The Glenwood Post

VENTRILOQUIST WROTE OF HIS ART

Nicholson Famous in Days of French Restoration.

We ran across a theatrical curiosity a few days ago, says J. Vivian in Le Petit Parisien. It was one of those occasions of innocent pleasure which sometimes come to the hunter of rare plays and concerned the discovery of the memoirs of an "artiste" who enjoyed considerable fame at the time of the restoration—the ventriloquist Nicholson.

Nicholson always began his performance with an act that made a great sensation. He appeared to be on the point of reciting a poem, but had barely opened his mouth when voices seemed to come from all parts of the house, interrupting him. For instance, there would be a lively argument between a spectator who was supposed to be in a balcony and some imaginary person in the orchestra; then an altercation would arise in the wings. Finally, the star would reveal the fact that he was doing all the talking himself.

In his memoirs Nicholson discourses on ventriloquism as a fine art, one of the first masters of which was Brabant, Francis I's valet de chambre. He insists that the ventriloquist must maintain himself at a high level of morality. By virtue of the fact that he displays a sort of miraculous power, he must enter upon his career only with honest intentions.

Nicholson prided himself on the fact that on several occasions, thanks to his art, he succeeded in winning back frivolous minds to right thinking. Thus, once, when he was a guest at an Italian monastery, it appeared to him that the monks were concerning themselves too much with material things and were more careful of their personal well-being than their spiritual grace. He decided, therefore, to give them a warning.

One day in a chapel a weird voice was heard complaining in mournful accents. It was apparent to the terrified monks that a former prior who had died long since in the odor of sanctity was warning them from his tomb that they were threatened with the eternal flames. The conversion was complete and edifying, he assures us.

Nicholson also maintained that ventriloquism could be a consolation in time of trouble. A young woman had been married to a naval officer and was in despair because a long time had passed without any word from him. Informed of the facts the worthy Nicholson imitated the voice of the absent husband, giving cheerful messages and thus reassuring the lamenting spouse.

"The young woman," he declares, "was miraculously cured." He insists that she was actually threatened with madness and that this malady was averted by the supposed voice of her husband. The ventriloquist does not tell us, however, whether the wandering sailor ever returned.