“The performer proceeds next with a decapitation act, in which a lady

is beheaded in full view of the audience. At a wave of his hand a

lady appears, and hands to him her own gruesome means of execution,

a large, glittering sabre, which he takes, {295} and with one swing

cuts her head clean off where she stands. Catching the head as it

falls, he places a pair of wings at the back of it, when it becomes a

flying cherub, and immediately soars all about the chamber, finally

returning to his outstretched hand. He then removes the wings and

replaces the head upon the lady’s shoulders, restoring her to life,

for which kindness she quickly embraces him and vanishes. Wishing

to get another such share of her favors, the performer endeavors to

bring her back by magic aid, but is surprised by the appearance of a

grinning ghost, whose whole body consists of a skull, with a moving

jaw, draped with a white sheet. He catches it, and detaching its

skull brings it forward for a closer scrutiny, the jaw moving all the

time and the sheet dancing about alone. He then throws the skull into

the air and it is seen no more.

[Illustration: INVISIBLE ATTENDANT PRODUCING THE TABLE.]

[Illustration: THE SWINGING BUST EXPLAINED.]

“The séance is generally concluded by an invisible flight, the

vanishing performer immediately reappearing amongst the audience. He

takes the dancing sheet and entirely covers himself with it, standing

in the center of the chamber, taking great care to drape himself in

such a manner as to show the shape of his body. In a few seconds the

sheet collapses, and before it has time to reach the ground a shout

is heard in the back of the {296} hall; the audience turning around

naturally are surprised to see the performer standing amongst them,

smilingly bowing in acknowledgment of the applause which greets him.

[Illustration: DECAPITATION.

Showing the girl’s head covered with a black hood—The girl acting for

the head falling to her knees.]

[Illustration: Le Commandeur, Marius Cazeneuve]

“As before mentioned, the whole of this takes place in darkness,

obtained by the chamber being draped in black velvet and the floor

covered with black felt. The brightness of the lights turned towards

the audience, contrasting with the denseness of the black behind,

dazzles the eye to such an extent that it cannot discern anything in

the chamber that is not white or of a very light color. The stage is

all arranged before the act, and the tables are in their respective

places, but cannot be seen on account of their being draped with

black velvet. The goblets, frame, lady, ghost, etc., are all placed

in readiness behind a black screen, also draped. None of this can

be seen while they are behind the lights, if kept covered in black,

no matter how near to the front they are placed. But how do they

float about and appear so mysteriously? An assistant is within the

chamber, dressed in black velvet throughout, with black gloves and

mask, covering all signs of white about him and making him perfectly

invisible. He wears no boots, and the felt {297} upon the floor

deadens the sound of all his movements. He it is who really produces

all the articles. When the performer stretches his hand out for the

wand, the assistant brings it from behind the screen and hands it

to him with a floating movement. As the performer taps the floor he

immediately pulls away the black covering and the table instantly

appears to view. The goblets are painted black inside, allowing him

to hold them at the back with his fingers inside, unnoticed. After

the tables are both produced he places the goblets upon them at the

right moment with one hand while he pulls off the velvet with the

other. The exposition is so quick and sudden that nothing suspicious

can be noticed. The turning of the goblet is also the work of the

invisible assistant, and is quickly changed from one hand to another

when the ring is being passed over it. The watches, etc., are not

placed in the goblet as they appear to be, but dropped behind it into

the assistant’s hands, who takes them over to the other while the

performer is exhibiting his empty hands. The picture-frame is also

handed by the assistant, and when it is apparently placed in mid-air

is really passed to the assistant, who quickly hangs it up. When it

is covered the lady steps from behind the screen to the frame, and

stands upon a swing which nearly reaches to the floor behind it,

and catches hold of the frame sides; the assistant draws away the

velvet which draped her, and keeps the swing in motion. The frame is

attached to the wires of this swing. The lady is dressed in white to

the waist, which exactly reaches the bottom of the frame. Below the

frame she is dressed in black velvet. When the frame is again covered

she steps back behind the screen while the assistant fits the Union

Jack in the frame. In the decapitation act there are two ladies,

one dressed all in white, the other standing behind her dressed in

black, with her head covered by a black hood. When the performer

swings the sabre the assistant covers the white lady’s head with a

black velvet hood, at the same time pulling the hood quickly from the

other lady’s head, who immediately falls to her knees. The illusion

looks perfect—a body apparently standing without a head and the head

apparently falling. When the wings are put on she flaps them by means

of a wire and runs round the {298} chamber, stooping at intervals,

so as to take an irregular course. The beheaded lady is restored by

exactly the reverse method, and she disappears behind the screen. The

ghost is danced about on a stick by the assistant, and when its skull

is thrown into the air it is caught in a black bag. The performer

takes the sheet and goes behind it and hands it to the assistant, and

it is the latter who is seen draping himself, the performer running

around to {299} the back of the hall meanwhile, where he waits to see

the sheet drop. The assistant, allowing time for this, simply lets

go the top of the sheet, and, of course, cannot be seen behind it.

The performer runs in before it has time to reach the ground, his

invisible flight and immediate reappearance greatly astonishing the

spectators.”

[Illustration: CAZENEUVE PERFORMING A TRICK.]

{300}

VII.

Cazeneuve, better known as _le commandeur_ Cazeneuve, the great

card expert and magician, was born in Toulouse in 1840. He adopted

magic, after witnessing a performance of that original genius,

Bosco. His chivalric title (commander of the imperial order of

Medjidie) was conferred upon him by the Sultan of Turkey, with

whom he was a favorite. At the Court of Russia he and his charming

wife made a great sensation with the second-sight trick. When the

Franco-Prussian war broke out, Cazeneuve returned to Toulouse and

raised two companies of soldiers, one of which was composed entirely

of theatrical people. He served as captain of the 1st regiment of

Tirailleurs d’Elite, under the command of Colonel Riu, and fought

bravely for France. After peace was declared he prepared a new

programme of magic and toured Europe and the Americas. He has a

handsome home in his native city of Toulouse, where he has collected

many rare curios. In the year 1905, Cazeneuve was touring Algeria

with a magic show. He is a member of several scientific societies,

and manifests great interest in physics.

I first saw Carl Hertz in Baltimore at the old vaudeville theatre

“across the bridge,” some twenty years ago. I remember him as a

clever, good-looking young fellow, possessed of considerable dash,

and very neat in the performance of card tricks. His specialty was

the “bird-cage trick,” which he did to perfection. He was born in

San Francisco, of German parents. His first manager was M. de Frère.

Hertz has traveled extensively in the Orient. With the bird-cage

trick he puzzled the best informed fakirs of India. In Borneo he

met with a most romantic adventure. He is probably the only man who

has had to offer himself as a burnt-offering to escape an amorous

Princess. He was giving a series of magical entertainments before

a Malay Sultan and Court, and not only succeeded in fascinating

the yellow-skinned monarch, but his daughter as well. The young

princess proposed marriage to the conjurer. “On Mr. Hertz informing

the lady, through an interpreter, that he was already wedded, she

replied that made no difference to her, as she would rule his other

ladies. Here was a fix. However, with the {301} connivance of the

British Vice-Consul, Mr. Hertz took the place of his lawful spouse

in the Phœnix illusion, and jumping into the blazing caldron waved

an affectionate adieu to the astonished and dismayed Princess. Mrs.

Hertz had to keep up the delusion by weeping copiously while her

husband was being conveyed to the coast in a basket.”

In the Sandwich Islands, on one occasion, a chief leaped upon the

stage where Hertz was performing and began worshiping him as a god.

How very real must have been the effect of Hertz’s magic upon the

untutored mind of that simple native.

In the year 1904, a troupe of Hindoo jugglers, acrobats and snake

charmers were brought to the United States to entertain lovers of the

marvelous at the St. Louis Exposition. Among them was a man with an

unpronounceable name, whom the management dubbed “Alexander.” I met

the dusky necromancer at Martinka’s in the summer of 1904. He went

about the streets of New York garbed in his rich Oriental costume.

The street gamins always followed him from his hotel to the Palace of

Magic and stood about the doorway in crowds, awaiting in breathless

astonishment some feat of wizardry. But the impassive Hindoo paid

no attention to his youthful admirers, but went on blowing wreaths

of smoke from Egyptian cigarettes, and making purchases of magical

apparatus with which to astonish the natives of his beloved India.

Taking magic tricks to India is like carrying coals to Newcastle. But

Alexander had a very high opinion of Occidental conjuring, and fully

realized the fact that the sorcerers of the West, aided by all the

resources of modern science, were the superiors of the Hindoo fakirs,

except perhaps in one particular—feats of hypnotism and apparent

death. I saw Alexander, in Martinka s little back shop, support a

couple of heavy iron weights, which were fastened at the ends of a

cord, upon his eyelids. The cord rested on the lids, the weights

dangling at the ends of the string. The pressure upon the eyeballs

must have been tremendous. Alexander presented Dr. Ellison with a

wand—the thigh-bone of a sacred simian from the famous monkey temple

of India. The bone was inscribed with cabalistic characters and

Sanskrit sentences. The monkey is famous for playing {302} tricks,

and the thigh-bone of a sacred monkey consequently ought to make an

admirable mystic wand for a conjurer. The doctor prizes this unique

relic very highly, and is thinking of building a shrine of Benares

copper for its reception. In the future, crowds of wandering wizards

will doubtless make pilgrimages to this shrine to gaze in ecstasy

at the holy relic, just as crowds of East Indians visit the temple

where Buddha’s wisdom tooth is displayed for the delectation of the

faithful.

VIII.

In the year 1894 there flashed on the theatrical horizon of Europe an

eccentric gentleman conjurer, who performed with a mask on his face,

advertising himself as _L’Homme Masqué_ (the Masked Man).

“Who is he?” inquired the _quid nuncs_ of the vaudeville theatres.

Nobody seemed to know. Had the Man in the Iron Mask, celebrated by

Voltaire and Alexander Dumas, come to life again?

“What does he wear a mask for?” asked the public.

“To hide his aristocratic features,” replied the manager of _L’Homme

Masqué_. “He wishes to remain incognito.”

Eventually he permitted his name to leak out. It was Marquis d’O.

“But ‘O’ is not a name,” cried the _quid nuncs_. “It is a letter,

an exclamation of surprise or terror.” “Not so fast,” remarked the

Dryasdusts. “There was a Marquis d’O who lived in the seventeenth

century. He was a noted duelist and gambler, but that did not prevent

him from being a favorite with Henri III of France. Possibly _L’Homme

Masqué_ is a descendant of the famous nobleman of the old régime. He

is unquestionably a Frenchman, for he speaks like a native.”

