PART IV—FINALE.
HERRMANN, With a bouquet of mystic novelties. “The closer you watch the less you see.” Concluding with Herrmann’s mystifying masterpiece, THE MYSTERIOUS SWING. HERE! THERE! NOWHERE!
{237}
A TWENTIETH CENTURY THAUMATURGIST.
“I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art, and yet not damnable.”—SHAKESPEARE; _As You Like It_—V. 2, 68.
I.
The leading exponent of the magic art in the United States today is the famous Harry Kellar. He makes a specialty of pseudo-clairvoyance, second sight, feats of levitation, spirit cabinets, and mechanical illusions. Seizing upon the craze for Hindoo necromancy, mahatma miracles and the like, he presents many of his tricks and illusions as examples of Eastern thaumaturgy. Unlike Herrmann, who bubbled over with wit and humor and acted the comedian, Kellar assumes a Sphinx-like demeanor and envelopes himself in a mantle of mystery. Herrmann was the tricksy Mephistopheles of Goethe’s _Faust_. Kellar is the Arbaces of Bulwer’s _Last Days of Pompeii_—the Egyptian sorcerer and initiate into the rites of Isis and Osiris; or, better still, the Brahmin adept of Crawford’s _Mr. Isaacs_. Kellar’s entertainments appeal to the scholarly inclined. To see him at work, one is transported in imagination to a Hindoo temple where mahatmas exhibit their miracles. His patter is more or less based on Oriental ideas. For example, “The Yoge’s Lamp,” which is a very fine trick, invented by a German conjurer, Herr Conradi, of Berlin. The effect is as follows: On a pedestal stands a lighted lamp. Enveloping this lamp with a foulard, the magician carries it across the stage and places it upon a small gueridon with a glass top. A portion of the chimney of the lamp is in view all the time, and within the silken folds of the foulard the light may be seen shining through with subdued effect. Kellar now fires a pistol. The foulard drops upon {238} the table, and the big lamp vanishes with lightning rapidity. It seems to melt away. It is a seemingly impossible feat, because the glass-topped table has no possible place of concealment about it. The foulard is afterwards passed to the spectators for examination. I am not at liberty to reveal the secret of this surprising trick. I must preserve a discreet silence, in deference to the wishes of Mr. Kellar. As originally invented by Herr Conradi, the lamp reappears in a frame hanging in the center of the stage. But Kellar’s method I consider more artistic, and in better keeping with the _mise en scène_. Without patter this feat of magic would fall comparatively flat. In Kellar’s hands it is invested with a halo of supernaturalism which is very effective. The following is a brief résumé of the story of the lamp: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have here on this pedestal a copper lamp of antique pattern which was loaned to me by a celebrated Brahmin who presides over a shrine in the Holy City of Benares, India. I have his permission to use it in my thaumaturgic séances, but I must return it to him at a certain hour every evening, as it is needed in the ceremonial rites of the temple at Benares. That hour has now arrived. (_A bell strikes the hour, slowly and solemnly. He wraps the foulard about the lamp, which he places on the table._) I shall count three—the mystic number of Brahmin theosophy—and fire this pistol. Instantaneously the atoms composing the lamp will be disintegrated by the force of my will and fly through the fourth dimension of space to India, where they will reassemble and materialize in their former shape, and the lamp will appear upon the altar of the temple as of old.”
Of course no one credits this rhodomontade, but the conjurer’s purpose is accomplished. The trick is given a mystical setting and a certain kind of pseudo-scientific explanation. And all things are possible in nature, for have we not the x-rays, radio-activity, wireless telegraphy, and forces undreamed of a few years ago by the physicists?
II.
Kellar was born in Erie, Pennsylvania, in 1849—the famous year of the California Argonauts. When quite a young lad he {240} was apprenticed to the drug business. In this respect he resembles the great Cagliostro. One day while experimenting on his own account, during the absence of his master, he charged a copper vessel with soda and sulphuric acid, the result being a terrific explosion which tore a hole in the office floor overhead. Thus he began life by making a great noise in the world, and has resolutely kept it up. After the fiasco with the chemicals, he was dismissed by his employer, whereupon he boarded a freight train and went to New York City, where he became a newsboy. His energy and winning manners attracted the attention of Rev. Robert Harcourt, an English clergyman, who adopted him, and gave him a good education. The reverend gentleman intended preparing young Kellar for the church, but such was not to be. Seeing an advertisement in a Buffalo paper that the renowned “Fakir of Ava” wanted a boy to travel with him and learn the trade of magician, Kellar determined to apply for the place. He set out for Buffalo and went to the Fakir’s bungalow, a quaint old house in the environs of the city. “When he entered the yard, the Fakir’s little black-and-tan dog jumped at him in a friendly way, and showed great delight at the meeting. The Fakir soon appeared, and after he had talked with the boy for a short time, said: ‘I have had about one hundred and fifty applications for the place, but that little dog has shown great animosity to every boy who entered the gate until you came. You are the first one he has made friends with. I will give you a trial.’ ”[27] The result was that Kellar became acolyte or familiar to the Fakir of Ava, and all because of a dog. This was reversing the old proverb, “Love me, love my dog” to that of “Whom my dog loves, I love.” The reader will remember that Mephistopheles first appears to Faust in the shape of a dog. Perhaps the Fakir’s canine was possessed with the Devil, and recognized a future master of the black art in Kellar.
[27] _A Magical Tour._ Chicago, 1886.
After traveling several seasons with the good old Fakir, Kellar started out on his own account. It was an uphill fight. He met the Davenport Brothers and Fay, alleged spirit mediums but in reality clever conjurers, and joined them, first as assistant, then as agent, and afterwards as business manager. He traveled {241} with them over the greater part of the United States (including California) and Canada, over the Continent of Europe, through Russia, via Riga, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Nijni-Novgorod and Odessa; thence back again to the United States. In the summer of 1871 he piloted them through Texas. They traveled all over that State in wagons. There was no railroad beyond Hearne then, and their route was from Galveston to Houston, Columbus, San Antonio, Austin, Lampasas Springs, Dallas, and Shreveport, and thence by boat down the river to New Orleans.
In the spring of 1873, he left the Davenports, from whom he learned the secrets of rope-tying and the cabinet act, and formed a combination called Fay and Kellar. Eventually he went into partnership with two Chinese magicians. This company was known as the Royal Illusionists. After touring Australia, India and China, Kellar dissolved partnership and came to the United States. During his stay at Calcutta, India, the _Asian_ of Jan. 3, 1882, printed the following effusion, a paraphrase on Robert Heller’s verse about himself and Anderson:
“For many a day, We have heard people say That a wondrous magician was Heller; Change the H into K, And the E into A, And you have his superior in Kellar.”
Kellar has written several monographs on his art—mainly contributions to magazines; all highly suggestive and entertaining. He says: “There are six qualifications which are the essence of the successful magician, prestidigitateur, necromancer—call him what you may. They are: The will, manual dexterity, physical strength, the capacity to perform things automatically, an accurate, perfectly ordered and practically automatic memory, and a knowledge of a number of languages, the more the better.”
Speaking of his experiences as stage helper, or _chela_, to the so-called Fakir of Ava, he says (_Independent_, May 28, 1903): “The ‘face’ of many a prestidigitateur has been saved and his defeat turned into a glorious victory by the merest chance. One of my first adventures with the Fakir of Ava affords a capital {242} illustration. We were doing the watch trick—taking a timepiece from some one in the audience, passing it upon the stage in a platter, destroying both platter and timepiece in plain view of the spectators, loading the fragments into a pistol, firing the weapon at a target and bringing the watch—whole and sound—to life again upon the face of the mark, in plain sight of the audience. But on that particular day the target concluded not to do its share of the performance. No watch would it produce; the machinery was out of order. We had to work hard to ‘save face.’
“Disguised as an usher of the house, I went down into the audience with the timepiece, hoping to be able to slip it unobserved into the pocket of the owner. He was sitting at a distance from the aisle; I found it impossible. I did the next best thing—slipped the watch into the waistcoat pocket of the man who sat next to the aisle on the same row with the owner. Then I returned to the stage.
“The Fakir in the meantime was discussing learnedly upon some other subject. When I returned, the question of the whereabouts of the watch was called up and a bell on the stage was summoned to answer questions; one ring for ‘yes,’ two for ‘no.’
“ ‘Is the watch on the stage?’
“ ‘No,’ replied the obedient bell.
“ ‘Is it in the audience?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Is it on the first row?’
“ ‘No.’
“ ‘The second—the third, the fourth, the fifth?’
“To each question came a ‘no.’
“ ‘Is it on the sixth row?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Is it the first man on the row?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“The eyes of the audience focused upon the unfortunate occupant of the seat.
“ ‘Look in your pocket, sir,’ said the Fakir of Ava, in his politest, most persuasive tones. {243}
“ ‘Go on with your show there and let me alone,’ shouted the enraged seat holder.
“ ‘But I pray you, look in your pocket,’ said the Fakir.
“The man obeyed and produced the watch. The trick, called in stage vernacular a ‘life saver,’ made a hit vastly more impressive than the one originally planned but spoiled by the perverseness of the target.”
Kellar’s greatest and most sensational illusion is his “levitation”—raising a person and leaving him suspended in mid-air without any apparent means of support, seemingly defying the law of gravitation. An explanation of this surprising feat is thus described by a writer in the _Strand Magazine_ (London):
“An assistant is introduced, laid upon an ottoman, and then sent off into a hypnotic trance (?). The performer takes an ordinary fan and fans the body while it rises slowly about four feet in the air, where it mysteriously remains for any length of time desired. A large solid steel hoop is given for examination, and after the audience is satisfied as to its genuineness it is passed over the body from head to feet, behind the body and over it again, at once dispelling the idea of wires or any other tangible support being used, the body, as it were, journeying through the hoop each time. The suspended assistant is now fanned from {244} above and gently descends to the ottoman as slowly and gracefully as he rose from it. He is then brought back to his normal state out of the trance, and walks off none the worse for his aerial pose.
“This seeming impossibility is performed by the aid of a cranked bar (Fig. 2 and A, Fig. 3) and a pulley to raise it, the bar being pushed through from the back at the moment when the performer is ‘hypnotizing’ the subject, and in the act of placing a light covering over him he guides a clamp (B, Fig. 3) and fixes it to the top of the ottoman upon which the subject rests, and which rises, unseen, with him, the edges being obscured by the covering. The bar being the same color as the back scene cannot be noticed, and resting upon a stand (C, Figs. 2 and 3) behind the scenes the same height as the ottoman it is kept firm by the aid of strong supports. Being also double the width (D, Fig. 3) at this part greater leverage is obtained to hold the board upon which the subject rests secure from tilting either way. By means of a pulley arrangement (E, Fig. 2) the assistant behind raises and lowers the body, looking through a small hole in the scene and timing the performer’s movements with exactness. Fig. 1 shows the illusion as it appears. Fig. 2—a side view—shows the {245} means of suspension and the pulley for raising the bar and telescopic stand. Fig. 3 almost explains itself. It shows the method of passing the ring over the body. By putting it on at (1) and passing it as far as the center of the bar (A) it can be brought around and off the body at (2), apparently having passed right over it, although not free from the crank; it is then passed behind the body as far as (3), when it can again be placed over the end (1) and drawn across once more, this time being, of course, quite free, having made an apparent circle right around and across the body. It seems evident to the audience that the subject is so raised and suspended by the performer’s magic power alone.
“The sleeping subject is now lowered, and in the act of being ‘dehypnotized’ the performer slips the crank off, which is immediately drawn in from behind, the subject and performer sharing the applause. It is almost needless to explain that the ‘hypnotism’ is mere sham to heighten the effect and admit of an excuse to stoop in order to fix the cranked bar.”
So far, so good. The above method was undoubtedly the one used in Mr. Kellar’s original presentation of the illusion. But he has since made numerous improvements in it which have puzzled not only the public but the conjurers as well.
III.
Kellar has been an extensive Oriental traveler. He has hob-nobbed with Hindoo Rajahs, smoked nargilehs with the {246} turbaned Turk, and penetrated into darkest Africa. In India he witnessed many exhibitions of thaumaturgy. Concerning the high-caste magic, such as hypnotic feats and experiments in apparent death, he speaks with respect, but the magic of the strolling Fakirs he characterizes as inferior to that of our Western conjurers, with, perhaps, the exception of the Hindoo Basket Trick, which is a clever illusion. When we contemplate the fact that this startling trick is always performed in the open air, amid a circle of spectators, we must give due credit to the histrionic ability of the native conjurers and their powers of misdirection. Robert-Houdin and Col. Stodare introduced this experiment to European theatre-goers, but they were aided by all the accessories of the modern stage and the audience sat at a respectable distance. Let us hear Kellar’s explanation of the feat (_A Magician’s Tour_, Chicago, 1886).
“At Allahabad I saw a juggler who made a specialty of this trick. Having explained to the spectators what he proposed to do, he allowed them to select a spot on the turf in the open air where the trick should be performed. Here he stationed himself with a basket with a hinged lid at his feet, a little boy at his side, and a sharp sword in one hand. He wore nothing but a breech clout. The company surrounded the conjurer in a circle so close that there was no possibility for any person to pass it without detection. The juggler placed the child in the basket, closed the lid, and began muttering a seeming incantation. While still praying he wound a large white cloth about his arm, and suddenly threw it over the basket, binding one end. He then drew the cloth towards him, brought it up around his waist and tucked the end in his clout, leaving a portion to hang down in front in graceful folds. This much done, he plunged the sword through the basket. As the child’s agonizing cries were heard, the man drew back the sword all dripping with blood. Again and again was the sword thrust into the basket, the child’s heart-rending screams growing fainter and fainter until they ceased altogether. The Fakir asked that the basket be examined. It was opened and found to be empty. A gleeful shout was heard. The spectators looked in the direction from whence it came, and there sat the child on the limb of a small {247} tree, waving his arms and seeming as happy as a bird. I paid the thaumaturgist two rupees (one dollar) and the secret of the trick was explained to me. I marveled at first that the man was willing to reveal the mystery for so small a sum, but I soon discovered that only those who wore the Indian juggler’s costume, the breech clout, could perform it. The trick is done in this way: When the cloth is spread the boy slips out of the basket under the friendly cover of the linen, and crawls under the Fakir. Grasping a strap about the man’s waist, he draws himself up between the juggler’s legs. The cloth when brought about the Fakir’s waist hides the little fellow, who, from his unexpected retreat, utters the piercing shrieks of the dying child. With a sponge saturated with a red liquid the conjurer produces the blood stains. When the people rush forward to look into the basket, the boy slips from his place of concealment and makes his presence manifest wherever he has been directed to go.”
{248}
Herr Willmann describes practically the same trick under the title “Spirit box,” designed to prove the permeability of matter. A medium is placed in the box, and after some hocus-pocus the manager reopens it and declares it to be empty; for the purpose of proving his assertion he turns it over toward the public, and when the lid is opened, the medium, who remains all the while in his place, has become invisible, because he is hidden by the interior part of the double wall, which now seems to be the bottom of the box. The box stands upon a podium, in order to show that the medium could not have escaped through the floor. The adjoined illustration reveals the secret of the trick, the explanation of which is as simple as the effect is surprising.
On stages which allow the prestidigitateur to use traps, a trunk is placed so as to allow the prisoner to escape through the floor. The movable wall of the trunk in such a case swings round an axis which lies parallel with the rope that is afterwards fastened around the trunk. The movable wall in the trunk connects with a trap in the floor, and while visitors from the audience closely watch the fastening, the enclosed person makes his escape with the greatest ease.
Kellar is an expert in the rope-tying business, which the notorious Davenport Brothers exploited under the guise of spiritism. When I first saw Kellar at Ford’s Opera House, Washington, D. C., in February, 1879, his cabinet act, a burlesque on the Davenport séance, was a feature of his entertainment. After playing a disastrous engagement in Philadelphia, he came to Washington, where his business proved no better, and being “flat broke,” as he expressed it, he advertised in sheer desperation a Sunday night lecture on Spiritualism, to be delivered at the old National Theatre. The theatre and advertising were furnished by Mr. Ford, who took half of the gross receipts. I was present on the occasion and recall the excitement. Everything passed off without special incident, until the magician came to the Davenport cabinet test. At this juncture a venerable gentleman arose in the audience and challenged Kellar to permit him to do the tying in the same manner that he had tied the Davenports years before. The gentleman was very much in earnest and remarked: “If you fail to get {249} loose when tied, you are a colossal humbug; if you do get loose, it will be by spirit agency.” Kellar joyfully accepted the challenge. The old gentleman came upon the stage and pinioned the magician’s hands behind his back with many intricate and subtle knots. So tightly did he draw the rope that sympathetic {250} people in the theatre cried, “Shame.” Having completed his job, he turned to the spectators with a self-satisfied look on his face, as much as to say, “I have trapped the fox.” But he reckoned without his host. No sooner was his back turned to the magician than the latter slipped one hand from its lashings and tapped the skeptic on the shoulder. “If you have two of my hands tied behind my back,” said Kellar, “I must have been royally endowed by Nature with a third hand.”
Thunders of applause greeted the scene. Even ladies rose from their seats and cheered. “Bravo, Kellar!” was heard on all sides. The old gentleman joined in the demonstration, and acknowledged himself beaten. This episode caused so great a sensation in Washington that two more Sunday evening lectures were given to crowded houses, and Kellar was enabled to pay his debts and get out of town.
It is now pretty well known to conjurers that the Davenports accomplished their feats by secretly taking up slack in the rope while it was being tied, thereby getting a loop hole in the bonds through which to work one hand loose. Frequently they cut the cords with knives secreted up their sleeves, and after the alleged spirit manifestations were gone through with, exchanged the cut ropes for genuine ones, and came out of the cabinet with these, making the spectators believe that some occult agency had freed them from the knots.
There is a conjurer named Joad Heteb who claims to have dropped from the eye of the Sphinx in the form of a tear, and was immediately metamorphosed into the Wizard of the Pyramids. According to his account the spirits of the sorcerers and soothsayers of the olden Pharaohs left their rock-cut tombs and painted mummy-cases to be present at the event. Joad Heteb has a clever press-agent. If Joad fell from the Sphinx’s eye in the shape of a tear, Kellar must have dropped from the fabled monster’s mouth in the form of a _word_, and that word “Mystery.” Kellar is ably assisted by Herr Valadon, an Anglo-German professor of legerdemain, formerly of Egyptian Hall, London. Valadon, upon his entrance on the stage, takes off his gloves, vanishes them, by apparently throwing {251} them in the air, whereupon a white dove flutters upwards. It is a very pretty effect.
{252}
I give one of Kellar’s programmes (Proctor’s Theatre, New York City, September, 1904):
KELLAR THE PEERLESS MAGICIAN.
Special Engagement of PAUL VALADON
From England’s Home of Mystery, the Egyptian Hall, London. Tour under the management of DUDLEY MCADOW.
FIRST PART.
KELLAR In a series of original experiments in pure sleight of hand, thoroughly up to date. A display of marvelous digital dexterity, surpassing anything heretofore achieved in the field of magic. Novel, unique, original, including:
OLD GLORY, THE DYEING ENIGMA, AND THE GREAT HYPNOTIC SCENE,
The Levitation of Princess Karnac
The most daring and bewildering illusion, and by far the most difficult achievement Mr. Kellar ever attempted. Absolutely new in principle. The dream in midair of the dainty Princess of Karnac surpasses the fabled feats of the ancient Egyptian sorcerers, nor can anything more magical be found in the pages of The Thousand and One Nights, and it lends a resemblance to the miraculous tales of levitation that come out of India. This {253} illusion is acknowledged by critics and historians of the goetic art to be the profoundest achievement in either ancient or modern magic. Its perfection represents fifteen years of patient research and abstruse study, and the expenditure of as many thousands of dollars. The result of these labors is a veritable masterpiece of magic, the sensational marvel of the twentieth century and the crowning achievement of Mr. Kellar’s long and brilliant career.
PART SECOND.
By Herr VALADON The most accomplished exponent of pure sleight of hand ever seen in this or any other age, introducing his entirely new and original mystery, entitled:
A Drum That Can’t Be Beaten —AND— Well I’m⸺⸺!!!
PART THIRD.
