Address to the Automaton Chess Player

Of deep research and cogitation,

Of many a head and many a nation,

While all in vain

Have tried their wits to answer whether,

In silver, gold, steel, silk or leather,

Of human parts, or all together,

Consists thy brain!

When first I viewed thine awful face,

Rising above that ample case

Which gives thy cloven foot a place,

Thy double shoe,

I marvelled whether I had seen

Old Nick himself, or a machine,

Or something fixed midway between

The distant two!

A sudden shuddering seized my frame:

With feeling that defies a name,

Of wonder, horror, doubt and shame

The tout ensemble,

I deemed thee formed with power and will;

My hair rose up-my bloodstood still,

And curdled with a fearful chill,

Which made me tremble.

I thought if, e'en within thy glove,

Thy cold and fleshless hand should move

To rest on me, the touch should prove

Far worse than death;

That I should be transformed , and see

Thousands and thousands gaze on me,

A living, moving thing, like thee,

Devoid of breath

When busy, curious, learned and wise

Regard thee with inquiring eyes

To find wherein the mystery lies,

On thy stiff neck,

Turning thy head with grave precision,

Their optic light and mental vision

Alike defying, with decision,

Thou giv'st them"check!"

Some say a little man resides

Between thy narrow, bony sides

And round the world within thee rides;

Absurd the notion!

For what's the human thing would lurk

In thine unfeeling breast, Sir Turk,

Performing thus, thine inward work,

And outward motion?

Some whisper that thou art he, who fell

From Heaven's high courts, down, down, to dwell

In that place of sulphury smell

And lurid flame.
Thy keeper then deserves a pension,

For seeking out this wise invention

To hold thee harmless, in detention,

Close at thy game.

Now, though all Europe has confessed,

That in thy master Maelzel's breast

Hidden, thy secret still must rest,

Yet it were great pity,

With all our intellectual light

That none should view thy nature right,

But thou must leave in fog and night

Our keen-eyed city.

The just confide in me, and show

Or tell, how things within thee go!

Speak in my ear so quick and low

None else shall know it.

But, mark me! If I should discover
Without thine aid, thy secret mover.

With thee for ever all is over,

I'll quickly blow it!

http://www.cowderoy.com/graphics/ac.htm
http://www.rampling.net/kempelen/

http://www.eapoe.org/works/essays/maelzel.htm