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Updated: June 2, 2025
Schlatter purported, and believed, that he was the reincarnation of the Messiah. Letters were sent to him, addressed simply, "Jesus Christ, Denver, Colorado," and he walked up to the General-Delivery window and asked for them with a confidence, we are told, that relieved the postmaster of a grave responsibility.
As to his miracles, we may without attempting to explain them state decisively that they do not differ from those accomplished by means of suggestion. The cases of blindness treated by Schlatter have a remarkable resemblance to that of the girl Marie described by Pierre Janet in his Psychological Automatism.
Then fell the blow! When Alderman Fox had entered his guest's room the night before, the bed was empty. Dressed just as he had arrived, in his unique costume, Schlatter had disappeared, leaving behind him as sole trace of his visit this message: "Mr. Fox my mission is ended, and the Father calls me. I salute you. Francis Schlatter. November 13th." After that he was sought for in vain.
A man named Welsh, of Colorado Springs, had a paralysed right hand which was immediately cured when Schlatter touched it. All New Mexico rejoiced in the heavenly blessing that had fallen upon Denver. Special trains disgorged thousands of travellers, who were caught up in the wave of religious enthusiasm directly they arrived.
Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims were flocking to it from all parts of America, and all, immediately they arrived, made straight for the house of Alderman Fox, where dwelt Francis Schlatter, the greatest miracle-worker of the century.
You may prove Zoroaster a myth, Moses a mountebank, Gautama a priestly grafter and Christ the prototype of Francis Schlatter and other half-witted frauds; but adoration of a superior power will remain a living, pulsing thing in the hearts of the people.
One day when a crowd of several thousands was pressing round him, Schlatter addressed a man in his vicinity. "Depart!" he said to him, with a violence that startled all who heard. "Depart from Denver; you are a murderer!" The man fled, and the crowd applauded the "saint," remarking that "it was not in his power to heal the wicked."
For Schlatter the Silent, as some called him, only became eloquent when in the presence of newspaper reporters.
As Diderot has said, it is sometimes only necessary to be a little mad in order to prophesy and to enjoy poetic ecstasies; and in the case of Schlatter the flower of altruism which often blossoms in the hearts of such "madmen" was manifested in his complete lack of self-seeking and in his compassion for the poor and suffering which drew crowds around him.
The onlookers became uneasy, and one of them went so far as to suggest that his health might suffer from this abrupt transition. "Have faith," replied Schlatter. "The Father who has permitted me to live without nourishment for forty days, will not cease to watch over His Son." The town of Denver formed a little world apart.
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