KELLAR
THE YOGE’S LAMP, MIND POWER, THE SIMLA SEANCE, FLY TO, OR THE PRINCESS OF KARNAC,
An astonishing illusion, exploiting the theosophic theory of projection of astral bodies through the air. An original conception so startling in effect and so nearly approaching the supernatural as to seem miraculous. Affinity with an unseen power seems plausible, and scientific minds marvel at the production.
{254}
A GENTLEMAN OF THIBET.
“I could not remember any more than that the hero [Cagliostro] had spoken of heaven, of the stars, of the Great Secret, of Memphis, of the High Priest, of transcendental chemistry, of giants and monstrous beasts, of a city ten times as large as Paris, in the middle of Africa, where he had correspondents.”—COUNT BEUGNOT: _Memoirs_.
I.
When Madame Blavatsky, High Priestess of Isis, died, there followed a long interregnum during which magic languished. Finally there appeared in the East a star of great magnitude—the five-pointed star of the Gnostics and the Oriental Mahatmas, heralding the coming of another mystic. Madame Blavatsky had set the fashion for Thibetan adepts, and had turned the current of modern occultism towards the Land of the Lamas, so it was quite natural that the new thaumaturgist should hail from the Holy City of Llassa. His name was Monsieur le Docteur Albert de Sarak, Comte de Das, who claimed to be “the son of a Rajah of Thibet and a French Marchioness,” and to have been born in the land of marvels.
Monsieur le Comte, in his circulars, described himself as “General Inspector of the Supreme Council of Thibet.” He carried about with him a voluminous portfolio of papers containing “the numerous diplomas which he possessed as member of several orders of knighthood and of scientific and humanitarian associations.” He also exhibited a Masonic diploma of the Thirty-third degree, which bore the endorsement of all the Supreme Councils of the Rite to which he belonged in the countries through which he had traveled. But he was not a {255} Fellow of the Theosophical Society. On the contrary, he claimed to have been persecuted by the members of that Brotherhood; to have been frequently arrested and denounced by them as a pretender to the occult, as a false magician, etc., etc.
The Count made his début in Washington, D. C, in the year 1902, where he founded one of his esoteric centers, described as follows in the organ of his cult, _The Radiant Truth_, of which he was editor-in-chief:
“Oriental Esoteric Head Centre of the United States of America, under obedience to the Supreme Esoteric Council of the Initiates of Thibet. Social object: To form a chain of universal fraternity, based upon the purest Altruism, without hatred of sect, caste or color; in which reign tolerance, order, discipline, liberty, compassion and true love. To study the Occult Sciences of the Orient and to seek, by meditation, concentration and by a special line of conduct, to develop those psychic powers which are in man and his environment.”
The Count also gave private séances, as we see by his advertisement in the above-named journal:
“Science of Occultism, Double Vision, Telepathy, Astrology, Horoscopy, etc. Doctor Albert de Sarak, Count de Das, General Inspector of the Supreme Council of Thibet.
“Office hours: 3 to 5 p. m.
“Address, 1443 Corcoran Street, Washington, D. C.”
Dr. Sarak’s first public exhibition of his alleged psychic powers is thus described in the _Washington Post_ (March 16, 1902):
“Dr. A. de Sarak, occultist and adept, a professor of the mystic and the sixth sense, gave a demonstration last night before a Washington audience. Several hundred persons gathered in the beautiful assembly hall of the House of the Temple of the Supreme Council, Southern Jurisdiction, 433 Third street, last evening, to witness his weird exhibition of occult powers. After three hours spent in the presence of the East Indian, the audience filed out with apparently something to think about and ponder.
“Professor Sarak, while master of fourteen languages, does not speak fluently the English language. Last evening he spoke {256} in French, and a very charming young woman, also an adept, but of English birth, acted as his interpreter. The Easterner, a man of medium height, was attired in a gorgeous gown of white silk, across the breast of which hung certain mystic emblems of gold and silver. A loose, pale-yellow robe covered this garment during most of the evening. He wore a white turban. The adept wears a pointed black beard, which, with large, languid brown eyes, gave fully the effect that one expects in a student of the mystic schools of Thibet.
“The interpreter stated that Professor de Sarak was born in Thibet and was descended from a noble French family. He had devoted his life, she said, to the study of the occult, first in the Thibetan schools and later with the ascetics hidden in the mountains. He had visited almost every country on the globe, spreading the occult science, which, she declared, some time would bring a rich harvest to all mankind.
“As the professor finished his rapidly spoken French sentences the young woman translated them to the hearers. Dr. de Sarak described the sixth sense in man, saying that it was second-sight, a latent and undeveloped force. He said he merely wished to present the facts of his religion. He explained the wonderful fluid force that existed. He said it is the force that raised the huge stones in building the pyramids and is the same force that brings the bird from the egg, the force which gives man the power of rising as if filled with a buoyant gas, a power which can be concentrated in a tube. He stated that occultism was absolutely nothing but the powers of the will.
“ ‘It is nothing supernatural,’ the doctor said, ‘but is merely the hastening of nature’s work.’
“A small table stood by a leather chair, and on this burned a tiny candle from the mouth of a brazen asp. The professor stood over the table and busied himself with a pungent incense in an odd burner. A glass plate, with a number of fish eggs, was shown and examined. A large glass bowl was filled with water, and one of the members of the audience was told to carefully brush the eggs into the water. In the meantime three men from the audience had with strong ropes securely bound {257} the hands of the adept behind his back as he sat in the chair. Broad, clean, white cloths were wrapped about the seated figure, leaving the head free, and the three men selected held the cloths in place. Music rolled from a deep organ, and the head of the adept sank back and a strange light appeared to cross his face. According to the directions of the interpreter the bowl of water containing the fish eggs was placed by one of the three beneath the cloths on the lap of the adept.
“After a period of straining and soft moaning from the white-wrapped figure, for perhaps ten minutes, the cloths were removed, and from the lap of the apparently insensible man was lifted the bowl of water, but instead of the eggs which it contained a few moments before there swam about a dozen of tiny, new-born fish.[28]
[28] This reminds one of the experiments of Prof. Jacques Loeb, of the University of Chicago, with the unfertilized eggs of the sea urchin. There was nothing occult, however, in the professor’s researches.
“Dr. Sarak was then blindfolded with a half-dozen bandages pressing against absorbent cotton, which rested before the eyes. For a while he remained in his chair, while the vibrating tones of an organ filled the room. Then the adept suddenly arose and walked surely and steadily down the room, turning into narrow aisles through the audience as safely as a man might who had his sight. This experiment was to demonstrate double vision at a distance and through opaque bodies. A blank canvas stood on an easel near the adept. Apparently in a trance, he walked to the easel, mixed colors, and in ten minutes a finished picture was the result. A game of dominoes was played with a member of the audience, and previous to the beginning of the game the doctor wrote something on a bit of card and his assistant handed it to someone in the audience to keep. Blindfolded and standing, the adept played the game perfectly, and at the conclusion the card was found to contain the numbers of the last two dominoes played by both the adept and his opponent.
“Experiments were given at the close in the disintegration and restoration of matter, of psychic perception, in which he aroused the wondering admiration of the audience.” {258}
II.
Not many months after this exhibition the Esoteric Centre was founded, and the following extraordinary circular sent out to prominent people in Washington:
DIRECTING COMMISSION OF THE ORIENTAL ESOTERIC CENTRE OF WASHINGTON.
UNDER OBEDIENCE TO THE SUPREME ESOTERIC COUNCIL OF THE INITIATES OF THIBET.
We address ourselves to those who truly desire to read—to those who truly wish to understand!
For those whose time has not yet come, this page has little value—it will but be scorned and rejected.
But we and our work go onward, with few or with many—Forward, ever forward.
We will, then, be brief, but logical and clear!
THE SUPREME COUNCIL OF THE ADEPTS OR MAHATMAS RESIDES * * * WHERE IT DESIRES! * * * since it possesses powers still unknown in the West; but it has, in fact, its centre of action in a region _not yet_ (!) explored, in the North of Thibet.
This Council, composed of Masters who watch that the _Law of the Lotus be not revealed to the vulgar, has its General inspectors in the West as_ in the East, who, invested with the necessary powers to demonstrate the truth of that which they teach and propagate, have different missions, which they must fulfill strictly; and although misunderstood and insulted by those who do not understand them, yet they continue to work actively to serve worthily the Holy Cause of True, Veritable Fraternity, having ever before their eyes this device: “Forward, ever forward!”
They may suffer all manner of pain and torments, but none of these—no, nothing can touch them; for the Occult Hand sustains, saves and protects them!
The Supreme Council of the Mahatmas of Thibet has, then, given powers to its Representatives, that they may use them, not to enrich themselves, but to call the attention of every man or woman of high ideals who desires “To go forward, ever forward, and ever higher!”
We care little for their names or their nationality, for names and nations disappear—the Work alone remains!
We have seen some! * * * appear like a shooting star, light up space, and disappear * * * almost without being noticed.
We have _read_ and we have _seen_ many things! * * * calumnies, sufferings, noble deeds, etc.! * * *
We have _read_ that the wicked took them for speculators or sorcerers; and we have _seen_ them continue their good works and remain almost poor! * * *
We have _read_ that men tried to destroy them, casting the stones of calumny and vengeance; and we have _seen_ them, even though weeping inwardly, gather up the stones, asking pardon for those who threw them! {259}
We have, in short, _read_ lies, and we have _seen_ them present the Truth! * * *
Therefore, this Commission, animated by the most sincere and reasoned faith, strong in the Right which supports it, for Truth and for Justice, makes an appeal to all those who know that to _Think_ is to _Create_, to _Create_ is to _Love_, and that to _Love_ is to _Live_;—to unite themselves with us in a truly fraternal chain, not formed of links of iron which can be broken, but woven of flowers of the soul—a chain which knows neither hatred nor deceit!
From those who come to us we will ask no sacrifices but sincerity and good faith, which we will put to the test; we respect all creeds and customs, but we banish hypocrisy and slander!
_Strong in our Right, invested with the powers bequeathed to us by Him who had the power to give them_, we initiate here in the Capital of the United States, in the heat of the fire of our enemies, this movement of true progress, destined to perpetuate the work of the Adept who has just left us!
They, our enemies, have insulted him, calumniated him, have abandoned him, because he was an obstacle to them; for the Centres which radiate artificial light are afraid of the Radiant Centre of Truth!
“The Radiant Truth” shall be our device, and with it we will go, with our Venerated Master, “Forward, ever forward!”
Therefore let those who truly desire to learn and to elevate their spirit, without fear and without care, and they will find Brothers, true Brothers!
Let those who have betrayed and insulted our Master, whom we will now name,
OUR BROTHER, DR. SARAK,
know: that we have in our ranks persons who, having belonged to Theosophical Societies, have torn up their diplomas, not caring to appear in the list of those who, under pretext of justice and under the false name of Fraternity, defame, calumniate and insult those whose mission is sublime.
Let those, in short, who wish to know * * * many other things, come to us! * * * and we will prove to them both the Supreme Council and the Radiant Truth, and, lastly, also our powers!
We make, then, an appeal, in view of the preceding considerations, to all those who, even if belonging to other organizations, wish to unite with us frankly and sincerely, and we can assure them that later they will thank us with all their hearts.
This will afford them the most conclusive proof of the protection and aid of those Masters or Guides who direct us.
Our Order will publish an official Review, which will have so much success and be so well received that we shall be compelled to reprint it twice.
In this Review, whose propaganda name will be _The Radiant Truth_, will be found all that the most eager student of Occult Truth can desire, for, aside from the Esoteric work, which we have in reserve, we possess documents of inestimable value, which will be published.
Only the members of our Order will have the right to our studies and Esoteric demonstrations of a more advanced degree.
A Convention will be held at Washington at a convenient time, and a Commission of delegates and members of the Order will be sent to the {260} East to receive instructions and orders from those who direct the spiritual future of the Race of Evolution—this in spite of all Theosophical or sectarian societies and of those who do not desire the Light.
Those, then, who wish to make part of our Order, as Active or Militant Members, or as Correspondents or Delegates, should send in their applications to the General Secretary of the Commission, * * * * 1443 Corcoran Street, Washington, D. C.
All the Members of our Head Centre in the United States have the right to receive gratuitously all the publications and work of the Centre.
For further particulars write to the General Secretary at Washington and to the General Delegates abroad.
May Peace be with all Beings!
Viewed and found in conformity with Superior Orders.
The General Secretary of Gen. Inspection:
A. E. MARSLAND.
(M. E. S.)
Given at our Headquarters this 15th day of June, 1902.
The above circular was also signed by the President of the Directing Commission, the Secretary General and the seven Esoteric Members of the Council of the Order at Washington, the majority of them being women. I suppress their names. Possibly by this time they have repudiated Sarak and his absurd pretensions.
III.
I consulted with my friend, Mr. J. Elfreth Watkins, a clever journalist and interested inquirer into the methods of spiritists and occultists, and we decided to investigate Dr. Albert de Sarak, the Thibetan adept. Mr. Watkins was to go first and have an interview with him, with the idea of exploiting the Count in a newspaper article on modern magic and theosophy; eventually we were to attend one of the mystic’s séances together. I shall let Mr. Watkins tell the story in his own words:
“I addressed a letter to Dr. Sarak by post requesting an appointment. I received a prompt response in the form of a courteous note, headed ‘Oriental Esoteric Center of Washington,’ and which commenced: ‘Your letter, which I have received, reveals to me a man of noble sentiments.’ An hour was named and the letter bore the signature, ‘Dr. A. Count de Sarak,’ beneath which were inscribed several Oriental characters. {261}
“I found Monsieur le Comte’s house in Corcoran street, late in the appointed afternoon. It was a two-story cottage of yellow brick with English basement, and surmounting the door was an oval medallion repeating the inscription of Monsieur’s letterhead. A young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes responded to my ring. I was invited upstairs, she following. Before me was the mind picture of a Lama with yellowed and wrinkled visage, vested in folds of dingy red, with iron pencase at his side and counting the beads of a wooden rosary; a Yoge of the great hills; who should say to me, ‘Just is the wheel,’ or ‘Thou hast acquired merit.’
“I was directed to the door of the rear parlor on the main floor, and as I opened it there sat before me, at a modern roller-top desk, a man of slender build and medium height, but with one of the most striking physiognomies I have ever beheld.
“The face was that of a sheik of the desert. The hair was of the blackest and so was the beard, sparse at the side but rather full in front and not long. The eyes were huge, languid and dreamy; the forehead, bared by the training of the hair straight back, was high and bisected by a vein falling vertically between prominences over the brows. The nose was strongly aquiline, and the complexion was more that of the Oriental than of the Latin. The man wore a long, black frock-coat of the mode and faultless in fit; his trousers and waistcoat were of a rough gray cloth.
“Monsieur le Comte rose. The hand which grasped mine was small and soft. He bowed, pointed to a seat and apologized for his crude English, explaining that he preferred to talk to me through an interpreter. The young woman who had ushered me into the presence of Monsieur seated herself at his side and explained that, although ‘the doctor’ had mastered fourteen tongues, the English had been the most difficult of all for him to fathom. After a pause, Monsieur addressed me in French. The interpreter rolled her blue eyes slightly upward and assumed the gaze of one seeing far away into the sky, through the wall before her—an expression which she seldom changed during the entire interview. {262}
“ ‘Through my power of second sight was revealed to me your mission before you arrived,’ was the interpretation. ‘And now that you come, a good spirit seems to attend you, and I know that you come as a friend. I assure you also that I welcome you as a friend.’ The translations were made a sentence at a time.
“I assured Monsieur that this was deeply appreciated.
“I asked him if it might be my good fortune to witness some of his esoteric manifestations, such as I had heard of his performing.
“ ‘In the beginning,’ he continued, ‘I gave some public tests. But now I am engaged in the serious work of teaching, and my time is devoted entirely to the work. If Monsieur pleases, we would welcome his presence as an honorary member of our center. The diploma will cost him nothing. It is a rule of the center that none may attend except members. His diploma will entitle him to attend all our meetings as a spectator. We meet every Wednesday night.’
“ ‘All that we will require of Monsieur is that he endeavor to learn, and to describe what he sees with absolute truth.’
“ ‘I would ask M. le Docteur if he be a Buddhist,’ I said. The question was suggested by a picture of Buddha upon the wall before me.
“ ‘Yes, Monsieur, I am a Buddhist, as are my masters in Thibet. Understand, however, that this is not a religion which I am here to teach, but a science—the science of the soul—which does not conflict with any religion. I simply demonstrate to them the powers which I have learned from my masters.’
“ ‘What is your opinion of Mme. Blavatsky?’ was asked.
“ ‘She was a good person—what shall I say?—was good-hearted. She endeavored to enter Thibet, but was unsuccessful. None of the Theosophists have ever learned from my masters. While Mme. Blavatsky lived, however, the Theosophical Society seems to have worked in harmony. Now that she is dead, they are divided by hatred and ill-feeling.
“ ‘Once when I was in Paris, the Theosophists, hearing that I was from Thibet, asked me to become an honorary member of their society, just as I invite you, Monsieur. I accepted {263} their diploma, as courtesy demanded. I attended a congress in Paris. One speaker mounted the tribune and stated that there was a gentleman from Thibet present who could vouch for their connection with the masters. I was a young man then—let me see—it was about seventeen years ago, but now the weight of fifty years hangs on my shoulders. My young blood boiled and I rushed to the tribune and denounced the statement as false. The Theosophists expelled me from their society—which I had never sought to enter,’ and here he shrugged his shoulders, ‘and since then, they have waged against me a relentless campaign of calumny. In Europe, in South America—everywhere—follows me a trail of circulars and letters published by base calumniators. But still I have gone on with my work, founding centers over the world. I have founded many in South America, but this is the first in this country.’
“I ventured to console the count with words to the effect that all great causes had grown out of persecution. When the interpreter translated these sentiments, Monsieur, who sat at his desk, assumed an expression of extreme pain and half closing his eyes fixed his gaze upon a strange instrument reposing upon the window sill. It was a piece of colored glass with a pebbled surface held upright by a metal support. The interpretation of my words was repeated, but Monsieur raised one finger, continuing his stare of mixed concentration and suffering.
“ ‘He is now receiving an interpretation from his masters,’ the interpreter told me in a low voice. I did not notice it and interrupted him. The doctor maintained his weird stare for a few minutes, during which I heard from his corner of the room a vibrating sound such as is produced by a Faradic battery. Monsieur rose from his reverie with a sigh and hastily wrote something upon a sheet of paper upon his desk. Then he resumed the conversation.
“ ‘Fortunately I have preserved extracts from all of the journals which have been friendly to me,’ he said. I was shown a shelf full of scrap-books and the translations of numerous clippings from foreign journals. One of these, credited to the Paris _Figaro_, 1885, described experiments in ‘Magnetism and Fascination’ performed by Dr. de Sarak before a committee of {264} scientists and journalists, during which he hypnotized a cage full of live lions. There were many such accounts, including a description of demonstrations made before the Queen of Spain in 1888; another before the King of Portugal the same year. An article credited to _La Révue des Sciences de Paris_, November 7, 1885, stated that in the Grand Salle de la Sorbonne, Count Sarak de Das, in the presence of the Prince of Larignans and 1,400 people, caused his body to rise in the air about two meters and to be there suspended by levitation.
“It was agreed that my name should be presented to the council as suggested, and two days later I received a letter notifying me of my election as honorary member of the center, congratulating me thereupon and inviting me to be present at the next meeting. I was given the privilege of bringing a friend with me. I informed Mr. Evans, and we agreed to attend the next séance, and make careful mental notes of the events of the evening.”
IV.
Mr. Watkins and I went together on the appointed evening to the house of the Mage, located in quaint little Corcoran street. It was a stormy night, late in November; just the sort of evening for a gathering of modern witches and wizards, in an up-to-date _Walpurgis Nacht_. We were admitted by the interpreter and secretary, whom I afterwards learned was Miss Agnes E. Marsland, graduate of the University of Cambridge, England.
