REMASTERED – Episode 45: First Impressions

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Dorothy Ford stood next to William Street inside his own church while a visiting priest performed their marriage rites.

It was November 27th of 1667 in Southpool, a village in Devon, England, and the church was packed.

Most people hadn't actually expected the wedding to take place, so they'd all come out to witness the miracle.

They hadn't doubted it because William Street had been the rector of their own parish.

They hadn't doubted the couple's love for each other or that Street was 66 years old, and they certainly hadn't doubted it because the original wedding date had been postponed.

They doubted it because William Street had died a year and a half earlier in a riding accident.

His funeral was followed by a series of community dreams.

Multiple people in South Pool began to have nightmares, and all of them were eerily similar.

In each, Street himself would appear and tell them that he couldn't find peace.

Only his wedding could do that.

After months of this, with dozens of people reporting the same dream-like demands from their dead clergymen, the village relented.

The church was decorated for a wedding, Street's coffin was exhumed, and Dorothy stood beside it while the priest married them.

Afterward, Street was reburied and the vision stopped.

Dreams are a funny thing, aren't they?

We don't always remember them when we wake up, but when we do, they often leave us feeling entertained and informed.

We see them as signs of things to come, of glimpses into treasured memories.

They often seem real enough that we hope for dreams of lost loved ones.

In our dreams, we might take flight, or travel the world, or run as if we're waist deep in a pool of water.

But they aren't always a source of completion and peace.

In fact, dreams can often leave us feeling uneasy, even frightened, because sometimes our dreams can turn into nightmares.

I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is lore.

Dreams have held deep cultural meaning since the earliest days of humanity, and that meaning has always varied.

Depending on when and where in history you pick, dreams have been viewed as either a blessing or a curse.

They've revealed unknown truths to rulers and warned others of impending danger.

Or, you know, so they thought.

In ancient Egypt, if you had vivid dreams, you were considered special.

How they proved that, I have no idea, but they were so obsessed with it that they built special sleeping rooms where people could go to help them dream better.

Because practice makes perfect, right?

The Greco-Roman world was full of dream interpretation.

They even had a god devoted entirely to dreams, named Morpheus.

The ancient Hindu scriptures known as the Veda divide our existence into three distinct states, the waking, the sleeping, and the dreaming.

But even without the attachment of religion, dreams have long been seen as a predictor of things to come.

Whether we call them premonitions or dark omens, the things we see in our sleep have long been viewed by some as a preview of what's about to happen, and history is full of stories that claim to be true life examples.

John Brody Innes was a clergyman and close friend of Charles Darwin.

In 1919, he recorded a story from his time in Germany decades earlier about two friends who had fallen into an argument over the love of a young woman.

One friend was an American and the other a Hungarian nobleman, and when the American felt slighted, he challenged the Hungarian to a duel.

The two men set a date and the Hungarian was given his pick of weapons.

When he picked cavalry sabers, the message was clear.

This would be a fight to the death.

Now all they had to do was wait.

A week before the duel, John was called to the American's quarters to see something.

The man claimed to have had a vivid dream the night before.

a dream in which he was wounded in the face before killing the Hungarian.

John wrote that the American stood before him with a large red welt on his face, a product, he claimed, of his dream.

That same morning, John was summoned to the Hungarian's home, where he heard something even more fascinating.

The nobleman told John that he had also had an odd dream the night before.

In his, he claimed that the American struck him down and killed him.

The dream frightened the man so much that he issued what John called a handsome apology to the American, and the duel was called off.

Both men were happy with that.

This idea that the things we experience in our dreams can somehow have a physical effect on us after we wake up is an old one.

Dreams, it's been said, have the ability to manifest, to take shape and walk among us.

And it's not just about premonitions and visions of the future.

Some believe that dreams can take physical shape.

For example, take the story of a young woman from Scotland in the early 1800s.

She was unmarried, but in late 1816 she became pregnant and sought to make things right and reached out to the courts for help.