The masked man refused to further reveal his identity. In one respect

he resembled the favorite of the Valois King. He was familiar with

cards. After losing 800,000 francs at Monte Carlo, he took up magic

as a profession and made his début, March, 1894. I have ascertained

that the Marquis is a native of Peru, South America. His real name I

do not know. The “O” perhaps is a _nom de thèatre_. Again, it may be

an {303} abbreviation of Olivarez. Mr. Downs writes as follows in

the Sphinx, January, 1903, concerning the mysterious marquis:

“_L Homme’ Masqué_ (Marquis d’O) and myself are especially engaged

to give a series of magical performances at the Casino Theatre,

Spa, Belgium, Nov. 15 to Dec. 31, 1902. The Marquis is a remarkably

clever magician of the non-apparatus school and gives an hour and

thirty minutes’ performance, changing his show each evening. He uses

only cards, handkerchiefs, flowers, eggs and other small objects

for his illusions. He is eminently original and possesses a great

personality. He is a decided sensation in the theatrical world. His

success has been so pronounced that he has had many imitators who

have donned the mask and traded on his reputation. The Society of

Magicians in Hamburg presented him with a valuable gold-tipped wand

set with diamonds. Like Robert-Houdin, the Marquis presents his

audiences with many charming souvenirs, some of them of considerable

value, such as cigarette cases, cigars, bouquets, etc. He is very

popular in aristocratic circles. When in London, he received as high

as £20 for a private entertainment and was invited everywhere.”

To keep the public guessing is the particular business of a conjurer,

but to keep people guessing as to your identity as well as your

tricks, caps the climax in the art of mystery mongering. Imagine

the Sphinx wearing a mask. This business of a wizard disguising his

features with a black mask is a piece of sublime audacity. _Vive le_

Marquis d’O! Is it not a pity that such an act cannot be copyrighted?

Think of some really original idea and produce it on the stage and

immediately hundreds of imitators will spring up like mushrooms in a

single night. Not only will they copy your act, but your patter as

well.

Two of our foremost American conjurers, Downs and Houdini, can

testify to this fact. T. Nelson Downs, the “King of Coins,” a native

of Marshaltown, Iowa, invented a number of original sleights with

coins, which he embodied in an act known as the Miser’s Dream. A

brilliant success was the result, whereupon a legion of imitators,

billing themselves as Coin Kings, sprang up everywhere. Downs,

however, remains the unapproachable manipulator of coins; his

imitators have gone {304} to the wall, one after the other. Downs’

act is really unique, He is also a fine performer with cards. Edward

VII of England, who has a penchant for entertainments of magic and

mystery, had Downs give private séances for him, and was charmed with

the American’s skill.

IX.

A word or two here concerning that brilliant entertainer, Harry

Houdini, whose handcuff act is the sensation of two continents.

Mr. Houdini, whose real name is Weiss, was born April 6, 1873, in

Appleton, Wisconsin. He began his career as an entertainer when

but nine years of age, doing a contortion and trapeze act in Jack

Hoffler’s “five cent” circus in Appleton. His mother took him away

from the sawdust arena and apprenticed him to a locksmith. Here he

was initiated into the mysteries of locks and keys, and laid the

foundation of his great handcuff act. Locksmithing, despite the fact

that King Louis XVI of France worked at it as an amateur, possessed

no charms for the youthful Houdini. To use his own expression, “One

day I made a bolt for the door, and never came back to my employer.”

Again he went with a circus, where he acted as a conjurer, a clown

and a ventriloquist. He made a specialty of the rope-tying business

and performed occasionally with handcuffs, but without sensational

results. Finally the circus landed in Rhode Island and opened up in

a town where Sunday performances were forbidden by law, but were

greatly desired by a large section of the population. As the fine was

light, the proprietor ran the risk, and gave a show on the Sabbath. A

summons followed, and each member of the troupe was fined. As Houdini

epigrammatically put it: “The manager couldn’t find the fine, so we

all found ourselves in confinement.” Houdini was locked up in a cell

with a number of side-show freaks, the fat lady, the living skeleton,

and the German giant. The fat lady was too wide for the compartment,

the giant too long. With tears in their eyes they emplored Houdini to

pick the lock and let them out. Finally the young conjurer consented,

and dexterously picked the lock, whereupon he and his companions

{305} marched out of the jail in triumph, and paraded down the main

street of the town in Indian file, to the great amusement of the

populace. Houdini was rearrested on the charge of jail-breaking,

but the judge let him off with a reprimand. This event decided his

career. He became a “Handcuff King.”

[Illustration: HARRY HOUDINI

(The Handcuff King)]

His salary at the Alhambra Theatre, London, was $300 a week. One week

at St. Petersburg, Russia, netted him over $2,000. He appeared before

royalty. {306}

[Illustration: HARRY HOUDINI, IN HANDCUFFS AND CHAINS]

The handcuff act when exhibited with the proper _mise en scène_

is certainly very mystifying and calculated to produce a profound

impression on the minds of susceptible people. Taking the cue from

the Davenport Brothers, Houdini might have advertised himself as a

spirit medium, thereby creating a great sensation. But he preferred

not to play the charlatan. I am not personally acquainted with his

method of working the trick, therefore I express no opinion on the

subject, except to say that the locks of the handcuffs are _picked_

with a key of some {307} kind which is adroitly secreted about the

person of the performer; or some soft piece of iron or copper wire

which can be converted into a skeleton key. In the event of his

being stripped naked (as often occurs in the case of Houdini) the

key is probably hidden in the nose, ear, mouth, or bushy hair of the

Handcuff King—or else slipped to him by a confederate, or concealed

in a pocket in the drapery of the cabinet. I quote the following from

the _Strand Magazine_ (Sept., 1903):

“For a man fettered with handcuffs, leg-irons, and chains to free

himself in less time than it has taken to fasten him has long been

so mystifying a performance that many people have acquired the

impression that it bordered on the supernatural. The secret is,

however, like many of the best tricks ever invented, in reality a

surprisingly simple one.

[Illustration: FIG. 1—THE PERFORMER FASTENED WITH SIX PAIRS OF

HANDCUFFS.]

“In the first place, it must be remembered that handcuffs such as are

used by Scotland Yard are constructed with spring-locks, which are

fastened or released by means of a key, or some article which answers

the same purpose, which pulls back the spring. Without the aid of

such a key it is impossible for any human being to free himself from

the regulation handcuffs employed by the police. And herein lies the

whole {308} secret—the performer _has_ a key, or rather several

keys. All his ingenuity is exercised in concealing these about his

person, or inside the cabinet to which he retires to release himself

after being, to all appearances, helplessly secured.

“Some of these keys are concealed in the framework of the cabinet,

which is generally constructed of piping, having additional pieces

which appear to be essential portions of the framework, but which in

reality are only intended to hold the keys. Other keys the performer

keeps disposed about his person in sundry small pockets especially

made for the purpose, and so arranged that he is able to place his

hand upon some one or other of them in whatever position he may be.

The best places for concealment are—first, a pocket between the

knees, to permit the key to be reached when the performer is fastened

in a crouched position; secondly, a pocket about six inches up inside

the leg of the trousers; thirdly, a key carried in the hip pocket of

the trousers, for use when pinioned with the arms behind the back;

and finally, a small pocket inside the top of the waistcoat, or

wherever it may be found convenient.

[Illustration: FIG. 2—THE HANDKERCHIEF AND KEY DRAWN FROM THE

WAISTCOAT.]

[Illustration: FIG. 3—UNLOCKING THE HANDCUFFS WITH THE KEY.]

{309}

“Let us now turn to the photographs, which have been especially taken

for this article, and which render the whole proceeding very clear.

In Fig. 1 the performer is fastened with six pairs of handcuffs. In

such a position it seems impossible that he can free himself; but

by putting his hands over his head and down his coat collar he has

caught the end of a silk handkerchief thrust into the breast of his

waistcoat, to which a key is attached. Fig. 2 shows the handkerchief

and key drawn to the front; while Fig. 3 shows the key inserted in

the lock.

[Illustration: FIG 4—METHOD OF USING THE KEY WHEN OUT OF REACH OF THE

FINGERS.]

“Fig. 4 shows the method employed when the position is such that it

is impossible, owing to the awkwardness of the attitude, to pull the

lock back. A piece of violin string is made into a loop and kept

inside the cabinet. When it is impossible to draw the key, and with

it the lock spring, with the fingers, the loop is put over the key,

the heel of the boot placed {310} in the other end of the loop, and

the lock is then easily drawn back. After one pair has been opened

the others follow as a matter of course.

“Figs. 5 and 6 show another position, the key this time being

obtained from the waistcoat. Fig. 7 shows one of the most difficult

positions in which it is possible to be placed. The silk handkerchief

shown is just peeping from the waistcoat, and is brought out by the

aid of the tongue, it being possible to draw out a good silk by

licking it. In Fig. 8 the performer has rolled over and obtained a

good hold of the handkerchief, which, by a quick jerk of the head,

he throws over his back, and eventually gets hold of it with his

hands, as shown in Fig. 9. If the key falls to the floor he rolls

over and picks it up, the rattle of the handcuffs hiding the sound

of the falling key. His next movement is to free his hands from his

feet, which he does in the manner already described. The key for this

position can also be obtained from the leg of the trousers.

[Illustration: FIGS. 5 AND 6—ANOTHER POSITION, THE KEY BEING OBTAINED

FROM THE WAISTCOAT.]

[Illustration: FIG. 7—ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT POSITIONS.

(The performer is drawing out the handkerchief with his tongue.)]

[Illustration: FIG. 8—THE HANDKERCHIEF AND KEY DRAWN OUT.]

[Illustration: FIG 9—THE HANDKERCHIEF THROWN OVER THE BACK AND THE

KEY CAUGHT BY THE HAND.]

“Fig. 10 shows the implements of torture and the condition of the

performer’s wrists after an exhibition. The special keys {312} are

split with a saw about half an inch down, to allow for variation in

the sizes of various locks (Fig. 11). It should be understood that

an expert, when about to give a performance, inquires what position

it is intended to place him in. He then causes, as an introduction,

a few pairs of his own handcuffs to be placed on his wrists, and

while freeing himself from these in his cabinet he arranges his

keys to suit the position in which he will next be placed. Other

implements besides keys are also used: a piece of bent wire is often

quite sufficient. Most experts are also conjurers, and ‘palm’ the

key, especially in the case of a nude test, when they are stripped

and locked up in a cell; or they make use of a concealing key, which

is made telescopic, the handle being constructed to close down the

side of {313} the key, and the whole being fixed under the toes by a

piece of shoemaker’s wax and detached when inside the cell.

[Illustration: FIG. 10—THE PERFORMER AND HIS IMPLEMENTS.

(Showing the Condition of the Wrists after an Exhibition.)]

