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Everyone deserves to be connected. That's why T Mobile and US Cellular are joining forces. Switch to T Mobile and save up to 20% versus Verizon by getting BU benefits they leave out. Check the math@t mobile.com switch and now T Mobile is in US cellular stores. Savings versus Comparable Verizon plans, plus the cost of optional benefits, plan features and taxes and fees vary. Savings with three plus lines include third line free via monthly bill credits. Credits stop if you cancel any lines. Qualifying credit required. Oskar was in love. It was 1912 when the Austrian painter met Alma Mahler, the widow of composer Gustav Mahler, and from the moment they met, their romance was a whirlwind of chaos and passion. Later, Alma would say of those times, they were a battle of love. Never before have I tasted so much hell and so much paradise. But all battles end sometimes, and after three tumultuous years, Alma broke things off. Oskar was heartbroken, but hey, at least he handled the breakup in a totally normal, reasonable way by commissioning a life sized, anatomically correct doll of his girlfriend. Please, he wrote to a puppet maker in Munich, make it possible that my sense of touch will be able to take pleasure in those parts where the layers of fat and muscle suddenly give way to a sinuous covering of skin. The skin must be peach, like in its feel. There mustn't be seams in any places where you have reason to believe it will offend me, reminding me that the fetish is nothing but a wretched rag bag. Yeah, let's just say this isn't even the creepiest sound bite from those letters. I will let you imagine the rest. And so Oskar waited eagerly for his doll to arrive. But when it did, he was horrified. Instead of peach like skin, the doll maker had fashioned the woman out of swan pelts, complete with feathers. Now, it's hard to quite capture how horrendous this thing was. I highly recommend looking up the photo, but basically imagine a fully feathered, glaring lady shaped punching bag with blank, angry eyes embedded in sagging bird flesh. It's claimed the Alma doll was so horrifying that Oskar's butler suffered a stroke when he first laid eyes on it. But still, none of that stopped Oskar from making more than 80 paintings and drawings of the thing before he eventually decided that the doll had, and I quote, managed to cure him entirely of his passion. Yes, the Alma doll had done its work. And now it was time to send her off in style. Oscar threw a lavish house party, complete with champagne and chamber music. The guest of honor, why the doll, of course. Dressed in her finest clothes, the party raged all night. And when dawn finally broke, Oskar Kokoschka took his doll out into the garden, broke a bottle of wine over her head, and then decapitated her. There is no question the Alma Mahler doll was a monstrosity. But if it makes you feel any better, it did have one saving grace. At least it didn't move on its own. Which is more than I can say for the friends that you're about to meet. I'm Aaron Manke, and this is Lore. Five days after Julius Caesar's assassination, Mark Antony ascended to the podium, took a breath, and proceeded to deliver the fallen statesman's funeral speech. And while the true nature of this eulogy is lost to history, legend says that he didn't deliver it alone. No. Some say that Mark Antony set a coffin out upon the stage, stood back and watched as the lid lifted to reveal a wax figure of Caesar himself, who slowly turned like a demonic music box ballerina, displaying all 23 of his bleeding stab wounds to the terrified crowd. That's right. Move over, AI. Because humans have been inventing freaky, seemingly sentient machines for a very long time. Welcome to the marvelous and eerie world of automata. Put simply, automata are mechanical devices, usually shaped like people or animals, built to seem like they're moving all by themselves. In fact, the word automata tells you all you need to know. And it comes from a Greek word meaning acting of one's own will. And people have been obsessed with these wriggly robotics since ancient times. In fact, if the myths are to be believed, the first automata weren't built by humans at all, but by the gods. According to Homer's writings from the 8th century BCE, the Greek God of metalsmithing, Hephaestus, crafted two handmaidens from pure gold. And then as a gift to the gods on Mount Olympus, he built 20 golden servants, each perched on three golden wheels. And on top of all that, he was also said to have made a giant bronze sentry named Talos who patrolled the coastline of Crete, throwing boulders at enemy ships. Later, after a few hundred years of passing these myths around, Alexandrian scientists started to wonder, hey, what if we tried to actually build some of these things? Which somewhere around the third century BCE is exactly what they did. Ancient inventors created clocks and organs powered by water. They built a fountain covered in songbirds that would chirp and fall silent in turn, depending on