Since the 1860's, plastic was extracted from natural ele­ments, such as cotton fibre or wood pulp, until replaced by syn­thetic pro­cesses invented in 1907. The following translation from a French journal (1883) was further distributed as a syndicated (or pirated) news­paper article for many years, and was included in several late-Vic­torian house­hold encyclo­pedias.

The Manufacture of Celluloid.

      As celluloid has of late been again advancing in favour with the profession [i.e., dentistry], perhaps a description of the way in which it is made may be of interest. The substance is, as is well known, of American invention, and was first made at Newark, New Jersey, about twenty years ago; it is now made also in France and Germany. We are indebted to Le Progrès Dentaire for the following description of the process as carried out at a manufactory near Paris.

      A roll of paper is slowly unwound and is at the same time saturated with a mixture composed of five parts of sulphuric acid and two of nitric which falls on the paper in a fine spray. This changes the cellulose of the paper into a fine pyroxyline (gun-cotton.) The excess of acid having been expelled by pressure, the paper is washed with plenty of water, until all traces of acid have been removed; it is then reduced to pulp, and passes on to the bleaching trough. Most of the water having been got rid of by means of a strainer, the pulp is mixed with from twenty to forty per cent. of its weight of camphor and the mixture thoroughly triturated under mill-stones. The necessary colouring matter having been added in the form of powder, a second mixing and grinding follows. The finely divided pulp is then spread out in thin layers on slabs, and from twenty to twenty five of these layers are placed in a hydraulic press, separated from one another by sheets of blotting paper, and are subjected to a pressure of a hundred and fifty atmospheres, until all traces of moisture have been got rid of. The plates thus obtained are broken up and soaked for twenty-four hours in alcohol. The matter is then passed between rollers heated 140° and 150° Fahrenheit, whence it issues in the form of elastic sheets. Celluloid is made to imitate amber, tortoise-shell, coral, malachite, ebony, ivory, &c., and besides its employment in dentistry, is used to make mouth-pieces for pipes and cigar-holders, handles for table-knives and umbrellas, combs, shirt-fronts and collars, and a number of fancy articles.

The following strange story was reported to the world by news agencies, but there appears not to be any surviving account in Philadelphia newspapers where the incident occurred. The articles were reprinted globally with headlines like "A new form of murder," and "Dastardly Exploit of a Revengeful Lover."

A JEALOUS RIVAL'S REVENGE.

He Makes a Pipe For His Foe Which Blows Up And Terribly Wounds The Latter.

      PHILADELPHIA, Jan. 11. — Yesterday morning as Robert Morphy, a truck farmer on the old York road, was going home from market, he saw a man lying on the sidewalk on Columbia avenue in an unconscious condition and brought him to the Episcopal hospital. It was found that his under jaw was broken and lacerated, several teeth in both jaws were missing and the bones were bare of flesh in places. Jackson Wartung said he saw the same man pass down from Waterloo street a few minutes before, going toward Frankford road. He carried a large white meerschaum pipe in his left hand, evidently unlighted. This clew, which was imparted to the police by the hospital clerks, was the first straw that led up to the discovery of a crime that equals any in the most improbable novels for cold blood and malicious atrocity. In his pocket was discovered a circular, on one of the edges of which was written "How goot vas Bazinskie to give me dot pibe." Detective Sharkey in the afternoon met a woman named Rebecca Kavoritsky, and by a series of adroit questioning learned from her that the injured man, who is Casper Rosenstahl, and Felix Bazinskie were paying court to her, but she preferred the former, who was much younger and handsomer than his rival. This enraged Bazinskie and he determined on a terrible revenge. He was employed in a factory where celluloid goods are made, and he had made a meerschaum pipe of specially prepared celluloid, a small speck of which thrown playfully into Rebecca's stove a few days ago blew every stove lid into the air with terrific force. This pipe poor Rosenstahl was smoking yesterday when the explosion occurred that has placed him in his present pitiful state.