[Illustration: FIG. 11—VARIOUS KINDS OF KEYS]

“Although, when the secret is explained, it seems very easy to

accomplish, it must be understood that it is necessary for a

successful performer to possess very hard, strong wrists and

abundance of finger strength, and to be a man of some resource. It

is almost impossible for any person to fasten an expert securely

unless he himself understands the secret of the method of escape,

and even then he may not be successful. On one occasion a performer

underwent a severe test by a person who understood the secret, and

therefore did not use any keys whatever, but by a very ingenious

method overcame the efforts of the gentleman in question to fasten

him. He obtained some very small gold-filled wire and made it into

the form of a wire ring, which was partly covered by a broad gold

one, to which the wire ring was attached. Thus prepared he underwent

the test, unwrapping the wire ring when in the cabinet. Needless to

state, in a very short time he was free.

“Handcuffs are sometimes brought to fetter the performer with the

locks plugged or otherwise tampered with. But it is the performer’s

own fault if he is trapped. It is a very easy matter to tamper with

the locks—a few lead pellets dropped {314} down the barrel will

effectually prevent the lock from being drawn. This method has often

been attempted, but not successfully.

“Now that the methods have been explained and illustrated, it will be

very easily perceived that there is nothing supernatural about the

secret of handcuff manipulation.”

Houdini is not only a Handcuff King, but a skillful performer with

cards. When too many imitators shall have made his specialty a drug

on the market, he can take to some other branch of conjuring. He

has a very fine trunk illusion which he often combines with his

handcuff act. For seven years past he has been collecting data for

an extensive biographical encyclopedia of magicians. In his travels

on the continent of Europe he has visited the homes and haunts of

famous conjurers of the past and secured valuable material for his

prospective book. Thanks to this interesting man, photographs of the

tombs of Robert-Houdin and Bosco have been made, and considerable

light thrown on their careers. In a letter to me, October 9, 1905,

he says: “When in Russia, I searched in vain for the grave of the

fascinating Pinetti—that prestidigitateur _par excellence_ of the

eighteenth century—but, alas, my labors were not rewarded. But in

St. Petersburg I picked up an exceedingly rare portrait of Pinetti,

which I prize highly and which will form the frontispiece to my book

on magicians.” Houdini is a reincarnation of Sir Walter Scott’s

Old Mortality, who went about furbishing up the tombstones of the

illustrious dead of his faith. When at home (New York City), Harry

Houdini lives among his books and curios. He has also a handsome farm

in Massachusetts. Houdini’s brother, under the stage name of Hardeen,

is also a handcuff expert.

X.

In this review of magicians I have met, I must not fail to mention

Charles Edwin Fields of the Royal Aquarium and Crystal Palace,

London, England. This veteran of the wand was born in London, May 15,

1835, and received a good education at private academies in England

and France. He has appeared before royalty and instructed hundreds of

people in {315} the mystic art. In the days when magic literature

was sparse, Prof. Fields obtained large sums of money from wealthy

amateurs for the secrets of tricks. Alas, the golden age of wizardry

has passed. Magic is an “open secret.” The Professor’s occupation is

gone.

I come now to François de Villiers, the French illusionist, who is an

excellent performer. He is able to invest the simplest parlor trick

with a halo of interest, thanks to his wit and bonhomie. He was born

in the Island of Malta, where Cagliostro went to work in the chemical

laboratory of the Grand Commander Pinto. De Villiers when but a

callow youth ran away from the parental home and joined a French

circus which happened to be touring the Island of Malta. He wandered

all over the continent of Europe with the knights of the sawdust

circle, playing many parts, acrobat, clown and conjurer. Finally he

took up magic as a profession.

De Villiers next drifted to India, where he became a subject of the

British crown. Being of an adventurous nature, he joined a cavalry

regiment and wore the khaki of the Queen. When his term of enlistment

had expired, he went to Spain and fought valiantly under the banner

of Don Carlos. Captured by the government forces, he was tried as

a rebel and condemned to be shot, but his sentence was commuted

to banishment, thanks to the timely intervention of the British

Ambassador, to whom he had appealed for aid. De Villiers is now a

naturalized citizen of the United States and his home is in New York

City.

Ziska is a magician of ability and possessed of much originality.

Assisted by Mr. King, he does an act in which magic is blended with

comedy. It is entitled “The Magician and His Valet.” The conjurer is

very clever and the valet very clumsy, but no exposés of the tricks

are made; Mr. Ziska is too much of an artist to permit that.

J. Warren Keane is a clever manipulator of cards and billiard balls.

He gives a pleasing act of magic.

Prof. Barney Ives is possessed of great originality. Some of his

inventions have become famous. In this respect he is a rival to the

celebrated Henry Hardin. {316}

De Biere and Stillwell are conjurers who are fast rising into

prominence. Stillwell is a handkerchief manipulator.

Next in line we have Malini, Fred Hurd, Hal Merton and Maro, all of

them clever magicians. Hurd’s rabbit and duck trick has to be seen

to be appreciated. Maro is not only an excellent illusionist, but

a musician and a crayon artist. Merton, a favorite in the lyceum

field, was at one time the editor of “Mahatma.” Malini’s forte is

cards, and he devotes most of his time to giving drawing-room and

club entertainments. Of late years he has made London his home. Among

the clever amateurs I have met may be mentioned Mr. Guy L. Baker, of

Buffalo, N. Y., and Mr. LeRoy McCafferty and Mr. John J. Allen, of

Washington, D. C. Mr. Baker is an excellent drawing-room conjurer and

the originator of a novel method of working the rising card trick

_à la_ de Kolta, by means of a clockwork apparatus in the body of

a small table. Mr. McCafferty is good at hanky-panky, particularly

with billiard balls; and Mr. Allen, an ardent student of the art of

deception, bids fair to become a good entertainer.

Ere I bring this chapter to a close I must not neglect to pay a

tribute to my old-time friend, Dr. Leonard Caughey, of Baltimore,

Md., the finest amateur conjurer, rope-tying and cabinet medium I

have ever met. A dentist by profession, he devoted his leisure time

to magic. He died some fifteen years ago in Washington, D. C. His

cousin, Mr. Charles M. Caughey, also an amateur prestidigitateur, is

at present United States Consul to Palermo, Sicily, the birthplace

of Cagliostro. From Dr. Caughey I received my first scientific

instruction in the art of palming and mediumistic marvels. I

owe him a debt of gratitude. In my little book “Hours With the

Ghosts” I have described some of my adventures with this admirable

amateur necromancer, who has passed from the lesser to the Greater

Mysteries. Long before Professor Hoffmann had written his great

treatise on “Modern Magic,” Dr. Caughey was thoroughly initiated

into all branches of magic, something unusual in those days, and

was giving splendid entertainments for churches, lyceums, etc. A

fine mechanic, he made most of his apparatus, some of it of a very

elaborate character. I imported Hoffmann’s {317} book from England

and showed it to him. He was paralyzed with astonishment at the

revelations contained in the volume and exclaimed, “The golden days

of magic are over. The _Götterdämmerung_ (Twilight of the Gods) has

come! The world will be as full of magicians as the Jersey coast is

of mosquitoes. The palmy days of Herrmann, Houdin and Heller are

ended.” His prophecy has been more or less fulfilled. The vail of

Isis is lifted and the mysteries of magic laid open to all who care

to delve in its literature and inform themselves. Alas, unscrupulous

professionals have contributed to this state of things by exposing

tricks on the stage for the benefit of the public at large. This is

indeed killing outright the goose that lays the golden eggs. Initiate

the _hoi polloi_ into the secrets of the cult, and magic will soon

be relegated to the parlor as an after-dinner amusement, unless some

absolutely original genius like Robert-Houdin or de Kolta arises and

recreates the art. The Society of British Magicians, known as “The

Magic Circle of Great Britain,” expels a member who wilfully exposes

any magical trick or illusion on the stage. The Society of American

Magicians comes out strongly against the reprehensible practice of

stage exposés, but as yet has taken no steps to expel members who

offend against the law. But that will doubtless come in time.

{318}

THE RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX.

“Thus they placed Sphinxes before the gates of their temples,

meaning by that to say that their theology contained all the secrets

of wisdom under an enigmatic form.”—MARIETTE: _Voyage dans la

Haute-Egypt_, Vol. II, p. 9.

I.

What is the meaning of this Egyptian Temple, transplanted from

the banks of the Nile to prosaic London? The smoke and grime have

attacked it and played sad havoc with its sandstone walls, painted

with many hieroglyphics. The fog envelops it with a spectral embrace.

No Sphinxes guard its portal. Alas, its glories have departed! But

stop a bit! There is a gentleman in evening dress, with a tall hat

pushed well back from his forehead, sitting in a small box-like

receptacle on one side of the colossal entrance, his face framed

in by a small window; and another man, similarly attired, standing

at an iron wicket leading into the sanctum sanctorum. The temple,

then, _is_ guarded by two up-to-date, flesh-and-blood Sphinxes in

swallow-tail coats and opera hats. Ah me, what a travesty on the

human-headed monsters of the land of Mizraim. See the long line of

worshipers waiting to obtain admission to the Mysteries. Has the cult

of Isis and Osiris been revived? The devotees deposit coins with

Sphinx No. 1 and receive from him yellow tickets in exchange, the

presentation of which to Sphinx No. 2 permits their entrance into the

temple.

What does it all mean?

Dear reader, this is Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, London, and the

people are crowding to see a conjuring exhibition by Colonel Stodare.

His Sphinx trick is the great attraction.

Stodare is dust long ago, and the Sphinx no longer a mystery. Its

riddle has been solved. {319}

[Illustration: THE SPHINX ILLUSION.

(From the English edition of Hoffmann’s _Magic_. London, 1877.)]

{320}

But let us rehearse its history.

The Sphinx illusion, which has formed the basis of nearly all tricks

performed by the aid of looking-glasses, was invented by Thomas

Tobin, of the Polytechnic Institution, London. Colonel Stodare, the

conjurer, had the honor of first introducing it to the world. The

“London Times” (October 19, 1865) describes it as follows:

“Most intricate is the problem proposed by Colonel Stodare, when, in

addition to his admirable feats of ventriloquism and legerdemain,

he presents to his patrons a novel illusion called the ‘Sphinx.’

Placing upon an uncovered table a chest similar in size to the cases

commonly occupied by stuffed dogs or foxes, he removes the side

facing the spectators, and reveals a head attired after the fashion

of an Egyptian Sphinx. To avoid the suspicion of ventriloquism, he

retires to a distance from the figure, supposed to be too great for

the practice of that art, taking his position on the border-line

of the stalls and the area, while the chest is on the stage. Thus

stationed, he calls upon the Sphinx to open its eyes, which it

does—to smile, which it does also, though the habitual expression

of its countenance is most melancholy, and to make a speech, which

it does also, this being the miraculous part of the exhibition.