whether a metal owl was facing them or turned away. They even wrote how to manuals for duplicating their processes. Three centuries after that, Hero of Alexandria saw this technology and thought, you know, I could play some real mind games on people with this stuff. By which I mean he drew designs for automata that would look like regular statues until they woke up and started to move. That is. Basically, you can think of Hero as a first century version of Ashton Kutcher in Punk'd. He intended to install these guys in temples where they would jump scare non believers into thinking they had witnessed a divine act of God, which honestly not a bad recruitment idea if you've never seen a machine move on its own before. And suddenly the angel statue in your church started pouring a goblet of wine, you'd probably be ready to convert too. Oh, and Hiro is also credited with another invention, one that we still use today, in fact, the world's first vending machine. And what did it vend, you might ask. Why, holy water, of course. Now, while automata making may have begun in Greece, it really flourished in China and the Islamic world. There were the three brothers in Baghdad, who in the 9th century created a steam fueled automaton that played the flute. And in the 10th century, there was the ruler of Constantinople, who had a throne built for himself to mimic the legendary throne of Solomon, complete with singing silver birds and roaring lions that thumped their tails and we certainly can't forget the 11th century Egyptian vizier, whose wine hall included eight mechanical young women built of dark camphor and pale amber, who bowed to him when he entered the room. And then, finally, in the 9th century, Baghdad's Caliph sent Charlemagne a water clock with moving figures as a gift. And that was that. Automata mania moved to Europe. Now, sure, it would take another few hundred years for European inventors to really get the hang of things, but by the 13th century, European craftsmen finally had the skills to match their passions. I think you get the idea. By the time the Renaissance came around, the automata were all the rage. Going to a dinner party, you can expect a tabletop sailing ship with a clockwork crew. Or maybe metal musicians playing their own instruments. And if you're heading to church, you can look for ambulatory monks delivering rattling sermons. Or clockwork Jesuses who seep blood while silver Satan's growl. Even today, in the age of cell phones and space travel, there's something that still feels technologically marvelous about automata. Heck, it's almost magic. Perhaps it's the uncanny valley of it. All these beings that seem alive, yet are so clearly not. Or perhaps it's their age. After all, it's no surprise to see robotics working in the 21st century. But to see a 2000 year old silver songbird wake up and trill a melody. If ancient automata could actually do that, then the more frightening question to ask might be, what else were they capable of? The year was 1560, and Don Carlos was dying. That's what everyone said anyway. The 17 year old son of Spain's King Philip II had fallen down a flight of stairs, and now he lay feverish, blind and delirious in what the whole court believed would be his deathbed. Terrified, the king prayed for his son's recovery. He begged God to heal his heir. He even had the 100-year-old desiccated corpse of a particularly popular monk named Fray Diego laid in the boy's sickbed beside him. For an extra spark of luck. If Don Carlos survived, the king swore that he promised an impossible offer in exchange. A miracle for a miracle. And I am pleased to tell you, the boy did survive. And so it was time for the king to uphold his end of the bargain. He had pledged a miracle after all. And so he commissioned the creation of a bizarre walking automaton in the chilling form of the dead Fray Diego himself. A mechanical monk with sallow silver skin and a snapping jaw, who clattered around in a square while slapping its chest and raising a rosary to the heavens. At least that's the legend surrounding the machine's origin. It's hard to say whether this was indeed what brought the little friar into being. But one thing's for sure, the mechanical monk definitely exists. And he is definitely super creepy. But strap in, because the metal monk is among the least disturbing automata that you'll be meeting on today's tour. Close your eyes and imagine a cherubic doll of a little boy. His cheeks are rosy as rouged porcelain, his hair falling in golden curls. He wears a luxurious red velvet coat. And at just over 2ft tall, he sits at a writing desk, hard at work. At first, he may seem like an ordinary doll, but then he awakens. The boy's glassy eyes flit from side to side. His head turns. He dips his quill into an inkwell, brings it down on his parchment. And then the boy begins to write. Yes, you heard me correctly. He actually writes. Built by a famous Father Son watchmaking trio, the Writer, as it's called, contains a programmable memory that allows him to scrawl custom text up to 40 