In the back parlor upstairs we were greeted by the Doctor, who wore a sort of Masonic collar of gold braid, upon which was embroidered a triangle. He presented us to his wife and child, who were conspicuously foreign in appearance, the latter about five years old. We were then introduced to an elderly woman, stout and with gray hair, who, we were told, was the president of the center. She wore a cordon similar to Dr. Sarak’s, and soon after our arrival she rapped with a small gavel upon a table, located in the bay window of the front drawing-room.
When she called the meeting to order the Doctor seated himself upon her right, and at her left—all behind the table—were {265} placed two other women, wearing large gold badges. The interpreter seated herself against the wall beside the Count. Shortly a fifth woman appeared. The Count’s wife and child sat quietly upon a sofa in the corner behind him. In the seats arranged along the walls for the audience sat only myself, Mr. Watkins, and a reporter for the _Washington Times_.
The _mise en scène_ was well calculated to impress the spectators with a sense of the occult and the mysterious. The table was draped with a yellow cloth, upon which were embroidered various cabalistic symbols. Upon it stood an antique brazier for burning incense, and a bronze candelabra with wax lights arranged to form a triangle. Against the wall, just back of the presiding Mistress of Ceremonies and the little French Mage, was a niche containing a large gilt image of the Buddha, who smiled placidly and benignly at the strange gathering. The walls of the drawing-room were draped with rich Oriental rugs and hung with allegorical paintings. The faint aroma of incense soon permeated the atmosphere; there was a moment of profound silence while the thaumaturgist meditatively consulted a big volume in front of him—a work on mysticism by either Papus or Baraduc, I forget which. I closed my eyes drowsily. In imagination I was transported back into that dead past of the Eighteenth century. I was in Paris, at a certain gloomy mansion in the Rue St. Claude. I saw before me a table covered with a black cloth, embroidered with Masonic and Rosicrucian symbols; upon it stood a vase of water; lights burned in silver sconces; incense rose from an antique brazier. And behold—Cagliostro, necromancer and Egyptian Freemason, at his incantations. The phantasmagoria fades away. I am back again in Washington, and Sarak is speaking rapidly in French. I shall quote as follows from Mr. Watkins’ note-book:
“The Doctor spoke of a membership of forty-two persons and his disappointment that only six were present. He then commenced in French a long discourse, citing the alleged experiments of Baraduc on the soul’s light, and mentioning the psychic researches of Flammarion. He stated that Marconi had made partial progress in the science of transmitting intelligence without wires, but that his masters had long known of a {266} more simple method. He described the failures of foreigners to penetrate into Thibet, stating that his masters there were able to place a fluidic wall before any man or beast.[29] The women watched their hierophant with intense fascination, save the interpreter, who maintained her saintly gaze up into space, and the wife, who sat by in sublime nonchalance.
“The Doctor then passed into a rear room, donned a long robe of light blue material and returned with the piece of colored glass which I had seen during my previous visit. It was still flitted to the metal support, and with it he brought a bar magnet. He placed the glass upon the table before him, making many passes over it with his fingers, sometimes rubbing them upon his gown as if they were burned. He explained that he had sensitized the glass with a secret fluid which remained thereon as a film. He drew a sort of tripod upon paper and placed the glass and magnet alongside.
“ ‘I demonstrated at the last meeting how this power—which I called ‘yud’—could be exerted against human beings. You remember that I caused the man to fall from his bicycle. Tonight I will exert the power against an animal,’ said the fantaisiste.
“He stated that the lights would all be extinguished; that those present would be stationed at the front windows; that at a given signal he would cause a horse passing the street to halt and remain motionless, to the amazement of the driver. Turning to me, he asked, ‘Would Monsieur prefer that the horse be passing eastward or westward?’ ‘Eastward,’ I said.
“Then the lights were put out, but previously his wife had retired, ostensibly to put to bed the boy, who had grown sleepy. All of the members present and the young man—a stranger, evidently a reporter—were posted at the front windows. My companion and I were stationed at two windows within a small hall room adjoining. We were all asked to maintain absolute silence. Vines covered both windows of our room and a street lamp burned before the house to our right. The wait was long, {267} probably twenty minutes, before the first vehicle ventured through the block.
[29] Since Dr. Sarak’s séance, Col. Younghusband and a column of British soldiers have penetrated into the holy city of Llassa without difficulty. The fluidic walls of the masters have not impeded the progress of the British in the least degree.
“It was a buggy, drawn by a single horse, but, alas! it proceeded westward. In it were seated two figures, whom I could not see—both enshrouded in darkness.
“My impatience was now well nigh unbearable. In a few minutes, however, I heard the clatter of hoofs from the opposite direction—eastward.
“A buggy with a single horse came into view. One figure wore a white fascinator or shawl about the head. The other was a man. The horse slowed into a walk just before reaching the house. It halted directly in front of us, then backed a few feet and the rear wheel went upon the sidewalk opposite.
“ ‘What’s de mattah wid dat hoss?’ said a negro voice. ‘Nebber seen him act dat way befo’!’ The horse stood still for a minute; then the driver clucked him up and he proceeded on his way. It was too dark to see the positions of the reins or the features of either occupant of the vehicle. Soon afterward Madame de Sarak returned with the child and pointed toward him, as if to say: ‘See, he has recovered from his sleepy spell!’
“At this point the Doctor retired and returned gowned in white. He passed to us a canvas such as is commonly used by painters in oil. He placed this upon an easel. At his right was a table bearing brushes and two glasses filled, one with dark blue and the other with white paint. He then distributed large napkins among those present and handed to me two balls of absorbent cotton. These I was told to place over his eyes, and as I did so the two other men and several of the women bound the napkins over the cotton. They were tied very tightly and two were crossed. We inspected the bandages and pronounced them secure. Then the white-robed figure, in this grotesque headgear, asked me to lead him to an arm-chair in the far end of the rear apartment, which I did. Seated in the chair, his chin hanging down upon his breast, he remained for some time, until suddenly he arose and walked straightway to his wife and child, who were sitting behind the table in the front room, upon the sofa as previously. He knelt before them, kissed the little one, his back being toward us the while. Then he walked directly {268} to my companion and took the latter’s watch from his pocket without fumbling. He now proceeded to the easel, and, selecting a brush from the table, dipped into the blue paint and printed across the top of the canvas ‘Fifteen Minutes.’ I looked at my companion’s watch and it registered half past 10. Evidently the words denoted the time in which the picture was to be painted. One of the women present requested that a moonlight scene in Thibet be reproduced. Sudden movements of two brushes, dipped in the two colors, transformed the letters into a clouded sky through which a moon was bursting. Below was outlined a sort of tower, to the left of which was painted a tree. After some detail in the picture was outlined in blue, for example, the white paint would be applied in lines exactly parallel to the first, and many such touches of the brushes indicated that the painting was not made as the result of memory alone. Near the end of the painting the Doctor again approached his wife and child, leading the latter to the easel and placing him upon a chair before it.
“The child was given a brush and dabbed paint upon various parts of the picture. Sometimes he seemed to be guiding his father’s hand, but during this operation the latter was not doing difficult work. All the while the adept was chanting something which the child repeated. The picture was signed with Oriental symbols placed in one corner. Then the painter made a gesture of great fatigue, sighed very audibly and staggered into the rear room. He fell upon a sofa near the door and motioned to have the bandages removed. I removed some, assisted by his wife, who brought him a glass of water. The cotton was in its place as far as I could see. His eyes remained closed after they were uncovered, and his attitude was that of a man who had fainted. His wife held the water to his lips, and then, lifting each of his eyelids, blew into them. Then the Mage arose and, complaining of fatigue, resumed his seat behind the table. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked toward the canvas, saying: ‘Behold the house in Thibet where I was initiated into the mysteries of the Mahatmas.’
“After the exhibition of ‘double vision’ De Sarak performed the cigarette paper test. {269}
“He concluded the séance with a brief speech, in which he stated that it was customary to take up a collection for charity at each meeting. A small cloth bag was passed by one of the women. The secretary announced that $1.62 had been realized. Then the president pounded with her gavel and adjourned the meeting. The secretary ushered us to the door, and we went out into the darkness.
“Such were the miracles of the adept Albert de Sarak, Comte de Das, and such was his propaganda.”
V.
Is it not strange that people can take such performances seriously? The cigarette test—an old one—and familiar to every schoolboy who dabbles in legerdemain, was a mere trick, dependent upon clever substitution and palming. The absurd splatterdash which the Mage painted while blindfolded had nothing of Thibetan architecture about it, but resembled a ruined castle on the Rhine. That he was able to peep beneath his bandages at one stage of the proceedings seems to me evident. He perhaps arranged this while kissing and fondling the little child. Long practice, however, would enable him to paint roughly while his eyes were bandaged. The horse episode was of course a pre-arranged affair, yet I admit it was very well worked up and gave one a creepy feeling—thanks to the _mise en scéne_. But the Comte de Sarak has other occult phenomena up his sleeve, which I have not yet witnessed—among them being the shattering of a pane of glass by pronouncing the words, “Forward, ever forward”; the instantaneous production of vegetation from the seed; and the immediate development of fish from spawn. He doubtless owes much of his notoriety to the newspapers, which herald his alleged feats of magic in sensational style.
A few months after my séance at the adept’s house, the Washington papers announced the fact that the Count de Sarak, the famous magician, was projecting a personally conducted tour to the Orient for the members of his cult and all those who were {270} interested in occultism. The pilgrims were to visit the inaccessible shrines, pagodas, crypts, and lamaseries of the East, under the ciceronage of the Count, who doubtless was to break down for them by sheer force of will the fluidic barriers that surround Lhassa, Thibet, where dwell the Mahatmas, in order that the tourists might penetrate into the sacred city.
I never heard of anybody leaving Washington to go on this expedition, except the Count—and he, I understand, got no farther than New York City, where the French _table d’hôte_ abounds, and magic and mystery are chiefly to be studied in the recipes of French _chefs de cuisine_.
{271}
MAGICIANS I HAVE MET.
“To succeed as a conjurer, three things are essential—first, dexterity; second, dexterity; and third, dexterity.”—ROBERT-HOUDIN.
I.
Imro Fox, “the comic conjurer,” was born May 21, 1852, in Bromberg, Germany. He came to the United States in 1874, and after serving as a _chef de cuisine_ in several New York hotels, finally came to Washington, where he presided over the kitchen of the old Hotel Lawrence, a famous resort for vaudeville people. When not engaged in his culinary duties, he practised sleight of hand tricks. In the year 1880, a strolling company came to the city, having as its bright, particular star a magician. The man of mystery, alas, was addicted to the flowing bowl, and went on a spree after the first night’s performance. The manager of the troupe, who was staying at the Lawrence, was in despair. He told his woes to the proprietor of the hotel, who informed him that the _chef_ of the establishment was a conjurer. Descending to the “lower regions” (a capital place, by the way, in which to seek a disciple of the black art), the theatrical man discovered the genial Imro studying a big volume. Near by a black cat sat blinking at him. Upon the stove was a huge caldron. The _mise en scène_ of the place was decidedly that of a wizard’s studio. But things are seldom what they seem.
The book which Fox was so industriously conning proved to be a dictionary of the French language, not a black-letter tome on sorcery. The _chef_ was engaged in making up a ménu card, in other words, giving French names to good old Anglo-Saxon dishes. The caldron contained soup. The cat was the regular feline habitué of the kitchen, not an imp or familiar demon. {272}
“The _chef_, I believe,” said the manager, politely.
“I am,” said Fox.
“You are an amateur conjurer?”
“I amuse myself with legerdemain occasionally.”
“You’re the man I’m looking for. I am the proprietor of a vaudeville company playing at . . . . . . The gentleman who does the magic turn for me has disappeared; gone on a prolonged debauch. . . .”
“Ah, I see,” interrupted Imro, “a devotee of the ‘inexhaustible bottle’ trick.”
“I want you to take his place,” said the manager, “and fill out the week’s engagement. I will arrange matters with the hotel proprietor for you.”
“_Donner und Blitzen!_” cried Fox. “Why, I never was on a stage before in my life. I’d die with fright. Face an audience? I’d rather face a battery of cannons.”
“Nonsense,” answered the theatrical man. “Do help me like a good fellow. It will be money in your pocket.”
After considerable persuasion, Fox consented. The culinary department was turned over to an assistant. That night Imro appeared on the stage, habited in a hired dress suit that did not fit him like the proverbial “paper on the wall.” With fear and trembling he made his bow, and broke the ice by the following allusion to his very bald pate: “Ladies and gentlemen, why is my head like Heaven? . . . . You give it up! Good! Because there is no parting there!” Amid the shout of laughter occasioned by this conundrum, Fox began his card tricks. In the argot of the stage, he “made good.”
This event decided him; he abandoned cooking for conjuring; ménu cards for the making of programmes.
His entertainment is quite original. The curtain rises on a gloomy cavern. In the middle is a boiling caldron, fed by witches _à la_ Macbeth. An aged necromancer, dressed in a long robe with a pointed cap on his head, enters. He begins his incantations, whereupon hosts of demons appear, who dance about the caldron. Suddenly amid the crash of thunder and a blinding flash of light, the wizard’s cave is metamorphosed into a twentieth century drawing-room, fitted up for a {273} conjuring séance. The decrepit sorcerer is changed into a gentleman in evening dress—Mr. Fox—who begins his up-to-date entertainment of modern magic. Is not this cleverly conceived?
II.
A few thumbnail sketches of some of the local magicians of New York City will not come amiss. First, there is Elmer P. Ransom, familiarly known as “Pop.” He was born in _old_ New York, not far from Boss Tweed’s house. He still lives in that quaint part of the city. He knows New York like a book. Once he guided me through the Jewish ghetto, the Italian and Chinese quarters. It was a rare treat. Ransom is a good all around magician, who believes in the old school of apparatus combined with sleight of hand. And so do I.
Next we have Adrian Plate, who was born in Utrecht, Holland, in 1844. His rooms in upper New York are the Mecca of all visiting magicians. He has a fine collection of books on magic, and a scrap-book _par excellence_. Thanks to this clever conjurer, I have secured translations of rare and curious Dutch works on necromancy. Plate has always something new up his sleeve.
T. Francis Fritz (Frank Ducrot) edits _Mahatma_, a magazine for magicians, and is a good conjurer.
Sargent, the “Merry Wizard,” and second president of the S. A. M., is an adept in the psychology of deception and a recognized authority on the subject of patter. His articles on magic, published in _Mahatma_, are very interesting. He wields a facile pen as well as a wand, and like Silas Wegg occasionally drops into poetry. His poetical effusion, “In Martinka’s Little Back Shop,” brought out some years ago in _Mahatma_, has been widely copied.
Henry V. A. Parsell, for a number of years the archivist of the S. A. M., is a devotee of magic and freemasonry; a student of the occult; and a mechanical engineer by profession. He is especially fond of electrical tricks. He signs himself _Paracelsus_, not that he has any special love for the Bombast of Hohenheim, but because the name is a euphonic paraphrase of his own cognomen, and redolent of sorcery. {274}
Dr. Golden Mortimer, first president of the S. A. M., is a gentleman of culture. He was born in New York City, December 27, 1854. He began life as a magician, and was a pupil of Robinson, the Fakir of Vishnu. He eventually toured the country with an entertainment of the Heller order, known as “Mortimer’s Mysteries,” and was very successful. Graduating finally as a physician, he abandoned the _art magique_ as a profession.
Krieger, the arch-master of cup-and-ball conjuring, the successor of Bosco, often drops into Martinka’s. He is of Jewish birth. With his little family he travels about, giving exhibitions of his skill, at summer hotels, seaside resorts, clubs, lyceums, etc. The errant propensities of the Krieger _ménage_ gained for it the sobriquet of the “Wandering Few,” a paraphrase of the title of Eugene Sue’s weird novel, _The Wandering Jew_. To listen to Krieger’s funny accent; to see him shake his bushy locks; to watch his deft fingers manipulate the little cork balls, is to enjoy a rare treat. When the small balls grow to large ones and finally change into onions, potatoes, lemons, and apples you are quite ready to acknowledge that Krieger’s art is the acme of legerdemain.
But the prince of Hanky Panky is undoubtedly Nate Leipziger. For close work with cards, coins, watches, handkerchiefs, and the like he is pre-eminent in this country, perhaps in any country. His great forte is amusing after-dinner parties. His art is extremely subtle and indetectable, even to those acquainted with the mysteries of magic. He is the inventor of many new sleights and conjuring artifices.
Leipziger was born in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1873, and was apprenticed at an early age to an optical instrument maker. Grinding and polishing lenses is his trade, but he abandoned it for conjuring when he came to the United States. It is a curious fact that the majority of great magicians have been recruited from among watchmakers, optical instrument manufacturers, chemists, and physicians. Hundreds of them have been doctors. Among our American Indians medicine and magic are synonymous terms. The “medicine man” is the High Priest, the Mage, of the tribe. As every student of psychology knows, there is a good deal of humbug about the practice of medicine. {275} Suggestion aided by deception in the way of bread pills and harmless philtres effect as many cures as potent drugs. Surgery is an exact science, medicine is experimental. The medico takes naturally to magic, for he is already an adept in the art of suggestion. Apropos of this let me quote a sentence from an article by Joseph Jastrow (_Psychological Review_, Vol. 7, p. 617): “A dominant principle, most frequently illustrated, is the kinship of conjuring to suggestion; for it is the suggestion of things not done quite as much as the concealment of those that are done that determines the success of modern conjuring.”
III.
Horace Goldin is known as the “Whirlwind Wizard,” so called because of the rapidity of his work. His tricks and illusions follow each other with kaleidoscopic effect. Goldin can compress more magic feats in a twenty-minute turn, than the average conjurer can execute in an hour. But his act is a silent one; he uses no patter whatever. As a general rule this is to be condemned. Amateurs are warned against it. Says Professor Jastrow, the psychologist: “The ‘patter,’ or setting of a trick, often constitutes the real art of its execution, because it directs, or rather misdirects, the attention.” More than that, artfully worded patter weaves about a conjuring experiment an atmosphere of plausibility; people are often convinced that red is black, etc. Consider the dramatic setting of Houdin’s magic chest and aerial suspension. Without patter these charming tricks would have degenerated to the commonplace. But Goldin is a law unto himself, and must not be judged by any standards other than those laid down by himself. He is a genius.
Goldin, who is of Jewish descent, was born in Wilana, Russia, December 17, 1874. He began life as a traveling salesman. He took to conjuring to amuse himself and his friends. Afterwards he went on the stage. He has played before Edward VII of England and William II of Germany. While playing an engagement in New York City, at Hammerstein’s Theatre, August, 1904, he went about the city in an automobile known as the “red devil.” Some of his facetious friends described him as a “little white devil” in a “big red devil.” Among the {276} numerous clever illusions performed by him is the “Invisible Flight,” an exposé of which was published in the _Strand_, as follows:
“A pedestal about seven feet high is seen in the centre of the stage. The performer introduces a liveried assistant and entirely envelops him in a black cloak and hood, and puts a pistol in his right hand. He then fetches a ladder, places it against the pedestal, walks up, and steps from it on to the top of the pedestal, behind a curtain, which is hung in front, just reaching to his feet. The assistant puts the ladder back and fires the pistol, when immediately the curtain rises and a great surprise meets the gaze of the audience, for there on the pedestal, where the performer stepped only a moment previously, stands the liveried servant; but the climax is reached when the supposed assistant pulls off the cloak and hood, showing him to be none other than the performer himself.
“To perform this illusion it is necessary to have two assistants as near alike as possible and of similar stature to the performer himself, the rest being quite simple but requiring much exactness in execution. The performer cloaks assistant No. 1 and hands him the pistol, then goes to fetch the ladder, part of which is showing between the wings, the other part being held by assistant No. 2, who is made to look, at a quick glance, exactly like the performer. The performer catches hold of the ladder and steps between the wings, leaving one leg showing; the assistant (No. 2) steps out backwards with the ladder, covering the performer momentarily, who then steps right in between the wings. The natural movement of the assistant in stepping back at the right moment looks as if it is still the performer; indeed, he is never suspected to be otherwise. Assistant No. 2 places the ladder against the pedestal, walks up, and, stepping behind the curtain, unhooks a duplicate livery from it, quickly puts it on, pockets wig and mustache, or any other make-up which went to match the magician’s appearance, and stands ready for the curtain to be raised, at the sound of the pistol, by a string leading inside to one of the stage hands. During this time assistant No. 1 has taken the ladder back to its original place, and the performer, who has meanwhile quickly donned a cloak and hood exactly as worn by assistant No. 1, reverses his previous action, stepping back {277} with a pistol in his right hand, this again being so natural as not to excite suspicion. He then fires, when assistant No. 2 is seen upon the pedestal, believed by the audience to be assistant No. 1, the idea of a duplicate never occurring to them, as they have not seen the change take place. The performer then takes off his cloak and hood, bowing smilingly to the bewildered audience.”