Not only with perspicuity, but with something like eloquence, does

it utter some twenty lines of verse; and while its countenance is

animated and expressive, the movement of the lips, in which there is

nothing mechanical, exactly corresponds to the sounds articulated.

“This certainly is one of the most extraordinary illusions ever

presented to the public. That the speech is spoken by a human voice

there is no doubt, but how is a head to be contrived which, being

detached from anything like a body, confined in a case, which it

completely fills, and placed on a bare-legged table, will accompany

a speech, that apparently proceeds from its lips, with a strictly

appropriate movement of the mouth, and a play of the countenance

that is the reverse of mechanical? Eels, as we all know, can wriggle

about after they have been chopped into half a dozen pieces; but

a head that, like that of the Physician Douban, in the Arabian

tales, pursues its eloquence after it has been severed from the

body, scarcely comes within the reach of possibilities; unless,

indeed, the old-fashioned assertion that ‘King Charles walked and

talked half an hour after his head was cut off,’ is to be received,

not as an illustration of defective punctuation, but as a positive

historical statement.

“Davus might have solved the ‘Anthropoglossus,’ but Colonel Stodare

presents us with a Sphinx that is really worthy of an Oedipus.”

II.

Mr. Alfred Thompson, the well known theatrical manager, attended

one of Stodare’s performances at the Egyptian Hall, and was lucky

enough to penetrate the secret of the Sphinx. In {321} an article

contributed to the _New York Journal_, some twenty years ago, he

writes:

“I happened to rise in my seat. In a moment the whole illusion was

swept away, and all because of the lack of a silk handkerchief. As I

stood up my eye caught, hovering between two of the table legs, the

marks of two fingers, such marks as may often be seen on a mirror

when the light falls at a certain angle upon it.

[Illustration: COLONEL STODARE.]

“Those two finger marks, though close to the carpet, gave me the

key to the riddle of the Sphinx. In my mental photograph I saw the

confederate kneeling behind the table, his head passing through

superposed apertures, one in the top of the table, the other in the

bottom of the box. The figure was concealed from view by two mirrors

of pure silver-plated glass, set at such an angle as to reflect

either side of the room (on the stage) in such a way that what to

the eye was evidently the back of the same room seen beneath and

beyond the table, was really only a reproduction of those sides

visible in the mirrors between the legs of the table. {322}

“This Sphinx was the sensation of London for weeks following,

and having occasion to go to Paris a few days later, I offered

the secret to Robert-Houdin’s successor, Hamilton, who, however,

refused my terms until he knew the trick. This delay of his was much

regretted by him, for some other speculator produced the secret some

three months later and made a colossal sensation in Paris with his

‘Decapite Parlant.’

“In the same year I introduced the illusion for the first time on

the stage in the celebrated spectacle of ‘Babil and Bijou’ at Covent

Garden Theatre. In the ballet of ‘The Seasons’ Mlle. Henriette Dor,

one of the most poetical dancers ever seen, appeared as the White

Rose, and I designed a large rose bud on its stalk, which, coming

up through the bed of summer flowers, blossomed wide until from its

open petals the beautiful Dor rose up, apparently materializing as

she issued from the calix on the stalk. The ballet girls were so

arranged in groups around three sides (not in front) as to aid the

deception by their adjusted reflections in the mirrors.

“Practically it was the same trick—two mirrors at a right angle and

a trap door. This curious trick was never improved on. It was added

to and altered at the Polytechnic, where, among other adaptations

of the same principle, was shown an animated tableau of Sir Joshua

Reynolds’ famous cherubs. Three cherubs’ heads appeared in a moonlit

sky, floating, and sang in sweet child voices the verses of an

anthem.

“Curiously enough I met the original Sphinx not three years ago

in the person of a business manager who had been Stodare’s agent,

and only three months back one of those very cherubs in Mr. Fred

Solomon, the comedian, who was then a chorister at the Chapel Royal,

and who was threatened with all sorts of tortures if he let the cat

or the cherub out of the bag.”

III.

One of the best explanations of the Sphinx is given by Professor

Hoffmann in his work on magic. I quote as follows from him:

“For the benefit of those who have never seen this illusion

presented upon the stage, we will describe its effect a little

more minutely. The Sphinx is always made a separate portion of the

entertainment, as it is necessary to lower the curtain for a few

moments before and after its appearance, in order to arrange and

remove the necessary preparations. The curtain rises, and reveals

a round or oval table, supported upon three slender legs, and

utterly devoid of drapery. This stands in a curtained recess of

ten or twelve feet square, open on the side towards the audience.

The performer comes forward bearing a cloth covered box, fifteen

to twenty inches square, and places it upon the table already

mentioned. He then unlocks the box, the front of which drops down,

so as to give a perfect view of the interior, in which is seen

a head of Egyptian fashion, and colored in perfect imitation of

life. The performer now retires to a position in the very midst

of the audience, and raising his wand, says in a tone of command,

‘Sphinx, awake!’ The Sphinx slowly opens its eyes, looking first to

the front with a strong {323} gaze; then, as if gradually gaining

consciousness, to the one side and the other, the head moving

slightly with the eyes. Questions are put by the performer to the

head, and are answered by it, the play of the mouth and features

being in perfect harmony with the sounds uttered. Finally, in answer

to a query of the operator, the Sphinx declaims a neatly turned

oracle in verse. This concludes the exhibition, and the performer

closes the box. Should the audience call for an encore, the

performer addresses them to the following or some similar effect:

“ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad that the Sphinx has afforded

you satisfaction, and I should be only too pleased to be able to

indulge the desire which you kindly testify of seeing it again.

Unfortunately, this is not possible. The charm by which I am

enabled, as you have seen, to revivify for a space the ashes of an

ancient Egyptian, who lived and died some centuries ago, lasts but

for fifteen minutes. That time has now expired, and the head which

has astonished you with its mysterious eloquence has again returned

to its original dust.’ As he speaks the last words, he again opens

the box, and the head is found to have disappeared, leaving in its

place a handful of ashes.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

“This singular illusion depends upon the well-known principle,

common to optics as to mechanics, that the ‘angle of reflection is

equal to the angle of incidence.’ Thus, if a person standing at the

point _a_, in Fig. 1, look into a mirror placed in the position

indicated by the line _b c_, he will see reflected, not himself,

but whatever object may be placed at the point _d_. By an ingenious

application of this principle a looking-glass may be used to conceal

a given object behind it, while at the same time an image reflected

in the glass may be made to represent what would be presumably seen

if no glass were there, and thus prevent the presence of the mirror

from being suspected. This is the secret of the Sphinx. The table,

as already mentioned, has three legs, one in front, and one at each

side. Between these legs the spectator sees apparently the curtains

at the back of the recess, but really a reflection of the curtains

at the sides. The space between the middle leg and that on either

side is occupied by pieces of looking-glass (see Fig. 2, which

represents a ground plan of the arrangements), extending from _a_

to _b_, and _a_ to _c_. The glass extends quite down to the floor,

which is covered with cloth of the same material and color as the

surrounding curtains. The {324} spectators, therefore, looking

towards the table, see above it the curtains at the back, and below

it the reflection of the curtains at the sides; which, however, if

the relative angles are properly arranged, appears to be simply

the continuation or lower portion of the curtains at the back. The

illusion is perfect, and the spectator, from the position assigned

to him, cannot possibly discover, by the evidence of his senses,

that he is looking at any other than an ordinary bare-legged table,

with the background visible in the usual way.

“The rest is a very simple matter. The person who is to represent

the Sphinx is beforehand placed, duly attired, underneath the table.

There is a trap in the table through which he can pass his head at

the proper moment. This trap is a round piece of wood, covered to

match the surface of the table, and working on a hinge on the side

nearest to the audience. It has no spring, but is kept closed by

means of a button on the opposite side, and when released hangs down

perpendicularly. It must be large enough to allow the passage of

the somewhat elaborate headpiece of the Sphinx, and would therefore

leave an open space visible round the neck. This difficulty is met

by the expedient of having a wooden collar, the upper surface of

which is a facsimile in size and pattern of the trap. This collar is

fastened round the neck of the representative of the Sphinx. When

he lifts his head up through the trap, the collar exactly fills

the opening, and thus shows no break in the surface of the table.

The box is bottomless, and when brought forward by the performer

is empty. A little caution has to be observed in placing it upon

the table, for, if the performer were to approach the table _from

the side_, his legs would be reflected in the glass, and would

thereby betray the secret. He must therefore make his appearance

from some quarter _outside_ of the curtained recess, and advance to

a position well in front of, and at some little distance from the

table, when, by moving in a straight line from the audience towards

the middle leg _a_, he prevents this inconvenient reflection. The

placing the box upon the table, and the unlocking it, allow time

for the representative of the Sphinx to get his head into position

within it. This done, the box is opened, and the rest depends on the

dramatic talent of the performer and his assistant. The performance

being concluded, the box is again locked, and the head withdrawn, a

handful of ashes being introduced on the trap in its stead.

“The angle at which the two mirrors should be set cannot be

determined absolutely, but will vary according to the distance and

position of the surrounding drapery.”

The above method is generally employed in working the Sphinx

illusion, but it differs in one respect from that used by Colonel

Stodare. In the Colonel’s presentation of the trick, the box was not

_bottomless_. It had a trap in it corresponding with a similar trap

in the top of the table. Stodare carried the mystic chest to the “run

down” after the lid was closed, and then, by his ventriloquial power,

caused a muffled voice to issue from the receptacle, presumably that

of the Sphinx. Thus the spectators were led to believe that the head

was still in the {325} box, and that the table had nothing whatever

to do with the trick. On opening the chest great was the surprise

of everyone to behold the head completely vanished, the heap of

ashes having taken its place. This was a very clever bit of _mise en

scène_, and showed what an artist Stodare was.

And now for a word or two concerning the career of the clever

producer of the Sphinx. Colonel Stodare never smelt powder nor

directed the manœuvres of a regiment of red coats. His title was

self-assumed, to bedazzle the English public. He never wielded any

weapon save a wooden wand tipped with ivory. But he did that to

perfection. His real name was Alfred Inglis. Little or nothing is

known of his early life and education. His first appearance was at

the Egyptian Hall, London, on Easter Monday, April 17, 1865, when he

introduced, for the first time in England, those celebrated illusions

of Hindostan, the “Mango Tree” and the “Indian Basket.” It was on

the occasion of his two-hundredth consecutive representation at the

aforesaid hall that Stodare introduced the “Sphinx” trick, which at

once attracted crowds. On Tuesday evening, November 21, 1865, he had

the honor to appear before Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, on the

occasion of the birthday of H. R. H. the Princess Royal, afterwards

the Empress Frederick of Germany. Stodare died of consumption in

1866. He wrote two small treatises on magic: _The Art of Magic_

(1865) and _Stodare’s Fly-notes_ (1866).

