Black had little to no respect for his critics; toward the end of his public career he was known for his volatile behavior and unpredictable personality. As his audience continued to grow, so, too, did his critics. Black worried he wasn’t being taken seriously enough; he was a scientist, not an entertainer. Disappointed, he performed only twice in the fall of 1884 before stopping the show and ending his arrangement with the American Carnival. From an article published in a Philadelphia medical journal in July 1884:
… He would show ordinary bones from excavations, ordinary remains of a goat or a lion, and tell us that he had discovered evidence of the Sphinx; he lectured endlessly, poring over the smallest details in the bone, revealing its secrets, secrets I could never see—none of us could. Now he travels like a common charlatan, displaying his dolls and trinkets as proof. If I stitch together a monster, does that prove its existence? Dr. Spencer Black is a ranting lunatic; he is never content, he continues to see things that do not exist. When a falsehood is coveted long enough, it becomes the truth that sustains its own existence. He is a madman!
—Dr. Joab A. Holace
In late 1884 Black famously delivered this response:
Dr. Holace,
I have delayed the writing of this letter. I know that I am no longer in your favor. I was surprised to hear that you have championed the destruction of my reputation and are unflinching, unrelenting and merciless in your opinion of me.
My dear Doctor, it isn’t I who is fanciful and lacking the courage to lay my sights on the true and determined path of thought––but instead, it seems, it is you who is unable and, moreover, unwilling to be ardent in the knowledge that you know not.
I gave you an opportunity to see beyond yourself, beyond your small world and science. I gave you a chance to participate in the greatest anthropological breakthrough any surgeon could have ever dreamed. It is with elation for the preservation of my work and sorrow for the loss of what was once a great friendship that I say farewell to you.
—Spencer Black
On May 3, 1884, Spencer and Elise had a healthy baby boy named Samuel. But the joy of his arrival was cut short by tragedy; their second child, Victor, fell ill for several weeks and died of typhoid fever just four months after Samuel was born. Spencer writes about the event in his journals, dated September 1884:
My dear sweet angel, my dear sweet … Now he is passed on with his sister, Elizabeth. I, his governor, his father, could not stop him from going; what will come of my other children? Will I be as helpless, when they fall ill? With all that I have labored, and the proficiency that I’ve gained with my toil, with all the knowledge that I have acquired––measurably more than an ordinary learned man––can I not save my own children? I may just as well kill with my own hands.
Can I only bear witness to death? Can I not share in the glory of life?
Unhappy with the success of the anatomy show and grieving the loss of his son Victor, Black escalated the intensity of his work. He now believed the only way to prove his claims was to make living evidence, animated creatures, so that the world could understand.
Immediately after returning home to Philadelphia in the winter of 1884, he began work on grafting living tissue in a small storage shed in the woods behind his home; this shed eventually grew into a sort of laboratory. Black lived in the main house, but every morning he would ride his horse into the woods to continue his work in his lab. He had become obstinately difficult and single-minded regarding his obsession with creating life.
When death arrives, the very life inside of you knows its own fate; it writhes and claws with a ferocity that has no equal. Then in a quick moment, there is no more pain and you can hear the sound of death. She travels to you gently, as though water had been suspended in the air in-between. The sound of her voice greets you with a messenger’s reverence and a diplomat’s neutrality so that you might be soothed by her meaning and calmed by her presence.
During the next two years Black acquired several small, living animals with which to begin his experiments. His obsession caused him to become estranged from his children and his wife. He struggled greatly with his work and endured many failures in his efforts. After a year and a half, the stress of his conduct was too much for Elise to bear. She wrote to her brother-in-law Bernard, asking him to come to the house:
… dead animals, bloody animals living in cages, dying or soon to be dead, or worse. There’s a foul stench that attracts beasts from all over the countryside only to be captured or slain by my husband … I pray God your brother is well. You ought to pray also …
In the fall of 1887, Bernard returned to help Elise. Like her, he was greatly concerned about his brother’s health and sanity. Spencer Black was reserved, reluctant to talk, and clearly unable to stop working; he would spend entire days alone in his laboratory.
It was in late November 1887, more than a year after the last tour of the carnival show, that Black asked Elise and Bernard to bear witness to the scientific achievement he called a modern renaissance. Neither Elise nor Bernard could have expected what they were about to see. Samuel and Alphonse were with Elise when they entered Black’s laboratory; the boys were only about four and sixteen years old. In his journal Bernard describes the scene and the events that followed:
My heart turned foul and my skin tightened the length of my body when I saw what my God-damned brother had done. The room was entirely dark except for a small lamp on his desk. Illuminated were pages of notes, jars filled with liquid and pieces of flesh, small empty cages on the floor beside the desk and filth everywhere. The building was dank and smelled of death and excrement. Spencer escorted us closer to his desk where I could see what he was so proud to present. There on the ground was a bleeding animal; a dog with the wings of a rooster sewn onto its back. The animal moved slightly as it breathed, the only evidence that it was alive, though it seemed impossible. It was so disfigured, swollen, and injured. Elise had buried Samuel deep in the folds of her dress with her left arm while her other searched loosely for Alphonse; her eyes were intent on Spencer. She had only looked at the poor animal once, a quick look. She cried, Alphonse stood still, just out of his mother’s reach and wearing no expression. The animal flinched in response to Spencer’s voice; its wings flapped as it tried to stand. Spencer laughed and clapped his hands together.
