New Studies--A Comic Journal--Invention of Second Sight--Curious
Experiments--An enthusiastic Spectator--Danger of being a
Sorcerer--A Philter or your Life--Way to get rid of Bores--An
Electric Touch--I perform at the Vaudeville--Struggles with the
Incredulous--Interesting Details.
Fontenelle says, somewhere or other, “There is no success, however
merited, in which luck does not have a share;” and, although I was of
the same opinion as the illustrious Academician, I determined by sheer
toil to diminish as much as in me lay the share luck could claim in _my_
success. In the first place, I redoubled my efforts to improve the
execution of my tricks, and when I believed I had attained that result,
I tried to correct a fault which, I felt, must injure my performance.
This was speaking too rapidly; and my “patter,” recited in a schoolboy
tone, thus lost much of its effect. I was drawn in this false direction
by my natural vivacity, and I had great trouble in correcting it;
however, by resolutely attacking my enemy, I managed to conquer it.
This victory was doubly profitable to me: I performed with much less
fatigue, and had the pleasure of noticing, in the calmness of my
audience, that I had realized the scenic truth, “the more slowly a story
is told, the shorter it seems.” In fact, if you pronounce slowly, the
public, judging from your calmness that you take an interest in what you
are saying, yield to your influence and listen to you with sustained
attention. If, on the contrary, your words reveal a desire to finish
quickly, your auditors gradually submit to the influence of this
restlessness, and they are as anxious as yourself to hear the end of
your story.
I have said that people of the first rank came to my theatre, but I
noticed, on the other hand, to my regret, that my pit was scantily
filled. As I was ambitious to have my room thronged, I thought I could
not effect this more easily than by making my theatre better known than
I had hitherto done.
From time immemorial it has been the custom, at conjuring performances,
to distribute small presents to the audience, in order to “maintain
their friendship.” Toys were generally selected, which spectators of all
ages contended for; and this often made Comte say at the moment of
distribution, “Here are toys for great children and small.” These toys
had a very ephemeral existence, and as nothing indicated their origin,
they could attract no attention to the giver. While, then, I was as
liberal as my predecessors, I wished that my little presents should keep
up for a longer period the remembrance of my name and experiments.
Instead of dolls and other similar objects, I distributed to my
spectators, under the form of presents produced by magic, illustrated
comic journals, elegant fans, albums, and rebuses, all accompanied by
bouquets and excellent bonbons. Each article bore, not only the
inscription “Recollections of Robert-Houdin’s fantastic soirées,” but
also details of my performances, according to the nature of the article.
These were generally presented in the shape of verses. The thing that
caused me the most trouble was my comic journal, the “Cagliostro,” which
I was forced to edit at the expense of my night’s rest. The audience
were amused by my jests, and the perusal of the paper between the acts
gave me a little time to make my preparations.
The experiment, however, to which I owed my reputation was one inspired
by that fantastic god to whom Pascal attributes all the discoveries of
this sublunary world: chance led me straight to the invention of _second
sight_.
My two children were playing one day in the drawing-room at a game they
had invented for their own amusement. The younger had bandaged his elder
brother’s eyes, and made him guess the objects he touched, and when the
latter happened to guess right, they changed places. This simple game
suggested to me the most complicated idea that ever crossed my mind.
Pursued by the notion, I ran and shut myself up in my workroom, and was
fortunately in that happy state when the mind follows easily the
combinations traced by fancy. I rested my head in my hands, and, in my
excitement, laid down the first principles of second sight.
It would require a whole volume to describe the numberless combinations
of this experiment; but this description, far too serious for these
memoirs, will find a place in a special work, which will also contain
the explanation of my theatrical tricks. Still, I cannot resist the
desire of cursorily explaining some of the preliminary experiments to
which I had recourse before I could make the trick perfect.
My readers will remember the experiment suggested to me formerly by the
pianist’s dexterity, and the strange faculty I succeeded in attaining: I
could read while juggling with four balls. Thinking seriously of this, I
fancied that this “perception by appreciation” might be susceptible of
equal development, if I applied its principles to the memory and the
mind.
I resolved, therefore, on making some experiments with my son Emile,
and, in order to make my young assistant understand the nature of the
exercise we were going to learn, I took a domino, the cinq-quatre for
instance, and laid it before him. Instead of letting him count the
points of the two numbers, I requested the boy to tell me the total at
once.