IV.
One of the most entertaining men in the profession is Frederick Eugene Powell. He is a man of scholarly attainments. Powell was born in Philadelphia, and was attracted to magic after having witnessed a performance by good old Signor Blitz. He became quite an expert at the art and gave entertainments for the amusement of his fellow students at the Pennsylvania Military Academy, at Chester, from which institution he graduated in 1877 with the degree of Civil Engineer and the rank of Lieutenant. After a short career on the stage as a magician, he entered into mercantile life. Eventually he returned to his old love, magic, and began a series of entertainments at Wood’s Theatre, corner of Ninth and Arch Streets, Philadelphia. His “second-sight trick,” in which he was assisted by his brother {278} Edwin, was one of his strong cards. Robert Heller had just died, and there was no one to continue the art of second sight but Powell. After touring the United States and Spanish America he left the stage to take the intermediate chair of mathematics at the Pennsylvania Military Academy, which post he held for three years. The sedentary life affected his health, and he returned to the stage. Powell has played several long engagements at the Eden Musée, one of them lasting for six months. In the year 1892, he produced at this theatre for the first time to a New York audience the illusion “She.” In 1902 he visited the Sandwich and Samoa Islands, and played in the principal cities of Australia. Powell was the first conjurer to introduce the improved “coin ladder” in this country.
Howard Thurston, the American illusionist, was educated for the ministry, but abandoned theology for conjuring. He possesses great skill with cards, and is an inventor of many novel feats of spectacular magic.
His stage represents an Oriental scene. Enter Thurston dressed somewhat after the fashion of a Tartar chieftain: loose trousers, short jacket, turban and high boots. He introduces his act with card manipulation, after which he produces from a shawl thrown over his arm a bowl from which bursts a flame, then another bowl from which spurts a jet of water like a fountain. He stands on a small stool of glass and produces a great quantity of water from a large tin can, by dropping into it the half of a cocoanut shell. Enough water wells up from the can to fill several receptacles. The thaumaturgist then defies the laws of gravitation by suspending a large ball in the air, _à la_ Mahomet’s alleged coffin at Mecca, and passes a hoop about the ball. When he leaves the stage, the ball follows him. This feat is accomplished by a stream of compressed air which plays upon the globe from a receptacle secreted in the sleeve of the performer. The conjurer walks to a stool, covers it with a shawl, and produces a life-size statue, which undergoes various pretty transformations. The illusion suggests that of Professor Pepper. Finally he produces pigeons from a borrowed hat, and toy balloons which float in the air. Altogether it is a pleasing and curious act. {279}
{280}
V.
William G. Robinson for years acted as Alexander Herrmann’s stage manager and machinist. He is a devotee of the magic art, a collector of rare books on legerdemain, and the inventor of many ingenious sleights, tricks, and illusions. When not employed at the theatre, he spends his time haunting the second-hand book stores, searching for literature on his favorite hobby. He has found time to write a profoundly interesting brochure called _Spirit Slate-Writing_, published by the Scientific American Company. After reading this work, I cannot see how any sane person can credit the reality of “independent slate-writing.” It is a mere juggling trick.
Robinson was born in New York City, April 2, 1861, and received a common school education. He started life as “a worker in brass and other metals,” but he abandoned the profession of Tubal Cain for conjuring. After the death of Herrmann, Robinson went as assistant to Leon Herrmann for several seasons, and then started out to astonish the natives on his own account, but without any appreciable success. Just about this time there came to the United States a Chinese conjurer named Ching Ling Foo, with a repertoire of Oriental tricks. One of them was the production of a huge bowl of water from a table-cloth, followed by live pigeons and ducks, and last but not least a little almond-eyed Celestial, his son. This was but a replica of the trick which Phillippe learned from the Chinese many years ago. Foo’s performances drew crowds to the theatres. It was the novelty of the thing that caught the public fancy. In reality, the Mongolian’s magic was not to be compared with that of Herrmann, Kellar, or Goldin. Beneath the folds of a Chinese robe one may conceal almost anything, ranging in size from a bedpost to a cannon ball. When Foo’s manager boastfully advertised to forfeit $500 if any American could fathom or duplicate any of the Celestial’s tricks, “Billy” Robinson came forward and accepted the challenge. But nothing came of it. Foo’s impressario “backed water,” to use a boating phrase. Robinson was so taken with Ching Ling Foo’s act that he decided to give similar séances, disguising himself as a Chinaman. Under the name of Chung Ling Soo he went to England, {281} accompanied by his wife and a genuine Chinese acrobat. He opened at the Empire Theatre, and not only reproduced Foo’s best tricks but added others of his own, equally as marvelous. His success was instantaneous. Theatrical London went wild over the celebrated Chinese wizard, and gold began to flow into the coffers of the Robinson ménage. So well was the secret kept that for months no one, except the attachés of the theatre, knew that Chung Ling Soo was a Yankee and not a genuine Chinaman. The make-up of himself and wife was perfect. Robinson {282} even had the audacity to grant interviews to newspaper reporters. He usually held these receptions at his lodgings, where he had an apartment fitted up _à la Chinois_; the walls hung with silken drapery embroidered with grotesque dragons. The place was dimly lit by Chinese lanterns. Propped up on silken cushions, the “Yankee Celestial” with his face made up like a finely painted mask, sipped his real oolong, and laughed in his capacious sleeves at the credulity of the journalistic hacks. He gave his opinion on the “Boxer” trouble, speaking a kind of gibberish which the previously tutored Chinese acrobat pretended to interpret into English. Gradually it leaked out in theatrical circles that Chung Ling Soo was a Yankee, but this information never came to the public ear generally.
At the close of the “Boxer” uprising the real Ching Ling Foo had returned to his beloved Flowery Kingdom, loaded down with bags full of dollars extracted from the pockets of the “Foreign Devils,” yclept Americans. Under his own vine and bamboo tree he proceeded to enjoy life like a regular Chinese gentleman; to burn joss sticks to the memory of his ancestors, and study the maxims of Confucius. But the longing for other worlds to conquer with his magic overcame him, and so in the year 1904 he went to England. Great was his astonishment to find that a pretended Mongolian had preceded him and stolen all of his thunder. In January, 1905, Robinson was playing at the Hippodrome, London, and Ching Ling Foo at the Empire. There was great rivalry between them. The result was that Foo challenged Soo to a grand trial of strength, the articles of which appeared in the _Weekly Despatch_. “I offer £1,000 if Chung Ling Soo, now appearing at the Hippodrome, can do ten out of the twenty of my tricks, or if I fail to do any one of his feats.”
A meeting was arranged to take place at the _Despatch_ office, on January 7, 1905, at 11 a. m. The challenged man, “Billy” Robinson alias Chung Ling Soo, rode up to the newspaper office in his big red automobile, accompanied by his manager and assistants. He was dressed like a mandarin. The acrobat held over his master’s head a gorgeous Chinese umbrella. Robinson gave an exhibition of his skill before a committee of newspaper {283} men and theatrical managers. Foo came not. The next day arrived a letter from Ching Ling Foo’s impressario saying that the Mongolian magician would only consent to compete against his rival on the following condition: “That Chung Ling Soo first prove before members of the Chinese Legation that he is a Chinaman.” This was whipping the Devil (or shall I say dragon?) around the stump. The original challenge had made no condition as to the nationality of the performers.
The _Despatch_ said: “The destination of the challenge money remains in abeyance, and the questions arise: ‘Did Foo fool Soo? And can Soo sue Foo?’ ” {284}
The merits of this interesting mix-up are thus summed up by Mr. John N. Hilliard, in an editorial published in the _Sphinx_, Kansas City, Mo., March 15, 1905:
“While we do not take the controversy with undue seriousness, there is an ethical aspect in the case, however, that invites discussion. In commenting disparagingly on the professional ability of the Chinese conjurer, in belittling his originality and his achievements in the magic arts, Mr. Robinson (Chung Ling Soo) is really throwing stones at his own crystal dwelling place. Despite the glowing presentments of his press agent, one single naked truth shines out as clearly as a frosty star in a turquoise sky. It is violating no confidence to assert that had it not been for Ching Ling Foo, the professional status of Mr. William E. Robinson, masquerading as a Chinaman, and adopting the sobriquet of ‘Chung Ling Soo,’ would be more or less of a negative quantity to-day. Ching Ling Foo, the genuine Chinaman, is indisputably the originator, so far as the Western hemisphere is concerned, at least, of this peculiar act, and Robinson is merely an imitator. Robinson is shrewd and has a ‘head for business.’ He doubtless realizes, as well as his critics, that in the dress of the modern magician he would not be unqualifiedly successful, despite his skill with cards and coins and his knowledge of the art. The success of Ching Ling Foo in this country was his opportunity. Adopting the dress and make-up of a Mongolian, and appropriating the leading features of Ching’s act, he went to Europe, where the act was a novelty, and scored a great success. Of course, from a utilitarian point of view, this success is legitimate; but in the light of what the American magician really owes to the great Chinese conjurer, it is ridiculous for Robinson to pose as ‘the original Chinese magician,’ and for him to say that Ching Ling Foo is ‘a performer of the streets,’ while he is the ‘court magician to the Empress Dowager.’ This may be good showmanship, but it is not fair play. The devil himself is entitled to his due; and, the question of merit aside, the indubitable fact remains that it is Ching Ling Foo who is the ‘original Chinese magician,’ while ‘Chung Ling Soo’ is an imitator of his act and a usurper in the Oriental kingdom. {285} But outside of the ethical nature of the controversy, we refuse to take it seriously.”
Robinson calls himself “Chung Ling Soo, he of the One Button [mandarin], Royal Chinese Conjurer.” Chung Ling Soo, in the vernacular of Confucius, means Double Luck, or extra good luck. Wherever he goes he puts on exhibition in the lobby of the theatre the resplendent robes of his ancestors—“a piece of sacrilege,” says an English paper, “no Chinaman the world has ever known has been guilty of before. Some of the exhibits are from the Imperial palace at Pekin.” These gorgeous garments were doubtless purchased in some Chinese bazaar in London. According to a Holloway journal, Robinson is the possessor of a wonderful collection of Oriental embroideries, carvings, armor, and swords, and last but not least, “a splendid {286} palanquin which cost the Chinese equivalent of 1,000 guineas. It was presented to him by the late Dowager Empress of China, and is constructed of solid ebony inlaid with gold and precious stones.” In this palanquin, Robinson comes on the stage to perform his bullet-catching feat, supposed to be a replica of a similar adventure when he was attacked by “Boxers” in China. This is Herrmann’s old trick, with an Oriental setting. Some years ago, a German-American wizard, Prof. Mingus, invented a method of catching live gold fish on the end of a line fixed to an ordinary bamboo fishing rod. The line being cast in the air, a gold fish appeared dangling upon the hook. The fish was then thrown into a bowl of water and shown to the audience. Several fish were caught in this manner. Robinson adopted this trick with great success. Pestered to death for an explanation of the mystery by his journalistic friends, he finally condescended to explain (?) it. He thus described it in the _News of the World_, Holloway, England, April 9, 1905:
“Anyone may know how Chung does the goldfish trick, but it does not follow that having been told one can do it. When Chung Ling Soo makes casts in the air with his rod and line, little Suce Seen, the Celestial handmaiden, stands meekly some yards away, holding a glass bowl of water. The hook is a powerful magnet, and if one could examine the goldfish caught, one would detect pieces of metal attached to the bodies of the finny captures. The live goldfish repose in little Suce Seen’s sleeve, and when a more than usually skillful cast brings the magnetic bait for a second into the interior of the girl’s sleeve, a ‘catch’ has at once been effected, and the fish is seen dangling and wriggling in the air at the end of the line.”
It is needless to remark that this is a _fish story_. Chung Ling Soo is romancing. The gold fish are concealed in the handle of the rod. The fish that appears on the hook at each cast of the line is an imitation affair of silk, which is hidden in the hollow lead sinker. A substitution is made, and the real fish thrown into the bowl by the conjurer. The dainty little Chinese maiden (Mrs. Robinson) has nothing more to do with the trick than the people in the audience. She merely holds the bowl and looks cute.
The following is a sample of some of the nonsense published {287} about Robinson, taken from the _Weekly Despatch_, April 9, 1905:
“Chung Ling Soo rose from the ranks, and his fame as a sorcerer penetrated to the Chinese Empress Dowager, who commanded him to court, where, after years of service, he was promoted to many Celestial honors, and ultimately the rank of Mandarin was bestowed upon him. His skin is yellow, his eyes are black and oblique, and his teeth are absolutely inky, as all true Celestials of rank should be.” Any one acquainted with the art of stage “make-up” knows how easily these facial effects can be produced. There is even a black paste for the teeth. I don’t doubt this much of the journalist’s story—but the “Celestial honors” and the “rank of Mandarin”—shade of the illustrious Münchausen preserve us! Poor old Ching Ling Foo, the original Chinaman, has doubtless devoted his ingenious rival and “foreign devil” to the innumerable hells of the Chinese Buddhists.
So much for the Oriental ancestry of my old friend, Billy Robinson, the “One Button Man” of the Celestial Empire (Theatre of London, England).
Robinson is the inventor of the clever stage illusion “Gone,” which Herrmann exhibited, and which still forms one of the principal specialties of Kellar. I am indebted to my friend, Henry V. A. Parsell, for an accurate description of the trick, as at present worked by Mr. Kellar.
“At the rise of the curtain the stage is seen to have its rear part concealed by a second curtain and drapery, which, being drawn up, discloses a substantial framework. This framework, at the first glance, gives one the impression that it is that horrible instrument of death, the guillotine. As will be seen, it consists simply of two uprights, with a bar across the top and another a little below the middle. Just below the centre bar is a windlass, the two ropes of which pass through two pulleys fixed to the top bar. The machine stands out boldly against a black background, the distance from which is indeterminate.
“After the introduction of the fair maiden ‘who is to be gone,’ an ordinary looking bent wood chair is shown. The chair is then placed on the stage behind the framework, and by means of snap hooks the two ropes from the windlass are attached {288} to the side of the chair. The maiden is now seated in the chair and her skirt adjusted that it may not hang too low.
“A couple of assistants now work the windlass and elevate the chair and its occupant until they are well above the middle cross bar. One assistant then retires, the other remains with one hand resting against the side of the framework. The performer fires his pistol thrice, upon which the maiden vanishes and the {289} fragments of the chair fall to the ground. The illusion is produced by a black curtain which lies concealed behind the middle cross bar. When the pistol is fired, the assistant, whose hand is on the frame, presses a spring which releases this black curtain which is instantly drawn up in front of the suspended girl. At this same moment the girl undoes a couple of catches which allow the main part of the chair to drop. She, meanwhile, being seated on a false chair-bottom to which the ropes are attached.”
As originally devised by Mr. Robinson, the illusion was based upon the Pepper ghost-show. Between the cross-bars of a slanting frame was a sheet of plate glass which, being invisible, left the lady on the chair in full view as long as the light fell upon her. A screen of the same color as the background was concealed above the curtain and placed at such an angle as to allow its reflection to pass out to the audience. The firing of the pistol was the signal for the assistant to turn a switch. The lady was then veiled in relative darkness while the screen was illuminated and its reflection on the plate glass concealed her from sight. Carrying around the country a big sheet of plate glass is not only an expensive luxury but a risky one, so the illusion was simplified in the manner described by Mr. Parsell.
VI.
Buatier de Kolta was the greatest inventor of magic tricks and illusions since the days of Robert-Houdin. He was an absolutely original genius, who set at defiance Solomon’s adage. “There is nothing new under the sun,” by producing in rapid succession a series of brilliant feats that astounded the world of magic. I am indebted to my friend, Dr. W. Golden Mortimer, for facts concerning the career of de Kolta.
Joseph Buatier de Kolta was born in Lyons, France, in the year 1845. For centuries his father’s people had inhabited the ancient palace of the Emperor Claudius. Each firstborn male of the Buatier family was given the Roman name. The subject of our sketch had a sister and two brothers, the latter, with himself, being set apart for the priesthood. His brother Claudius was not given to churchly ways, but the second brother actually entered upon the holy orders. Joseph was at college when he {290} first saw the wonders of magic as revealed by a strolling magician, and he became so fascinated with the possibilities of the art that he entered upon it at once.
He commenced his professional career at Geneva, Italy, in 1867, and shortly after became associated with his cousin, Julias Vidos de Kolta, who for fifteen years thereafter acted as his business manager. De Kolta was his mother’s maiden name, adopted by her ancestors from one of the Hungarian provinces. Buatier de Kolta, as the magician was now known, traveled through Italy, where he presented a two hours’ entertainment, consisting of original sleights with a multiplicity of small properties. In 1875 he opened in London, where a great furore was made with his flying cage, which he had introduced in Italy some two years earlier. Though de Kolta was not given to {291} mishaps, on the first presentation of his trick he threw the cage out into the audience, an accident which has been repeated by other performers.
He married Miss Alice Allen, in London, December 8, 1887. She afterwards traveled with him as his assistant, and acted as his business manager. In the year 1891, he made his first appearance in the United States by playing a four months’ engagement at the Eden Musée, New York City. On that occasion he introduced the large vanishing cage, which he intended as a satire on the flying cage because of the repeated supposition that a bird was killed at each performance of that trick, but he never liked the large cage and soon abandoned it. In 1903 he returned to this country, and opened at the Eden Musée, on September 15, where he played many months. Among other new tricks he {292} exhibited an improvement on the “rising cards,” consisting in the continuous and successive rising of every card in a pack from out a glass tumbler; and a little sketch entitled “_la danse des millions_,” in which the money-catching idea was elaborated. This number, delivered in Alexandrine verses with all the charm of a classic, was intended as a hit at the extravagance of the Panama Canal Company under the régime of De Lesseps and his associates.
On that occasion he introduced an absolutely new illusion, the effect of which was as follows: The curtain rose showing a platform in the center of the stage. It was about four feet square and eighteen inches high, with four legs. The conjurer appeared carrying a satchel in one hand. He informed the audience that he kept his wife in the receptacle. It was a convenient way of transporting her about with him. Opening the satchel, he took therefrom a die about six inches square, remarking that his consort was concealed within it. This he placed on the platform. After arranging two open fans on the back of the platform he touched a spring, whereupon the die opened to about two and a half feet square. Presto!—he lifted up the die and his wife appeared on the platform, sitting cross-legged like a Turkish lady on a divan.
The secret of this surprising illusion died with Buatier de Kolta. His wife refused to reveal it after his death.
From New York de Kolta went to New Orleans to play an engagement at the Orpheum Theatre. In that city he died of acute Bright’s disease on October 7, 1903. The body was taken to London for burial.
Among the better known tricks and illusions invented by de Kolta may be mentioned the following: The flying bird cage (1873); the vanishing lady (1889); flowers from a paper cone (1886); the cocoon and living pictures (1887); and his disappearance, at the top of a twenty-one-foot ladder set upright against a bridge, in full light; soup plate and handkerchiefs; the decanters and flying handkerchiefs; multiplying billiard balls; production of a large flag on a staff; new ink and water trick, etc. {293}
In conjunction with J. Nevil Maskelyne, he invented the “Black Art, or the Mahatmas Outdone.” It has been exposed by the _Strand_, February, 1903, as follows:
“It is necessary for the benefit of those who have never seen an act of this kind to explain that everything is performed in a dark chamber—either the whole stage or a chamber fitted up in the center of it—draped entirely in black—sides, back, floor, and ceiling. The hall is placed almost in darkness, the only lights being a set of sidelights and footlights, which are turned toward the audience with reflectors behind, making it impossible for eyes to penetrate into the darkness beyond them. Everything used in the chamber is white, even the performer’s dress, forming a contrast necessary to the illusion.