      The unconscious Rosenstahl was taken into the operating room and an examination made by Dr. Northwood. The wounds were dangerous; the throat and tongue were greatly lacerated, burned and swollen. The physician expressed surprise that the patient had lost so little blood, because the gashes in the throat and cheek, from which the splintered ends of the lower jaw protruded, caused even an old surgeon to shudder. Closer inspection showed that the ruptured ends of the small arteries were cauterized as though by fire. Thus very little blood had flowed. Doubtless, therefore, the comatose condition of the patient was ascribed to a mental shock of some kind. The wounds were dressed with lint and bandages, and the return to consciousness of the patient is awaited to get a full explanation of the affair.

More details were given in subsequent reports:

      A few days ago Casper Rosenstahl, a morocco leather-worker, was taken to the Episcopal Hospital in an unconscious condition suffering from a dreadful wound in his face. His under jaw was broken and lascerated, several teeth in both jaws were missing, and the bones were bare of flesh in places. Two men, who had been working on the street near by, approached about the same time. One of them, Jack Wartung, or Whartung, declared that he saw the same man pass down from Waterloo street a few minutes before, going toward Frankford road. He carried a large white meerschaum pipe in his left hand, evidently unlighted. I may anticipate events at this point far enough to say that careful scrutiny at the spot where the body was found showed a burnt match, some tobacco, and several pieces of a short pipe-stem. A search of the man's garments revealed his name and address and a pipe-case. The pipe that the witness Whartung had seen the injured man carrying had disappeared — probably been taken by some passing pedestrian.

      The wounds were dressed with lint and bandages, and the return to consciousness of the patient was awaited for an explanation as to the cause of his injuries. Robbery was clearly not the object of the attack upon him, because sixty-four dollars were found in his wallet and silver change in several parts of his clothes.

      The police opinion in the Twenty-fourth District was that the man had been struck by one of the shifter-engines on Lehigh avenue and had crawled as far as the place at which he was found before succumbing to weakness. This theory involved the supposition that the workman Whartung was mistaken. John Sharkey, a private detective, was brought into the case this afternoon, and after visiting the locality expressed the opinion that Whartung had seen the man as described, and that the catastrophe, whatever it may have been, had occurred at the spot where the body was found.

      Detective Sharkey returned in the direction of Otis street, intending to make inquiries at the injured man's boarding-house, near Diamond; but as he approached the house he saw a young woman coming toward him at a high rate of speed. Her manner was sufficient to attract attention to her. Detective Sharkey stopped and awaited her coming. Her face was marked with anxiety and tears stood in her eves, and, as she came closer, she was heard talking to herself in an absent, preoccupied way. Sharkey guessed at once that this girl had heard of Rosenstahl's injuries and was hurrying to the hospital to him. A sister, or perhaps a sweetheart? He spoke promptly:

      "How is Caspar Rosenstahl by this time?"

      "I know nothing, sir," was the quick, startled reply, as the girl strove to hurry onwards.

      "But he is dangerously wounded?"

      "I haf just hear so," — more nervously.

      "You are going to the hospital?"

      "Yes. I must be quick."

      "Wait one moment. What is your name?" asked the officer.

      "Rebecca Kavoritsky, of Almond street. But he may die. I will go," and she started forward. The detective was as nimble as the maiden and ran to her side. He explained that he was an officer and was endeavoring to find the assailant of her friend.

      The couple were hurrying north on Front street as fast as their feet would take them. It was with the greatest difficulty that the detective elicited the fact that the injured man had been a lover of the girl and that he had asked her to become his wife. When the question was asked: "Who could have done this?" and "Who was his enemy?" she was silent. Finally the woman stammered:

      "You suspect me. I am not guilty. Got know, I not do dees crime."

      Detective Sharkey, then remembering the name on a circular which he had seen at the hospital, asked:

      "Who is Bazinskie?"

      The woman's eyes stared in terror. She screamed, staggered and would have fallen had the officer not caught her. She almost shrieked:

      "Haf he confess?"

      "He will tell all," said the detective, guardedly, surprised at the turn affairs had suddenly taken.

      "Oh Bazinskie haf murter my poor Casper." And she burst into a violent fit of weeping. Finally she said: "I will tell."