“Nine,” he said.
Then I added another domino, the quarter-tray.
“That makes sixteen,” he said, without any hesitation.
I stopped the first lesson here; the next day we succeeded in counting
at a single glance four dominoes, the day after six, and thus we at
length were enabled to give instantaneously the product of a dozen
dominoes.
This result obtained, we applied ourselves to a far more difficult task,
over which we spent a month. My son and I passed rapidly before a
toy-shop, or any other displaying a variety of wares, and cast an
attentive glance upon it. A few steps further on we drew paper and
pencil from our pockets, and tried which could describe the greater
number of objects seen in passing. I must own that my son reached a
perfection far greater than mine, for he could often write down forty
objects, while I could scarce reach thirty. Often feeling vexed at this
defeat, I would return to the shop and verify his statement, but he
rarely made a mistake.
My male readers will certainly understand the possibility of this, but
they will recognize the difficulty. As for my lady readers, I am
convinced beforehand they will not be of the same opinion, for they
daily perform far more astounding feats. Thus, for instance, I can
safely assert that a lady seeing another pass at full speed in a
carriage, will have had time to analyze her toilette from her bonnet to
her shoes, and be able to describe not only the fashion and quality of
the stuffs, but also say if the lace be real, or only machine made. I
have known ladies do this.
This natural, or acquired, faculty among ladies, but which my son and I
had only gained by constant practice, was of great service in my
performances, for while I was executing my tricks, I could see
everything that passed around me, and thus prepare to foil any
difficulties presented me. This exercise had given me, so to speak, the
power of following two ideas simultaneously, and nothing is more
favorable in conjuring than to be able to think at the same time both of
what you are saying and of what you are doing. I eventually acquired
such a knack in this, that I frequently invented new tricks while going
through my performances. One day, even, I made a bet I would solve a
problem in mechanics while taking my part in conversation. We were
talking of the pleasure of a country life, and I calculated during this
time the quantity of wheels and pinions, as well as the necessary cogs,
to produce certain revolutions required, without once failing in my
reply.
This slight explanation will be sufficient to show what is the essential
basis of second sight, and I will add that a secret and unnoticeable
correspondence existed between my son and myself, by which I could
announce to him the name, nature, and bulk of objects handed me by
spectators.
As none understood my mode of action, they were tempted to believe in
something extraordinary, and, indeed, my son Emile, then aged twelve,
possessed all the essential qualities to produce this opinion, for his
pale, intellectual, and ever thoughtful face represented the type of a
boy gifted with some supernatural power.
Two months were incessantly employed in erecting the scaffolding of our
tricks, and when we were quite confident of being able to contend
against the difficulties of such an undertaking, we announced the first
representation of second sight. On the 12th of February, 1846, I printed
in the centre of my bill the following singular announcement:
“_In this performance M. Robert-Houdin’s son, who is gifted with a
marvellous second sight, after his eyes have been covered with a thick
bandage, will designate every object presented to him by the audience_.”
I cannot say whether this announcement attracted any spectators, for my
room was constantly crowded, still I may affirm, what may seem very
extraordinary, that the experiment of second sight, which afterwards
became so fashionable, produced no effect on the first performance. I am
inclined to believe that the spectators fancied themselves the dupes of
accomplices, but I was much annoyed by the result, as I had built on the
surprise I should produce; still, having no reason to doubt its ultimate
success, I was tempted to make a second trial, which turned out well.
The next evening I noticed in my room several persons who had been
present on the previous night, and I felt they had come a second time to
assure themselves of the reality of the experiment. It seems they were
convinced, for my success was complete, and amply compensated for my
former disappointment.
I especially remember a mark of singular approval with which one of my
pit audience favored me. My son had named to him several objects he
offered in succession; but not feeling satisfied, my incredulous
friend, rising, as if to give more importance to the difficulty he was
about to present, handed me an instrument peculiar to cloth merchants,
and employed to count the number of threads. Acquiescing in his wish, I
said to my boy, “What do I hold in my hand?”
“It is an instrument to judge the fineness of cloth, and called a thread
counter.”
“By Jove!” my spectator said, energetically, “it is marvellous. If I had
paid ten francs to see it, I should not begrudge them.”
From this moment my room was much too small, and was crowded every
evening.
