by William Blanchard Jerrold (uncredited).
Originally published in Household Words (Bradbury & Evans) vol.2 #28 (05 Oct 1850).
Mr. Prattles was a poor man. He had a wife and a large family dependent on him; and his printing business brought him in only a very slender income. His neighbours often wondered how he contrived to make both ends meet. They knew nothing of the struggle that went on within the walls of Mr. Prattles's establishment. The surrounding tradesmen were his customers. He had a shrewd notion of business, however. When the grocer over the way gave him an order to print fifty copies of "Fine Congou at three-and-sixpence," he knew very well that the grocer down the road would soon empower him to print bills advertising "Fine Congou at three-and-fivepence three farthings:" to which would be added the further intelligence that "now was the time!" The keener the competition in the neighbourhood, the better for Mr. Prattles. Among other printing orders, Mr. Prattles one day received a command to strike off a thousand labels for "Mr. Smith's Universal Pill." No sooner had he delivered the first batch of labels, than a second order was given for five thousand more labels; and the second order was immediately succeeded by a third, and a third by a fourth.
This influx of business surprised Mr. Prattles; and he began to envy the prosperity of Mr. Smith. Presently it struck him that it was no difficult matter to manufacture a pill. But how could he hope to invent a story so plausible as that which enveloped Mr. Smith's pill-boxes. There was a difficulty here. Mr. Smith had fortified himself in every possible way. He had selected the most obscure villages of the country from the gazetteer, and had written very characteristic testimonials from imaginary patients residing near these remote localities. His pill was—these spurious documents declared—an infallible cure for every disease. He tacked to his pill the properties of the entire pharmacopoeia. Mr. Smith's pill was advertised to accomplish everything of which medical science was capable. The history of Mr. Smith's Pill was a narrative of blessings conferred upon frail mortality. By the virtues of Mr. Smith's Pill John Dobbins of Cwyrytchemwll, in Wales, had been cured of a bad leg, which had baffled the ingenuity of the first surgeons in the country. Mr. Smith's Pill restored Miss Brown of Briar Cottage, near Battledore-cum-Shuttlecock, to life, when the rattles were in her throat. It cured asthma, consumption, water on the brain, dropsy and influenza; it was infallible in scarlet fever, yellow jaundice, and blue cholera, gout, rheumatism, tic-doloreux, sciatica, locked jaw, and cancer invariably disappeared from every patient respectively and concurrently afflicted with any or all of these diseases, after the third box.
Mr. Smith's ingenuity was not even exhausted with these arrangements. He understood his business perfectly, and felt that, in order to make his pill go down, it was necessary to secure the patronage of a peer of the realm. With this view he entered into negotiations with a poor nobleman residing abroad. The transaction was a long time pending, but at length it was signed and sealed between Mr. Smith and the Earl of Rottenborough, that his lordship should, for and in consideration of the sum of six hundred per annum, to be paid to him, the Earl of Rottenborough, by the said Mr. Smith, consent to be cured in public advertisements, by means of Mr. Smith's Omnipotent Pill, of any disease of which the said Mr. Smith might choose to call upon him, the Earl aforesaid, to testify he had been cured. Under these auspices Mr. Smith's Pills had thrived exceedingly, but it was not till Mr. Smith conferred upon himself a diploma, and inducted himself into the chair in a college which he endowed, for that single purpose, somewhere, that the Universal Pill was found in every respectable house in the three kingdoms, as the special and particular pill of Professor Smith, M.D., without whose signature all others were spurious.
Poor Prattles! how could he, who had not twenty pounds in the world, hope to compete with the rich Professor Smith. When he recounted the advantages which his rival possessed, and reflected upon his own moneyless condition, he was ready to give up his idea in despair. At this crisis of his fate his wife, one day in purest jest, told him that care would soon make him look as old as Methusaleh. This simple remark, he affectingly tells at the present time, decided him. He would have a Methusaleh Pill! His wife tried hard to dissuade him from embarking in so expensive a speculation, but he was deaf to her pleading. He wrote forthwith to his cousin, who was a chemist at Bath, and asked him to mix him a harmless pill. "Let the properties it contains neutralise one another." This was the simple direction. A bribe of a third share in the speculation decided his cousin, the chemist, to set to work immediately. The next step was to frame a very learned history of the pill—to trace its descent from Methusaleh to Prattles. With this object, Prattles consulted a battered old schoolmaster of his acquaintance, whose scraps of ancient lore sufficed for the printer's purpose. In a few hours a very interesting story, narrating the history of the receipt, was fabricated and ready for the press. It ran as follows:—
"It is well known to most people that the venerable Methusaleh lived to the good old age of NINE HUNDRED AND SIXTY NINE YEARS. The secret of so long a life has for ages remained an IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY. In these degenerate days men seldom live to gaze upon their grandchildren; but in the days of Methusaleh matters were very different. Men lived for centuries. What potent power—what subtle elixir—held body and soul together for so long a period? 'That is the question.' About two years ago two gentlemen were travelling in THE ARID DESERTS OF ASIA MINOR. They fell in, one evening, with an encampment of Arabs. They were most hospitably received by the Mussulmen. The first peculiarity they remarked among the Arabs was that there were several men in the encampment who, though they looked very old, were nevertheless active in their gait and lively in conversation. Our travellers entered into conversation with one of these hoary sons of the desert; the old man was very communicative. "'I was in your country many years ago, when Charles the Second was King. I played tricks before him:—he was a jovial fellow. Ah! I was young then.' And the old man heaved a deep sigh. The travellers, it may well be imagined, were surprised; and, at first, somewhat incredulous.