“The séance is usually commenced by the production of tables and goblets from space. In fact, everything required is mysteriously obtained from apparent nothingness. The performer, usually dressed in an Eastern costume, all of white, enters the empty chamber, and, requiring a wand, raises his hand, when one comes floating into it. He next taps the floor at the left side of the chamber and a small table suddenly appears. This he repeats at the right side, with the same result. He now taps one of the tables and a large goblet appears upon it in the same mysterious manner. This also he repeats at the other table, having now two tables several yards apart, with a goblet upon each. The whole are brought forward for inspection and replaced within the chamber. The performer takes one of the goblets, raises it, turns it over and around in several ways, and it is seen that the other is going through exactly the same movements without anyone being near it. The performer replaces his goblet upon the table; but the other remains suspended alone in mid-air, and the performer places a large ring over it and around it, showing wires or any other connection to be absent. He brings it forward and again hands it for examination, but on regaining it does not take it to the table, for by a wave of his hand the table comes dancing out to him and on receiving the goblet dances back to its original position. He next proceeds to borrow several watches and other articles of jewelry, which he takes into the chamber and places in the goblet on the {294} right. They are clearly seen to drop from his hand from several inches above; he shows his hands empty and immediately rushes across to the other goblet, brings it forward, and allows the audience themselves to take out all the jewelry which was placed in the right goblet only a moment previous. Having finished with these articles, they disappear as mysteriously and quickly as they appeared.
“The next illusion performed is the production from space of a live lady’s bust suspended in a frame. The performer raises his wand and a large picture-frame suddenly hangs itself upon it. This is brought for examination, then placed in the center of the chamber, where it remains suspended in mid-air and sets up a swinging motion by itself. It is then covered momentarily with an Eastern rug, and when removed, a lady, devoid of legs, whose body completely fills the frame, is seen swinging with it. The ‘live picture’ is covered momentarily, and when the covering is withdrawn a large Union Jack is seen to have taken the place of the lady, who has vanished.
“The performer proceeds next with a decapitation act, in which a lady is beheaded in full view of the audience. At a wave of his hand a lady appears, and hands to him her own gruesome means of execution, a large, glittering sabre, which he takes, {295} and with one swing cuts her head clean off where she stands. Catching the head as it falls, he places a pair of wings at the back of it, when it becomes a flying cherub, and immediately soars all about the chamber, finally returning to his outstretched hand. He then removes the wings and replaces the head upon the lady’s shoulders, restoring her to life, for which kindness she quickly embraces him and vanishes. Wishing to get another such share of her favors, the performer endeavors to bring her back by magic aid, but is surprised by the appearance of a grinning ghost, whose whole body consists of a skull, with a moving jaw, draped with a white sheet. He catches it, and detaching its skull brings it forward for a closer scrutiny, the jaw moving all the time and the sheet dancing about alone. He then throws the skull into the air and it is seen no more.
“The séance is generally concluded by an invisible flight, the vanishing performer immediately reappearing amongst the audience. He takes the dancing sheet and entirely covers himself with it, standing in the center of the chamber, taking great care to drape himself in such a manner as to show the shape of his body. In a few seconds the sheet collapses, and before it has time to reach the ground a shout is heard in the back of the {296} hall; the audience turning around naturally are surprised to see the performer standing amongst them, smilingly bowing in acknowledgment of the applause which greets him.
“As before mentioned, the whole of this takes place in darkness, obtained by the chamber being draped in black velvet and the floor covered with black felt. The brightness of the lights turned towards the audience, contrasting with the denseness of the black behind, dazzles the eye to such an extent that it cannot discern anything in the chamber that is not white or of a very light color. The stage is all arranged before the act, and the tables are in their respective places, but cannot be seen on account of their being draped with black velvet. The goblets, frame, lady, ghost, etc., are all placed in readiness behind a black screen, also draped. None of this can be seen while they are behind the lights, if kept covered in black, no matter how near to the front they are placed. But how do they float about and appear so mysteriously? An assistant is within the chamber, dressed in black velvet throughout, with black gloves and mask, covering all signs of white about him and making him perfectly invisible. He wears no boots, and the felt {297} upon the floor deadens the sound of all his movements. He it is who really produces all the articles. When the performer stretches his hand out for the wand, the assistant brings it from behind the screen and hands it to him with a floating movement. As the performer taps the floor he immediately pulls away the black covering and the table instantly appears to view. The goblets are painted black inside, allowing him to hold them at the back with his fingers inside, unnoticed. After the tables are both produced he places the goblets upon them at the right moment with one hand while he pulls off the velvet with the other. The exposition is so quick and sudden that nothing suspicious can be noticed. The turning of the goblet is also the work of the invisible assistant, and is quickly changed from one hand to another when the ring is being passed over it. The watches, etc., are not placed in the goblet as they appear to be, but dropped behind it into the assistant’s hands, who takes them over to the other while the performer is exhibiting his empty hands. The picture-frame is also handed by the assistant, and when it is apparently placed in mid-air is really passed to the assistant, who quickly hangs it up. When it is covered the lady steps from behind the screen to the frame, and stands upon a swing which nearly reaches to the floor behind it, and catches hold of the frame sides; the assistant draws away the velvet which draped her, and keeps the swing in motion. The frame is attached to the wires of this swing. The lady is dressed in white to the waist, which exactly reaches the bottom of the frame. Below the frame she is dressed in black velvet. When the frame is again covered she steps back behind the screen while the assistant fits the Union Jack in the frame. In the decapitation act there are two ladies, one dressed all in white, the other standing behind her dressed in black, with her head covered by a black hood. When the performer swings the sabre the assistant covers the white lady’s head with a black velvet hood, at the same time pulling the hood quickly from the other lady’s head, who immediately falls to her knees. The illusion looks perfect—a body apparently standing without a head and the head apparently falling. When the wings are put on she flaps them by means of a wire and runs round the {298} chamber, stooping at intervals, so as to take an irregular course. The beheaded lady is restored by exactly the reverse method, and she disappears behind the screen. The ghost is danced about on a stick by the assistant, and when its skull is thrown into the air it is caught in a black bag. The performer takes the sheet and goes behind it and hands it to the assistant, and it is the latter who is seen draping himself, the performer running around to {299} the back of the hall meanwhile, where he waits to see the sheet drop. The assistant, allowing time for this, simply lets go the top of the sheet, and, of course, cannot be seen behind it. The performer runs in before it has time to reach the ground, his invisible flight and immediate reappearance greatly astonishing the spectators.”
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VII.
Cazeneuve, better known as _le commandeur_ Cazeneuve, the great card expert and magician, was born in Toulouse in 1840. He adopted magic, after witnessing a performance of that original genius, Bosco. His chivalric title (commander of the imperial order of Medjidie) was conferred upon him by the Sultan of Turkey, with whom he was a favorite. At the Court of Russia he and his charming wife made a great sensation with the second-sight trick. When the Franco-Prussian war broke out, Cazeneuve returned to Toulouse and raised two companies of soldiers, one of which was composed entirely of theatrical people. He served as captain of the 1st regiment of Tirailleurs d’Elite, under the command of Colonel Riu, and fought bravely for France. After peace was declared he prepared a new programme of magic and toured Europe and the Americas. He has a handsome home in his native city of Toulouse, where he has collected many rare curios. In the year 1905, Cazeneuve was touring Algeria with a magic show. He is a member of several scientific societies, and manifests great interest in physics.
I first saw Carl Hertz in Baltimore at the old vaudeville theatre “across the bridge,” some twenty years ago. I remember him as a clever, good-looking young fellow, possessed of considerable dash, and very neat in the performance of card tricks. His specialty was the “bird-cage trick,” which he did to perfection. He was born in San Francisco, of German parents. His first manager was M. de Frère. Hertz has traveled extensively in the Orient. With the bird-cage trick he puzzled the best informed fakirs of India. In Borneo he met with a most romantic adventure. He is probably the only man who has had to offer himself as a burnt-offering to escape an amorous Princess. He was giving a series of magical entertainments before a Malay Sultan and Court, and not only succeeded in fascinating the yellow-skinned monarch, but his daughter as well. The young princess proposed marriage to the conjurer. “On Mr. Hertz informing the lady, through an interpreter, that he was already wedded, she replied that made no difference to her, as she would rule his other ladies. Here was a fix. However, with the {301} connivance of the British Vice-Consul, Mr. Hertz took the place of his lawful spouse in the Phœnix illusion, and jumping into the blazing caldron waved an affectionate adieu to the astonished and dismayed Princess. Mrs. Hertz had to keep up the delusion by weeping copiously while her husband was being conveyed to the coast in a basket.”
In the Sandwich Islands, on one occasion, a chief leaped upon the stage where Hertz was performing and began worshiping him as a god. How very real must have been the effect of Hertz’s magic upon the untutored mind of that simple native.
In the year 1904, a troupe of Hindoo jugglers, acrobats and snake charmers were brought to the United States to entertain lovers of the marvelous at the St. Louis Exposition. Among them was a man with an unpronounceable name, whom the management dubbed “Alexander.” I met the dusky necromancer at Martinka’s in the summer of 1904. He went about the streets of New York garbed in his rich Oriental costume. The street gamins always followed him from his hotel to the Palace of Magic and stood about the doorway in crowds, awaiting in breathless astonishment some feat of wizardry. But the impassive Hindoo paid no attention to his youthful admirers, but went on blowing wreaths of smoke from Egyptian cigarettes, and making purchases of magical apparatus with which to astonish the natives of his beloved India. Taking magic tricks to India is like carrying coals to Newcastle. But Alexander had a very high opinion of Occidental conjuring, and fully realized the fact that the sorcerers of the West, aided by all the resources of modern science, were the superiors of the Hindoo fakirs, except perhaps in one particular—feats of hypnotism and apparent death. I saw Alexander, in Martinka s little back shop, support a couple of heavy iron weights, which were fastened at the ends of a cord, upon his eyelids. The cord rested on the lids, the weights dangling at the ends of the string. The pressure upon the eyeballs must have been tremendous. Alexander presented Dr. Ellison with a wand—the thigh-bone of a sacred simian from the famous monkey temple of India. The bone was inscribed with cabalistic characters and Sanskrit sentences. The monkey is famous for playing {302} tricks, and the thigh-bone of a sacred monkey consequently ought to make an admirable mystic wand for a conjurer. The doctor prizes this unique relic very highly, and is thinking of building a shrine of Benares copper for its reception. In the future, crowds of wandering wizards will doubtless make pilgrimages to this shrine to gaze in ecstasy at the holy relic, just as crowds of East Indians visit the temple where Buddha’s wisdom tooth is displayed for the delectation of the faithful.
VIII.
In the year 1894 there flashed on the theatrical horizon of Europe an eccentric gentleman conjurer, who performed with a mask on his face, advertising himself as _L’Homme Masqué_ (the Masked Man).
“Who is he?” inquired the _quid nuncs_ of the vaudeville theatres.
Nobody seemed to know. Had the Man in the Iron Mask, celebrated by Voltaire and Alexander Dumas, come to life again?
“What does he wear a mask for?” asked the public.
“To hide his aristocratic features,” replied the manager of _L’Homme Masqué_. “He wishes to remain incognito.”
Eventually he permitted his name to leak out. It was Marquis d’O. “But ‘O’ is not a name,” cried the _quid nuncs_. “It is a letter, an exclamation of surprise or terror.” “Not so fast,” remarked the Dryasdusts. “There was a Marquis d’O who lived in the seventeenth century. He was a noted duelist and gambler, but that did not prevent him from being a favorite with Henri III of France. Possibly _L’Homme Masqué_ is a descendant of the famous nobleman of the old régime. He is unquestionably a Frenchman, for he speaks like a native.”
The masked man refused to further reveal his identity. In one respect he resembled the favorite of the Valois King. He was familiar with cards. After losing 800,000 francs at Monte Carlo, he took up magic as a profession and made his début, March, 1894. I have ascertained that the Marquis is a native of Peru, South America. His real name I do not know. The “O” perhaps is a _nom de thèatre_. Again, it may be an {303} abbreviation of Olivarez. Mr. Downs writes as follows in the Sphinx, January, 1903, concerning the mysterious marquis:
“_L Homme’ Masqué_ (Marquis d’O) and myself are especially engaged to give a series of magical performances at the Casino Theatre, Spa, Belgium, Nov. 15 to Dec. 31, 1902. The Marquis is a remarkably clever magician of the non-apparatus school and gives an hour and thirty minutes’ performance, changing his show each evening. He uses only cards, handkerchiefs, flowers, eggs and other small objects for his illusions. He is eminently original and possesses a great personality. He is a decided sensation in the theatrical world. His success has been so pronounced that he has had many imitators who have donned the mask and traded on his reputation. The Society of Magicians in Hamburg presented him with a valuable gold-tipped wand set with diamonds. Like Robert-Houdin, the Marquis presents his audiences with many charming souvenirs, some of them of considerable value, such as cigarette cases, cigars, bouquets, etc. He is very popular in aristocratic circles. When in London, he received as high as £20 for a private entertainment and was invited everywhere.”
To keep the public guessing is the particular business of a conjurer, but to keep people guessing as to your identity as well as your tricks, caps the climax in the art of mystery mongering. Imagine the Sphinx wearing a mask. This business of a wizard disguising his features with a black mask is a piece of sublime audacity. _Vive le_ Marquis d’O! Is it not a pity that such an act cannot be copyrighted? Think of some really original idea and produce it on the stage and immediately hundreds of imitators will spring up like mushrooms in a single night. Not only will they copy your act, but your patter as well.
Two of our foremost American conjurers, Downs and Houdini, can testify to this fact. T. Nelson Downs, the “King of Coins,” a native of Marshaltown, Iowa, invented a number of original sleights with coins, which he embodied in an act known as the Miser’s Dream. A brilliant success was the result, whereupon a legion of imitators, billing themselves as Coin Kings, sprang up everywhere. Downs, however, remains the unapproachable manipulator of coins; his imitators have gone {304} to the wall, one after the other. Downs’ act is really unique, He is also a fine performer with cards. Edward VII of England, who has a penchant for entertainments of magic and mystery, had Downs give private séances for him, and was charmed with the American’s skill.
IX.
A word or two here concerning that brilliant entertainer, Harry Houdini, whose handcuff act is the sensation of two continents.
Mr. Houdini, whose real name is Weiss, was born April 6, 1873, in Appleton, Wisconsin. He began his career as an entertainer when but nine years of age, doing a contortion and trapeze act in Jack Hoffler’s “five cent” circus in Appleton. His mother took him away from the sawdust arena and apprenticed him to a locksmith. Here he was initiated into the mysteries of locks and keys, and laid the foundation of his great handcuff act. Locksmithing, despite the fact that King Louis XVI of France worked at it as an amateur, possessed no charms for the youthful Houdini. To use his own expression, “One day I made a bolt for the door, and never came back to my employer.” Again he went with a circus, where he acted as a conjurer, a clown and a ventriloquist. He made a specialty of the rope-tying business and performed occasionally with handcuffs, but without sensational results. Finally the circus landed in Rhode Island and opened up in a town where Sunday performances were forbidden by law, but were greatly desired by a large section of the population. As the fine was light, the proprietor ran the risk, and gave a show on the Sabbath. A summons followed, and each member of the troupe was fined. As Houdini epigrammatically put it: “The manager couldn’t find the fine, so we all found ourselves in confinement.” Houdini was locked up in a cell with a number of side-show freaks, the fat lady, the living skeleton, and the German giant. The fat lady was too wide for the compartment, the giant too long. With tears in their eyes they emplored Houdini to pick the lock and let them out. Finally the young conjurer consented, and dexterously picked the lock, whereupon he and his companions {305} marched out of the jail in triumph, and paraded down the main street of the town in Indian file, to the great amusement of the populace. Houdini was rearrested on the charge of jail-breaking, but the judge let him off with a reprimand. This event decided his career. He became a “Handcuff King.”
His salary at the Alhambra Theatre, London, was $300 a week. One week at St. Petersburg, Russia, netted him over $2,000. He appeared before royalty. {306}
The handcuff act when exhibited with the proper _mise en scène_ is certainly very mystifying and calculated to produce a profound impression on the minds of susceptible people. Taking the cue from the Davenport Brothers, Houdini might have advertised himself as a spirit medium, thereby creating a great sensation. But he preferred not to play the charlatan. I am not personally acquainted with his method of working the trick, therefore I express no opinion on the subject, except to say that the locks of the handcuffs are _picked_ with a key of some {307} kind which is adroitly secreted about the person of the performer; or some soft piece of iron or copper wire which can be converted into a skeleton key. In the event of his being stripped naked (as often occurs in the case of Houdini) the key is probably hidden in the nose, ear, mouth, or bushy hair of the Handcuff King—or else slipped to him by a confederate, or concealed in a pocket in the drapery of the cabinet. I quote the following from the _Strand Magazine_ (Sept., 1903):
“For a man fettered with handcuffs, leg-irons, and chains to free himself in less time than it has taken to fasten him has long been so mystifying a performance that many people have acquired the impression that it bordered on the supernatural. The secret is, however, like many of the best tricks ever invented, in reality a surprisingly simple one.
“In the first place, it must be remembered that handcuffs such as are used by Scotland Yard are constructed with spring-locks, which are fastened or released by means of a key, or some article which answers the same purpose, which pulls back the spring. Without the aid of such a key it is impossible for any human being to free himself from the regulation handcuffs employed by the police. And herein lies the whole {308} secret—the performer _has_ a key, or rather several keys. All his ingenuity is exercised in concealing these about his person, or inside the cabinet to which he retires to release himself after being, to all appearances, helplessly secured.
“Some of these keys are concealed in the framework of the cabinet, which is generally constructed of piping, having additional pieces which appear to be essential portions of the framework, but which in reality are only intended to hold the keys. Other keys the performer keeps disposed about his person in sundry small pockets especially made for the purpose, and so arranged that he is able to place his hand upon some one or other of them in whatever position he may be. The best places for concealment are—first, a pocket between the knees, to permit the key to be reached when the performer is fastened in a crouched position; secondly, a pocket about six inches up inside the leg of the trousers; thirdly, a key carried in the hip pocket of the trousers, for use when pinioned with the arms behind the back; and finally, a small pocket inside the top of the waistcoat, or wherever it may be found convenient.
{309}
“Let us now turn to the photographs, which have been especially taken for this article, and which render the whole proceeding very clear. In Fig. 1 the performer is fastened with six pairs of handcuffs. In such a position it seems impossible that he can free himself; but by putting his hands over his head and down his coat collar he has caught the end of a silk handkerchief thrust into the breast of his waistcoat, to which a key is attached. Fig. 2 shows the handkerchief and key drawn to the front; while Fig. 3 shows the key inserted in the lock.
“Fig. 4 shows the method employed when the position is such that it is impossible, owing to the awkwardness of the attitude, to pull the lock back. A piece of violin string is made into a loop and kept inside the cabinet. When it is impossible to draw the key, and with it the lock spring, with the fingers, the loop is put over the key, the heel of the boot placed {310} in the other end of the loop, and the lock is then easily drawn back. After one pair has been opened the others follow as a matter of course.
“Figs. 5 and 6 show another position, the key this time being obtained from the waistcoat. Fig. 7 shows one of the most difficult positions in which it is possible to be placed. The silk handkerchief shown is just peeping from the waistcoat, and is brought out by the aid of the tongue, it being possible to draw out a good silk by licking it. In Fig. 8 the performer has rolled over and obtained a good hold of the handkerchief, which, by a quick jerk of the head, he throws over his back, and eventually gets hold of it with his hands, as shown in Fig. 9. If the key falls to the floor he rolls over and picks it up, the rattle of the handcuffs hiding the sound of the falling key. His next movement is to free his hands from his feet, which he does in the manner already described. The key for this position can also be obtained from the leg of the trousers.
“Fig. 10 shows the implements of torture and the condition of the performer’s wrists after an exhibition. The special keys {312} are split with a saw about half an inch down, to allow for variation in the sizes of various locks (Fig. 11). It should be understood that an expert, when about to give a performance, inquires what position it is intended to place him in. He then causes, as an introduction, a few pairs of his own handcuffs to be placed on his wrists, and while freeing himself from these in his cabinet he arranges his keys to suit the position in which he will next be placed. Other implements besides keys are also used: a piece of bent wire is often quite sufficient. Most experts are also conjurers, and ‘palm’ the key, especially in the case of a nude test, when they are stripped and locked up in a cell; or they make use of a concealing key, which is made telescopic, the handle being constructed to close down the side of {313} the key, and the whole being fixed under the toes by a piece of shoemaker’s wax and detached when inside the cell.