Still, success is not entirely rose-colored, and I could easily narrate
many disagreeable scenes produced by the reputation I had of being a
sorcerer; but I will only mention one, which forms a résumé of all I
pass over:
A young lady of elegant manners paid me a visit one day, and although
her face was hidden by a thick veil, my practised eyes perfectly
distinguished her features. She was very pretty.
My incognita would not consent to sit down till she was assured we were
alone, and that I was the real Robert-Houdin. I also seated myself, and
assuming the attitude of a man prepared to listen, I bent slightly to my
visitor, as if awaiting her pleasure to explain to me the object of her
mysterious visit. To my great surprise, the young lady, whose manner
betrayed extreme emotion, maintained the most profound silence, and I
began to find the visit very strange, and was on the point of forcing an
explanation, at any hazard, when the fair unknown timidly ventured these
words:
“Good Heavens! sir, I know not how you will interpret my visit.”
Here she stopped, and let her eyes sink with a very embarrassed air;
then, making a violent effort, she continued:
“What I have to ask of you, sir, is very difficult to explain.”
“Speak, madam, I beg,” I said, politely, “and I will try to guess what
you cannot explain to me.”
And I began asking myself what this reserve meant.
“In the first place,” the young lady said, in a low voice, and looking
round her, “I must tell you confidentially that I loved, my love was
returned, and I--I am betrayed.”
At the last word the lady raised her head, overcame the timidity she
felt, and said, in a firm and assured voice,
“Yes, sir--yes, I am betrayed, and for that reason I have come to you.”
“Really, madam,” I said, much surprised at this strange confession, “I
do not see how I can help you in such a matter.”
“Oh, sir, I entreat you,” said my fair visitor, clasping her hands--“I
implore you not to abandon me!”
I had great difficulty in keeping my countenance, and yet I felt an
extreme curiosity to know the history concealed behind this mystery.
“Calm yourself, madam,” I remarked, in a tone of tender sympathy; “tell
me what you would of me, and if it be in my power----“
“If it be in your power!” the young lady said, quickly; “why, nothing is
more easy, sir.”
“Explain yourself, madam.”
“Well, sir, I wish to be avenged.”
“In what way?”
“How, you know better than I, sir; must I teach you? You have in your
power means to----“
“I, madam?”
“Yes, sir, you! for you are a sorcerer, and cannot deny it.”
At this word sorcerer, I was much inclined to laugh; but I was
restrained by the incognita’s evident emotion. Still, wishing to put an
end to a scene which was growing ridiculous, I said, in a politely
ironical tone:
“Unfortunately, madam, you give me a title I never possessed.”
“How, sir!” the young woman exclaimed, in a quick tone, “you will not
allow you are----“
“A sorcerer, madam? Oh no, I will not.”
“You will not?”
“No, a thousand times no, madam.”
At these words my visitor rose hastily, muttered a few incoherent words,
appeared suffering from terrible emotion, and then drawing near me with
flaming eyes and passionate gestures, repeated:
“Ah, you will not! Very good; I now know what I have to do.”
Stupefied by such an outbreak, I looked at her fixedly, and began to
suspect the cause of her extraordinary conduct.
“There are two modes of acting,” she said, with terrible volubility,
“towards people who devote themselves to magic arts--entreaty and
menaces. You would not yield to the first of these means, hence, I must
employ the second. Stay,” she added, “perhaps this will induce you to
speak.”
And, lifting up her cloak, she laid her hand on the hilt of a dagger
passed through her girdle. At the same time she suddenly threw back her
veil, and displayed features in which all the signs of rage and madness
could be traced. No longer having a doubt as to the person I had to deal
with, my first movement was to rise and stand on my guard; but this
first feeling overcome, I repented the thought of a struggle with the
unhappy woman, and determined on employing a method almost always
successful with those deprived of reason. I pretended to accede to her
wishes.
“If it be so, madam, I yield to your request. Tell me what you require.”
“I have told you, sir; I wish for vengeance, and there is only one
method to----“
Here there was a fresh interruption, and the young lady, calmed by my
apparent submission, as well as embarrassed by the request she had to
make of me, became again timid and confused.
“Well, madam?”
“Well, sir, I know not how to tell you--how to explain to you--but I
fancy there are certain means--certain spells--which render it
impossible--impossible for a man to be--unfaithful.”
“I now understand what you wish, madam. It is a certain magic practice
employed in the middle ages. Nothing is easier, and I will satisfy you.”
