II

It is because Robert-Houdin was seemingly the first conjurer to adopt

these principles as his irrefragable code of procedure that he is to be

accepted as the father of modern magic. He never allowed himself to

parade his skill in manipulating coins and cards at the risk of

distracting the attention of the spectators from the central and

culminating effect around which he had constructed his plot. No doubt,

he possessed dexterity in abundance, but it was subordinate to his

dramatic intent. No doubt, again, some of the devices he used had

sometimes been employed by a long succession of his predecessors in

conjuring. As a matter of course he availed himself of all sorts of mere

tricks, of ingenious sleights, and of artful apparatus that the

conjurers who went before him had devised for their own use long before

he was born. An experiment in magic--to use the term that Mr. Maskelyne

prefers, is not a mere trick--or at least it ought not to be. It is not

the exhibition of a device or of a sleight or of an adroit mechanical

apparatus. Rather is it a coherent whole, direct in its development, no

matter how many subtleties of concealment and deception it may employ in

the course of its accomplishment.

Most amateurs in the art of magic, and also only too many professional

performers, place their reliance mainly upon the trick itself--the

deceptive manipulation or the novel apparatus--and are satisfied to get

out of it what they can. They invent new methods of changing a card or

of making coins pass into a box, overlooking the fact that these

inventions are valueless except as they may be utilized to facilitate

the execution of one of those larger feats which only are fairly to be

entitled experiments in magic, and which are distinguished always by the

direct simplicity and the straightforward unity of their plots. In fact,

an experiment in magic must aim at that totality of effect, that perfect

subordination of the minor means to the major end, which Poe insisted

upon as the dominant characteristic of the true short-story. And this

totality of effect can be achieved only by the rigorous exclusion of

everything which in any way contradicts that central idea out of which

the true short-story must always be developed. Unity and totality, and a

rigorous obedience to what Herbert Spencer called the Principle of

Economy of Attention--these are the essential elements in the

presentation of a worthy experiment in magic.

An intimate friend of the late Alexander Hermann, the last of a long

line of Hermanns who have been eminent in the history of the art, has

asserted that Alexander Hermann was wont to insist that the conjurer

must possess three qualifications for the practise of his profession.

The first of these is dexterity; the second is dexterity; and the third

is also dexterity. Now, there is a sense in which this assertion is

true; but it may be easily misapprehended. A conjurer needs to be

dexterous, altho more than one master of modern magic, notably Robert

Heller, has not been pre-eminent in the possession of this

qualification. A moderate degree of dexterity is essential, and perhaps

more than a moderate degree; but dexterity is not the prime requisite,

which is rather the dramatic instinct, or, perhaps, it had better be

called the dramaturgic imagination, that can hit on a new idea and build

it up into a plot, and thus devise an experiment in magic completely

satisfactory to the artistic sense.

What the master of the magic art never forgets is that dexterity is not

an end in itself; it is only one of the means by the aid of which the

marvel may be wrought. There are, to-day, performers of a surpassing

skill in the manipulation of cards and coins, capable of feats which

would have been the despair of Robert-Houdin and of Robert Heller; and

some of them are so enamored of their own dexterity that in their

eagerness for its exhibition they lose sight of unity and totality. As a

result of this lapse from the loftier standards of their art they

present a disconcerting huddle of sleights of hand until the amazed

spectators lose all sense of progression, as these bewildering effects

tumble over one another without any attempt at climax. Such a

performance is an empty display of difficulty conquered for its own

sake; it is only a sequence of "stunts"; it is mere vanity and vexation

of spirit. It is like the favorite Scotch dish, the haggis, which is

said to supply only "confused feeding."

It is always interesting to note how the principles of the arts have a

certain relation, and how we can constantly discover parallels in two

wholly different fields. This abuse of dexterity in the art of modern

magic is closely akin to the abuse of toe-dancing in the art of the

ballet. As the conjurer ought to have dexterity at his command to serve

when it is needed, so the accomplished ballet-dancer ought to be able to

walk on her toes, when this feat will fit into the scheme of the special

dance she has undertaken to perform. But for a dancer to confine herself

to the executing of a series of difficult steps involving nothing more

than toe-dancing is to circumscribe the range of her art and to accept

as the end what ought to be only the means. Here again, we have a frank

substitution of a single "stunt" for the larger liberty accorded by a

more intelligent understanding of the true principles of the art. The

excessive toe-work of the dancer, like the excessive dexterity of the

conjurer, is at bottom only what boys call "showing off"; and in the

long run even boys tire of this. To descend to showing off is equivalent

to the blunder common in bad architecture, when we cannot help seeing

that the artist has gone afield to construct his ornament, instead of

concentrating his effort on ornamenting his construction.

So far from permitting himself ever to show off, or to invite attention

to his own skill, the master of modern magic is careful always to

conceal as far as possible the method by which he accomplishes his

wonders. He utilizes at will and in conjunction ingenious apparatus and

manual dexterity, without ever calling the attention of the spectators

to either. He refrains even from turning up his sleeves or from passing

for special examination any of the objects he is employing, while

taking care to let it be seen accidentally that these objects are really

above suspicion. Like the playwright constructing a play, the composer

of an experiment in magic must ever keep in mind his audience; and he

must strive always to foresee the exact impression he is making upon the

spectators. Like the playwright, the modern magician must so build up

each of his experiments that it seizes the attention of the spectators

early, that it arouses their interest, that it holds this interest

unrelaxed to the end, and that at last it satisfies while it surprises.

This can be achieved only when all the elements of the experiment, the

idea itself, the plot, the dexterous devices, and the ingenious

apparatus which may be necessary, are all so combined and controlled and

harmonized as to leave on the memory of the audience a clear and

consistent impression--indeed, an impression so sharp that a majority of

those who witnessed the experiment could describe it the next day.

It is the disadvantage of the empty display of dexterity for its own

sake that fails to leave this definite deposit in the memory; and the

spectators are quite unable to recall the central effect. This is

generally because there was, in fact, no central effect for them to

seize, the performer having scattered his efforts, as tho he were using

a shot-gun instead of hitting the bull's-eye with a single rifle-shot.

The master of the art is careful to economize the attention of his

audience, to focus it, so to speak, and to arrange his sequence of

effects so adroitly that, however multifarious and even complicated may

be the means whereby he is achieving his object, the result is attained

so directly and so simply that it can be apprehended by the spectators

readily and instantly. The experiment has been exhibited as tho it were

the easiest thing in the world, even if it is at the same time perceived

to be the most impossible to account for. To arrive at this result the

performer must preserve an absolute simplicity of manner; he presents

himself as a gentleman amusing himself by amusing other gentlemen, who

have come together at his invitation to be amused.