The woman was asked who the father was, and she identified him as one John Woods, a respectable local gentleman.

After hearing the woman's claims and being called to court over them, Woods adamantly denied them.

He said, in fact, that he wouldn't believe he was the father unless his own name was written across the child's face.

The young woman was devastated, and rightly so, and the tragedy weighed on her constantly, more and more as the baby inside her grew.

And then, in 1817, the woman gave birth to a healthy son.

Healthy, except for some markings on the baby's eyes.

It confounded the doctors, and so the mother and child were sent to Edinburgh for a more educated inspection.

Professors, faculty, and experts in other fields were all brought in, and each of them left the room completely astonished.

There, Written on the boy's right eye in tiny letters was the name John Woods.

On his left, it simply said, born 1817.

John Woods, to his credit, had been waiting and watching.

When he caught word of what the doctors had discovered, he bolted.

No one ever saw him in town again.

And one last story.

Joseph Merrick was born in England in 1862.

In his early childhood, he started to develop growths on his skin.

His face became enlarged and covered with lumps that led to him being eventually known as the elephant man.

For years, he toured England and Europe with human novelty exhibitions.

Today, we would call them freak shows.

During his lifetime, the accepted theory about the cause of his condition was that Merrick's mother had been frightened by an elephant when she was pregnant.

Somehow, the traumatic event had embedded itself so firmly in her mind that the image manifested itself in her son.

And as fantastical as it might sound for a pregnant mother's thoughts to have a real physical effect on her unborn child, child, it wasn't an idea limited to popular rumor or the musings of university professors.

In fact, in the 18th century, something happened that left the medical world and everyone else completely baffled.

They had a term for it, like so many other mysteries in life.

Centuries ago, it was referred to as maternal impression, and it was a way of explaining the unexplainable.

According to the theory, strong emotional events in the life of a pregnant woman could have a lasting impact on her unborn child.

It was a backwards approach to things that were outside the scope of our understanding, though.

They looked at the evidence after birth and made assumptions about what caused it.

Joseph Merrick's story is a perfect example of that logic.

Why did his body begin to deform and twist?

Well, it must have begun in the womb.

And this logic was applied to things like birthmarks, depression, and congenital diseases.

If a baby seemed to be born with it, they chase that cause back to the life of the pregnant mother.

And pregnancy is something that Mary and Joshua knew all too well.

They were a young poor couple from Gottling, a village in Surrey, England.

They rented a small home on a farm that they were both required to work, although Mary was in the field much more than Joshua, who was also working as a clotheer.

Now, that word, clotheer, might make his occupation sound fancy, but believe me, it wasn't.

Joshua's family, the Tofts, had lived in the area for well over a century and for a long time had been prominent successful clothiers.

Apprentice records from the mid-1600s always listed family members among the masters in their trade.

And of course, with all that prominence, came wealth.

It's easy to imagine that the family grew very used to a certain standard of living.

And then manufacturing pushed its way onto the scene.

Records started to show signs of that wealth and prominence slipping.

When master clothiers were listed as dying inside workhouses instead of their own shops, the signs were pretty obvious.

And this was the generation that Joshua was born into.

Raised on tales of former glory, Joshua and his family now lived as peasants.

At the risk of projecting, it probably stung a bit.

The couple married young, and within five years, Mary had given birth to three children.

Then, at the age of 23, she became pregnant again.

Remember, though, if you were poor and working in the fields to pay your rent in 1726, pregnancy wasn't enough to get you pulled off the job.

So, like everyone around her, Mary worked.

She worked long and hard, and she did it day after day after day, well into her pregnancy.

One day, she and another woman were in the field.

There's no date for the story, but a safe guess would be sometime in late May of 1726.

And while they worked, they talked.

At some point, though, the other woman pointed over to the edge of the field and Mary followed the gesture.

There, nibbling on some weeds, was a rabbit, or as they would have called it three centuries ago, a good home-cooked meal.