“Although, when the secret is explained, it seems very easy to accomplish, it must be understood that it is necessary for a successful performer to possess very hard, strong wrists and abundance of finger strength, and to be a man of some resource. It is almost impossible for any person to fasten an expert securely unless he himself understands the secret of the method of escape, and even then he may not be successful. On one occasion a performer underwent a severe test by a person who understood the secret, and therefore did not use any keys whatever, but by a very ingenious method overcame the efforts of the gentleman in question to fasten him. He obtained some very small gold-filled wire and made it into the form of a wire ring, which was partly covered by a broad gold one, to which the wire ring was attached. Thus prepared he underwent the test, unwrapping the wire ring when in the cabinet. Needless to state, in a very short time he was free.
“Handcuffs are sometimes brought to fetter the performer with the locks plugged or otherwise tampered with. But it is the performer’s own fault if he is trapped. It is a very easy matter to tamper with the locks—a few lead pellets dropped {314} down the barrel will effectually prevent the lock from being drawn. This method has often been attempted, but not successfully.
“Now that the methods have been explained and illustrated, it will be very easily perceived that there is nothing supernatural about the secret of handcuff manipulation.”
Houdini is not only a Handcuff King, but a skillful performer with cards. When too many imitators shall have made his specialty a drug on the market, he can take to some other branch of conjuring. He has a very fine trunk illusion which he often combines with his handcuff act. For seven years past he has been collecting data for an extensive biographical encyclopedia of magicians. In his travels on the continent of Europe he has visited the homes and haunts of famous conjurers of the past and secured valuable material for his prospective book. Thanks to this interesting man, photographs of the tombs of Robert-Houdin and Bosco have been made, and considerable light thrown on their careers. In a letter to me, October 9, 1905, he says: “When in Russia, I searched in vain for the grave of the fascinating Pinetti—that prestidigitateur _par excellence_ of the eighteenth century—but, alas, my labors were not rewarded. But in St. Petersburg I picked up an exceedingly rare portrait of Pinetti, which I prize highly and which will form the frontispiece to my book on magicians.” Houdini is a reincarnation of Sir Walter Scott’s Old Mortality, who went about furbishing up the tombstones of the illustrious dead of his faith. When at home (New York City), Harry Houdini lives among his books and curios. He has also a handsome farm in Massachusetts. Houdini’s brother, under the stage name of Hardeen, is also a handcuff expert.
X.
In this review of magicians I have met, I must not fail to mention Charles Edwin Fields of the Royal Aquarium and Crystal Palace, London, England. This veteran of the wand was born in London, May 15, 1835, and received a good education at private academies in England and France. He has appeared before royalty and instructed hundreds of people in {315} the mystic art. In the days when magic literature was sparse, Prof. Fields obtained large sums of money from wealthy amateurs for the secrets of tricks. Alas, the golden age of wizardry has passed. Magic is an “open secret.” The Professor’s occupation is gone.
I come now to François de Villiers, the French illusionist, who is an excellent performer. He is able to invest the simplest parlor trick with a halo of interest, thanks to his wit and bonhomie. He was born in the Island of Malta, where Cagliostro went to work in the chemical laboratory of the Grand Commander Pinto. De Villiers when but a callow youth ran away from the parental home and joined a French circus which happened to be touring the Island of Malta. He wandered all over the continent of Europe with the knights of the sawdust circle, playing many parts, acrobat, clown and conjurer. Finally he took up magic as a profession.
De Villiers next drifted to India, where he became a subject of the British crown. Being of an adventurous nature, he joined a cavalry regiment and wore the khaki of the Queen. When his term of enlistment had expired, he went to Spain and fought valiantly under the banner of Don Carlos. Captured by the government forces, he was tried as a rebel and condemned to be shot, but his sentence was commuted to banishment, thanks to the timely intervention of the British Ambassador, to whom he had appealed for aid. De Villiers is now a naturalized citizen of the United States and his home is in New York City.
Ziska is a magician of ability and possessed of much originality. Assisted by Mr. King, he does an act in which magic is blended with comedy. It is entitled “The Magician and His Valet.” The conjurer is very clever and the valet very clumsy, but no exposés of the tricks are made; Mr. Ziska is too much of an artist to permit that.
J. Warren Keane is a clever manipulator of cards and billiard balls. He gives a pleasing act of magic.
Prof. Barney Ives is possessed of great originality. Some of his inventions have become famous. In this respect he is a rival to the celebrated Henry Hardin. {316}
De Biere and Stillwell are conjurers who are fast rising into prominence. Stillwell is a handkerchief manipulator.
Next in line we have Malini, Fred Hurd, Hal Merton and Maro, all of them clever magicians. Hurd’s rabbit and duck trick has to be seen to be appreciated. Maro is not only an excellent illusionist, but a musician and a crayon artist. Merton, a favorite in the lyceum field, was at one time the editor of “Mahatma.” Malini’s forte is cards, and he devotes most of his time to giving drawing-room and club entertainments. Of late years he has made London his home. Among the clever amateurs I have met may be mentioned Mr. Guy L. Baker, of Buffalo, N. Y., and Mr. LeRoy McCafferty and Mr. John J. Allen, of Washington, D. C. Mr. Baker is an excellent drawing-room conjurer and the originator of a novel method of working the rising card trick _à la_ de Kolta, by means of a clockwork apparatus in the body of a small table. Mr. McCafferty is good at hanky-panky, particularly with billiard balls; and Mr. Allen, an ardent student of the art of deception, bids fair to become a good entertainer.
Ere I bring this chapter to a close I must not neglect to pay a tribute to my old-time friend, Dr. Leonard Caughey, of Baltimore, Md., the finest amateur conjurer, rope-tying and cabinet medium I have ever met. A dentist by profession, he devoted his leisure time to magic. He died some fifteen years ago in Washington, D. C. His cousin, Mr. Charles M. Caughey, also an amateur prestidigitateur, is at present United States Consul to Palermo, Sicily, the birthplace of Cagliostro. From Dr. Caughey I received my first scientific instruction in the art of palming and mediumistic marvels. I owe him a debt of gratitude. In my little book “Hours With the Ghosts” I have described some of my adventures with this admirable amateur necromancer, who has passed from the lesser to the Greater Mysteries. Long before Professor Hoffmann had written his great treatise on “Modern Magic,” Dr. Caughey was thoroughly initiated into all branches of magic, something unusual in those days, and was giving splendid entertainments for churches, lyceums, etc. A fine mechanic, he made most of his apparatus, some of it of a very elaborate character. I imported Hoffmann’s {317} book from England and showed it to him. He was paralyzed with astonishment at the revelations contained in the volume and exclaimed, “The golden days of magic are over. The _Götterdämmerung_ (Twilight of the Gods) has come! The world will be as full of magicians as the Jersey coast is of mosquitoes. The palmy days of Herrmann, Houdin and Heller are ended.” His prophecy has been more or less fulfilled. The vail of Isis is lifted and the mysteries of magic laid open to all who care to delve in its literature and inform themselves. Alas, unscrupulous professionals have contributed to this state of things by exposing tricks on the stage for the benefit of the public at large. This is indeed killing outright the goose that lays the golden eggs. Initiate the _hoi polloi_ into the secrets of the cult, and magic will soon be relegated to the parlor as an after-dinner amusement, unless some absolutely original genius like Robert-Houdin or de Kolta arises and recreates the art. The Society of British Magicians, known as “The Magic Circle of Great Britain,” expels a member who wilfully exposes any magical trick or illusion on the stage. The Society of American Magicians comes out strongly against the reprehensible practice of stage exposés, but as yet has taken no steps to expel members who offend against the law. But that will doubtless come in time.
{318}
THE RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX.
“Thus they placed Sphinxes before the gates of their temples, meaning by that to say that their theology contained all the secrets of wisdom under an enigmatic form.”—MARIETTE: _Voyage dans la Haute-Egypt_, Vol. II, p. 9.
I.
What is the meaning of this Egyptian Temple, transplanted from the banks of the Nile to prosaic London? The smoke and grime have attacked it and played sad havoc with its sandstone walls, painted with many hieroglyphics. The fog envelops it with a spectral embrace. No Sphinxes guard its portal. Alas, its glories have departed! But stop a bit! There is a gentleman in evening dress, with a tall hat pushed well back from his forehead, sitting in a small box-like receptacle on one side of the colossal entrance, his face framed in by a small window; and another man, similarly attired, standing at an iron wicket leading into the sanctum sanctorum. The temple, then, _is_ guarded by two up-to-date, flesh-and-blood Sphinxes in swallow-tail coats and opera hats. Ah me, what a travesty on the human-headed monsters of the land of Mizraim. See the long line of worshipers waiting to obtain admission to the Mysteries. Has the cult of Isis and Osiris been revived? The devotees deposit coins with Sphinx No. 1 and receive from him yellow tickets in exchange, the presentation of which to Sphinx No. 2 permits their entrance into the temple.
What does it all mean?
Dear reader, this is Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, London, and the people are crowding to see a conjuring exhibition by Colonel Stodare. His Sphinx trick is the great attraction.
Stodare is dust long ago, and the Sphinx no longer a mystery. Its riddle has been solved. {319}
{320}
But let us rehearse its history.
The Sphinx illusion, which has formed the basis of nearly all tricks performed by the aid of looking-glasses, was invented by Thomas Tobin, of the Polytechnic Institution, London. Colonel Stodare, the conjurer, had the honor of first introducing it to the world. The “London Times” (October 19, 1865) describes it as follows:
“Most intricate is the problem proposed by Colonel Stodare, when, in addition to his admirable feats of ventriloquism and legerdemain, he presents to his patrons a novel illusion called the ‘Sphinx.’ Placing upon an uncovered table a chest similar in size to the cases commonly occupied by stuffed dogs or foxes, he removes the side facing the spectators, and reveals a head attired after the fashion of an Egyptian Sphinx. To avoid the suspicion of ventriloquism, he retires to a distance from the figure, supposed to be too great for the practice of that art, taking his position on the border-line of the stalls and the area, while the chest is on the stage. Thus stationed, he calls upon the Sphinx to open its eyes, which it does—to smile, which it does also, though the habitual expression of its countenance is most melancholy, and to make a speech, which it does also, this being the miraculous part of the exhibition. Not only with perspicuity, but with something like eloquence, does it utter some twenty lines of verse; and while its countenance is animated and expressive, the movement of the lips, in which there is nothing mechanical, exactly corresponds to the sounds articulated.
“This certainly is one of the most extraordinary illusions ever presented to the public. That the speech is spoken by a human voice there is no doubt, but how is a head to be contrived which, being detached from anything like a body, confined in a case, which it completely fills, and placed on a bare-legged table, will accompany a speech, that apparently proceeds from its lips, with a strictly appropriate movement of the mouth, and a play of the countenance that is the reverse of mechanical? Eels, as we all know, can wriggle about after they have been chopped into half a dozen pieces; but a head that, like that of the Physician Douban, in the Arabian tales, pursues its eloquence after it has been severed from the body, scarcely comes within the reach of possibilities; unless, indeed, the old-fashioned assertion that ‘King Charles walked and talked half an hour after his head was cut off,’ is to be received, not as an illustration of defective punctuation, but as a positive historical statement.
“Davus might have solved the ‘Anthropoglossus,’ but Colonel Stodare presents us with a Sphinx that is really worthy of an Oedipus.”
II.
Mr. Alfred Thompson, the well known theatrical manager, attended one of Stodare’s performances at the Egyptian Hall, and was lucky enough to penetrate the secret of the Sphinx. In {321} an article contributed to the _New York Journal_, some twenty years ago, he writes:
“I happened to rise in my seat. In a moment the whole illusion was swept away, and all because of the lack of a silk handkerchief. As I stood up my eye caught, hovering between two of the table legs, the marks of two fingers, such marks as may often be seen on a mirror when the light falls at a certain angle upon it.
“Those two finger marks, though close to the carpet, gave me the key to the riddle of the Sphinx. In my mental photograph I saw the confederate kneeling behind the table, his head passing through superposed apertures, one in the top of the table, the other in the bottom of the box. The figure was concealed from view by two mirrors of pure silver-plated glass, set at such an angle as to reflect either side of the room (on the stage) in such a way that what to the eye was evidently the back of the same room seen beneath and beyond the table, was really only a reproduction of those sides visible in the mirrors between the legs of the table. {322}
“This Sphinx was the sensation of London for weeks following, and having occasion to go to Paris a few days later, I offered the secret to Robert-Houdin’s successor, Hamilton, who, however, refused my terms until he knew the trick. This delay of his was much regretted by him, for some other speculator produced the secret some three months later and made a colossal sensation in Paris with his ‘Decapite Parlant.’
“In the same year I introduced the illusion for the first time on the stage in the celebrated spectacle of ‘Babil and Bijou’ at Covent Garden Theatre. In the ballet of ‘The Seasons’ Mlle. Henriette Dor, one of the most poetical dancers ever seen, appeared as the White Rose, and I designed a large rose bud on its stalk, which, coming up through the bed of summer flowers, blossomed wide until from its open petals the beautiful Dor rose up, apparently materializing as she issued from the calix on the stalk. The ballet girls were so arranged in groups around three sides (not in front) as to aid the deception by their adjusted reflections in the mirrors.
“Practically it was the same trick—two mirrors at a right angle and a trap door. This curious trick was never improved on. It was added to and altered at the Polytechnic, where, among other adaptations of the same principle, was shown an animated tableau of Sir Joshua Reynolds’ famous cherubs. Three cherubs’ heads appeared in a moonlit sky, floating, and sang in sweet child voices the verses of an anthem.
“Curiously enough I met the original Sphinx not three years ago in the person of a business manager who had been Stodare’s agent, and only three months back one of those very cherubs in Mr. Fred Solomon, the comedian, who was then a chorister at the Chapel Royal, and who was threatened with all sorts of tortures if he let the cat or the cherub out of the bag.”
III.
One of the best explanations of the Sphinx is given by Professor Hoffmann in his work on magic. I quote as follows from him:
“For the benefit of those who have never seen this illusion presented upon the stage, we will describe its effect a little more minutely. The Sphinx is always made a separate portion of the entertainment, as it is necessary to lower the curtain for a few moments before and after its appearance, in order to arrange and remove the necessary preparations. The curtain rises, and reveals a round or oval table, supported upon three slender legs, and utterly devoid of drapery. This stands in a curtained recess of ten or twelve feet square, open on the side towards the audience. The performer comes forward bearing a cloth covered box, fifteen to twenty inches square, and places it upon the table already mentioned. He then unlocks the box, the front of which drops down, so as to give a perfect view of the interior, in which is seen a head of Egyptian fashion, and colored in perfect imitation of life. The performer now retires to a position in the very midst of the audience, and raising his wand, says in a tone of command, ‘Sphinx, awake!’ The Sphinx slowly opens its eyes, looking first to the front with a strong {323} gaze; then, as if gradually gaining consciousness, to the one side and the other, the head moving slightly with the eyes. Questions are put by the performer to the head, and are answered by it, the play of the mouth and features being in perfect harmony with the sounds uttered. Finally, in answer to a query of the operator, the Sphinx declaims a neatly turned oracle in verse. This concludes the exhibition, and the performer closes the box. Should the audience call for an encore, the performer addresses them to the following or some similar effect:
“ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad that the Sphinx has afforded you satisfaction, and I should be only too pleased to be able to indulge the desire which you kindly testify of seeing it again. Unfortunately, this is not possible. The charm by which I am enabled, as you have seen, to revivify for a space the ashes of an ancient Egyptian, who lived and died some centuries ago, lasts but for fifteen minutes. That time has now expired, and the head which has astonished you with its mysterious eloquence has again returned to its original dust.’ As he speaks the last words, he again opens the box, and the head is found to have disappeared, leaving in its place a handful of ashes.
“This singular illusion depends upon the well-known principle, common to optics as to mechanics, that the ‘angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence.’ Thus, if a person standing at the point _a_, in Fig. 1, look into a mirror placed in the position indicated by the line _b c_, he will see reflected, not himself, but whatever object may be placed at the point _d_. By an ingenious application of this principle a looking-glass may be used to conceal a given object behind it, while at the same time an image reflected in the glass may be made to represent what would be presumably seen if no glass were there, and thus prevent the presence of the mirror from being suspected. This is the secret of the Sphinx. The table, as already mentioned, has three legs, one in front, and one at each side. Between these legs the spectator sees apparently the curtains at the back of the recess, but really a reflection of the curtains at the sides. The space between the middle leg and that on either side is occupied by pieces of looking-glass (see Fig. 2, which represents a ground plan of the arrangements), extending from _a_ to _b_, and _a_ to _c_. The glass extends quite down to the floor, which is covered with cloth of the same material and color as the surrounding curtains. The {324} spectators, therefore, looking towards the table, see above it the curtains at the back, and below it the reflection of the curtains at the sides; which, however, if the relative angles are properly arranged, appears to be simply the continuation or lower portion of the curtains at the back. The illusion is perfect, and the spectator, from the position assigned to him, cannot possibly discover, by the evidence of his senses, that he is looking at any other than an ordinary bare-legged table, with the background visible in the usual way.
“The rest is a very simple matter. The person who is to represent the Sphinx is beforehand placed, duly attired, underneath the table. There is a trap in the table through which he can pass his head at the proper moment. This trap is a round piece of wood, covered to match the surface of the table, and working on a hinge on the side nearest to the audience. It has no spring, but is kept closed by means of a button on the opposite side, and when released hangs down perpendicularly. It must be large enough to allow the passage of the somewhat elaborate headpiece of the Sphinx, and would therefore leave an open space visible round the neck. This difficulty is met by the expedient of having a wooden collar, the upper surface of which is a facsimile in size and pattern of the trap. This collar is fastened round the neck of the representative of the Sphinx. When he lifts his head up through the trap, the collar exactly fills the opening, and thus shows no break in the surface of the table. The box is bottomless, and when brought forward by the performer is empty. A little caution has to be observed in placing it upon the table, for, if the performer were to approach the table _from the side_, his legs would be reflected in the glass, and would thereby betray the secret. He must therefore make his appearance from some quarter _outside_ of the curtained recess, and advance to a position well in front of, and at some little distance from the table, when, by moving in a straight line from the audience towards the middle leg _a_, he prevents this inconvenient reflection. The placing the box upon the table, and the unlocking it, allow time for the representative of the Sphinx to get his head into position within it. This done, the box is opened, and the rest depends on the dramatic talent of the performer and his assistant. The performance being concluded, the box is again locked, and the head withdrawn, a handful of ashes being introduced on the trap in its stead.
“The angle at which the two mirrors should be set cannot be determined absolutely, but will vary according to the distance and position of the surrounding drapery.”
The above method is generally employed in working the Sphinx illusion, but it differs in one respect from that used by Colonel Stodare. In the Colonel’s presentation of the trick, the box was not _bottomless_. It had a trap in it corresponding with a similar trap in the top of the table. Stodare carried the mystic chest to the “run down” after the lid was closed, and then, by his ventriloquial power, caused a muffled voice to issue from the receptacle, presumably that of the Sphinx. Thus the spectators were led to believe that the head was still in the {325} box, and that the table had nothing whatever to do with the trick. On opening the chest great was the surprise of everyone to behold the head completely vanished, the heap of ashes having taken its place. This was a very clever bit of _mise en scène_, and showed what an artist Stodare was.
And now for a word or two concerning the career of the clever producer of the Sphinx. Colonel Stodare never smelt powder nor directed the manœuvres of a regiment of red coats. His title was self-assumed, to bedazzle the English public. He never wielded any weapon save a wooden wand tipped with ivory. But he did that to perfection. His real name was Alfred Inglis. Little or nothing is known of his early life and education. His first appearance was at the Egyptian Hall, London, on Easter Monday, April 17, 1865, when he introduced, for the first time in England, those celebrated illusions of Hindostan, the “Mango Tree” and the “Indian Basket.” It was on the occasion of his two-hundredth consecutive representation at the aforesaid hall that Stodare introduced the “Sphinx” trick, which at once attracted crowds. On Tuesday evening, November 21, 1865, he had the honor to appear before Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, on the occasion of the birthday of H. R. H. the Princess Royal, afterwards the Empress Frederick of Germany. Stodare died of consumption in 1866. He wrote two small treatises on magic: _The Art of Magic_ (1865) and _Stodare’s Fly-notes_ (1866).