characters long. Oh, and one other little detail. He was built in the mid-1700s. It's kind of unfathomable, isn't it? The Writer has a companion, too, a second automaton called the Draftsman. And this guy is no less impressive. He uses a mechanical pencil to sketch four different images on a piece of paper. The first is a portrait of King Louis xv. The second, the royal couple believed to be Marie Antoinette and Louis xvi. The third, a little dog accompanied by the phrase Mon Tutu or my doggie. And lastly, my personal favorite, a drawing of a whip wielding Cupid riding a chariot pulled by a butterfly. And I think it needs to be said that while this delightful duo is pretty eerie to watch in action, they weren't intended to be frightening. Some automatons, though, were built to be a straight up threat. A couple of decades later and across the globe, Tipu Sultan, the ruler of Mysore in southern India, was fighting tooth and n against an encroaching British East India Company. And sure, resisting with military might is one thing, but you know what else is pretty intimidating? A life sized mechanical tiger mauling a British soldier. Tipu's tiger, as the massive automaton was called, was built by Indian and French engineers and depicted a gruesome scene. When activated via turning a crank, a mechanical soldier moved his arm to cover his screaming mouth. An organ within the tiger produced the dying man's moans as well. As the tiger's roar. Yeah, not exactly subtle. Sadly for Mysore, the British were victorious and along with other spoils of war, they dragged Tipu's tiger to London, where it became a popular tourist attraction. Apparently it sat in the library and university students wrote all sorts of angry letters complaining about the fact that the soldier kept screaming while they were trying to study. But when it came to terrifying toymaking, the English really should have cast their judgment inward, because no one excelled at mechanical horrors quite like the Brits. To visit one of my favorite English automatons, let's teleport to the Musee Mecanique, a currently operating arcade in San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf. As you wander through the room, over 300 machines rattle and chime, sing and hiss. But these aren't your typical Pac man and Street Fighter machines. Know that Musee mecanique contains hundreds 20th century coin operated mechanicals. Although stuffed with mutoscopes and fortune tellers, it's a diorama on the far left wall that catches your eye first, a dollhouse sized castle labeled quite welcomingly an English execution. Here's how it Slide a coin into the slot and watch as the palace doors swing open, revealing a figure in a dark hood. There is a noose around his neck. A tiny friar tolls a bell. The prisoner's last rites, you realize, and suddenly the floor falls away. The sorry hooded soul plummets out of sight, snapping tight at the end of the noose. And with that, the castle doors swing shut again. The English execution is representative of a particularly macabre moment in automata making, when grisly scenes like this were downright trendy among British toymakers. This one was made in 1920 by a guy named Charles Ahrens. But he wasn't the only tinkerer bringing abominations into being. John Dennison and his three daughters were a whole family of automata makers in Leeds, England, who during the 20th century created a slew of macabre little scenes, dioramas with names like the Dying Child, Supper with Death and Midnight at the Haunted churchyard. In a 1934 machine called Murder in the Museum, a gun toting man emerges from behind a gaudy Egyptian sarcophagus and kills another man before a detective shoots the killer dead in turn, all as miniature museum goers gawk in horror. Another 1939's The Abbot's Treasure features two shady characters robbing a graveyard while a multitude of skeletons pop out of the tombs and fountains. Oh, and to save the worst for last, let me introduce you to the St. Deniston Mortuary. Made sometime around 1900, it's been attributed to a number of English toymakers, the Denisons included. Although it's not actually certain who created the thing. Honestly, I'm not sure that I'd like to lay claim to it if it was me, because this display is truly something else. When you insert a coin into this machine, the Saint Denistin mortuary opens its doors to reveal a morgue. Inside, four corpses lie on slabs. Their skins are pale, nearly blue and their ribs are visible through thinning flesh. One's mouth gapes open in a silent scream, while others are stained with blood. Above the bodies hangs a sign that reads believed murdered and found stabbed. Meanwhile, living people mull about the room. A policeman goes over evidence. An undertaker works on a body just outside. Two mourners shudder in despair, one raising a handkerchief to her swollen eye. Yeah, pure nightmare fuel. It's bad enough that these things can move, but at least they can't think right. Well, if the stories are to be believed, there's one mechanical marvel from history who might just