The women tried to catch it, but they failed.

A few days later, they saw it again and, like the first attempt, failed to get their hands on it.

And that must have been frustrating, so it's no wonder that Mary had a a dream that night.

She described it months later, and even then it was still vivid in her mind.

In the dream, she was sitting down in the field, her skirts piled up in her lap, and there, curled up in the folds of the fabric, were not one, but two rabbits.

They were finally hers.

It wasn't long after the dream that she started to have complications with her pregnancy.

For a while, the couple had thought that perhaps she had even miscarried, but by early September, she was still pregnant and growing.

So she continued to work in the fields, continued to hope, and continued to have weird dreams about rabbits.

On the 27th of September, Mary went into early labor.

She sent word to her mother-in-law, Anne Toft, to help her.

Anne, who was an experienced midwife, arrived later that day, and by the evening, Mary was in the final moments of birth.

But something was wrong.

Something was so wrong, in fact, that Anne, a woman who had delivered eight children of her own, as well as dozens of others in the village, felt out of her league.

So she called for John Howard, the physician in nearby Guilford.

Maybe he would know what to do, she thought.

When Dr.

Howard arrived, he asked Anne to bring him up the speed on the delivery so far, and then examine the situation for himself.

And then, like Anne, he stared in disbelief at what lay on the sheets in front of them.

It defied logic, but it was right there for his eyes to see, still wet and still covered with blood.

Mary Toft, you see, had not given birth to a baby at all.

Something had come out of her body, but it wasn't what anyone had expected.

It was a large handful of pieces of an animal.

Each piece was hairless, as if it had been skinned.

But despite that, it was still easy to recognize what the creature had been.

It was a rabbit.

Dr.

Howard was understandably horrified, but also skeptical.

He told the others in the room that night that he wouldn't believe it to be true until he delivered the head.

And for a while, that seemed like it wasn't going to happen.

Labor had stopped, and Mary rested.

For days, it seemed as if the events of that night were going to fade into memory and be written off as a medical oddity and nothing more.

But one week later, Mary went into labor again.

This time, Dr.

Howard was present, and it appears that he got his wish.

Mary delivered the rabbit's head.

At this point, Howard decided that Mary needed more observation, so he had her moved from her home to his own.

Maybe it was just the action of a concerned physician, but it also could have been an attempt to discover if the unnatural births were really just a hoax.

Surely, he thought, Mary wouldn't be able to keep up the act if she were right there under his roof.

But the mystery continued.

In the days that followed, Mary proceeded to give birth to more and more rabbits.

Sometimes they came days apart and sometimes closer together.

And each time, Dr.

Howard was right there, a 30-year veteran of childbirth, to help help her through the ordeal.

He reported that he would often place his hand on her belly and feel movement as if whatever was inside of her wanted out.

This went on long enough that Howard even gave Mary some money to make up for the work that she was missing out on.

I think that's also a good sign that Howard was fascinated.

How could he not be though?

He was delivering rabbits from a human.

By early November, according to the doctor's own count, Mary had given birth to a total of nine rabbits.

They were all dead, all hairless, and all young.

It was mind-boggling and defied all logic and reason.

Mary, however, was just getting started.

After delivering nine rabbits personally, Dr.

Howard decided it was time to bring in more experts, so he sent word to Nathaniel Saint-André, physician to the royal household.

Saint-André brought a friend with him named Samuel Mullineau, who worked as secretary to the Prince of Wales.

The men arrived and found that Howard had amassed a collection of the delivered animals, all arranged in glass jars filled with a clear liquid.

They set to work examining the samples, studying their color and features.

And then the men opened the jars and took the pieces out.

Now, when I was in college, we dissected pigs in my biology class.

Thanks to that experience, I have images in my head of metal trays containing dead animals, with pins holding back flaps of gray skin.

I'm sure it wasn't pretty, but it was a good way for them to see things that Dr.

Howard might have missed.