IV.
The inventor of the Sphinx, Mr. Tobin, sold the secret to M. Talrich, of Paris, the proprietor of a wax-works exhibition on the Boulevard de la Madeline. Talrich called his collection of figures the Musée Français. Impressed with the success of Madame Tussaud’s “Chamber of Horrors,” in connection with her wax-works exhibition in London, Talrich transformed the “Talking Head” into the “Decapitated Speaker.” His presentation of the illusion was calculated to strike terror in the mind of the observer. Underneath his museum was a damp and mouldy cellar, which he fitted up for the exhibition. The visitor was conducted down a stairway, dimly lighted by a couple of antique {326} lamps suspended from the vaulted roof. When he reached the bottom he was suddenly confronted with a group of wax figures representing a scene under the Inquisition. Every detail of a torture chamber was given, such as is described by Victor Hugo in his _Notre Dame de Paris_. The cowled emissaries of the Holy Office were depicted in the act of putting a wretched victim to the torture. The light from a flambeau, held by one of the figures, illumined the ghastly scene. In this uncertain light everything was horribly majestic. Pushing onward and turning to the right, “the spectator passed through a dimly-lighted corridor, and found himself in front of a balustrade, breast-high, which extended across the entrance of a narrow recess. In the middle of this gloomy cellar, the floor of which was carpeted with musty straw, was seen a table, on which rested a human head, leaning slightly to one side and apparently asleep. On being addressed by the exhibitor the head raised itself, opened its eyes, and related its own history, including the details of its decapitation, after which it replied, in various languages, to questions put by those present.”
One day a party of young students, out for a lark, began shooting bread pellets at the head, in order to test whether it had entirely lost all sensation. The Decapitated One, in his wrath, abused them soundly, in language that savored more of modern Paris than the days of the Inquisition. This affair got noised abroad, and gay young boulevardiers made up regular parties to go and shoot pellets at the head; this amusement they called “pop-gun practice.” Some of these pellets, not so well “bred” (pardon the pun) as others, struck certain portions of the table which were apparently open, but from which they rebounded, clearly indicating that the supposed vacant space was really a sheet of looking-glass. M. Talrich then put a close-meshed wire grating between the spectators and their victim, but alas! the secret of the Inquisition was disclosed, and the palmy days of the Musée Francais were over. Says Houdin: “The cause of M. Talrich’s failure was the same that brought disaster to the Brothers Davenport. Too great confidence in the Parisian public led both parties to offer what, after all, were but ingenious conjuring tricks as supernatural phenomena.” {327}
V.
A few years ago, the eminent English novelist, H. Rider-Haggard, evolved from his elastic imagination a weird and wonderful romance of Darkest Africa, called “She, who must be obeyed.” It was redolent of magic and mystery. The beautiful sorceress, “She,” a damsel of Greek descent, had lived for centuries in the heart of Africa, ruling over generations of black subjects with an iron despotism, and subduing them by her necromantic power. She was worshiped as a goddess. Her immortality upon earth was due to the rejuvenating effects of the mystic fire of Kor, into which she plunged and renewed her youth at certain periods. Balling in love with a young English explorer, who had succeeded in penetrating into her realm, the Rosicrucian spell was broken, and the beautiful “She” shriveled up and expired in agony while attempting to bathe in the flames of Kor. The scene, as depicted by the novelist, is very awe-inspiring. The book had a great vogue in its day, and was dramatized with fine effect.
“Have you seen ‘She’?” was the apparently ungrammatical question asked by theatre-goers.
Finally, the conjurer, always ready to seize upon the fads and fancies of the day to make capital out of them, took the chief _motif_ of Rider-Haggard’s romance, and built upon it one {328} of the very best illusions in the domain of magic, called “She.” I have understood that the inventor of “She” was the Chevalier Thorne. In this act, a young lady, garbed as the witch of the Dark Continent, was cremated in full view of the audience. It was the Sphinx trick over again, but in a more ingenious shape. The lady mounted a bare-legged table, whereupon an asbestos canopy was lowered over her, so that she was completely concealed from the audience. Suddenly flames and smoke poured forth from beneath the canopy. The shrieks of the victim were heard. When the cover was raised, nothing was to be seen except a blackened skull and some charred bones—the lady was presumably cremated. In another version of the trick, the skull and bones were dispensed with, and the lady reappeared in a private box or came running down the center aisle of the theatre, after the canopy was lifted.
Now for an explanation of the illusion.
The spectators saw an innocent-looking table with four legs, and beneath it, supported by a central rod, four supports holding lighted candles, very much on the order of a chandelier. This latter effect seemed to preclude the idea of mirrors being used. “But things are seldom what they seem,” in magic at least. In reality the table had but _two_ legs, and there were but _two_ candles burning, the remaining legs and tapers being reflections. How was the deception accomplished? In the following manner: Converging at the central standard (Fig. 1) were two plane mirrors, fixed at an angle of ninety degrees with each other and forty-five degrees with the side panels of the screen which boxed in the table from the rest of the stage. These mirrors reflected the side panels, which were of the same color as the panel at the back, and made the spectators believe that they saw underneath the table the rear of the screen. They also reflected the two legs of the table and the two supports with their lighted candles. The triangular wooden box, upon the sides of which the mirrors were fastened, extended to the back panel of the screen. It was covered with cloth of the same color as that of the screen. This box was on a level with the top of the table.
The lady got away through a trap, after having placed the skull and bones in position and ignited a lot of red fire (Fig 2). {329}
Another illusion in which the looking-glass plays a part is that of the Decapitated Princess. Instead of a table, a chair is used. The head stands upright upon two swords, which rest on the arms of the chair. A mirror, placed at an angle of forty-five degrees, reaching from the front part of the arms to the back edge of the seat, reflects the bottom of the chair, thereby inducing the spectators to believe that they see the back of the chair; _ergo_, the seat is empty. Of course, this seat is covered with like material as that of the back of the elaborately carved throne chair. The glass conceals the trap at the back, through which the lady sticks her head and part of her body. She wears about her neck a lace collar, so arranged as to rest nicely on the two Swords.
{330}
I first saw this interesting illusion exhibited in a _café chantant_ in Paris. The fat, thick-necked, little Frenchman, who presented the trick to the audience, reminded me of one of those human-headed bulls carved upon the walls of Assyrian palaces and temples. His hair and beard were oiled and curled. He bellowed out the marvels of his decapitated Princess, and flirted the skirts of his long Prince Albert coat like an animal lashing flies off its flanks with its tail. According to this Chevalier d’Ananias, the Princess lost her charming little powdered head during the reign of Robespierre I; it “sneezed into the basket” of the guillotine one fine morning while the knitting women sat around the scaffold and plied their needles and tongues. “Down with the Aristocrats!” Thanks to an eminent surgeon, who begged the head from the executioner, it was restored to life by hypnotic power. The surgeon handed it down to his descendants. Finally it came into possession of the showman, by what means the gentleman did not relate.
A few days after the above exhibition, I saw the poor little Princess eating cabbage soup in a second-class _cabaret_. Her manager was with her. Her head was on her body at the time.
{331}
TREWEYISM.
“Le mime-comédien Trewey est un prestidigitateur merveilleus, créateur vraiment surprenant d’ombres chinoises avec l’unique secours de ses mains. On peut dire que Trewey est de ceux qui ont agrandi le cercle de la fantasmagorie et en ont fait un des astres les plus vagabonds de la fantaisie.”—DOM BLASIUS: _L’Intransigeant_.
I.
My favorite character in French fiction is Alexander Dumas’ inimitable D’Artagnan, _le mousquetaire par excellence_, who comes out of Gascony with nothing but a rusty suit of clothes on his back, an ancestral sword at his side, his father’s blessing, and a bony sorrel horse under him, to seek his fortune in the world. Aided by his good rapier, his wonderful _sang froid_, splendid audacity and versatile talents, he elbows his way to the foot of a throne, to become captain of the Grand Monarque’s bodyguard, and eventually a marshal of France.
In the world of magic we have a similar character, not a mere figment, however, of the novelist’s imagination, but a living, breathing personality. I refer to Félicien Trewey, the eminent French fantaisiste, whose life reads like a romance. M. Trewey possesses all of the qualities of heart and mind of Dumas’ hero—audacity, versatility, tireless energy in the pursuit of his profession, bonhomie, and what not. Had he lived in the seventeenth century, he doubtless would have been a soldier of fortune like D’Artagnan, fought duels, made love to duchesses, and outwitted a cardinal, but having been born in an age of steam and electricity, and fully realizing the fact that science has reduced the art of war to mere mechanics, he sought out a career that promised the most romance and adventure, and became a mousquetaire of magic, wielding the wand instead of {332} the sword. It is a long, long way from the half-starved mountebank of a wandering caravan to an _Officier d’Académie_ and landed proprietor living at ease in one’s old age. But Trewey has accomplished all this.
II.
One evening, when strolling along the Boulevard, I saw outside of the _Concert des Ambassadeurs_, a billboard, with the following announcement: “Le Grand Trewey! Equilibre, Jonglerie, Prestidigitation.—Le Chapeau Multiforme ou 25 Têtes sous un Chapeau.—Mime.—Musique.—Silhouettes et Ombres des Mains, etc. Amusements Scientifiques et Récréatifs.”
My interest was at once aroused. Here was no ordinary artist, but a man of versatility. I bought a ticket, and was soon seated in the theatre. After the usual infliction of skirt-dancers, acrobats and eccentric singers with raspy voices, the curtain rose on M. Trewey’s act. I sighed with relief. Ah, here was an oasis in the vast Sahara of vaudeville claptrap and mediocrity. {333} I was not disappointed. The stage was elegantly set with gilt tables. The scene was boxed in with rich silk curtains _à la_ Pinetti. A burst of applause (not confined to the _claque_ either), and the great Trewey appeared. A long black cloak enveloped him.
PROGRAMME
PREMIÈRE PARTIE
TREWEY
Dans ses créations. Ouverture. — Equilbres et Jongleries.
DEUXIÈME PARTIE
Fantaisies. — La Valse des Assiettes. — Les Cuvettes tapageuses. — Le Papier multiforme. — La Harpe éolienne. — Le Tabarin moderne.
ENTR’ACTE
TROISIÈME PARTIE
LES OMBRES DES MAINS PAR TREWEY
Ouverture. 1^{re} Série. — Le Lapin — Les deux Oies. — Le Perroquet. — Le Poisson. — L’Eléphant. — Le Taureau. — Le Cygne. — Le Prédicateur. — Le Chat. — Le Chien.
2^e Série. — Le batelier. — Le Pècheur. — Le Jockey. — La Danseuse de corde.
3^e Série. — Les Amours du Policeman, pantomime.
4^e Série. — Silhouettes et Protils illustrés.
5^e Série. — Le Clown et l’Ane savant.
6^e Série. — Le Buveur normand et le Rigolo. — Au Revoir..., galop final.
_Le piano sera tenu par M. Henri DEVIENNE._
Tous les dimanches et jeudis, à 2 heures.
TREWEY
MATINÉE DE FAMILLE
Throwing this off, he appeared in full court costume—a gentleman of the reign of Louis XVI. I felt like asking him, “When did you see last the Chevalier Pinetti?” After a very superior exhibition of juggling and sleight of hand with cards and coins, {334} he passed on to ombromanie, or hand-made shadows, among them being portraits of Thiers, Gladstone, Czar Alexander III, Emile Zola, Gambetta, Bismarck, Crispi and Lord Salisbury. The art of casting silhouettes of animals, such as the dog, the cat, and the rabbit, upon an illuminated wall is very ancient. The Italian painter, Campi, was one of the first to add new types to the collection of figures. Trewey raised the art to the dignity of a stage performance, and endowed it with movement and life. I shall quote as follows from an article on Trewey, contributed by me to the “Cosmopolitan Magazine” some years ago:
“He stands behind a screen, which is brilliantly illuminated by an oxyhydrogen light, and with his hands projects the silhouettes—pictures of soldiers, peasants, abbés, etc., to say nothing of animals. To form the headgear of his men and women, such as the grotesque bonnets of Norman bonnes, the képis of the little piou-pious, and the mortar-boards of the English scholastics, he has recourse to small pieces of cardboard cut to resemble the respective cranial coverings. Trewey is not content with the ‘cold profiles,’ as he calls them, of living creatures, {336} but endows his shadows with animation. His old peasants, for example, smoke, imbibe liquor from large jugs, inhale snuff, roll their eyes, open their mouths, gesticulate; his animals are exceedingly mobile. Besides this, he makes his characters enact charming little pantomimic scenes. One he calls the ‘serenade.’ A piece of cardboard, fashioned to represent the side of a house, constitutes the scenery. A gendarme (supposed to be violently {337} in love with the servant girl) knocks at the door of the mansion, whereupon his fair _inamorata_ appears at the upstairs window. After an exchange of compliments, she withdraws from the window and reappears at the door. She gives to her lover a drink from a suspicious bottle, and he, after wiping his beard, kisses her and retires. Then comes the strolling musician, playing a lugubrious melody on the clarinet. The owner of the house rushes to the bedroom window and motions the player away, but the musician derisively strikes up a lively tune. The irate proprietor now makes his appearance armed with a long broom, with which he thrashes the clarinettist. The musician still persisting, paterfamilias next produces the water jug, and from the upstairs window pours the contents upon the head of the luckless serenader, who quickly makes his exit.
“The little accessories used in this act, such as the helmet for the policeman, the broom, bottle, etc., are cut from pasteboard and, where necessary, attached to the fingers of the performer by means of india-rubber rings. The water jug, however, is an actual little vessel, which is filled with sand. When this is poured out it simulates a flow of water in the most natural manner.
“ ‘The pulpit orator’ is a clever silhouette. About the left arm of the performer is tied a small box, which represents the pulpit; the bent fingers make a canopy. Between the fingers of {338} the right hand is held a bit of pasteboard, cut in the shape of a mortar-board cap. The paraphernalia is very simple. You see the learned divine ascend the pulpit, bend forward in prayer, then begin to exhort an imaginary congregation. He thumps the pulpit rail vehemently, twists himself into all sorts of grotesque positions, and wipes his perspiring brow. After having blessed the people, he descends from his elevated perch.”
I learned from him many interesting things about shadowgraphy and sleight of hand generally. To excel in the art of ombromanie requires long practice. The fingers have to be exercised continuously in certain peculiar movements, such as are depicted in the accompanying illustration. Dexterity is largely dependent upon the formation of the hand, one of the particular characteristics of skillfulness being “the faculty of reversing the metacarpal phalanges of the fingers, so that when the hand is extended it is convex.” Trewey possesses this faculty. Another peculiarity of his hands is the formation of the fingers: they differ very much in length. The middle finger exceeds the ring finger by nearly an inch.
III.
I met Trewey some weeks later, in London, at the Empire Theatre, and we struck up a great friendship which has lasted to this day. The story of his life is full of interest, and is a typical example of the folly of setting anyone to a vocation for which he has no particular taste. Intended at first for the priesthood by his parents, and subsequently for a mechanical trade, Trewey followed his own inclinations—conjuring and juggling. I will quote again from my paper in the “Cosmopolitan Magazine”:
“Like most artists who have risen to eminence on the French stage, Trewey has known hardships and bitter poverty. His youth was a struggle against adverse conditions. But he had in him, in its truest sense, the soul of old Gaul—that joyous insouciance, that sardonic humor, which laughs at fortune and snaps its finger at the world. Natural vivacity will often keep a Frenchman alive, though his body is clothed in rags and his {339} stomach is empty. Trewey was born at Angoulême, France, during the Revolution of 1848. His father was an engineer in a paper mill. Trewey _pére_ was ambitious for his son to enter the Church, so he sent him to the Seminary of the Holy Trinity at Marseilles to study for the priesthood. But fate had willed otherwise. When quite a young boy, Trewey had been taken to see a circus at Marseilles. Among the mountebanks was a conjurer, who gave a very interesting exhibition. The feats of magic of this strolling Merlin so fascinated the little Trewey that he forthwith secretly vowed to become a professional prestidigitateur as soon as he grew up. The studies pursued at the Jesuit college did not cure the boy of his love for the stage. He divided his time between Latin verbs and juggling, mathematics and the art of palmistry. Soon he was able to give little exhibitions, private, of course, for the amusement of his comrades. The good fathers must have thought him a very eccentric youth, for he was continually trying to balance his slate on the tip of his nose. Many a well-deserved cat-o’-nine-tails he got for his improvised feats of equilibration. Lying awake at night in the silent dormitory, he invented tricks, then fell asleep to dream of the wild delights of the mountebank’s life—wandering like a gipsy over the country in a caravan, and performing at the little French villages and towns before crowds of rustics. He pictured himself dressed in gorgeous raiment, exhibiting magic tricks for the amusement of gaping yokels—pulling rabbits from hats, turning omelets into doves, and producing bowls of goldfish from shawls. The boom, boom, of the bass drum, calling the spectators together, resounded in his ears. The boy had in him the spirit of adventure; the blood of some old strolling player of an ancestor ran in his veins. He longed to escape from under the watchful domination of the ‘black robes,’ as he designated the good priests of the seminary. Three years passed. One day, during the Christmas holidays, Trewey refused to return to his studies, so his father placed him in the engine room of the paper mill to learn machinery. Cog wheels and oil cans possessed no more fascination for him than Latin and Greek. One fine summer day he ran away from home in company with an acrobat. {340}
“Trewey, at this period of his career, was not over fifteen years of age, and had but little experience of men and manners. The quiet cloisters of a Jesuit seminary are not conducive to knowledge of the world. Life now became hard for Trewey and his companion, the youthful tumbler. They exhibited in market places, cafés, and in inn yards. The life they led was next door to starvation. Soon Trewey left the acrobat and obtained an engagement at one of the small music halls of Marseilles. The munificent sum of six francs per week (one dollar and twenty cents) was the salary he received for his services. In addition to his juggling exhibition, given several times a day, he was obliged to appear in a pantomime performance at night. In this troupe was the famous Plessis, who eventually became one of the foremost comedians of France, rivaling even the great Coquelin.
“In those days it was the custom for people to throw money on the stage to favorite performers. Applauding with the hands being monopolized by a paid claque, there was no better way for enthusiastic spectators, in French places of amusement, to show their appreciation of the talents of an artist, than by showering upon him gold, silver or copper coins. The vaudeville artists did not consider it beneath their dignity to stoop and gather up these substantial evidences of public favor.
“Said Trewey to me: ‘I saved these coins until I was able to purchase two fine costumes. Then I secured an engagement at the Alcazar at Marseilles.’
“Other engagements followed this, and Trewey became the most popular performer in the south of France. The desire for a roving life led him to become the proprietor of a traveling pantomime and vaudeville company. His versatility was shown here. He juggled, conjured, played Pierrot in the pantomime, danced in the clodoche, and managed the finances of the troupe. After two years of this life, he got an engagement at Bordeaux. It was here that he invented his ombromanie, and straightway became famous. From Bordeaux he migrated to Paris. His success was instantaneous.”
The journalists rallied to his aid. He became the lion of the hour. _L’Illustration_ named his art Treweyism. His reputation was established. {341}
IV.