IV.

The inventor of the Sphinx, Mr. Tobin, sold the secret to M.

Talrich, of Paris, the proprietor of a wax-works exhibition on the

Boulevard de la Madeline. Talrich called his collection of figures

the Musée Français. Impressed with the success of Madame Tussaud’s

“Chamber of Horrors,” in connection with her wax-works exhibition in

London, Talrich transformed the “Talking Head” into the “Decapitated

Speaker.” His presentation of the illusion was calculated to strike

terror in the mind of the observer. Underneath his museum was a

damp and mouldy cellar, which he fitted up for the exhibition. The

visitor was conducted down a stairway, dimly lighted by a couple

of antique {326} lamps suspended from the vaulted roof. When he

reached the bottom he was suddenly confronted with a group of wax

figures representing a scene under the Inquisition. Every detail of

a torture chamber was given, such as is described by Victor Hugo in

his _Notre Dame de Paris_. The cowled emissaries of the Holy Office

were depicted in the act of putting a wretched victim to the torture.

The light from a flambeau, held by one of the figures, illumined

the ghastly scene. In this uncertain light everything was horribly

majestic. Pushing onward and turning to the right, “the spectator

passed through a dimly-lighted corridor, and found himself in front

of a balustrade, breast-high, which extended across the entrance

of a narrow recess. In the middle of this gloomy cellar, the floor

of which was carpeted with musty straw, was seen a table, on which

rested a human head, leaning slightly to one side and apparently

asleep. On being addressed by the exhibitor the head raised itself,

opened its eyes, and related its own history, including the details

of its decapitation, after which it replied, in various languages, to

questions put by those present.”

One day a party of young students, out for a lark, began shooting

bread pellets at the head, in order to test whether it had entirely

lost all sensation. The Decapitated One, in his wrath, abused them

soundly, in language that savored more of modern Paris than the days

of the Inquisition. This affair got noised abroad, and gay young

boulevardiers made up regular parties to go and shoot pellets at

the head; this amusement they called “pop-gun practice.” Some of

these pellets, not so well “bred” (pardon the pun) as others, struck

certain portions of the table which were apparently open, but from

which they rebounded, clearly indicating that the supposed vacant

space was really a sheet of looking-glass. M. Talrich then put a

close-meshed wire grating between the spectators and their victim,

but alas! the secret of the Inquisition was disclosed, and the palmy

days of the Musée Francais were over. Says Houdin: “The cause of M.

Talrich’s failure was the same that brought disaster to the Brothers

Davenport. Too great confidence in the Parisian public led both

parties to offer what, after all, were but ingenious conjuring tricks

as supernatural phenomena.” {327}

V.

A few years ago, the eminent English novelist, H. Rider-Haggard,

evolved from his elastic imagination a weird and wonderful romance of

Darkest Africa, called “She, who must be obeyed.” It was redolent of

magic and mystery. The beautiful sorceress, “She,” a damsel of Greek

descent, had lived for centuries in the heart of Africa, ruling over

generations of black subjects with an iron despotism, and subduing

them by her necromantic power. She was worshiped as a goddess. Her

immortality upon earth was due to the rejuvenating effects of the

mystic fire of Kor, into which she plunged and renewed her youth at

certain periods. Balling in love with a young English explorer, who

had succeeded in penetrating into her realm, the Rosicrucian spell

was broken, and the beautiful “She” shriveled up and expired in

agony while attempting to bathe in the flames of Kor. The scene, as

depicted by the novelist, is very awe-inspiring. The book had a great

vogue in its day, and was dramatized with fine effect.

[Illustration: “SHE.” FIG. 1.]

[Illustration: “SHE.” FIG. 2.]

“Have you seen ‘She’?” was the apparently ungrammatical question

asked by theatre-goers.

Finally, the conjurer, always ready to seize upon the fads and

fancies of the day to make capital out of them, took the chief

_motif_ of Rider-Haggard’s romance, and built upon it one {328} of

the very best illusions in the domain of magic, called “She.” I have

understood that the inventor of “She” was the Chevalier Thorne. In

this act, a young lady, garbed as the witch of the Dark Continent,

was cremated in full view of the audience. It was the Sphinx trick

over again, but in a more ingenious shape. The lady mounted a

bare-legged table, whereupon an asbestos canopy was lowered over her,

so that she was completely concealed from the audience. Suddenly

flames and smoke poured forth from beneath the canopy. The shrieks

of the victim were heard. When the cover was raised, nothing was to

be seen except a blackened skull and some charred bones—the lady

was presumably cremated. In another version of the trick, the skull

and bones were dispensed with, and the lady reappeared in a private

box or came running down the center aisle of the theatre, after the

canopy was lifted.

Now for an explanation of the illusion.

The spectators saw an innocent-looking table with four legs, and

beneath it, supported by a central rod, four supports holding lighted

candles, very much on the order of a chandelier. This latter effect

seemed to preclude the idea of mirrors being used. “But things are

seldom what they seem,” in magic at least. In reality the table

had but _two_ legs, and there were but _two_ candles burning, the

remaining legs and tapers being reflections. How was the deception

accomplished? In the following manner: Converging at the central

standard (Fig. 1) were two plane mirrors, fixed at an angle of ninety

degrees with each other and forty-five degrees with the side panels

of the screen which boxed in the table from the rest of the stage.

These mirrors reflected the side panels, which were of the same color

as the panel at the back, and made the spectators believe that they

saw underneath the table the rear of the screen. They also reflected

the two legs of the table and the two supports with their lighted

candles. The triangular wooden box, upon the sides of which the

mirrors were fastened, extended to the back panel of the screen. It

was covered with cloth of the same color as that of the screen. This

box was on a level with the top of the table.

The lady got away through a trap, after having placed the skull and

bones in position and ignited a lot of red fire (Fig 2). {329}

Another illusion in which the looking-glass plays a part is that of

the Decapitated Princess. Instead of a table, a chair is used. The

head stands upright upon two swords, which rest on the arms of the

chair. A mirror, placed at an angle of forty-five degrees, reaching

from the front part of the arms to the back edge of the seat,

reflects the bottom of the chair, thereby inducing the spectators

to believe that they see the back of the chair; _ergo_, the seat is

empty. Of course, this seat is covered with like material as that of

the back of the elaborately carved throne chair. The glass conceals

the trap at the back, through which the lady sticks her head and part

of her body. She wears about her neck a lace collar, so arranged as

to rest nicely on the two Swords.

[Illustration: THE DECAPITATED PRINCESS.

(From Hopkins’ _Magic_, etc. Sci. Amer. Co.)]

{330}

I first saw this interesting illusion exhibited in a _café chantant_

in Paris. The fat, thick-necked, little Frenchman, who presented

the trick to the audience, reminded me of one of those human-headed

bulls carved upon the walls of Assyrian palaces and temples. His

hair and beard were oiled and curled. He bellowed out the marvels

of his decapitated Princess, and flirted the skirts of his long

Prince Albert coat like an animal lashing flies off its flanks with

its tail. According to this Chevalier d’Ananias, the Princess lost

her charming little powdered head during the reign of Robespierre

I; it “sneezed into the basket” of the guillotine one fine morning

while the knitting women sat around the scaffold and plied their

needles and tongues. “Down with the Aristocrats!” Thanks to an

eminent surgeon, who begged the head from the executioner, it was

restored to life by hypnotic power. The surgeon handed it down to his

descendants. Finally it came into possession of the showman, by what

means the gentleman did not relate.

A few days after the above exhibition, I saw the poor little Princess

eating cabbage soup in a second-class _cabaret_. Her manager was with

her. Her head was on her body at the time.

{331}

TREWEYISM.

“Le mime-comédien Trewey est un prestidigitateur merveilleus,

créateur vraiment surprenant d’ombres chinoises avec l’unique secours

de ses mains. On peut dire que Trewey est de ceux qui ont agrandi

le cercle de la fantasmagorie et en ont fait un des astres les plus

vagabonds de la fantaisie.”—DOM BLASIUS: _L’Intransigeant_.

I.

My favorite character in French fiction is Alexander Dumas’

inimitable D’Artagnan, _le mousquetaire par excellence_, who comes

out of Gascony with nothing but a rusty suit of clothes on his back,

an ancestral sword at his side, his father’s blessing, and a bony

sorrel horse under him, to seek his fortune in the world. Aided by

his good rapier, his wonderful _sang froid_, splendid audacity and

versatile talents, he elbows his way to the foot of a throne, to

become captain of the Grand Monarque’s bodyguard, and eventually a

marshal of France.

In the world of magic we have a similar character, not a mere

figment, however, of the novelist’s imagination, but a living,

breathing personality. I refer to Félicien Trewey, the eminent French

fantaisiste, whose life reads like a romance. M. Trewey possesses

all of the qualities of heart and mind of Dumas’ hero—audacity,

versatility, tireless energy in the pursuit of his profession,

bonhomie, and what not. Had he lived in the seventeenth century,

he doubtless would have been a soldier of fortune like D’Artagnan,

fought duels, made love to duchesses, and outwitted a cardinal,

but having been born in an age of steam and electricity, and fully

realizing the fact that science has reduced the art of war to mere

mechanics, he sought out a career that promised the most romance

and adventure, and became a mousquetaire of magic, wielding the

wand instead of {332} the sword. It is a long, long way from the

half-starved mountebank of a wandering caravan to an _Officier

d’Académie_ and landed proprietor living at ease in one’s old age.

But Trewey has accomplished all this.

II.

One evening, when strolling along the Boulevard, I saw outside

of the _Concert des Ambassadeurs_, a billboard, with the

following announcement: “Le Grand Trewey! Equilibre, Jonglerie,

Prestidigitation.—Le Chapeau Multiforme ou 25 Têtes sous un

Chapeau.—Mime.—Musique.—Silhouettes et Ombres des Mains, etc.

Amusements Scientifiques et Récréatifs.”

[Illustration: TREWEY’S VILLA AT ASNIÉRES SUR SEINE. AU CLAIR DE LA

LUNE.]

My interest was at once aroused. Here was no ordinary artist, but a

man of versatility. I bought a ticket, and was soon seated in the

theatre. After the usual infliction of skirt-dancers, acrobats and

eccentric singers with raspy voices, the curtain rose on M. Trewey’s

act. I sighed with relief. Ah, here was an oasis in the vast Sahara

of vaudeville claptrap and mediocrity. {333} I was not disappointed.

