A gentleman amusing other gentlemen--that should be the ideal; and this
ideal not only forbids any foolish clowning and any trivial buffoonery
on the part of the performer, but it prohibits also any attempt on his
part to incite the gentlemen he is amusing to laugh at any one of their
own number who may have been kind enough to lend a hat or a watch, or to
come up on the stage as a volunteer assistant by request. Nothing is
cheaper, and nothing is in worse taste, than for the performer to make
personal remarks about any member of his audience or to hold any one of
the spectators up to ridicule. The conjurer is a comedian playing the
part of a modern magician, but he is not a low-comedian, ready to get a
laugh at any price and at the cost of any one else. He may be as
pleasant as he can, and even as humorous, but he can preserve his own
self-respect only by having due regard to the self-respect of all those
who have gathered to enjoy his performance. Readers of Robert-Houdin's
memoirs will remember how one of the old-school performers used to
advertise that he would Eat a Man Alive, and how he sprinkled flour and
pepper and salt all over the hapless creature who volunteered to be
devoured, and then proceeded to bite the finger of the disgusted and
unfortunate victim. This is "most tolerable and not to be endured."
If a demand were to be made for a list of the books likely to be the
most useful to those who desire to master the principles of the art of
modern magic, one would have to begin by recommending the preliminary
perusal of the autobiography of Robert-Houdin, from which a host of
useful hints may be gleaned. The Frenchman tells us, for instance, how
he once showed off before Torrini and exhibited his manipulative skill
over a pack of cards, making a needless display of dexterity, designed
to dazzle the eyes of the spectators; and how Torrini pointed out the
futility and the disadvantage of this. Then it would be well to consult
the invaluable series of volumes on modern magic by "Professor Hoffman"
wherein the various tricks and sleights and apparatus are described and
illustrated. These books contain what may be called the raw material of
the art, the processes which the magician can employ at will in building
up his larger experiments in magic, each of which should be a complete
play in itself. Finally, when the student has found out how tricks can
be done, he would do well to turn his attention to 'Our Magic,' by Mr.
Maskelyne and his associate, Mr. David Devant. And from this logical
treatise he can learn how experiments in magic ought to be composed. It
is from this admirable discussion of the basic principles of modern
magic that several of the points made in this essay have been borrowed.
Mr. Devant calls attention to the fact that new tricks are common, new
manipulative devices, new examples of dexterity, and new applications of
science, whereas new plots, new ideas for effective presentation, are
rare. He describes a series of experiments of his own, some of which
utilize again, but in a novel manner, devices long familiar, while
others are new both in idea and in many of the subsidiary methods of
execution. One of the most hackneyed and yet one of the most effective
illusions in the repertory of the conjurer, is that known as the Rising
Cards. The performer brings forward a pack of cards, several of which
are drawn by members of the audience and returned to the pack, whereupon
at the command of the magician they rise out of the pack, one after the
other, in the order in which they were drawn. In the oldest form in
which this illusion is described in the books on the art of magic, the
pack is placed in a case supported by a rod standing on a base; and the
secret of the trick lies in this rod and its base. The rod is really a
hollow tube, and the base is really an empty box. The tube is filled
with sand, on the top of which rests a leaden weight, to which is
attached a thread so arranged over and under certain cards as to cause
the chosen cards to rise when it descends down the tube; and in putting
the cards into the case the conjurer releases a valve at the bottom of
the tube, so that the sand might escape into the box, whereby the weight
is lowered, the thread then doing its allotted work, and the cards
ascending into view, no matter how far distant from them the performer
may be standing when he achieves his miracle.
It seems likely that the invention of this primitive apparatus may have
been due to the fact that some eighteenth-century conjurer happened to
observe the sand running out of an hour-glass, and set about to find
some means whereby this escape of sand could be utilized in his art. The
hollow rod, the escaping sand, and the descending weight have long since
been discarded; but the illusion of the Rising Cards survives and is now
performed in an unending variety of ways. The pack may be held in the
hand of the performer, without the use of any case; or it may be placed
in a glass goblet; or it may be tied together with a ribbon and thus
suspended from cords that swing to and fro almost over the heads of the
spectators, and however they may be isolated, the chosen cards rise
obediently when they are bidden. The original effect subsists, even tho
the devices differ.
It was left for Mr. Devant to give a new twist to this old illusion. For
a full pack of playing-cards he substituted ten cards two or three times
larger than playing-cards, and with the ten numerals printed or painted
in bold black. These pasteboards are given for examination, and so is a
case into which they fit. After they have been duly inspected they are
put into the case which is hung from chains. A clean slate is also
shown, and wrapped up and given to a spectator to hold. Then three
members of the audience are invited to write each a number composed of
three figures, and these three numbers are added by a fourth spectator.
The total is found to be written on the slate; and then at the behest of
the performer the cards containing the figures of this total rise in
proper sequence out of the case. It may be noted that the writing on the
slate is also an old and well-worn device, and so is the method of
making sure that the total of the three numbers written by different
persons shall agree with that already concealed on the slate. Yet these
three familiar effects are here united in a refreshingly novel
experiment in magic, being now fitted into a new plot. The devices
themselves are old enough, but Mr. Devant is entitled to full credit for
the new combination.