From the unlit shadows, further back in his lab, came a loud groan and then a crash inside a cage. It was then that we were aware that the poor beast on the ground was not the only animal. Elise ran outside pulling Samuel out with her. She tried to take Alphonse, but he refused, strong enough to wrest free of his mother’s grasp. She left him but I did not; I grabbed the wicked boy and commanded that he go to his mother.
Once alone with Spencer I screamed in anger, demanding to know: What had he done? What was he doing? I was angry with him, angry that he had performed such a cruel act. I did not know how he had achieved such a stunt. He told me that what he had done was clear enough, so clear that the bloody animal on the ground could nearly speak for itself and tell me what had occurred. As Spencer spoke the animal moved frantically. I told him it was dying. I nearly wept as I spoke, I was so overcome. I tried not to look at the creature; its claws scratched along the floor as each attempt to right itself failed. Its body excreted blood and bile from several places; it writhed at Spencer’s feet, but he paid his longtime pet no heed as he talked. He explained to me that it was not dying but, rather, living: it was being born. I began to protest his logic but then he screamed so ruthlessly I would have thought he wished me killed. Spencer said that his work was not for me, or for him, but was instead in and of itself a new species, a new science, a new world. He stood in front of the animal, as though he was protecting it. I knew there was nothing I could say to persuade him or calm his anger. I protested one last time.
He spat his words at me, condemning what he called the judiciary of morality and the imperious kings of good works. When he finished, he remained still. The lamplight di
rectly behind him cast a shadow on his face, and though I could not see his eyes, I knew they were on me. I left. I remember those events perfectly, I can still hear his voice. I have not seen him since that day.
There is none who possess that healing power. Spencer holds it gently in his hand as though it were the knowledge of science itself, a living creature that he cradles and carries with him always––like a pet.
Bernard’s journal goes on to explain that Elise gave her boys to Bernard and asked him to leave that night, which he did. She told him that she needed to gather some things first and would leave soon after.
Bernard returned to New York, believing there was nothing more he could do for his deeply troubled brother. He tried to take custody of both boys, but Alphonse, then sixteen years old, refused and ran away (returning to the care of his father), and so Bernard arrived in New York with only Samuel, who was nearly four years old at the time.
What Bernard and no one else realized (until the release of Spencer Black’s journals many years later) is that Elise returned to the lab on the night of Bernard’s departure. Intent on destroying everything her husband had made, she smashed an oil lamp onto his desk, igniting a fire. She then began to shoot his animals with a small pistol. Spencer, hearing the gunshots and seeing the flames from the house, rushed to stop the blaze. Black described the confrontation in his journal:
I raced across the field, desperate to save my work. I dismounted from my horse with such haste that I nearly did myself in at that moment. I rushed inside and was greeted, without warning, by my Elise and her pistol. She fired and struck me in the leg. I know she had intended to strike my chest. It is fortunate for me that she didn’t aim for the ceiling, for then I would certainly be dead. Elise then shot my dog and, after it was killed, continued throughout the burning laboratory, killing all of my animals that remained. The conflagration was too intense and Elise was soon engulfed in its flames. I pulled her to safety.
Elise was nearly burned to death: she was blinded, could no longer speak, and was hardly able to move. It is miraculous she did survive, because her chances of dying of an infection were extremely high.
Black told no one of the accident, not even Bernard. When Alphonse returned home (after fleeing from Bernard’s custody), father and son took Elise to the caravan deep in the woods to perform an emergency surgery. Black feared that the natural healing process would interfere with the effectiveness of surgical manipulation.
We brought the caravan north several miles from any home, unhitched the horses and tied them off at a great distance so they would not be disturbed. I prepared to work there in a glen, far removed from everything.
I had to attempt a skin graft; a procedure this complex was not done often and few surgeons have had any success. For two nights we worked, Alphonse and I. He was frightened and unwilling but I offered him no alternative. I was in short supply of anesthesia and what I administered was insufficient. She was in such horrific agony, but there was no alternative.
Our caravan was too far for any to hear; the lights were oppressively dim and she screamed so loud; it was truly awful. Finally, I had to stop. The operation was not going to work.
I still cannot believe what has occurred. That fire was like the whisper of God; it swept through everything, proud and determined, leaving only myself and that poor woman, that poor thing so destroyed in my arms.
The newspapers criticized Black, attributing the fire to his irresponsible character and reckless scientific experiments; no one knew that Elise had been critically injured in the blaze. Black had no choice but to leave Philadelphia and venture where no one knew of the accident. Elise was indefinitely confined to the caravan, and eventually she became dependent on opium.
1888–1908
THE HUMAN RENAISSANCE
My lab is more than a cold table fashioned of wood
and metal; it is a heartbeat, a vessel, my home and temple.