These men were trying to be scientific and analytical.

After all, if these births were fake, then there must be a clue hidden somewhere in the animals themselves.

According to a later report, the lungs floated in water, which suggested that the animals had breathed air at one time.

But while that information was persuasive, both men were present at a number of new births, each producing the same result ⁇ more dead rabbits.

And the longer they stayed there in Dr.

Howard's house, the more difficult it was becoming to not accept what their eyes were seeing.

After the 15th rabbit was born, news was sent back to King George, who responded by sending his personal surgeon to investigate, a man named Syriacus Alirs.

Aliris arrived just in time to witness the 16th birth, but right away, he noticed some odd circumstances.

First, prior to the birth, Mary seemed to walk to the bed with her knees held tightly together.

It was as if he suggested she was afraid something might fall out.

A second, Dr.

Howard eagerly suggested that Alares deliver the first rabbit, but after it was done, he wasn't allowed to examine her further.

The final oddity was something that he kept to himself that day.

After helping with the birth of the first piece of dead rabbits, Alares was ushered out of the room by Howard, but he managed to smuggle a partial rabbit with him.

In a private room, Alares set about dissecting it and discovered something remarkable.

Its bowels were full of pellets.

Pellets that contained corn and hay.

Alares made an excuse and left Guilford early, heading back to London to report his findings to the king.

Once King George was up to speed, he ordered Saint-André and Melino to return as well.

When they arrived, they brought news that Mary Toft had given birth to yet another rabbit, her 19th, in fact.

And that was apparently it for the king.

He wanted to properly get to the bottom of the matter, so he ordered that Mary be brought to London for examination there.

And at this point, word was spreading about Mary and her miraculous deliveries, so she was discreetly put up in an out-of-the-way, low-cost boarding house, without Dr.

Howard, mind you, and Saint-Andre was assigned to keep a watchful eye on her.

And then something amazing happened.

The births stopped.

For Alares, who'd already been suspicious up to this point, this was the final straw.

He had a judge sent to the boarding house to question Mary and get the truth out of her.

But the judge was met with silence.

Mary didn't want to talk about it, and he left empty-handed.

So Alares dug around for the truth in other places.

And that's when he struck gold.

First, Dr.

Howard approached him after Mary's arrival and asked for help.

Mary had been out of work for a long time now, he told Alares.

Considering how much of a medical marvel she was, he suggested that perhaps the king might grant her a pension.

Howard asked Alares to make that request, and Alares, being a smart man, saw right through it.

Second, Mary's sister Margaret was caught smuggling a rabbit into the boarding house.

She claimed that it was a meal for Mary, but, well, that'd be a pretty tough sell given the circumstances.

Then it came to light that Mary's husband Joshua had been pretty busy over the previous weeks buying all of the rabbits he could find.

The younger, the better, apparently.

And finally, when word got out that Mary herself had tried to pay the porter of the boarding house to go out and buy her a rabbit, the authorities had all the evidence they needed.

She was taken into custody in early December of 1726 and immediately questioned about the mysterious births.

How, they asked her, did you pull off such a hoax?

Mary, for her credit, denied the hoax entirely.

She claimed that she had asked the porter to buy her the animal because she was hungry.

She insisted insisted that she was currently pregnant with more rabbits, and despite all the questions that were being thrown at her, she refused to budge from that declaration.

That is, until she received an offer that she couldn't refuse.

One of the men who had been questioning her, a Sir Richard Manningham, was a prominent physician in London.

He had been brought in as an expert in the field, having specialized in pregnancy and birth for much of his career.

On December 6th, he looked at Mary from across the room and told her that if she did not confess, would,

and I quote, perform very painful operations and experiments on you to discover your secret.

Mary took just one night to think it over.

The following morning, she confessed to the hoax.

Historians are a bit torn about what Mary's motivation really was.

Some view her as a woman caught up in something bigger than herself.