      Her story, flavored as it is with comedy and tragedy, is one of the most remarkable ever told. With all the impetuosity of an excited and vengeful woman's nature she recited the long tale of love, rivalry, hatred and crime. Briefly, her confession was this:

      She is an honest girl who came from Poland in 1873, when she was nine years old. Her mother is still living in Almond street. Two years ago she met Felix Bazinskie at a friend's house, and allowed him to walk home with her. Bazinskie is a fellow-countryman, hailing from Lublin, a town in Poland not far from Random, or Radom, where the Kavoritsky family dwelt. He began at once to pay insidious court to Rebecca. He would accompany her on the guitar when she sang, and during the past summer he called so often that he completely wore out one of Mme. Kavoritsky's best chairs. This soured the old woman's nature, for she had been the young man's friend.

      Rebecca never liked him, she declared, but had turned her eyes toward Casper Rosenstahl, an industrious morocco leather worker, lately settled in the neighborhood. He came from New York, he told her, and she believed him. One night when Bazinskie was at the home of the Kavoritskys young Casper called. Casper was a much younger and handsomer fellow, and Felix evidently hated him from the first moment. He dissembled, however, and affected the strongest friendship. In a few weeks they were calling each other by their first names. Bazinskie was employed in a factory on North Eight street, owned by Walmann, Smythe & Co., makers of celluloid goods. He wore collars and cuffs made of the goods he worked in, and served as a kind of walking advertisement of the establishment and its products. He paid no water rent, and found the substitute for linen decidedly preferable on that account. Indeed, he kept the place of his habitation a profound mystery, and, anxious as Rebecca and her mother had been to know Bazinskie's surroundings, he had baffled their curiosity.

      Some mystery certainly existed about the man, and Rebecca decided to "shake" him in favor of Rosenstahl. She manifested unmistakable dislike for the celluloid comb and collar maker, and smiled on the morocco leather creaser.

      On Saturday last Rebecca received a note from Casper asking her to meet him on Sunday. At the end, as a tribute to the soft place every man's heart, are the words: "How goot was Bazinskie. He haf forgivt me und sendt a peutiful meerschaum pibe." This reconciliation between her two lovers was pleasing to Rebecca. But she was surprised at Bazinskie's generosity (it was a new quality in his nature and [she was] suspicious of his motive.) When she met Rosenstahl on Sunday, she says, her first question was:

      "Did Bazinskie sendt any tobacco mit dot pipe?"

      "Not a bid."

      "Then, Casper, my dear Casper, look oudt for sieselbst."

      Rosenstahl went home thoughtfully when he left his sweetheart, and probably inspected the innocent-looking "meerschaum" pipe. But he had no tobacco until this morning and had not enjoyed the luxury of a smoke from it until to-day. Poor fellow he will never be able to puff it again.

      As Rebecca was returning home from work on Tuesday last she was met by Bazinskie. He appeared quite jovial, and was almost impertinent in his familiarity. He could not, apparently, resist telling her that he would rid her of Rosenstahl. She humored him and encouraged his talk, but he would not explain what he meant. He followed her home, and they went into the kitchen, where her mother was preparing supper. A lid had been removed from the top of the stove, and while he stood talking Bazinskie tossed into the fire a small piece of something white, which he had been carrying in his hand. A terrific explosion followed that blew every stove lid into the air. Bazinskie laughed as he helped gather up the pieces. He explained that it was a bit of specially prepared celluloid. After he had been chided by the Widow Kavoritsky for his carelessness he asked:

      "How would a pipe made of celluloid act, I vant to know?" Then he laughed hilariously.

      This exclamation, in the girl's opinion, fully explains the terrible injuries from which her true lover is now suffering.

 

"A new form of murder" shouted newspapers around the world, as an unhappy Philadelphian tried to resolve his love triangle in a novel way.

🔗https://t.co/uWanFwW0wS#TrueCrime #Victorian #murder pic.twitter.com/B3XSpDYFfb

— Stephen Davies (@Gaslight_arts) August 14, 2023