prove that wrong. One of the most famous personages of the last hundred years has passed away. He never smiled and was rarely heard to speak, Though compelled to remain seated during many long years, and though gifted by illiberal nature with the use of but one arm. And he exhibited signs of a clear and precocious intellect. That, if you're curious, is an Excerpt from an 1857 obituary of a great Hungarian chess player. Perhaps. The obituary goes on to say, no other man has ever checked the march of so many kings as he. Except here's the thing. This chess player wasn't a man at all. He was an automaton. But let's rewind. The year is 1770, and Wolfgang von Kempelen, advisor to the Austro Hungarian throne, is about to present Habsburg Archduchess Maria Theresa with a truly spectacular gift. It takes the form of a desk sized cabinet. But it isn't the contents of the cabinet that make the royals gasp in wonder. No, it's what sits behind it. Or rather, who. Perched before the courts is a lifeless figure and clad in opulent fur, trimmed robes and a jeweled turban, he has a black beard and haunted gray eyes and holds a long Ottoman smoking pipe in his left hand. His right hand rests upon the cabinet surface, waiting. With a theatrical flourish, von Kempelen opens the cabinet's doors, revealing gleaming clockwork mechanisms within. With the wave of a candle, he shows the court that nothing and no one is hidden inside Save for those elaborate whirring gears and levers. And then he asks the audience for a volunteer with one whoever steps forward better be able to play chess. Because, you see, once von Kempelen winds a crank on the cabinet side and the man in the robes springs to life, his head turning, his hands shuddering. He'll reach forward, lift a pawn from the red and ivory chess set on the cabinet surface, and begin to play. And so it went that strange night in 18th century Habsburg. Before the amazed eyes of the court, challenger after challenger came forward to play chess against von Kappelin's automaton. And challenger after human challenger lost. The automaton appeared to consider each move thoughtfully. It was able to react to opponents unpredictable behavior. Heck, when players tried to cheat the the mechanical man would angrily sweep their pieces onto the floor with its arm. Suffice to say, the automaton chess player, or as it's become more commonly known, the mechanical Turk, was an immediate sensation at the Austria Hungarian court. It was lauded as an engineering marvel. After watching the Turk play, courtiers walked away debating the very nature of consciousness. Could machines truly compete with human intellectual what did it mean to be alive? And most of all, what was going on inside the mind of that eerie, lurching doll. But there were those who were less impressed. Everyone's a skeptic, they say. There were theories that the cabinet, or perhaps the Turk figure himself, must hide a little person or a child controlling the game from within others. That its inventor was controlling the machine from several feet away via magnets, remote control or invisible strings. And the famous magician Jean Eugene Robert Houdin made a particularly kooky claim that von Kempelen had invented the Turk to smuggle a legless Polish fugitive out of Russia, who also happened to be a talented chess player. But that sounds like a story for another day. Despite the skepticism, though, the Turk remained the hottest thing since Wienerschnitzel. And even when Maria Theresa's court tired of it after a few years, it didn't take long for her son Joseph II to dust it off and order von Kempelen to take it on a grand European tour. So off the Turk went, taking the continent by storm and vanquishing many of the era's greatest chess players in the process. Chess master after chess master fell to the Turks. Unbeatable prowess, or almost unbeatable. In a rare defeat, the Turk lost to Andrei Philidor, generally considered the best chess player in the world at the time. And. But even in that case, Philidor later confessed that no human opponent had ever fatigued him as much as the mechanical turk. The thing even played and beat none other than Benjamin Franklin. After von Kempelen's death in 1804, the Turk was purchased by a fellow named Johann Meltzl, an inventor and showman in his own right. He took to tinkering with the chess player, poking around those miraculous metal gears, and added a brand new feature. Now the Turk could do more than play chess. He could also speak. And sure, he couldn't say much, but he spoke when it mattered most. That is, when cornering an opponent's king. The mechanical Turk would now exclaim, ech. The French word for Czech. And so, back on the road they went. Meltzel and his automaton. This dynamic duo traveled the world, too. The Turk beat Napoleon Bonaparte in Vienna. It performed in the Americas before a skeptical young Edgar allan Poe. For 30 whole years, Meltzel and the Turk sailed the seven seas, conquering them one chess game at a time. In 1838, the Turk's second owner died, and not one, not