They think that she was the victim of a mother-in-law with a hunger for fame and fortune, and a local doctor with his eyes set on moving up the medical ladder.

Others, though, see her as a shrewd and careful individual.

She planned every last detail, they say, and orchestrated all of the events, from chasing the rabbit with a neighbor woman to the purchase of rabbits, all without anyone noticing.

Maybe no one thought that she was capable of it.

Certainly, no one would have expected a woman to skin and cut up a bunch of young rabbits and then insert them.

Well, you get the idea.

It's hard to know for sure whether Mary believed in some strange, detached way, that her dreams and emotions were truly creating the rabbits inside of her.

It is clear, though, that enough of the world around her believed that it was possible.

For a couple of months, at least, it appeared that all of London was falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Either way, Mary's adventure seems to have been a chase for glory.

She wanted the fame and all that came with it, the attention, the money, the renown.

She'd married into a family that had once been prominent and important, so perhaps she just wanted to do her part in restoring them to that position.

But after her confession, that house of lies came crashing down, and it took a lot of the key players with it.

Two years after Mary's trial, Samuel Molyneux became sick and collapsed while on the floor of the House of Commons.

His old friend Saint-André was there to treat him, but he died a few weeks later.

Saint-André somehow managed to retain his position as the royal physician for a while, although the king took away his salary for the services.

Interestingly, on the same night that Malinot died, Saint-André eloped with Moulinot's wife, or widow.

You get the point.

And naturally, that aroused suspicions.

Moulinot's cousin accused Saint-André of murder.

Saint-André's career was never the same after that.

His new wife lost her position in the court of the queen, and the couple retired to an estate outside of London.

He died at the ripe old age of 96.

On January 7th of 1727, after carrying on their hoax for months and then undergoing weeks of questioning, Mary Toft and Dr.

John Howard were brought before the judge's bench.

For his involvement, Howard was fined the equivalent of $140,000 in modern currency and then released.

He went home and continued to practice medicine for another three decades.

Mary, though, was charged with, and I quote, being an abominable cheat and imposter in pretending to be delivered of several monstrous births.

She was sent to Toddlefield's prison for, well, they weren't really sure, being deceitful, tricking a lot of people, cruelty to animals?

Mary's story was complicated, after all.

She was released in April, just a few months after arriving.

To be honest, the court wasn't sure what charge she could be held on.

They didn't have an official sentence for pretending to give birth to rabbits.

Plus, crowds were gathering outside the prison each day to catch a glimpse of her.

It was annoying.

Better to just let her go home, they figured.

And I can't blame them.

Mary went back to her house and her family and back to work in the fields.

Within weeks, she was pregnant again.

In February of 1728, she went into labor and gave birth.

It was a baby girl.

For a very long time, birth was a process filled with mystery.

And of course, wherever there are questions, someone is always ready to step in and offer an answer.

In the case of Mary Toft, we got to see the general public express those unusual answers in their readiness to believe her story.

But the concept of maternal impression wasn't limited to Mary's story or even her generation or country.

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and this animal

and this animal

have in common?

They all live on an organic valley farm.

Organic Valley dairy comes from small organic family farms that protect the land and the plants and animals that live on it from toxic pesticides, which leads to a thriving ecosystem and delicious, nutritious milk and cheese.

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When the idea of maternal impression was popular, it laid the blame for birth defects and other problems squarely on the mother.

After all, only someone with monstrous thoughts could have bred such a monster of a child, right?

But why do we consider someone to be monstrous?

What is monstrosity, really?

According to an essay titled The Uncanny, published by Sigmund Freud in 1919, the difference between fantasy and horror is a matter of where the action takes place.

In fantasy, the fantastical thing is happening in an environment where that's normal.

For example, dragons may exist in a world where they're as common as dogs and cats.

Horror, on the other hand, allows that fantastical or monstrous thing to bleed into our world, like a demonic spirit or an evil clown.

So by that standard, pregnancy and birth might also be considered uncanny in their liminality.