Trewey is a mimic _par excellence_. He is past master in the art of pantomime and facial expression. One of his particular acts, which has given rise to numerous imitations, is entitled, “Tabarin, or Twenty-five Heads Under One Chapeau.” Thanks to a piece of black felt cloth, circular in shape, with a hole cut in the center, Trewey is able to manufacture in a few minutes all the varieties of headgear required for the Tabarin. For example: Napoleon—A couple of twists of the cloth, and lo! you have a representation of _le chapeau de Marengo_, the little cocked hat which Napoleon made famous, and about which so many legends cluster. With this hastily improvised hat on his head, Trewey assumes the Napoleonic attitude—one hand thrust into his vest, the other behind his back. His physiognomy is that of the great Emperor, as depicted by the painters of the Imperial régime. The likeness is perfect. And so with fat French priests, soldiers, bonnes, landladies, artists, diplomats, etc. It is a portrait gallery of French types; Gavarni lives for us again. And just here, let me digress a moment to explain the origin of the curious word _Tabarin_, which, as all lovers of French comedy know, has passed into the repertory of the national theatre. In the seventeenth century, that bridge of memories, the old Pont Neuf of Paris, was the rendezvous of quacksalvers and mountebanks. Booths for the sale of various articles lined the sides of the bridge. People flocked there to see the sights, to laugh, chat, make love and enjoy life as only Parisians can. Students and grisettes of the _Quartier Latin_ elbowed ladies and gentlemen of the court. Bourgeois families came to study the flippant manners of their superiors. Poodle clippers plied their trade; jugglers amused the _quid nuncs_ with feats of dexterity; traveling dentists pulled teeth and sold balsams; clowns tumbled, and last, but not least, pickpockets lifted purses and silk handkerchiefs with impunity. Says Augustus J. C. Hare (_Walks in Paris_): “So central an artery is the Pont Neuf, that it used to be a saying with the Parisian police, that if, after watching three days, they did not see a man cross the bridge, he must have left Paris.” Any popular witticism in verse was long known as _un Pont-Neuf_. One of the principal {342} vendors of quack nostrums of the Pont Neuf was Montdor. He was aided by a buffoon named Tabarin, who made facetious replies to questions asked by his master, accompanied with laughable grimaces and grotesque gestures. The modern ringmaster and clown of the circus have similar scenes together, minus the selling of medicines. Tabarin was celebrated for his wit. Some of his _bon mots_ have descended to our time. He performed the feat of making some ten different hats out of the brim of a felt hat, giving appropriate facial portraits beneath each, and using wigs and beards to enhance the effect. Such, in brief, is the story of the famous Merry Andrew whose name has become a by-word in France for buffoonery and broad humor. The biographies of such men would make interesting reading for the student of history. But Dame Clio has eyes only for tremendous battles, diplomatic intrigues, the doings of royalty and great folk. The little world of everyday life, that busy ant hill where the human comedy is so ardently played, is beneath her notice. The life and adventures of quacksalvers, minor poets, wandering jugglers, faugh!—that is asking too much of the Muse of History. Says Guizot: “History has no room for all those who throng about her gates without succeeding in getting in and leaving traces of their stay.”
But occasionally a man or woman rises from the dregs of the people and compels recognition; and, sad to relate, nine times out of ten, through the commission of crimes. Have we not Cagliostro and Madame de la Motte, thorough-paced scoundrels and charlatans, but, nevertheless, very delightful folk, who have added a tinge of romance to history? I for one, with Thackeray, confess a weakness for the tittle-tattle of court gossip and backstairs diplomacy. Behind the scenes with Louis XV and XVI, Frederick the Great and Catherine II is far more entertaining than the battles of the period. Casanova gives one a better picture of eighteenth century morals and manners than any of the great historians of the time. History is the dry bones of an epoch; the memoir writers are the Ezekiels who behold the bones clothed with flesh and thrilling with life-blood.
Wandering one morning across the old Pont Neuf, all these thoughts came to my mind. Once again, as in the days of long {344} ago, I saw, in my imagination, the bridge crowded with people. There came to me the faint rustling of silk skirts, the clatter of high-heeled shoes upon the paving stones. Boom! boom! goes the drum. I hear the strident voice of Montdor shouting out his wares, and the unctuous notes of the comical Tabarin uttering a _bon mot_.
V.
Trewey is the inventor of many clever card sleights and passes; for example, a color change executed by taking cards from the back of the pack with the fork of the thumb and forefinger and placing them on the front. The origin of this clever sleight is not generally known. I have seen him throw cards from the stage of the Alhambra Theatre, London, to the topmost gallery. This is a tremendous feat, as the Alhambra is one of the largest theatres in the world. He possesses the peculiar talent of writing in reverse, necessitating the use of a mirror in order to read it. The artistic sentiment was born in him. It seems to be a family characteristic. Rosa Bordas, the celebrated French _chanteuse patriotique_, is his cousin-german. A writer in _L’Echo des Jeunes_ thus apostrophises him in verse:
“Dans le monde artistique ou son étoile brille, Trewey ne peut que resortir, Vraiment, cela tient de famille, Vu que bon sang ne peut mentir.”
The most exclusive and aristocratic salons of Paris and Vienna have engaged his services for private séances. In Spain, Belgium, Austria, Russia and England he was the sensation of the day. At the present time he is living in retirement at Asnières, near Paris, where he has purchased a charming home known as the Villa Traversière _au clair de la lune_. During the Exposition of 1900 he was the manager of the Theatre Phono-Cinéma. Trewey was a great friend of the French inventor, Lumière, and was the first to introduce the cinematographe to the public of London and Paris. At his villa he spends his time inventing and improving devices to be used in moving-picture apparatus, corresponding with his friends, meditating upon the works of his favorite authors, Confucius and {346} Epictetus, and writing songs, farces and dramatic articles. In the year 1903 he was made an _Officier d’Académie_ by the French Government. He married Miss Ixa, of Trocadero fame. Among his pupils may be mentioned the lady conjurer, Mlle. Patrice.
Trewey relates many interesting anecdotes of contemporary French magicians whom he has met on his travels. He is literally a man without envy. His admiration for Buatier de Kolta was unbounded. They were close friends.
He once toured the Continent with the Hungarian conjurer, Velle, who was the first to give exhibitions within a marked circle, where the audience could gather on all sides. Velle impersonated Mephisto to perfection. Trewey and August Lassaigne were once partners. Lassaigne was born in Toulouse, in 1819. Besides being a magician he was an æronaut, having made 347 ascensions. He died in Montpellier in the year 1887.
When Trewey first toured the United States, under the management of Alexander Herrmann, he was very much annoyed by impostors, who advertised themselves as _Drewey_, but their performances were only weak imitations of the original—the merest shadows of a shade. In the wake of the whale follow little fishes—“pikers”—who grab at the crumbs dropped by the monarch of the sea, being too lazy or indifferent to find hunting seas of their own.
“Many amateurs are more skillful than professionals,” said Trewey to me. “I have in mind my friend Alexandre Asso, who was born in Paris in the year 1828. While a student, he once happened to be present at a soirée where M. Comte was giving an exhibition. He was so fascinated that he afterwards took lessons in legerdemain from the professor. When he finished his schooling, he entered the service of the Count de Nigra, then Ambassador to Italy, and remained with him for forty years, visiting London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and other great capitals. Asso often entertained the Count and his friends with conjuring séances. In this way he amused society at nearly all the Courts of Europe, besides giving many entertainments for the benefit of the poor. In spite of his advanced age, he still keeps in practice as a conjurer at his villa at Asnières. He {347} retired from an active life in 1903. We see a great deal of each other.
“Then we have M. Pitau, a wine merchant, who studied legerdemain to amuse his friends and increase his custom. He was a capital guest at the hotel table. People loved to be seated near him, for he was not only skilful at hanky panky with glasses, plates, napkins, knives, corks, coins, etc., but he was a brilliant raconteur and a mimic. His most amusing trick was the following: He would place his hat over his plate, which held perhaps a chop and potatoes. Passing his hand under the hat he would bring forth several five-franc pieces. Then he would pass it a second time beneath the chapeau and bring out five or six gold one-hundred-franc pieces. Now he would exclaim: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I will give what is left on the plate for ten centimes.’ Lifting the hat, a child’s sock or an old shoe {348} would be seen, the chop and potatoes having vanished. This feat was always greeted with shouts of laughter. Pitau often gave entire performances for charitable purposes.”
Behind the scenes in an Egyptian temple would doubtless have revealed many curious secrets of natural magic to the uninitiated. Like all so-called sorcerers, the priests evidently compiled works on the subject of their art for the benefit of their successors. But not one of these has come down to us. Hermes Trismegistus is said to have written two myriads of books on the occult sciences. He was the Alexander Dumas of the Egyptian pantheon.
Trewey, an apt descendant of the ancient magi of the land of Mizraim, has compiled a ponderous folio of illusions and feats of juggling and legerdemain; a great manuscript volume of mysteries, the text of which is illustrated by pen-and-ink sketches by himself. Over two thousand magical experiments are described and explained in this tome of thaumaturgy, gathered from all sources, many of them being his own inventions, perhaps the majority of them. I know that this volume exists, for I have seen it and glanced over it. I have urged Trewey to publish the work. Perhaps he will some day, now that he has the leisure for literary labors. He is at present at work on his invention, the _Treweyorama_, which will be exhibited soon in Paris.
{349}
INDEX OF TRICKS AND ILLUSIONS
Aerial suspension, Houdin’s, 141, 142.
Alchemy, pretended, of Cagliostro, 55.
Altars, magic, 6–9.
Amateur conjuring, 205–209, 346–348.
Anderson, bullet-catching trick, 173; second sight, 173.
Automata, 26, 107–119.
Balsamo, mask of, 42, 43.
Basket trick, Hindoo, 246, 247.
Bel, priests of, and Daniel, 4.
Bible account of Daniel and priests of Bel, 4.
Bird, Pinetti’s mechanical, 29.
Black art, Buatier de Kolta’s, 293–299.
Blind man’s game of piquet, 22.
Blitz, _Signor_, ventriloquial experience with Paginini, 178–180.
Blue room. _See_ Metempsychosis.
Bosco, cup-and-ball trick, 169–171; pocket-picking experiment, 167, 168.
Bottle, inexhaustible, 165, 166.
Boumski and the duck, 230, 231.
Box, magic, 22.
Bullet-catching trick, Anderson’s, 173; Herrmann’s, 231, 231–233; Houdin’s, 152.
Burglar-proof desk, Houdin’s, 128–131.
Bust of Socrates, Houdin’s, 140, 141.
_Cabaret du Néant_, 104–106.
Cagliostro, casket, 143–149; crystal vision, 51–53; pretended alchemy, 55; spirit séance, 55, 59; spirit writing, 54, 55.
Camera, use of, in magic, 16.
Card box, magic, 22.
Card trick, Comte’s, 161.
Cellini, Benvenuto, experience with a sorcerer, 13–16.
Ceres, temple of, machinery for deception, 3.
Chambers, secret, in ancient temples, 2, 3.
Chapeaugraphy. _See_ Tabarin.
Chess player, Kempelen’s automaton, 107–116; Maelzel’s experiences with, 107–111.
Clock, Houdin’s magic, 126.
Clever swan, Pinetti’s, 26.
Comte, card trick, 161; ventriloquism, 160, 161.
Concave mirrors, and art of phantasmagoria, 2, 13, 15, 16, 91.
Confederates, use of, 29, 30.
Conradi, inventor of lamp trick, 237.
Crystal vision, Cagliostro, 51–53; psychology of, 51, 52.
Cup-and-ball trick, Bosco’s, 169–171.
Cybele, miraculous statue of, 9–11.
Daniel, and priests of Bel, 4.
Davenport Brothers, rope trick, 250.
Decapitated princess, 329, 330.
_Decapitè parlant_, 325, 326.
De Grisy’s watch trick, 19–21.
De Kolta, Buatier, black art, 293–299; magic die, 292.
Dessoir, Max, on psychology of crystal gazing, 51, 52.
Die, magic, 292.
Doors, temple, opened when fire is lighted on altar, 6–8; trumpet blown on opening, 5, 6.
Double vision of Dr. Sarak, 257, 267–269.
Duck, Boumski and the, 230, 231.
Fakir of Ava, watch trick, 241–243.
Fish eggs, magic hatching, 256, 257.
Fox sisters, spirit rapping, xxx.
Frikell, lessons in magic, 184, 185.
Ghost illusion, Pepper’s, 92–94; Robertson’s, 87–92; Robert-Houdin’s adaptation of, 95–97; Robin’s, 95, 97–100.
Ghosts. _See under_ Cagliostro.
_Gibécière_, use of, 17, 18.
Golden head and rings, Pinetti’s, 26.
Goldfish trick, Robinson’s, 286.
Goldin, invisible flight, 275–277.
“Gone,” Robinson’s illusion, 287–289.
Handcuff trick, Houdini’s, 306–314.
Heller, Robert, second sight, 188–191.
Heron, temple tricks revealed, 5–9.
Herrmann, Alexander, bullet catching trick, 231–233; impromptu trick, 217; spirit-writing, 219; Thibetan mail, 219, 220; Vanity Fair illusion, 233, 234; watch trick, 229, 230.
Hindoo basket, 246, 247.
Hoffmann, _Prof._, explanation of Sphinx illusion, 322–324.
Horse, alleged stopping of, by power of will, 266, 267.
Houdin. _See_ Robert-Houdin.
Houdini, Harry, handcuff trick, 306–314.
Hypnotic feat of Egyptian sorcerer, 1.
Indian basket. _See_ Hindoo basket.
Invisible flight, Goldin’s, 276, 277.
Kellar and Fakir of Ava, 241–243; levitation mystery, 243–245; rope tricks, 248–250; Yoge’s lamp, 237, 238.
Kempelen, chess-playing automaton, 107–116.
Kircher, _Father_, temple trick described, 9–11.
Lamp, mysterious, Pinetti, 26; Yoge’s, Kellar, 237, 238.
Levitation mystery, Kellar’s, 243–245.
Light and heavy chest, Houdin’s, 138–140, 150–152.
Lustral water vase, magic, 11.
Maelzel, and the chess-player, 107–111.
Magic clock, Houdin’s, 126.
Magic mirror, Cagliostro’s, 51–53; concave, 2, 13, 15, 16, 91.
Magic villa, Houdin’s, 153, 154.
Magical bouquet, Pinetti’s, 27.
Mango tree, xxviii–xxx.
Maskelyne’s “Psycho,” 116–119; spirit music-box, 119–121.
Matthews, Brander, explanation of Houdin’s casket trick, 146–149.
Metempsychosis, 100–104.
Music-box, spirit, Maskelyne’s, 119–121.
Mysteries of “Yud,” 266, 267.
Mysterious lamp, Pinetti’s, 26.
_Ombromanie._ _See_ Shadowgraphy.
Orange tree, Houdin’s, 142, 143.
Paganini, demon of, 98, 99; experience with Signor Blitz, 178–180.
Parsell, Henry V. A., exposé of spirit music-box, 119–121; Robinson’s “Gone,” 287–289.
Pepper, ghost illusion, 92, 93; metempsychosis, 100–104.
Phantasmagoria, art of, 2, 13, 15, 16, 91.
Pinetti, beheaded dove, 26, 27; clever swan, 26; golden head and rings, 26; fettering and binding experiments, 27; magical bouquet, 27; mechanical bird, 29; mysterious lamp, 26; recovered ring, 28, 29, 38; ring and ribbons, 27; second sight, 35; stage, 36; Wise little Turk, 26.
Piquet, blind man’s game of, 22.
Pistol trick, fatal, of De Grisy, 22.
Polyoscope, Seguin’s, 94.
“Psycho,” Maskelyne’s, 116–119.
Recovered ring, Pinetti’s, 28, 29, 38.
Ring and ribbons, Pinetti’s, 27.
Robert-Houdin, aeriel suspension, 141, 142; bullet-catching, 152; burglar-proof desk, 128–131; bust of Socrates, 140, 141; Cagliostro’s casket, 143–149; ghost illusion, 97–100; history of Kempelen’s chess-player, 112–116; light and heavy chest, 138–140, 150–152; magic clock, 126; magic villa, 153, 154; orange tree, 142, 143; stage, 138; trick table, 137.
Robertson, ghost illusion, 87–92.
Robin, ghost illusion, 95, 97–100; stage, 164, 165.
Robinson, goldfish trick, 286; illusion “Gone,” 287–289.
Rods turning into serpents, x.
Rope tricks, Davenport Brothers, 250; Kellar’s, 248–250; Pinetti’s, 27.
Salverte, description of temple tricks, 2.
Sarak, Dr., double vision, 257, 267–269; hatching fish eggs by magic, 256, 257; stopping horse by power of will, 266, 267.
Second sight, Anderson’s, 173; Heller’s, 188–191; invented by Pinetti, 35; silent, 194–198; Wyman’s, 203; Zancigs’, 199, 200.
Séguin’s polyoscope, 94.
Sepulchre, marvellous, 5.
Serpents, rods turning into, x.
_Servante_, 18.
Shadowgraphy, Trewey’s, 333–338.
“She,” illusion, 327–328.
Shirt trick, Pinetti’s, 29–31.
Silent second sight, Svengalis’, 194–198.
Slade, Dr., and spirit slates, xxvi.
Slot machine, antiquity of, 11.
Spectres. _See_ Ghost illusion.
Sphinx illusion, 318–326.
Spirit music-box, Maskelyne’s, 119–121.
Spirit rapping, xxx.
Spirit séance, Cagliostro’s, 59.
Spirit writing, Cagliostro’s, 54; Herrmann’s, 219.
Stage, Houdin’s, 138.
Stodare, Colonel, and Sphinx illusion, 320, 324, 325.
Svengalis, silent second sight, 194–198.
Swing, magic, xx–xxiii.
Sword trick, xxiii, xxiv.
Tabarin, Trewey’s, 341, 342.
Tables, conjuring, 18, 138.
Talrich’s _decapitè parlant_, 325, 326.
Tarsus, temple of, illusions, 2.
Tavern of the dead. _See_ _Cabaret du Néant_.
Temple doors. _See_ Doors, temple.
Ten-Ichi, thumb-tying trick, 27.
Theurgists, deceptions of, 2.
Thibetan mail, 219, 220.
Thompson, Alfred, and Sphinx illusion, 320–322.
Thumb-tying trick, Pinetti’s, 27; Ten Ichi’s, 27.
Thurston, Howard, tricks and illusions of, 278.
Tobin, Thomas, inventor of Sphinx illusion, 318.
Trewey, shadowgraphy, 333–338; Tabarin, 341, 342.
Trick table, Houdin’s, 137, 138.
Trunk trick, 249.
“Vanity Fair” illusion, 233, 234.
Ventriloquism, Blitz, 178–180; Comte, 160, 161.
Watch trick, De Grisy’s, 19–21; Fakir of Ava’s, 241–243; Herrmann’s, 229, 230.
Whist playing automaton. _See_ “Psycho.”
Wine and milk trick, 12.
Wise little Turk, Pinetti’s, 26.
Wyman, second sight, 203.
Yoge’s lamp, Kellar’s, 237, 238.
“Yud,” mystery of, 266–267.
Zancigs, second sight, 199, 200.
Zöllner’s illusion, xix.
FINIS
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
Original spelling and grammar have been generally retained, with some exceptions noted below. Original printed page numbers are shown like this: {52}. Original small caps are now uppercase. Italics look _like this_. Illustrations have been moved from within paragraphs of text to nearby locations between paragraphs. Footnotes have been relabeled 1–29, and moved from within paragraphs to nearby locations between paragraphs. Several missing full stops were inserted, commonly at the end of a line of text. The transcriber produced the cover image and hereby assigns it to the public domain. Original page images are available from archive.org—search for “cu31924029935743”.
Page 26. Changed “in unison with the head, head,” to “in unison with the head,”.
Page 140. Right double quotation mark removed after “six spectators.”.
Page 141. “inedequate” to “inadequate”.
Page 146. Right single quotation mark inserted after “impression of Cagliostro’s seal.”.
Page 162. “(London, March, 1846):” to “(London, March, 1846).”.
Page 219. “Hermann” to “Herrmann”.
Page 226. “secene” to “scene”.
Page 229. Right single quotation mark inserted after “order of the Medjidie.”
Page 257. “Apparenty” to “Apparently”.
Page 263. “Fortuntely” to “Fortunately”.
Page 316. Removed right double quotation mark from ‘magic are over.” ’.
Page 327. “wierd” to “weird”.
Page 348. “unintiated” to “uninitiated”.
Page 350. Changed “Shadowgraphy, Trewey’s, 33–338” to “Shadowgraphy, Trewey’s, 333–338”.
Page 351. Added page reference “2” for entry “Tarsus”.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Old and the New Magic, by Henry Ridgely Evans