—Spencer Black
In spite of this family tragedy, Black had reaffirmed his conviction in his work. His journal reveals his feelings after parting company with Bernard, Samuel, and his hometown of Philadelphia.
April 30, 1888
We are now traveling to Chicago; Elise is resting quietly. My brother and I are at odds; our friendship, I fear, is irreconcilable. I had no opportunity to explain myself as well as perhaps he would have required to merit compassion. There was no opportunity, but how could I have? Would I discuss the minutia of the scientific details pertaining to the complex structures of all that governs life and the obedience required to deviate from it? Creating a new specimen? It would require a millennium to explain and write it down. But all the while the creature lived––is that not enough?
I cannot be still, I cannot rest or sleep. I won’t escape what I set out to do. My work is more than a curiosity now. I knew nothing when I was young; I was far from death, I couldn’t taste it on my teeth as I do now. I didn’t give enough thought to what I was doing as a doctor or scientist. I am careful now; I have left whence I came.
We have finally arrived. It is now morning. I am delighted at the stillness of the tall grass in the fields and the quiet of the horses, stopped, steaming with heat and unable to go anymore. Elise is still asleep; I won’t wake her, she had just begun to rest. My beloved and eternally precious Elise––I could write that a thousand times and not tire; how it pains me that of all the flowers to bloom this Spring, she is the one I will not see.
Upon arriving in Chicago, Black began work on a new show, the Human Renaissance, that would be a showcase for his living evidence. In 1890, after two years of development, Black unveiled the show in Boston. Promotional handbills advertised “The Winged Woman” or “Angel Child,” “The Snake Maiden,” “The Fire Demon,” and “Darwin’s Beagle,” a canine with functional wings grafted onto its back.
Some speculated that the creatures were accidental mutations, optical illusions, or elaborately costumed animals. Others (correctly) believed they were surgically assembled hybrids. But Dr. Black himself claimed they were newly discovered life forms. From the fall 1891 issue of Chicago Journal of Science:
A man, scientist or not, who can manipulate nature through vivisection or any means to this end does not practice science but instead knows it––and possesses a power that no man should wield, for this work no man should have wrought.
—William J. Getty, M.D., F.R.S.C.
(Professor of Surgery in the Anatomy Department of the
University of Medical Science, New York)
Some of the performers in the Human Renaissance were Dr. Black’s patients from Ward C; others were patients he’d met during his travels with the American Carnival. All their conditions were extreme. One young man was said to have had leg transplants; he bore the limbs of a much taller man with a darker complexion. Another patient was a formerly conjoined twin, a seventeen-year-old girl named Rose. Her surgical procedure was so elaborate that it involved a new heart, lung, kidney, spleen, and arm. The girl’s parents said that Black had even made her prettier than before. Her twin sister had died during the surgery.
To the malformed, the sick, or the diseased, Dr. Black had become something of a folk hero. He was ridiculed in the mainstream scientific community but revered by many, especially those afflicted with unusual illnesses. Black wrote this quip to the Chicago Journal of Science:
Newspaper clipping from the National Journal of Medicine and Science. Despite their claims of being a national publication, the Journal was based in Philadelphia and rarely covered events outside the immediate region. Its readership consisted largely of local residents, not medical professionals.
Your suspicions are acute and undoubtedly not without the prerequisite research on the nature of my work. Why, you’d think that we [doctors] were monsters the way some go on about their God and sanctimony and blasphemes. We are scientists, not demons.
The tradition of carnival performers providing food, medicine, and other charities to the needy and
sick still carries on in Black’s name in many regions of the world. While he toured, his reputation for offering surgical help, sometimes called miracles, was widespread enough to warrant pilgrimages to see him. There are accounts of children suffering from life-threatening defects whose families traveled hundreds of miles, and sometimes even farther, to seek out his services. On one such occasion Black wrote in October 1891:
She was brought to us with neither arms nor legs, brought not only to our show, but here on Celestial Terra itself. When she was found, there were none to claim her. She was alone save the box and a letter that the poor child was abandoned with. Her family, ashamed of their daughter, failed to see what she really was––they saw only a monster. The condition of her birth and deformity was not a punishment or an omen or a hex cast upon her. She has lost blood, precious blood. I will give her back what was supposed to be hers.
The patient was a nine-year-old girl, Miriam Helmer. She was born with no arms (only hands) and very short legs, quite possibly a form of the condition known as Roberts syndrome. Dr. Black grafted wings onto the girl’s shoulders, and, after a brief healing period, she began performing in his show. Black presented her as the winged woman, claiming that her lack of arms was a genetic attempt to sprout wings; the failure could be attributed to the fact that her composition was largely human. Miriam performed in the show for several years before she died from unknown causes in 1899.
With Miriam Helmer, Black introduced his theory of self-resurrection—the idea that he could unlock the body’s natural memory of its ancestral past by giving it real physical reminders. Armed with these prompts, the body could rebuild on its ancient knowledge and then “self-resurrect.” He cites numerous references to self-resurrection in a book called The Book of Breath, but it is widely believed this book is one that Black himself was writing. To this day, no manuscript or volume with a similar title or description has ever been found.
The Resurrectionist: The Lost Work of Dr. Spencer Black Page 4