Decided on playing the farce to the end, I took down the largest book I
could find in my library, turned over the leaves, stopped at a page
which I pretended to scan with profound attention, and then addressing
the lady, who followed all my movements anxiously,
“Madam,” I said, confidentially, “the spell I am going to perform
renders it necessary for me to know the name of the person; have the
kindness, then, to tell it me.”
“Julian!” she said, in a faint voice.
With all the gravity of a real sorcerer, I solemnly thrust a pin through
a lighted candle, and pronounced some cabalistic words. After which,
blowing out the candle, and turning to the poor creature, I said:
“Madam, it is done; your wish is accomplished.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” she replied, with the expression of the
profoundest gratitude; and at the same moment she laid a purse on the
table and rushed away. I ordered my servant to follow her to her house,
and obtain all the information he could about her, and I learned she had
been a widow for a short time, and that the loss of an adored husband
had disturbed her reason. The next day I visited her relatives, and,
returning them the purse, I told them the scene the details of which the
reader has just perused.
This scene, with some others that preceded and followed it, compelled me
to take measures to guard myself against bores of every description. I
could not dream, as formerly, of exiling myself in the country, but I
employed a similar resource: this was to shut myself up in my workroom,
and organize around me a system of defence against those whom I called,
in my ill-temper, thieves of time.
I daily received visits from persons who were utter strangers to me;
some were worth knowing, but the majority, gaining an introduction under
the most futile pretexts, only came to kill a portion of their leisure
time with me. It was necessary to distinguish the tares from the wheat,
and this is the arrangement I made:
When one of these gentlemen rang at my door, an electric communication
struck a bell in my workroom; I was thus warned and put on my guard. My
servant opened the door, and, as is customary, inquired the visitor’s
name, while I, for my part, laid my ear to a tube, arranged for the
purpose, which conveyed to me every word. If, according to his reply, I
thought it as well not to receive him, I pressed a button, and a white
mark that appeared in a certain part of the hall announced I was not at
home to him. My servant then stated I was out, and begged the visitor to
apply to the manager.
Sometimes it happened that I erred in my judgment, and regretted having
granted an audience; but I had another mode of shortening a bore’s
visit. I had placed behind the sofa on which I set an electric spring,
communicating with a bell my servant could hear. In case of need, and
while talking, I threw my arm carelessly over the back of the sofa,
touching the spring, and the bell rang. Then my servant, playing a
little farce, opened the front door, rang the bell, which could be heard
from the room where I sat, and came to tell me that M. X---- (a name
invented for the occasion) wished to speak to me. I ordered M. X---- to
be shown into an adjoining room, and it was very rare that my bore did
not raise the siege. No one can form an idea how much time I gained by
this happy arrangement, or how many times I blessed my imagination and
the celebrated savant to whom the discovery of galvanism is due!
This feeling can be easily explained, for my time was of inestimable
value. I husbanded it like a treasure, and never sacrificed it, unless
the sacrifice might help me to discover new experiments destined to
stimulate public curiosity.
To support my determination in making my researches, I had ever before
me this maxim:
IT IS MORE DIFFICULT TO SUPPORT ADMIRATION THAN TO EXCITE IT.
And this other, an apparent corollary of the preceding:
THE FASHION AN ARTISTE ENJOYS CAN ONLY LAST AS HIS TALENT DAILY
INCREASES.
Nothing increases a professional man’s merit so much as the possession
of an independent fortune; this truth may be coarse, but it is
indubitable. Not only was I convinced of these principles of high
economy, but I also knew that a man must strive to profit by the fickle
favor of the public, which equally descends if it does not rise. Hence I
worked my reputation as much as I could. In spite of my numerous
engagements, I found means to give performances in all the principal
theatres, though great difficulties frequently arose, as my performance
did not end till half-past ten, and I could only fulfil my other
engagements after that hour.
Eleven o’clock was generally the hour fixed for my appearance on a
strange stage, and my readers may judge of the speed required to proceed
to the theatre in so short a time and make my preparations. It is true
that the moments were as well counted as employed, and my curtain had
hardly fallen than, rushing towards the stairs, I got before my
audience, and jumped into a vehicle that bore me off at full speed.
But this fatigue was as nothing compared to the emotion occasionally
produced by an error in the time that was to elapse between my two
performances. I remember that, one night, having to wind up the
performances at the Vaudeville, the stage-manager miscalculated the time
the pieces would take in performing, and found himself much in advance.
