I
"Autobiography," said Longfellow--altho the remark does not seem
especially characteristic of this gentle poet--"is what biography ought
to be." And in the long list of alluring autobiographies, from Cellini's
and Cibber's, from Franklin's and Goldoni's, there are few more
fascinating than the 'Confidences of a Prestidigitator' of
Robert-Houdin. A hostile critic of Robert-Houdin's career has recorded
the fact--if it is a fact--that Robert-Houdin once confided to a fellow
magician that his autobiography had been written for him by a clever
Parisian journalist; and it must be admitted that not a few amusing
French autobiographies have not been the children of their putative
parents--for instance, the memoirs of Vidocq, the detective. Yet this is
not as damaging an admission as it may seem at first sight since the
clever Parisian journalist may have been little more than the amanuensis
of the prestidigitator, hired only to give literary form to the actual
recollections of his employer. Such a proceeding would not deprive
Robert-Houdin's autobiography by its authenticity. It remains a classic,
beloved by all who joy in the delights of conjuring. Unfortunately the
hostile critic has gone further in his attack upon Robert-Houdin's
reputation, and he has succeeded in showing that the renowned French
conjurer claimed as his own invention not a few illusions which had been
already exhibited by his predecessors in the art of deception.
Yet this unjustified boasting does not invalidate Robert-Houdin's title
to be considered the father of modern magic. Even if he was treading in
the path of those who had gone before, he attained at last to a
consistent theory of the art, far in advance of that held by earlier
magicians. Many of his marvels, and perhaps more than one of the most
striking of them, may have been but improvements upon effects originally
contrived by others; yet every succeeding generation can rise only by
standing upon the shoulders of the generations that went before, and it
is justified in availing itself of all that these earlier generations
may have discovered and invented. Robert-Houdin tells us himself that he
was greatly indebted to the Comte de Grisy, whose stage-name was
Torrini. In fact, Robert-Houdin might be called a pupil of Torrini, as
Mr. John S. Sargent is a pupil of Carolus Duran. It was upon Torrini's
dignified simplicity as a magician that Robert-Houdin modelled his own
unpretending presentation of his feats of magic. Apparently it was a
famous conjurer named Frikell, who first discarded the cumbersome and
glittering array of apparatus which used to be displayed on the stage to
dazzle the eyes of the spectators; but this discarding of obtrusive
paraphernalia was not deliberate, being due only to the accidental
destruction of Frikell's stage-furniture by fire, whereby the performer
was suddenly forced to rely upon the less complicated experiments, which
could be exhibited without extraneous aid. The abandoning of overt
apparatus, which Frikell was forced into by misfortune, Robert-Houdin
adopted as an abiding principle. He kept his stage as unencumbered as
possible, altho, of course, he brought forward from time to time the
special objects necessary for the illusions he was about to exhibit.
Not only did he perform on a stage which was intended to resemble a
drawing-room, he also eschewed any other costume than that appropriate
to a drawing-room. Earlier performers had not hesitated to deck
themselves in Oriental apparel or in the flowing garb of a medieval
magician. Robert-Houdin was always modern and never medieval; and he
adopted this attitude deliberately. He was the first to formulate the
fundamental principle of the modern art of magic--that a conjurer should
be "an actor playing the part of a magician." One of the foremost
exponents of modern magic, Mr. Maskelyne, notes that many conjurers
strive only to play the part of some other conjurer; and it might be
added that there are not a few who fail entirely to see the necessity
for playing a part and who content themselves with a purposeless display
of their misplaced dexterity. But the masters of the art are men like
Robert Heller and Buatier da Kolta, who were accomplished comedians,
each in his own fashion, and who presented a succession of little
plays--for a truly good experiment in magic is really a diminutive
drama.
It may be brief and simple--a play in one act; or it may be prolonged
and complicated--a play in three or five acts. But like any other play
it ought to possess a central idea and to have a definite plot. It
should tend straight toward its single conclusion, which must be the
logical development of all that has gone before; that is to say, it must
possess what the critics of the drama term Unity of Action. It should
have a beginning, a middle, and an end, in accord with Aristotle's
requirement for a tragedy. It must work up to its culmination with a
steadily increasing intensity of interest. It must contain nothing not
directly contributory to the startling climax which is its surprising
and satisfying conclusion. It must not digress or dally in by-paths,
however entertaining these may be in themselves, but push onward to its
inevitable finish. It is only by conceiving of every one of his
successive experiments as a play, complete in itself and governed by the
inexorable laws of the drama, that the magician can rise to the summit
of his art. He is a conjurer and a comedian at the same time, making his
dexterity the servant of his drama, and never for a single moment
allowing this dexterity to force itself upon the attention of the
audience. Indeed, the one thing he ought to conceal is his possession of
any special gift in manipulation. He should keep his audience ever
guessing as to the method of his apparent miracles.