The stage was elegantly set with gilt tables. The scene was boxed

in with rich silk curtains _à la_ Pinetti. A burst of applause (not

confined to the _claque_ either), and the great Trewey appeared. A

long black cloak enveloped him.

PROGRAMME

PREMIÈRE PARTIE

TREWEY

Dans ses créations.

Ouverture. — Equilbres et Jongleries.

DEUXIÈME PARTIE

Fantaisies. — La Valse des Assiettes. — Les Cuvettes

tapageuses. — Le Papier multiforme. — La Harpe

éolienne. — Le Tabarin moderne.

ENTR’ACTE

TROISIÈME PARTIE

LES OMBRES DES MAINS

PAR

TREWEY

Ouverture.

1^{re} Série. — Le Lapin — Les deux Oies. — Le Perroquet. —

Le Poisson. — L’Eléphant. — Le Taureau. — Le

Cygne. — Le Prédicateur. — Le Chat. — Le Chien.

2^e Série. — Le batelier. — Le Pècheur. — Le Jockey. — La

Danseuse de corde.

3^e Série. — Les Amours du Policeman, pantomime.

4^e Série. — Silhouettes et Protils illustrés.

5^e Série. — Le Clown et l’Ane savant.

6^e Série. — Le Buveur normand et le Rigolo. — Au Revoir...,

galop final.

_Le piano sera tenu par M. Henri DEVIENNE._

Tous les dimanches et jeudis, à 2 heures.

TREWEY

MATINÉE DE FAMILLE

Throwing this off, he appeared in full court costume—a gentleman of

the reign of Louis XVI. I felt like asking him, “When did you see

last the Chevalier Pinetti?” After a very superior exhibition of

juggling and sleight of hand with cards and coins, {334} he passed

on to ombromanie, or hand-made shadows, among them being portraits

of Thiers, Gladstone, Czar Alexander III, Emile Zola, Gambetta,

Bismarck, Crispi and Lord Salisbury. The art of casting silhouettes

of animals, such as the dog, the cat, and the rabbit, upon an

illuminated wall is very ancient. The Italian painter, Campi, was one

of the first to add new types to the collection of figures. Trewey

raised the art to the dignity of a stage performance, and endowed it

with movement and life. I shall quote as follows from an article on

Trewey, contributed by me to the “Cosmopolitan Magazine” some years

ago:

[Illustration: TREWEY EXHIBITING UPON A STAGE.]

[Illustration: TREWEY’S SILHOUETTES OF EMINENT MEN.]

[Illustration: THE PULPIT PANTOMIME.]

[Illustration: TREWEY’S HANDS.]

“He stands behind a screen, which is brilliantly illuminated

by an oxyhydrogen light, and with his hands projects the

silhouettes—pictures of soldiers, peasants, abbés, etc., to say

nothing of animals. To form the headgear of his men and women, such

as the grotesque bonnets of Norman bonnes, the képis of the little

piou-pious, and the mortar-boards of the English scholastics, he has

recourse to small pieces of cardboard cut to resemble the respective

cranial coverings. Trewey is not content with the ‘cold profiles,’ as

he calls them, of living creatures, {336} but endows his shadows

with animation. His old peasants, for example, smoke, imbibe liquor

from large jugs, inhale snuff, roll their eyes, open their mouths,

gesticulate; his animals are exceedingly mobile. Besides this, he

makes his characters enact charming little pantomimic scenes. One he

calls the ‘serenade.’ A piece of cardboard, fashioned to represent

the side of a house, constitutes the scenery. A gendarme (supposed

to be violently {337} in love with the servant girl) knocks at the

door of the mansion, whereupon his fair _inamorata_ appears at the

upstairs window. After an exchange of compliments, she withdraws

from the window and reappears at the door. She gives to her lover

a drink from a suspicious bottle, and he, after wiping his beard,

kisses her and retires. Then comes the strolling musician, playing

a lugubrious melody on the clarinet. The owner of the house rushes

to the bedroom window and motions the player away, but the musician

derisively strikes up a lively tune. The irate proprietor now makes

his appearance armed with a long broom, with which he thrashes the

clarinettist. The musician still persisting, paterfamilias next

produces the water jug, and from the upstairs window pours the

contents upon the head of the luckless serenader, who quickly makes

his exit.

[Illustration: EXERCISES FOR THE FINGERS BY TREWEY.]

“The little accessories used in this act, such as the helmet for

the policeman, the broom, bottle, etc., are cut from pasteboard

and, where necessary, attached to the fingers of the performer by

means of india-rubber rings. The water jug, however, is an actual

little vessel, which is filled with sand. When this is poured out it

simulates a flow of water in the most natural manner.

“ ‘The pulpit orator’ is a clever silhouette. About the left arm of

the performer is tied a small box, which represents the pulpit; the

bent fingers make a canopy. Between the fingers of {338} the right

hand is held a bit of pasteboard, cut in the shape of a mortar-board

cap. The paraphernalia is very simple. You see the learned divine

ascend the pulpit, bend forward in prayer, then begin to exhort

an imaginary congregation. He thumps the pulpit rail vehemently,

twists himself into all sorts of grotesque positions, and wipes his

perspiring brow. After having blessed the people, he descends from

his elevated perch.”

I learned from him many interesting things about shadowgraphy and

sleight of hand generally. To excel in the art of ombromanie requires

long practice. The fingers have to be exercised continuously in

certain peculiar movements, such as are depicted in the accompanying

illustration. Dexterity is largely dependent upon the formation of

the hand, one of the particular characteristics of skillfulness being

“the faculty of reversing the metacarpal phalanges of the fingers, so

that when the hand is extended it is convex.” Trewey possesses this

faculty. Another peculiarity of his hands is the formation of the

fingers: they differ very much in length. The middle finger exceeds

the ring finger by nearly an inch.

III.

I met Trewey some weeks later, in London, at the Empire Theatre,

and we struck up a great friendship which has lasted to this day.

The story of his life is full of interest, and is a typical example

of the folly of setting anyone to a vocation for which he has no

particular taste. Intended at first for the priesthood by his

parents, and subsequently for a mechanical trade, Trewey followed his

own inclinations—conjuring and juggling. I will quote again from my

paper in the “Cosmopolitan Magazine”:

“Like most artists who have risen to eminence on the French stage,

Trewey has known hardships and bitter poverty. His youth was a

struggle against adverse conditions. But he had in him, in its truest

sense, the soul of old Gaul—that joyous insouciance, that sardonic

humor, which laughs at fortune and snaps its finger at the world.

Natural vivacity will often keep a Frenchman alive, though his body

is clothed in rags and his {339} stomach is empty. Trewey was born

at Angoulême, France, during the Revolution of 1848. His father was

an engineer in a paper mill. Trewey _pére_ was ambitious for his

son to enter the Church, so he sent him to the Seminary of the Holy

Trinity at Marseilles to study for the priesthood. But fate had

willed otherwise. When quite a young boy, Trewey had been taken to

see a circus at Marseilles. Among the mountebanks was a conjurer,

who gave a very interesting exhibition. The feats of magic of this

strolling Merlin so fascinated the little Trewey that he forthwith

secretly vowed to become a professional prestidigitateur as soon as

he grew up. The studies pursued at the Jesuit college did not cure

the boy of his love for the stage. He divided his time between Latin

verbs and juggling, mathematics and the art of palmistry. Soon he

was able to give little exhibitions, private, of course, for the

amusement of his comrades. The good fathers must have thought him a

very eccentric youth, for he was continually trying to balance his

slate on the tip of his nose. Many a well-deserved cat-o’-nine-tails

he got for his improvised feats of equilibration. Lying awake at

night in the silent dormitory, he invented tricks, then fell asleep

to dream of the wild delights of the mountebank’s life—wandering like

a gipsy over the country in a caravan, and performing at the little

French villages and towns before crowds of rustics. He pictured

himself dressed in gorgeous raiment, exhibiting magic tricks for the

amusement of gaping yokels—pulling rabbits from hats, turning omelets

into doves, and producing bowls of goldfish from shawls. The boom,

boom, of the bass drum, calling the spectators together, resounded in

his ears. The boy had in him the spirit of adventure; the blood of

some old strolling player of an ancestor ran in his veins. He longed

to escape from under the watchful domination of the ‘black robes,’ as

he designated the good priests of the seminary. Three years passed.

One day, during the Christmas holidays, Trewey refused to return to

his studies, so his father placed him in the engine room of the paper

mill to learn machinery. Cog wheels and oil cans possessed no more

fascination for him than Latin and Greek. One fine summer day he ran

away from home in company with an acrobat. {340}

“Trewey, at this period of his career, was not over fifteen years

of age, and had but little experience of men and manners. The quiet

cloisters of a Jesuit seminary are not conducive to knowledge of

the world. Life now became hard for Trewey and his companion, the

youthful tumbler. They exhibited in market places, cafés, and in inn

yards. The life they led was next door to starvation. Soon Trewey

left the acrobat and obtained an engagement at one of the small music

halls of Marseilles. The munificent sum of six francs per week (one

dollar and twenty cents) was the salary he received for his services.

In addition to his juggling exhibition, given several times a day,

he was obliged to appear in a pantomime performance at night. In

this troupe was the famous Plessis, who eventually became one of the

foremost comedians of France, rivaling even the great Coquelin.

“In those days it was the custom for people to throw money on

the stage to favorite performers. Applauding with the hands

being monopolized by a paid claque, there was no better way for

enthusiastic spectators, in French places of amusement, to show their

appreciation of the talents of an artist, than by showering upon him

gold, silver or copper coins. The vaudeville artists did not consider

it beneath their dignity to stoop and gather up these substantial

evidences of public favor.

“Said Trewey to me: ‘I saved these coins until I was able to purchase

two fine costumes. Then I secured an engagement at the Alcazar at

Marseilles.’

“Other engagements followed this, and Trewey became the most popular

performer in the south of France. The desire for a roving life led

him to become the proprietor of a traveling pantomime and vaudeville

company. His versatility was shown here. He juggled, conjured, played

Pierrot in the pantomime, danced in the clodoche, and managed the

finances of the troupe. After two years of this life, he got an

engagement at Bordeaux. It was here that he invented his ombromanie,

and straightway became famous. From Bordeaux he migrated to Paris.

His success was instantaneous.”

The journalists rallied to his aid. He became the lion of the

hour. _L’Illustration_ named his art Treweyism. His reputation was

established. {341}

IV.

