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EDWARD HERON-ALLEN’S
COSMOPOLI TALES
(1983)

Edward Heron-Allen wrote many novels and stories during his long career, but he is remembered today primarily for his pseudonymously published University of Cosmopoli tales, published in four volumes between 1921 and 1934. Their publishing history is almost as strange as the stories themselves: the first collection,
The Purple Sapphire and Other Posthumous Papers
, was issued by Philip Allan of London in 1921 under the pen name Christopher Blayre, and included most of the stories in the sequence; however, one short novel,
The Cheetah Girl
, was listed on the contents page but not actually included in the text, apparently being dropped by the publisher at the last moment for fear of prosecution under Britain’s rather severe anti-smut laws of the time. The story was issued in 1923 by Heron-Allen himself in a private edition of ten or twenty copies and remains virtually inaccessible today. The Blayre tales proved popular enough to warrant a second edition from Allan in 1932 under the title
The Strange Papers of Dr Blayre
; this book included all the stories previously published in the 1921 version, plus several new adventures, but again omitting
The Cheetah Girl
. A final collection,
Some Women of the University: Being a Last Selection from the Strange Papers of Christopher Blayre
, was again privately printed by Heron-Allen in 1934 under the R. Stockwell imprint, and distributed in an edition of perhaps a hundred copies; this 171-page volume is also exceedingly rare.

The technique of connecting otherwise unrelated tales with a loose framing structure is an old one, and one which is still used in modern times by such masters of fantasy as Ray Bradbury. Indeed, one is reminded of Bradbury in reading these stories, for they share with his work a disdain for the results of technology, a love of the
outré
, and a certain sentimentality mixed with a sobering dash of the tragic. The stories can be grouped roughly into three categories: tales of the supernatural, tales of scientific exploration or warning, and tales of fantastic whimsy.

Heron-Allen is most successful with the first category of stories. “The Purple Sapphire,” for example, the title story of the first Blayre collection, tells of a cursed Indian jewel which wreaks disastrous ill luck on the Arkwright family of England. Attempts to give the stone away are futile: thieves who steal it are promptly jailed and the sapphire is returned; a society belle who agrees to take it from Sir Clement Arkwright eventually commits suicide, and the stone is returned to Sir Clement by the police investigating team; an attempt to throw it into the Thames is thwarted when a pauper discovers the jewel, tries to pawn it, and is sent to Arkwright. Eventually, Arkwright dies a ruined man, leaving the jewel to his heirs with specific instructions that it be donated to the University.

In “Mano Pantea,” Heron-Allen turns to another kind of curse, one attached to a charm in the form of a silver hand. The Italians, who have three different forms of the hand to ward off the evil eye, are deeply superstitious about the hands’ supposed powers. Ippolito makes the mistake of breaking his hand, which then turns on him, taking its revenge by strangling the poor man.

“The Thing That Smelt” demonstrates the evil that results when a spiritualist carries his experiments too far and must pay the price for his inquisitiveness.

“The Demon” is a chilling tale of possession and the price a dying woman pays for the continuation of her life.

Heron-Allen’s scientific romances tend to be cautionary tales that warn against dabbling in matters beyond the ken of man. “Aalila,” the most interesting of these stories, features Professor Alured Markwand, whose experiments in phototelephony and sound transmission anticipate current developments in the laser transmission of sound through small filaments of glass. Markwand aims his device at Venus and is startled to receive a response from an inhabitant of that planet, a captivating woman named Aalila. Eventually he succeeds in sending not only sound but also visual images, so that he can both see and talk to the beautiful alien. The Venusians, it seems, have long been studying the radio broadcasts of Earth and now understand English perfectly. Markwand falls in love with the girl, but fails to anticipate the jealousy of her husband; during the course of an intimate conversation, the two are interrupted by her Venusian mate, who cuts off the circuit, thereby killing Markwand. Markwand’s device is destroyed and the evidence covered up before the police arrive.