two, but 75 Philadelphians pooled their money to snag him for themselves. The charge was led by a mechanical professor named John K. Mitchell. Why? Well, they all just really wanted to see how the thing worked. But unbeknownst to them, Meltzel did not make uncovering the secrets easy. The automaton had been packed, with no instructions, mind you, into five wooden crates. And to make matters worse, Meltzel had apparently tossed pieces from other machines into those crates to confuse thieves and competitors. Basically, imagine the world's worst IKEA assembly. But Mitchell was determined, and after months, he finally got the Turk to work. Which was all well and good for a while, because, you see, fate had other plans. One muggy July day in 1854, as the Turk slumbered in a Philadelphia museum, a terrible fire broke out. First a spark, but then a blaze. Mitchell's son Silas tried to run into the inferno and save the priceless machine. But, alas, it was too late. After nearly a century of fame and fortune, the chess player succumbed to the flames. As Silas later wrote, it might have been a sound from the crackling woodwork or the breaking window panes, but certain it is that we thought we heard through the struggling flames the last words of our departed friend, the sternly whispered, oft repeated syllables. Eshaki. Eshak. It's the reality we live with today. With the rise of AI the line between human and machine has become blurrier than ever. And just like those Habsburg nobles watching that very first robotic Chess game in 1770, we find ourselves asking the same chilling can machines rival or even surpass human consciousness? Well, in the case of the mechanical Turk, that answer is a resounding no. Because as it turns out, all those skeptics who thought the machine was too good to be true were absolutely right. In 1857, three years after that fatal museum fire, Silas Mitchell wrote an article for the magazine Chess Monthly admitting to a nearly century long hoax. It turns out all those elaborate cogs and cranks in the Turk's cabinet. Yeah, those were just for show. Behind them, you see, was a hidden crawlspace concealing a very human chess master. He would hold a single flickering candle to see by. And over his head, magnetic disks dangled from chess pieces, letting him see what moves were being played above. And all the while, he pulled a series of levers to make the Turk's arms and hands move. Now, let me just add here, credit where credit's due, right? The machine may have been a hoax, but just imagine the skill it would have taken to play and beat some of the world's finest chess players, all while stuck in a dark box and operating complex puppetry at the same time. And unlike the theories, the hidden chess players weren't tiny. In fact, one was over six feet tall. So how did von Kempelen and Meltzel manage to sneak human chess players around the world with them for years of touring? Well, that's easy. While outside the box, the masters pretended to be the owner's personal secretaries. Not a bad ruse, really. At the end of the day, the most intelligent characters in this story turned out to be human after all. Now look, as a writer living in the age of AI, I obviously have some strong opinions on technology's ability to replace human intellect and creativity. Every day the news is abuzz with articles about humans in romantic relationships with AI or turning to chatbots instead of a trained human therapist. But here's the thing about AI models. They may seem human, but there's something crucial that's missing. Every word a human writes represents a thought behind it. Language is only a stand in a symbol born from and communicating an idea. But when a chatbot generates language, what's behind that? Why, nothing, of course. Emptiness, just like the Turk chess player AI, intelligence is merely a clever trick, a mimicry of reality. Oh, and by the way, this past July, chess grandmaster Magnus Carlsen played Chat GPT in a game of chess. He beat it in only 53 moves without losing a single piece. I hope today's demonstration of clever automata got your gears turning. I feel like there's something magical about the passion and process behind building these amazing contraptions, and the stories they generate are absolutely stunning. But don't pull the plug just yet, because I have one last story in which a machine from the distant past might just see into the future. Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about it. This episode was Made possible by Warby Parker no one loves shopping for new glasses, especially me. Now that I live in the era of progressive lenses friends, it is a hassle and I'm usually afraid that they won't look good or work properly after all that effort. And that's why I am obsessed with Warby Parker. Seriously, nothing comes close on quality, price, selection and customer service. And once you buy from Warby Parker, you'll realize how much easier they've made the entire process. Their virtual try on has made it possible for me to skip those eye doctor showrooms entirely since I can literally try on glasses from my phone before I buy them. Warby Parker glasses start at just $95 and include prescription lenses with anti reflective scratch resistant coatings. They use premium materials in each frame, design every frame in house, and have a collection of silhouettes, colors and fits for every face. You can shop with them online, at home or in one of their over 300 retail locations across the US where you can get styled by one of their friendly expert advisors. And many Warby Parker locations even offer comprehensive eye exams starting at just 85 bucks. Like I said, I wear progressive lenses which are more complicated to get just right, but Warby Parker absolutely nailed it and these glasses are so fun and amazing. I highly recommend Warby Parker gives you quality and better looking prescription eyewear at a fraction of the going price. Lore listeners get 15% off plus free shipping when they buy two or more pairs of prescription glasses at warbyparker.com lore that's 15% off when you buy two pairs of glasses at w a r b y parker.com lore and hey, after you purchase they'll ask you where you heard about them. So please support this show and tell them that Lore sent you. This episode was made possible by Meundies. You know what's super fun and romantic as a gift? Matching underwear. Seriously, Meundies has cracked the code for Valentine's Day gifts with their matching underwear for couples. It's cute, it's fun and you'll wear them more than once. Unlike other brands just slapping hearts on generic underwear, Meundies designs coordinated prints from the ground up and with matching sets, you'd be the most coordinated couple on the couch. And Meundies really knows what they're doing here. We're talking over 30 million pairs sold, 90,000 five star reviews and a first pair promise. That means that if your first pair doesn't work out in the first 45 days, they will make it right. No hassle. Meundies is the go to for unbelievably soft underwear and loungewear made from Ultramodal. That's fancy speak for cloud level comfort. And for those who are wondering, my favorites is their Ultramodal core boxer brief. I can't get over how soft and perfect they are. Just pure cloud like comfort. As always though, Valentine's Day is February 14, so if you want to get these delivered in time, order soon. This is the gift that keeps on giving long after the holidays are over. Make this Valentine's Day one to remember with matching underwear from Meundies. To get exclusive deals up to 50% off, go to Meundies.com lore and enter the promo code LORE. That's Meundies.com lore promo code LORE for up to 50% off. This episode was made possible by 1-800-Flowers. Valentine's Day is almost here and I want to let you in on a little secret that wins every year. 1-800-flowers.com My wife deserves something that shows I put effort and thought into it and that's why I trust 1-800-FLowers.com. i just had a gorgeous bouquet delivered a couple of weeks ago and they were stunning and lasted for such a long time. 1-800-FLowers has been doing this for 50 years. They source roses from the best high altitude farms that produce bigger blooms, richer colors and flowers that last. This year, they're making it even better with an exclusive Double Blooms offer. Buy one dozen roses and they'll double your bouquet to a total of two dozen for free. That's twice the impact without breaking the bank. Their seven day freshness guarantee backs up the quality too. These roses will look stunning when they arrive and keep looking great long after Valentine's Day is over. And with same day delivery nationwide, you can order today and have them delivered fresh and ready to impress. Bouquets are selling fast though, so order now to lock in this deal. Make this Valentine's Day one they'll remember to get your double blooms offer. Buy one dozen and get it doubled to two dozen total roses for free go to 1-800-flowers.com lore that's 1-800-flowers.COM lore to double your roses for free. This episode was made possible by gusto. Small business Life means hustling and figuring it all out, and a lot of times on your own. But you don't have to spend your evenings guessing at tax forms or tracking down onboarding docs. Gusto handles all of that so you can spend your time on the parts of your business that you actually love. When I created my production company, Grim and Mild back in early 2020, I needed a way to manage payroll, benefits and more without needing to take a class or ruin my productivity. I mean, I have a lot of writing to do. Gusto was the clear winner and I have been using it happily every day since. Six years and counting, long before they ever sponsored this show. Gusto is online payroll and benefits software built for small businesses. It's all in one remote, friendly, and incredibly easy to use so you can pay, hire, onboard, and support your team from anywhere. They offer automatic payroll tax filing, simple direct deposits, health benefits, commuter benefits, workers comp, 401k. Gosh, you name it. Gusto makes it simple and has options