A child on the verge of being born is straddling between two worlds, crossing between realms.

It makes sense that the act of birth would instill superstition in those who bring life into the world, just as death tends to do.

And this is why the label monster is thought by some to be a way for society to deem a person as incompatible with our world.

They clash with the status quo, and they contain elements that do not belong beside each other.

People such as Fedor Jeftichu, who is also known as Jojo the Dog-faced boy.

He was born in St.

Petersburg, Russia in 1868 with a condition called hypertrichosis.

Those affected by hypertrichosis grow hair all over their face and often their body, hence its other name, werewolf syndrome.

A zoologist named Fedor Brandt, and yes it seems that Fedor was a popular name at the time, once described Jeff Techu thusly.

The hair on his head was dark blonde, light reddish on the forehead and pale yellow-gray on the lower part of his face.

On his torso and limbs, with the exception of the hands, feet, neck, and inner side of the arms, the hair was almost colorless, thick, and up to six centimeters long.

And what was the reason for someone to be born in such a way?

Well, before the days of genetic testing and advanced medicine, the answer was a lot simpler, maternal impression.

In this case, hypertrichosis was the result of the mother being scared by a dog while pregnant.

When Fedor was very young, he toured as a sideshow act with his father Adrian, who also had been born with hypertrichosis and was known as the wild man from the Kostromo forest.

There are two plausible stories surrounding their relationship.

The first is that Adrian truly was Fedor's biological father, and it would make sense given the similarity of their conditions.

The other is that Adrian adopted Fedor, who had been born to Russian peasants and had come from the Kostromo region of the Russian Empire, just like Adrian.

However, getting to the truth is difficult now since the legend surrounding the two performers simply paints them as a father-and-son duo.

Those who believe the adoption story claim that Adrian once had a wife and two children.

The children had died at a very young age, and so Adrian, seeing Fidor on display, chose to take him under his wing and show him the ropes of being a successful sideshow act.

Adrian was something of a rock star on the sideshow circuit, and much of the money he made was spent on booze.

He eventually died of alcoholism, leaving Fidor an orphan and a ward of the state.

Fidor, however, continued to tour with various other showmen until one man in particular came to see the hair-covered wonder for himself.

One look, and he knew he had to work with him.

That man's name?

Petey Barnum.

Barnum brought Fidor on board his famous sideshow when the boy was 16 and got to work weaving an origin story made for the tabloids.

According to the showman, Fidor, or Jojo the dog-faced boy, had been discovered living in the forests of Russia with his even wilder father.

The hunters who had found them took JoJo to Barnum, who tamed him and placed him in his American Oddities Museum.

In some tellings, the hunters killed his father for being too feral to take alive.

But regardless of how it was told, the story worked.

According to one source, Fedor was earning $500 per week as a sideshow act.

That's roughly $15,000 today.

Few performers made more than that.

Fedor was often seen sporting a tight-buttoned Russian military suit, staring at the audience as the lights rose, their anticipation mounting.

Then he would let out a terrifying growl that shocked and amazed.

Barnum made sure to highlight his resemblance to a dog as part of the show.

Fedor couldn't pretend that he didn't look a certain way.

Those were in the cards that he had been dealt, but that didn't mean that he had to sit there and take abuse from audiences or even Barnum himself.

In 1898, several years after his employer's death, the 30-year-old Fedor organized a number of Barnum's former sideshow performers in protest against their being labeled freaks.

His activism helped them win the legal right to be advertised as prodigies instead, which was granted the same year.

After that, Fedor continued to tour all over the world, giving audiences everywhere a glimpse at something that they had never seen before, a man covered entirely in hair.

Sadly, though, while in Greece in 1904, Fedor Jeff Tichu became sick with pneumonia and passed away.

He was only 36 years old.

This episode of Lore was researched, written, and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with additional help from Jenna Rose Nethercotts and Harry Marks, and music by Chad Lawson.

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