In “The Mirror That Remembered.” Professor Erichsen discovers a method for playing back the light images that have been “seen” by a mirror, similar to the “slow glass” concept invented by Bob Shaw in his story, “The Light of Other Days”; while playing back the events recorded by the mirror, both Erichsen and his lady friend, also present, realize that certain events of the preceding three weeks should not be viewed by the assembled audience, and she immediately destroys the mirror.

The tales of whimsy include the delightful fantasy, “The House on the Way to Hell,” in which a former University librarian, having died and gone to his “reward” in Hell, finds himself appointed librarian of the Library and Museum of Projected and Unfinished Books and Projected and Unfinished Works of Art, Science, and Manufacture. The librarian is astonished to find completed copies of Charles Dickens’s
The Mystery of Edwin Drood
(1870), Franz Schubert’s
Unfinished Symphony
, Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” and many others. Before leaving him to his eternal chores, the Devil hands the librarian one final volume—the librarian’s unfinished
History of the University of Cosmopoli.
Another such tale is “The Man Who Killed the Jew,” in which a bumbling doctor’s cure is sufficient to end the eternal travels of the Wandering Jew, who was cursed by Christ to live until the Second Resurrection.

Heron-Allen will never be considered a major fantasy writer, but his work bears further examination by historians in the field. At their best, his stories have an ironic poignancy reminiscent of the short novels of Robert Nathan, who was also active in the 1920s and ‘30s; however, Heron-Allen is more dispassionate than Nathan and more interested in exploring the edges of spiritualism and pseudoscience than his contemporaries, Vernon Knowles or Lord Dunsany. This curious combination makes his a unique voice for his time and his collections unique works of fantastic literature.

THE HUMOROUS FANTASIES OF JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
(1983)

with Mary A. Burgess

The humorous ghost story is a peculiarly American subgenre, spawned in the tall tales told around a roaring campfire and first developed into a literary form by Washington Irving. Irving’s stories, epitomized by “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” became immensely popular—more popular with the
hoi polloi,
it is true, than with the critics, who have always regarded Irving as somewhat less than a serious writer. After Irving, occasional writers attempted to produce humorous fantasy, often with rather haphazard results. By the late Victorian period, however, the “serious” ghost story, both in England and in America, had reached one of its periodic peaks of popularity, with both countries’ best writers producing classic examples. Robert Louis Stevenson, Charles Dickens, Henry James—these are but a few of the major serious authors who popularized this literary form. As a counterpoint to this movement, other writers began turning to the humorous ghost story, both to profit by these fast-selling stories and to satirize them. The most successful lampoonist of the ghostly tale in both America and Britain was John Kendrick Bangs, who made the humorous sprite the basis of his literary reputation.

Bangs had a remarkably productive career, writing more than forty books, editing such well-known journals as
Harper’s Weekly
,
Harper’s Monthly
,
Puck
, and many others, and producing essays, articles, short stories, and reviews, many of which were collected in volume form. Born in 1862 in New York, he spent most of his life close to the metropolis, except for making brief, well-paid lecture tours throughout the United States and Europe.

Although Bangs was successful almost from the very start of his career and supported himself very well from his free-lance writing and his editing, he did not reach public notice until the appearance in 1893 of
Toppleton’s Client; or, A Spirit in Exile
, a humorous fantasy novel, and the stories published at about the same time in various popular magazines which were later collected in
The Water-Ghost and Others
(1894). (An earlier collection of fantasy had appeared anonymously in 1888 under the title,
New Waggings of Old Tales
, by Two Wags—
i.e
., John Kendrick Bangs and Frank D. Sherman.) Both
Toppleton’s Client
and
The Water-Ghost and Others
were well received; Bangs, a thoroughly professional businessman and never one to miss an opportunity, saw his opportunity and began producing a steady stream of tall tales and satires. His humorous fantasy
Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica
was published in 1896, as was
The Rebellious Heroine,
a fantasy novel. The following year saw the publication of
A House-Boat on the Styx. The Pursuit of the House-Boat: Being Some Further Account of the Divers Doings of the Associated Shades, Under the Leadership of Sherlock Holmes,
was issued in 1897. A year later,
Ghosts I Have Met and Some Others
appeared, which was followed in 1899 by
The Enchanted Type-Writer.
Two books were published in 1901:
Over the Plum-Pudding
, a collection, and
Mr. Münchausen,
a fantasy novel.
Bikey the Skycycle
and
Other Tales of Jimmie
followed in 1902, as did the novel
Olympian Nights.
Finally, some years later, the following titles appeared:
Alice in Blunderland
(1907), a novel;
The Autobiography of Methuselah
(1909), a novel;
Jack and the Check-Book
(1911), a collection; and
Shylock Homes: His Posthumous Memoirs
(1973), a posthumous collection of the Sherlock Holmes pastiches.