for nearly every budget. Gusto has unlimited payroll runs for one monthly price, no hidden fees, no surprises, and they help you save time with other automated tools built right in, like offer letters, onboarding materials, and more. Try gusto today@gusto.com lore and get three months free. Free when you run your first payroll. That's three months of free payroll@gusto.com lore one more time gusto.com lore. The man was many things. A philosopher, a mathematician, a Franciscan friar, a scientist, a linguist, and if the whispers about him were true, at least a wizard. Born in the early 1200s, medieval polymath Roger Bacon was pretty much ignored by his contemporaries. But by the Renaissance, he had transformed into somewhat of a mythical figure, considered the ultimate wise man. And as such, in addition to his very real accomplishments, people had begun to pad his biography with some rather fantastical tall tales. They said that he was a keeper of dark, forbidden knowledge, that he could consult with demons and solve alchemical secrets. But the most famous legend of all? Why, that would be the rumor that Roger Bacon had created a Brazen Head. What exactly is a Brazen head, you might ask? Well, it was a form of automaton that only existed in legends. They were mechanical heads made of brass, and according to the stories, could do far more than simply move their eyes and snap their jaws like their real world counterparts. Brazen heads, you see, had the ability to speak and they could answer any questions posed to them, including predictions of the future. In one story of a brazen head, St. Albertus Magnus spent 30 years creating a brass man who could answer all of humanity's questions. And apparently Magnus was successful. Maybe a bit too successful. Because once his automaton finally started talking, it refused to shut up. It kept on babbling until a super annoyed Thomas Aquinas basically beat it to death. Roman Senator Boetius was said to have made one of his own, as did Faust. Everyone from Cervantes and Byron in Europe to Nathaniel Hawthorne in America made mention of the contraption in their writings. And the most famous brazen head of all. Why, that would be the one believed to be created by Roger Bacon. Bacon's brazen head was said to have been a perfect replica of a living man's head, right down to the brain inside it. And speaking of Faust, who I mentioned a moment ago, Bacon was said to have made a Faustian deal of his own. For as the story goes, Bacon didn't create the head all by his lonesome. Oh no, he had a helper. In order to make the thing actually talk, he summoned none other than the devil himself. Impatient for his contraption to begin delivering prophecies, Bacon begged the devil to speed things up. But the devil basically told Bacon that he needed to chill out and give it some time. The head would speak after a few weeks, the devil promised, as long as he kept it properly fueled up with the fumes from a specific concoction of alchemical plants. And as the story goes, Bacon followed the devil's advice. And eventually, it paid off. Sort of. According to the mid-1500s text, the famous History of Friar Bacon, the head spoke only once, but don't ask Bacon what it said. The poor SAP slept right through it. Luckily, though, his assistant managed to catch the head's little announcement. And I do mean little, it intoned a total of seven Time is, time was, and time is past. Then the machine, and I quote therewith, fell down and presently followed a terrible noise with strange flashes of fire, or in other words, the head exploded. And thus ends the rather anticlimactic tale of Roger Bacon and his prophetic mechanical head. Oh, and by the way, if the concept of a brazen head sounds familiar to you, you may have encountered its closest modern counterpart, probably in the classic film Big, a beloved arcade feature called the Zoltar Machine. This episode of Lore was produced by me, Erin Manke, with writing by Jenna Rose Nethercott, research by Cassandra d', Alba, and music by Chad Lawson. Just a reminder, I have a brand new history book coming out on August 4th called Exhumed, which explores the roots of the new England Vampire Pa Panic through the lens of centuries of folklore, medical advancements, pseudoscience and philosophy. It's available for pre order right now and if you pre order the hardcover, my publisher has a cool webpage set up where you can submit your receipts and get a free gorgeous tote bag. Head over to aaronmanke.comexhumed to lock in your copy today. The link is in the Description don't like hearing ads on Lore? Well, there's a paid version on Apple Podcasts and patreon that is 100% AD free. Subscribers also get weekly mini bonus episodes called Lore Bytes and Patreon. Members get discounts on Lore Merch. Learn more over@lorepodcast.com support follow the show on YouTube threads, Blue sky and Instagram. Just search for Lore Podcast all one word and then click that follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. 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