Trewey is a mimic _par excellence_. He is past master in the art of

pantomime and facial expression. One of his particular acts, which

has given rise to numerous imitations, is entitled, “Tabarin, or

Twenty-five Heads Under One Chapeau.” Thanks to a piece of black felt

cloth, circular in shape, with a hole cut in the center, Trewey is

able to manufacture in a few minutes all the varieties of headgear

required for the Tabarin. For example: Napoleon—A couple of twists

of the cloth, and lo! you have a representation of _le chapeau de

Marengo_, the little cocked hat which Napoleon made famous, and about

which so many legends cluster. With this hastily improvised hat on

his head, Trewey assumes the Napoleonic attitude—one hand thrust into

his vest, the other behind his back. His physiognomy is that of the

great Emperor, as depicted by the painters of the Imperial régime.

The likeness is perfect. And so with fat French priests, soldiers,

bonnes, landladies, artists, diplomats, etc. It is a portrait gallery

of French types; Gavarni lives for us again. And just here, let me

digress a moment to explain the origin of the curious word _Tabarin_,

which, as all lovers of French comedy know, has passed into the

repertory of the national theatre. In the seventeenth century, that

bridge of memories, the old Pont Neuf of Paris, was the rendezvous

of quacksalvers and mountebanks. Booths for the sale of various

articles lined the sides of the bridge. People flocked there to

see the sights, to laugh, chat, make love and enjoy life as only

Parisians can. Students and grisettes of the _Quartier Latin_ elbowed

ladies and gentlemen of the court. Bourgeois families came to study

the flippant manners of their superiors. Poodle clippers plied their

trade; jugglers amused the _quid nuncs_ with feats of dexterity;

traveling dentists pulled teeth and sold balsams; clowns tumbled, and

last, but not least, pickpockets lifted purses and silk handkerchiefs

with impunity. Says Augustus J. C. Hare (_Walks in Paris_): “So

central an artery is the Pont Neuf, that it used to be a saying

with the Parisian police, that if, after watching three days, they

did not see a man cross the bridge, he must have left Paris.” Any

popular witticism in verse was long known as _un Pont-Neuf_. One of

the principal {342} vendors of quack nostrums of the Pont Neuf was

Montdor. He was aided by a buffoon named Tabarin, who made facetious

replies to questions asked by his master, accompanied with laughable

grimaces and grotesque gestures. The modern ringmaster and clown

of the circus have similar scenes together, minus the selling of

medicines. Tabarin was celebrated for his wit. Some of his _bon mots_

have descended to our time. He performed the feat of making some ten

different hats out of the brim of a felt hat, giving appropriate

facial portraits beneath each, and using wigs and beards to enhance

the effect. Such, in brief, is the story of the famous Merry Andrew

whose name has become a by-word in France for buffoonery and broad

humor. The biographies of such men would make interesting reading for

the student of history. But Dame Clio has eyes only for tremendous

battles, diplomatic intrigues, the doings of royalty and great folk.

The little world of everyday life, that busy ant hill where the

human comedy is so ardently played, is beneath her notice. The life

and adventures of quacksalvers, minor poets, wandering jugglers,

faugh!—that is asking too much of the Muse of History. Says Guizot:

“History has no room for all those who throng about her gates without

succeeding in getting in and leaving traces of their stay.”

But occasionally a man or woman rises from the dregs of the people

and compels recognition; and, sad to relate, nine times out of

ten, through the commission of crimes. Have we not Cagliostro and

Madame de la Motte, thorough-paced scoundrels and charlatans, but,

nevertheless, very delightful folk, who have added a tinge of romance

to history? I for one, with Thackeray, confess a weakness for the

tittle-tattle of court gossip and backstairs diplomacy. Behind the

scenes with Louis XV and XVI, Frederick the Great and Catherine II is

far more entertaining than the battles of the period. Casanova gives

one a better picture of eighteenth century morals and manners than

any of the great historians of the time. History is the dry bones of

an epoch; the memoir writers are the Ezekiels who behold the bones

clothed with flesh and thrilling with life-blood.

[Illustration: THE TABARIN.]

Wandering one morning across the old Pont Neuf, all these thoughts

came to my mind. Once again, as in the days of long {344} ago, I

saw, in my imagination, the bridge crowded with people. There came

to me the faint rustling of silk skirts, the clatter of high-heeled

shoes upon the paving stones. Boom! boom! goes the drum. I hear the

strident voice of Montdor shouting out his wares, and the unctuous

notes of the comical Tabarin uttering a _bon mot_.

V.

Trewey is the inventor of many clever card sleights and passes; for

example, a color change executed by taking cards from the back of the

pack with the fork of the thumb and forefinger and placing them on

the front. The origin of this clever sleight is not generally known.

I have seen him throw cards from the stage of the Alhambra Theatre,

London, to the topmost gallery. This is a tremendous feat, as the

Alhambra is one of the largest theatres in the world. He possesses

the peculiar talent of writing in reverse, necessitating the use of a

mirror in order to read it. The artistic sentiment was born in him.

It seems to be a family characteristic. Rosa Bordas, the celebrated

French _chanteuse patriotique_, is his cousin-german. A writer in

_L’Echo des Jeunes_ thus apostrophises him in verse:

“Dans le monde artistique ou son étoile brille,

Trewey ne peut que resortir,

Vraiment, cela tient de famille,

Vu que bon sang ne peut mentir.”

The most exclusive and aristocratic salons of Paris and Vienna have

engaged his services for private séances. In Spain, Belgium, Austria,

Russia and England he was the sensation of the day. At the present

time he is living in retirement at Asnières, near Paris, where he

has purchased a charming home known as the Villa Traversière _au

clair de la lune_. During the Exposition of 1900 he was the manager

of the Theatre Phono-Cinéma. Trewey was a great friend of the French

inventor, Lumière, and was the first to introduce the cinematographe

to the public of London and Paris. At his villa he spends his

time inventing and improving devices to be used in moving-picture

apparatus, corresponding with his friends, meditating upon the works

of his favorite authors, Confucius and {346} Epictetus, and writing

songs, farces and dramatic articles. In the year 1903 he was made

an _Officier d’Académie_ by the French Government. He married Miss

Ixa, of Trocadero fame. Among his pupils may be mentioned the lady

conjurer, Mlle. Patrice.

[Illustration: FROM “THE ENTR’ACTE,” LONDON, MAY 7, 1887.]

Trewey relates many interesting anecdotes of contemporary French

magicians whom he has met on his travels. He is literally a man

without envy. His admiration for Buatier de Kolta was unbounded. They

were close friends.

He once toured the Continent with the Hungarian conjurer, Velle, who

was the first to give exhibitions within a marked circle, where the

audience could gather on all sides. Velle impersonated Mephisto to

perfection. Trewey and August Lassaigne were once partners. Lassaigne

was born in Toulouse, in 1819. Besides being a magician he was an

æronaut, having made 347 ascensions. He died in Montpellier in the

year 1887.

When Trewey first toured the United States, under the management

of Alexander Herrmann, he was very much annoyed by impostors, who

advertised themselves as _Drewey_, but their performances were only

weak imitations of the original—the merest shadows of a shade. In

the wake of the whale follow little fishes—“pikers”—who grab at

the crumbs dropped by the monarch of the sea, being too lazy or

indifferent to find hunting seas of their own.

“Many amateurs are more skillful than professionals,” said Trewey to

me. “I have in mind my friend Alexandre Asso, who was born in Paris

in the year 1828. While a student, he once happened to be present

at a soirée where M. Comte was giving an exhibition. He was so

fascinated that he afterwards took lessons in legerdemain from the

professor. When he finished his schooling, he entered the service of

the Count de Nigra, then Ambassador to Italy, and remained with him

for forty years, visiting London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and other

great capitals. Asso often entertained the Count and his friends with

conjuring séances. In this way he amused society at nearly all the

Courts of Europe, besides giving many entertainments for the benefit

of the poor. In spite of his advanced age, he still keeps in practice

as a conjurer at his villa at Asnières. He {347} retired from an

active life in 1903. We see a great deal of each other.

[Illustration: A LEAF FROM TREWEY’S NOTE BOOK.]

“Then we have M. Pitau, a wine merchant, who studied legerdemain to

amuse his friends and increase his custom. He was a capital guest at

the hotel table. People loved to be seated near him, for he was not

only skilful at hanky panky with glasses, plates, napkins, knives,

corks, coins, etc., but he was a brilliant raconteur and a mimic. His

most amusing trick was the following: He would place his hat over

his plate, which held perhaps a chop and potatoes. Passing his hand

under the hat he would bring forth several five-franc pieces. Then he

would pass it a second time beneath the chapeau and bring out five or

six gold one-hundred-franc pieces. Now he would exclaim: ‘Ladies and

gentlemen, I will give what is left on the plate for ten centimes.’

Lifting the hat, a child’s sock or an old shoe {348} would be seen,

the chop and potatoes having vanished. This feat was always greeted

with shouts of laughter. Pitau often gave entire performances for

charitable purposes.”

Behind the scenes in an Egyptian temple would doubtless have revealed

many curious secrets of natural magic to the uninitiated. Like all

so-called sorcerers, the priests evidently compiled works on the

subject of their art for the benefit of their successors. But not

one of these has come down to us. Hermes Trismegistus is said to

have written two myriads of books on the occult sciences. He was the

Alexander Dumas of the Egyptian pantheon.

Trewey, an apt descendant of the ancient magi of the land of Mizraim,

has compiled a ponderous folio of illusions and feats of juggling

and legerdemain; a great manuscript volume of mysteries, the text of

which is illustrated by pen-and-ink sketches by himself. Over two

thousand magical experiments are described and explained in this

tome of thaumaturgy, gathered from all sources, many of them being

his own inventions, perhaps the majority of them. I know that this

volume exists, for I have seen it and glanced over it. I have urged

Trewey to publish the work. Perhaps he will some day, now that he

has the leisure for literary labors. He is at present at work on his

invention, the _Treweyorama_, which will be exhibited soon in Paris.

{349}

INDEX OF TRICKS AND ILLUSIONS

Aerial suspension, Houdin’s, 141, 142.

Alchemy, pretended, of Cagliostro, 55.

Altars, magic, 6–9.

Amateur conjuring, 205–209, 346–348.

Anderson, bullet-catching trick, 173; second sight, 173.

Automata, 26, 107–119.

Balsamo, mask of, 42, 43.

Basket trick, Hindoo, 246, 247.

Bel, priests of, and Daniel, 4.

Bible account of Daniel and priests of Bel, 4.

Bird, Pinetti’s mechanical, 29.

Black art, Buatier de Kolta’s, 293–299.

Blind man’s game of piquet, 22.

Blitz, _Signor_, ventriloquial experience with Paginini,

178–180.

Blue room. _See_ Metempsychosis.

Bosco, cup-and-ball trick, 169–171; pocket-picking experiment,

167, 168.

Bottle, inexhaustible, 165, 166.

Boumski and the duck, 230, 231.

Box, magic, 22.