Of all Bangs’s books, by far his most popular were the “House-Boat” stories, which have remained almost continually in print from the date of their first publication. Bangs had an inspiration which was later shared by the modern writer/actor/producer Steve Allen: what would happen if the world’s most famous historical personages, including politicians, artists, literary figures, even fictional characters, somehow got together to discuss the foibles of mankind? The only logical place for such a meeting was Hell itself, or the gentler Hades of Greek mythology, that gloomy, shadowy, hateful nursing home for men’s immortal souls, surrounded by the River Styx, which could only be penetrated or crossed by the dour ferryman, Charon. It was Charon’s eternal task to transport the souls of the deceased to their final abode in Hades.

So here, under Bangs’s watchful eye, gather the spirits of Hades, who have now formed a social organization known as the Associated Shades. The Associated Shades have taken over management of a houseboat, which they intend to turn into an exclusive, luxurious club; their one remaining problem is Charon, who is likely to object to any interference with his monopoly. Therefore, the usual committee is formed, consisting of Sir Walter Raleigh, Cassius, Demosthenes, Blackstone, Doctor Johnson, and Confucius; they will approach Charon and seek to gain his active participation in the venture. Charon agrees, at double the proposed wages, with Saturdays off; after much discussion, the committee acquiesces and awards him the honorific title of Janitor, which is, they explain, a very noble office indeed. Charon responds by noting the time, twelve midnight on Saturday morning, and proceeds to take the day off.

Each chapter in both of these books is a separate vignette, a tale-within-a-tale, with different characters in many cases, a different mini-question or mini-problem, proposed solutions (usually humorous), and a closing punchline(s). The denouement may be subtle or gross, the humor, sly or brazen. The Association’s control over Hades is not absolute; when William Shakespeare tosses a coin and shows his independence by taking the course opposite from that indicated, the reader is told that the Fates have already contrived to have the coin fall on the reverse side so that their intentions for him might be fulfilled; each action here is a part of their plan, whatever that plan might be. Shakespeare argues with Nero over the authorship of
Othello,
and Sir Francis Bacon is called as a witness. Bacon hints that although he had nothing to do with “that Othello fellow,” he did write
Hamlet.
By this time, Shakespeare is red-faced and angry, and he calls upon Sir Walter Raleigh to settle the dispute once and for all. Raleigh confesses his lack of shame and acknowledges that he wrote it himself. The company continues to harass the Bard throughout the tale, constantly casting aspersions on his supposed authorship of his own plays. Then Christopher Columbus appears, grumpily participating in George Washington’s birthday party, while James Boswell takes copious notes for his gossip column. Baron Münchausen insists that he has dined on stewed icicles and fried pyramids, much to the delight and amusement of the guests. Ptolemy notes that he has had experience with pyramids himself.

