yes, Dickens was heavily into mesmerism. Unlike spiritualism, which he despised with a passion.
It’s such a bonkers contradiction for him, too, because many of his novels have these spiritualist tropes in them: spirits communicating across great distances, ghosts, and even his sentimentality.
I wonder, if we were able to communicate with him (via a spirit board, which he would hate), and we asked questions that didn’t refer to “spiritualism” at all, but were spiritualist-flavored, if he’d absolutely agree with all of them, and we’d learn that his antipathy is semantical, rather than philosophical.
(I watched a documentary ::years:: ago — my sophomore year of college, I think — about the Irish and faerie lore. The documentarians found THE most Irish Irish person you have ever met, this woman with a kerchief and a broad brogue and cheeks red as apples, and they ask her, “Do you believe in fairies?” And she says of course not, she’s a Christian, and the documentarians follow that up with, “So you don’t believe fairies exist?” And she says, “Of course they exist! I just don’t believe in them.”)