Bullet-catching trick, Anderson’s, 173; Herrmann’s, 231,

231–233; Houdin’s, 152.

Burglar-proof desk, Houdin’s, 128–131.

Bust of Socrates, Houdin’s, 140, 141.

_Cabaret du Néant_, 104–106.

Cagliostro, casket, 143–149; crystal vision, 51–53; pretended

alchemy, 55; spirit séance, 55, 59; spirit writing, 54, 55.

Camera, use of, in magic, 16.

Card box, magic, 22.

Card trick, Comte’s, 161.

Cellini, Benvenuto, experience with a sorcerer, 13–16.

Ceres, temple of, machinery for deception, 3.

Chambers, secret, in ancient temples, 2, 3.

Chapeaugraphy. _See_ Tabarin.

Chess player, Kempelen’s automaton, 107–116; Maelzel’s

experiences with, 107–111.

Clock, Houdin’s magic, 126.

Clever swan, Pinetti’s, 26.

Comte, card trick, 161; ventriloquism, 160, 161.

Concave mirrors, and art of phantasmagoria, 2, 13, 15, 16, 91.

Confederates, use of, 29, 30.

Conradi, inventor of lamp trick, 237.

Crystal vision, Cagliostro, 51–53; psychology of, 51, 52.

Cup-and-ball trick, Bosco’s, 169–171.

Cybele, miraculous statue of, 9–11.

Daniel, and priests of Bel, 4.

Davenport Brothers, rope trick, 250.

Decapitated princess, 329, 330.

_Decapitè parlant_, 325, 326.

De Grisy’s watch trick, 19–21.

De Kolta, Buatier, black art, 293–299; magic die, 292.

Dessoir, Max, on psychology of crystal gazing, 51, 52.

Die, magic, 292.

Doors, temple, opened when fire is lighted on altar, 6–8;

trumpet blown on opening, 5, 6.

Double vision of Dr. Sarak, 257, 267–269.

Duck, Boumski and the, 230, 231.

Fakir of Ava, watch trick, 241–243.

Fish eggs, magic hatching, 256, 257.

Fox sisters, spirit rapping, xxx.

Frikell, lessons in magic, 184, 185.

Ghost illusion, Pepper’s, 92–94; Robertson’s, 87–92;

Robert-Houdin’s adaptation of, 95–97; Robin’s, 95, 97–100.

Ghosts. _See under_ Cagliostro.

_Gibécière_, use of, 17, 18.

Golden head and rings, Pinetti’s, 26.

Goldfish trick, Robinson’s, 286.

Goldin, invisible flight, 275–277.

“Gone,” Robinson’s illusion, 287–289.

Handcuff trick, Houdini’s, 306–314.

Heller, Robert, second sight, 188–191.

Heron, temple tricks revealed, 5–9.

Herrmann, Alexander, bullet catching trick, 231–233; impromptu

trick, 217; spirit-writing, 219; Thibetan mail, 219, 220;

Vanity Fair illusion, 233, 234; watch trick, 229, 230.

Hindoo basket, 246, 247.

Hoffmann, _Prof._, explanation of Sphinx illusion, 322–324.

Horse, alleged stopping of, by power of will, 266, 267.

Houdin. _See_ Robert-Houdin.

Houdini, Harry, handcuff trick, 306–314.

Hypnotic feat of Egyptian sorcerer, 1.

Indian basket. _See_ Hindoo basket.

Invisible flight, Goldin’s, 276, 277.

Kellar and Fakir of Ava, 241–243; levitation mystery, 243–245;

rope tricks, 248–250; Yoge’s lamp, 237, 238.

Kempelen, chess-playing automaton, 107–116.

Kircher, _Father_, temple trick described, 9–11.

Lamp, mysterious, Pinetti, 26; Yoge’s, Kellar, 237, 238.

Levitation mystery, Kellar’s, 243–245.

Light and heavy chest, Houdin’s, 138–140, 150–152.

Lustral water vase, magic, 11.

Maelzel, and the chess-player, 107–111.

Magic clock, Houdin’s, 126.

Magic mirror, Cagliostro’s, 51–53; concave, 2, 13, 15, 16, 91.

Magic villa, Houdin’s, 153, 154.

Magical bouquet, Pinetti’s, 27.

Mango tree, xxviii–xxx.

Maskelyne’s “Psycho,” 116–119; spirit music-box, 119–121.

Matthews, Brander, explanation of Houdin’s casket trick,

146–149.

Metempsychosis, 100–104.

Music-box, spirit, Maskelyne’s, 119–121.

Mysteries of “Yud,” 266, 267.

Mysterious lamp, Pinetti’s, 26.

_Ombromanie._ _See_ Shadowgraphy.

Orange tree, Houdin’s, 142, 143.

Paganini, demon of, 98, 99; experience with Signor Blitz,

178–180.

Parsell, Henry V. A., exposé of spirit music-box, 119–121;

Robinson’s “Gone,” 287–289.

Pepper, ghost illusion, 92, 93; metempsychosis, 100–104.

Phantasmagoria, art of, 2, 13, 15, 16, 91.

Pinetti, beheaded dove, 26, 27; clever swan, 26; golden head

and rings, 26; fettering and binding experiments, 27;

magical bouquet, 27; mechanical bird, 29; mysterious lamp,

26; recovered ring, 28, 29, 38; ring and ribbons, 27;

second sight, 35; stage, 36; Wise little Turk, 26.

Piquet, blind man’s game of, 22.

Pistol trick, fatal, of De Grisy, 22.

Polyoscope, Seguin’s, 94.

“Psycho,” Maskelyne’s, 116–119.

Recovered ring, Pinetti’s, 28, 29, 38.

Ring and ribbons, Pinetti’s, 27.

Robert-Houdin, aeriel suspension, 141, 142; bullet-catching,

152; burglar-proof desk, 128–131; bust of Socrates, 140,

141; Cagliostro’s casket, 143–149; ghost illusion, 97–100;

history of Kempelen’s chess-player, 112–116; light and

heavy chest, 138–140, 150–152; magic clock, 126; magic

villa, 153, 154; orange tree, 142, 143; stage, 138; trick

table, 137.

Robertson, ghost illusion, 87–92.

Robin, ghost illusion, 95, 97–100; stage, 164, 165.

Robinson, goldfish trick, 286; illusion “Gone,” 287–289.

Rods turning into serpents, x.

Rope tricks, Davenport Brothers, 250; Kellar’s, 248–250;

Pinetti’s, 27.

Salverte, description of temple tricks, 2.

Sarak, Dr., double vision, 257, 267–269; hatching fish eggs by

magic, 256, 257; stopping horse by power of will, 266, 267.

Second sight, Anderson’s, 173; Heller’s, 188–191; invented by

Pinetti, 35; silent, 194–198; Wyman’s, 203; Zancigs’, 199,

200.

Séguin’s polyoscope, 94.

Sepulchre, marvellous, 5.

Serpents, rods turning into, x.

_Servante_, 18.

Shadowgraphy, Trewey’s, 333–338.

“She,” illusion, 327–328.

Shirt trick, Pinetti’s, 29–31.

Silent second sight, Svengalis’, 194–198.

Slade, Dr., and spirit slates, xxvi.

Slot machine, antiquity of, 11.

Spectres. _See_ Ghost illusion.

Sphinx illusion, 318–326.

Spirit music-box, Maskelyne’s, 119–121.

Spirit rapping, xxx.

Spirit séance, Cagliostro’s, 59.

Spirit writing, Cagliostro’s, 54; Herrmann’s, 219.

Stage, Houdin’s, 138.

Stodare, Colonel, and Sphinx illusion, 320, 324, 325.

Svengalis, silent second sight, 194–198.

Swing, magic, xx–xxiii.

Sword trick, xxiii, xxiv.

Tabarin, Trewey’s, 341, 342.

Tables, conjuring, 18, 138.

Talrich’s _decapitè parlant_, 325, 326.

Tarsus, temple of, illusions, 2.

Tavern of the dead. _See_ _Cabaret du Néant_.

Temple doors. _See_ Doors, temple.

Ten-Ichi, thumb-tying trick, 27.

Theurgists, deceptions of, 2.

Thibetan mail, 219, 220.

Thompson, Alfred, and Sphinx illusion, 320–322.

Thumb-tying trick, Pinetti’s, 27; Ten Ichi’s, 27.

Thurston, Howard, tricks and illusions of, 278.

Tobin, Thomas, inventor of Sphinx illusion, 318.

Trewey, shadowgraphy, 333–338; Tabarin, 341, 342.

Trick table, Houdin’s, 137, 138.

Trunk trick, 249.

“Vanity Fair” illusion, 233, 234.

Ventriloquism, Blitz, 178–180; Comte, 160, 161.

Watch trick, De Grisy’s, 19–21; Fakir of Ava’s, 241–243;

Herrmann’s, 229, 230.

Whist playing automaton. _See_ “Psycho.”

Wine and milk trick, 12.

Wise little Turk, Pinetti’s, 26.

Wyman, second sight, 203.

Yoge’s lamp, Kellar’s, 237, 238.

“Yud,” mystery of, 266–267.

Zancigs, second sight, 199, 200.

Zöllner’s illusion, xix.

FINIS

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Original spelling and grammar have been generally retained, with some

exceptions noted below. Original printed page numbers are shown like

this: {52}. Original small caps are now uppercase. Italics look _like

this_. Illustrations have been moved from within paragraphs of text

to nearby locations between paragraphs. Footnotes have been relabeled

1–29, and moved from within paragraphs to nearby locations between

paragraphs. Several missing full stops were inserted, commonly at

the end of a line of text. The transcriber produced the cover image

and hereby assigns it to the public domain. Original page images are

available from archive.org—search for “cu31924029935743”.

Page 26. Changed “in unison with the head, head,” to “in unison with

the head,”.

Page 140. Right double quotation mark removed after “six spectators.”.

Page 141. “inedequate” to “inadequate”.

Page 146. Right single quotation mark inserted after “impression of

Cagliostro’s seal.”.

Page 162. “(London, March, 1846):” to “(London, March, 1846).”.

Page 219. “Hermann” to “Herrmann”.

Page 226. “secene” to “scene”.

Page 229. Right single quotation mark inserted after “order of the

Medjidie.”

Page 257. “Apparenty” to “Apparently”.

Page 263. “Fortuntely” to “Fortunately”.

Page 316. Removed right double quotation mark from ‘magic are

over.” ’.

Page 327. “wierd” to “weird”.

Page 348. “unintiated” to “uninitiated”.

Page 350. Changed “Shadowgraphy, Trewey’s, 33–338” to “Shadowgraphy,

Trewey’s, 333–338”.

Page 351. Added page reference “2” for entry “Tarsus”.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Old and the New Magic, by Henry Ridgely Evans