And so it continues. Bangs uses his shades to direct satirical jabs at their own historical personages, at the mores and customs of his own time, and at the form of the ghost story itself. For example, Shakespeare maintains that he had drugged the actor who was to play Hamlet in a Bostonian production of his play and had assumed the part himself. The reviews published the next day were devastating, asserting that the actor’s conception of the role was not sufficiently “Shakespearean.” “That’s criticism,” notes the Bard. Ralph Waldo Emerson replies, that “that isn’t criticism, it’s just Boston.” Shakespeare’s ghost also manages to arrange with a Bostonian syndicate to provide “posthumous autographs” at one thousand dollars each. Washington remarks that the scheme will probably work, because “the Yankee
is
an inventive genius.”

Bangs’s own inventive genius is clearly at work here; he is not content to have his characters merely sit and discuss the times. Among his other flights of imagination, he constructs the “smoking room” on the houseboat, whose inventor is an unknown shade who “had sold all rights to the club through a third party.” Tobacco smoke is stored in reservoirs and carried by flue to the smoking room, where it proceeds to prospective smokers through rubber tubes with mouthpieces attached to meters. Smokers pay so much per foot for the smoke and eliminate the waste and mess of cigar and cigarette butts.

Another of Bangs’s innovations is his explanation of Hamlet’s melancholy: he resents Shakespeare’s meddling with his life and reputation. He never met Yorick, he insists, and has an alibi to prove it: “I was never near the graveyard.” He does not mind the play so much but dislikes the way he is presented. He describes a Western version that stages the play with “three Hamlets, two ghosts, and a pair of blood-hounds. It’s called the Uncle Tom-Hamlet combination, and instead of falling in love with one crazy Ophelia,” he is “made to woo three dusky maniacs named Topsy on a canvas ice-floe while blood-hounds bark behind the scenes.”

The downfall of the Associated Shades in the first book is brought about by its own sins of omission. Curious about the houseboat and barred from membership by their sex (Bangs manages to insert a few words here about women’s suffrage, its perils and pleasures), Queen Elizabeth I, Xanthippe, and Ophelia (later joined by Cleopatra and others) board the craft one afternoon when all the males are away enjoying a prize fight. Completely enchanted by their surroundings, the “ladies of Hades” fail to notice the approach of Captain Kidd and his crew of pirates, who are also seeking revenge for their blackballing by the Association. The houseboat is cut loose from her moorings and spirited away. The male shades return to discover not only that their marvelous club has vanished, but also that “the most precious gems in the social diadem of Hades” have disappeared. Socrates tells them not to worry; Caesar’s wife is in the party, and she is a good chaperone.

The Pursuit of the House-Boat
takes up where the first book ended. Sherlock Holmes assumes command of the party, and they commandeer a boat to track down the purloined houseboat. Meanwhile, aboard the houseboat, the women hatch a plot to overthrow the nefarious pirate and his crew. Mrs. Noah, who has had much experience at sea, assumes command of the female contingent. Her son Shem is horrified at the news: “It was she who ran us ashore on Ararat,” he notes. A treachery committee headed by Lucrezia Borgia and Delilah contribute clever ideas for betraying their captors, who ultimately never have a chance against the women’s wiles. As anticipated, all ends happily: the houseboat is recovered, the ladies become full members of the Association, and Captain Kidd and his fellows shrink to mere “shadows of their former shades.”

The books are loosely plotted and contain only the skeletons of any sustained story. Their humor remains remarkably fresh considering their age, although some comments relating to topical controversies and personages are lost on modern readers. Satire as a vehicle does not often wear well historically, and it is a tribute to Bangs’s talent that the books can still be enjoyed today. Bangs’s importance lies in his historical relationship to his predecessors, particularly Irving, and his role as the grandfather of modern fantasy humorists. One can see his work reflected specifically in Kummer’s
Gentlemen of Hades
and
Ladies of Hades,
two 1920s’ pastiches of his work; in the novels of Thorne Smith, who revived the humorous fantasy story in the 1930s; and in such recent writers as Reginald Bretnor, L. Sprague de Camp and Fletcher Pratt, John Collier, and the cartoonists Charles Addams and Gahan Wilson, among many others. As long as men continue to search for solace from their everyday ills, writers such as Bangs will continue to be read and enjoyed.