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.

[Illustration: HARRY 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.”

[Illustration: FIG. 1.—THE CELEBRATED “LEVITATION” MYSTERY.]

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.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.—“LEVITATION”—HYPNOTISM OR MECHANISM?—WHICH?]

“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.”

[Illustration: FIG. 3.—“LEVITATION” HOW THE HOOP IS PASSED OVER THE

BODY.]

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.”

[Illustration]

{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.

[Illustration: THE MYSTERIOUS TRUNK OPERATED THROUGH A TRAP IN THE

STAGE.]

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.

[Illustration: X-RAY PHOTOGRAPH OF KELLAR’S HAND.

(In Possession of Mr. Francis J. Martinka, New York.)]

{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.

[Illustration: THE INVISIBLE FLIGHT.]

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}

[Illustration: POWELL, THE PRESTIDIGITATEUR]

{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.

[Illustration: CHUNG LING SOO.

(Mr. Wm. G. Robinson.)]

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.

[Illustration]

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.”

[Illustration: A LONDON SIGN BOARD OF CHUNG LING SOO.]

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.

[Illustration: “GONE,” ROBINSON’S ILLUSION.]

“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.

[Illustration: BUATIER DE KOLTA]

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.

[Illustration: BUATIER DE KOLTA’S FLYING CAGE.]

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.

[Illustration: “BLACK ART”—SOME OF ITS MYSTERIES.]