"'There is a man—but he is very old now—who fought in Palestine when one of your king's sons helped in a foolish war—I think you Christians called it the Holy War.' The old man pointed to a figure crouched to the earth. It was that of a very old man, whose hair was white as silver. 'That man,' continued the Arab, who was addressing the travellers, 'is upwards of six hundred years old!'
"'Incredible!' our travellers exclaimed.
"'Hush!' the old Arab continued; 'you of the degenerate West know nothing of this matter. The secret remains with us—to you it is unknown—an undiscovered mystery. Have you ever heard of Methusaleh?'
"The travellers replied in the affirmative.
"'Do you know by what secret he prolonged his life to the ripe old age of nine hundred and sixty nine-years?'
"The travellers confessed their profound ignorance. Forthwith the old Arab fumbled, with his ebon hands, about the folds of his turban, and presently drew therefrom a tattered piece of parchment, so dirty, besmeared with grease, and discoloured by age, that the Arabic characters written upon it could be deciphered only by the most practised Arabic scholar. One of the travellers happened to be a proficient in Arabic. He begged the old man to allow him to peruse the precious document. To this the wily Arab consented, on the conditions that it should be read in his own hands, and that he should receive a large sum of money for allowing the travellers to transcribe its contents. These preliminaries having been arranged, the party entered the nearest tent, and the travellers became possessed of the invaluable life-preserver. On their return to England the travellers entered into a negotiation with the present proprietor of the recipe, who offers his
METHUSALEH PILLS
to the British public at thirteenpence-half-penny per box. None are genuine unless signed by the proprietor, John Prattles. Agents wanted for every part of the world. N. B. The Methusaleh Pills are carefully made up after the Methusaleh Receipt, from particular herbs known only to the proprietor of this invaluable medicine. As a proof of the efficacy and wonderful properties of the Methusaleh Pill, Her Majesty's Government have granted to the proprietors, to the exclusion of all pretenders, the use of a splendid RED AND BLACK STAMP. All pills pretending to be Methusaleh Pills without this stamp are forgeries, and all imitation of it is felony."
This notable prospectus was concocted in the back parlour of Mr. Prattles's house. Mr. Prattles had not been a printer all his life for nothing; he had picked, up with his types, the trick of editorship, and revised the school-master's rough draught with skill. Mr. Prattles then wore a paper cap and an apron. He published his prospectus, adding now and then new bits, to give it additional zest. At one time it was headed
"CHEAT THE UNDERTAKERS, AND LIVE SIX HUNDRED YEARS!"
Another, the prospectus began with
"LIFE PROLONGED TO AN INDEFINITE PERIOD BY THE METHUSALEH PILLS!"
In a few years Mr. Prattles was a man of property. In time he was even able to sneer at Professor Smith, with his tool, my Lord Rottenborough.
When some foolish old man, in a remote rural district, died at an advanced age, public attention was particularly called to Prattles's patent, by a statement on the part of the firm, that the instance of longevity in question was undoubtedly the effect of the Methusaleh receipt. Prattles pocketed his shillings, and smiled at the world: he laughed and won. To make all square, as far as possible, he even went to the length of eating a few charity dinners, and subscribing a few pounds in aid of hospital and other funds.
Prattles's Pills sold prodigiously. Whenever a doubt was expressed respecting their efficacy, it was silenced by reference to the sanction of Her Majesty's Government, whose mark picturesquely adorned each box, to prove the genuineness of the Methusaleh Pills; just as plate and jewellery are stamped by the assay authorities to show the standard excellence of the gold or silver. Publicly, Mr. Prattles complained that the Government charged him threehalfpence per impression, for these "Hall Marks;" privately, he whispered that to them he owed his fortune.
Like all those who have much, Mr. Prattles wanted more. After he had exported millions of his Methusaleh Pills to every corner of the Queen's Colonial dominions, he attempted to introduce them into foreign medicine markets. To his chagrin, he found that in no other country in the world but in these dominions (except the United States of America) were articles of that description allowed to be vended—much less are they sanctioned for the sake of a paltry revenue. On the contrary, individuals, Mr. Prattles learnt, who were discovered selling such things on the Continent, are severely punished; even newspapers who advertise them, are fined. Although he met with native patent medicines during his travels on the Continent, yet they are real remedies; having all been submitted to a Board of Government Officers distinguished for their proficiency in pharmacy and medicine, who decide whether the non-professional public can be safely trusted with them or not. Mr. Prattles, however, made a brilliant fortune by his gullible countrymen.