He sent off an express to warn me that the curtain had fallen, and I was
anxiously expected. Can my readers comprehend my wretchedness? My
experiments, of which I could omit none, would occupy another quarter
of an hour; but instead of indulging in useless recriminations, I
resigned myself and continued my performance, though I was a prey to
frightful anxiety. While speaking, I fancied I could hear that cadenced
yell of the public to which the famous song, “_Des lampions, des
lampions_,” was set. Thus, either through preoccupation, or a desire to
end sooner, I found when my performance was over I had gained five
minutes out of the quarter of an hour. Assuredly, it might be called the
quarter of an hour’s grace.
To jump into a carriage and drive to the Place de la Bourse was the
affair of an instant; still, twenty minutes had elapsed since the
curtain fell, and that was an enormous time. My son Emile and I
proceeded up the actors’ stairs at full speed, but on the first step, we
had heard the cries, whistling, and stamping of the impatient audience.
What a prospect! I knew that frequently, either right or wrong, the
public treated an artiste, no matter whom, very harshly, to remind him
of punctuality. That sovereign always appears to have on its lips the
words of another monarch: “I was obliged to wait.” However, we hurried
up the steps leading to the stage.
The stage-manager, who had been watching, on hearing our hurried steps,
cried from the landing:
“Is that you, M. Houdin?”
“Yes, sir--yes.”
“Raise the curtain!” the same voice shouted.
“Wait, wait, it is imp----“
My breath would not allow me to finish my objection; I fell on a chair,
unable to move.
“Come, M. Houdin,” the manager said, “_do_ go on the stage, the curtain
is up, and the public are so impatient.”
The door at the back of the stage was open, but I could not pass through
it, fatigue and emotion nailed me to the spot. Still, an idea occurred
to me, which saved me from the popular wrath.
“Go on to the stage, my boy,” I said to my son, “and prepare all that is
wanting for the second-sight trick.”
The public allowed themselves to be disarmed by this youth, whose face
inspired a sympathizing interest; and my son, after gravely bowing to
the audience, quietly made his slight preparations, that is to say, he
carried an ottoman to the front of the stage, and placed on a
neighboring table a slate, some chalk, a pack of cards, and a bandage.
This slight delay enabled me to recover my breath and calm my nerves,
and I advanced in my turn with an attempt to assume the stereotyped
smile, in which I signally failed, as I was so agitated. The audience at
first remained silent, then their faces gradually unwrinkled, and soon,
one or two claps having been ventured, they were carried away and peace
was made. I was well rewarded, however, for this terrible ordeal, as my
“second-sight” never gained a more brilliant triumph.
An incident greatly enlivened the termination of my performance.
A spectator, who had evidently come on purpose to embarrass us, had
tried in vain for some minutes to baffle my son’s clairvoyance, when
turning to me, he said, laying marked stress on his words:
“As your son is a soothsayer, of course he can guess the number of my
stall?”
The importunate spectator doubtlessly hoped to force us into a
confession of our impotence, for he covered his number and the adjacent
seats being occupied, it was apparently impossible to read the numbers.
But I was on my guard against all surprises, and my reply was ready.
Still, in order to profit as much as possible by the situation, I
feigned to draw back.
“You know, sir,” I said, feigning an embarrassed air, “that my son is
neither sorcerer nor diviner; he reads through my eyes, and hence I have
given this experiment the name of second-sight. As I cannot see the
number of your stall, and the seats close to you are occupied, my son
cannot tell it you.”
“Ah! I was certain of it,” my persecutor said, in triumph, and turning
to his neighbors: “I told you I would pin him.”
“Oh, sir! you are not generous in your victory,” I said, in my turn, in
a tone of mockery. “Take care; if you pique my son’s vanity too sharply,
he may solve your problem, though it is so difficult.”
“I defy him,” said the spectator, leaning firmly against the back of his
seat, to hide the number better--“yes, yes--I defy him!”
“You believe it to be difficult, then?”
“I will grant more: it is impossible.”
“Well, then, sir, that is a stronger reason for us to try it. You will
not be angry if we triumph in our turn?” I added, with a petulant smile.
“Come, sir; we understand evasions of that sort. I repeat it--I
challenge you both.”
The public found great amusement in this debate, and patiently awaited
its issue.
“Emile,” I said to my son, “prove to this gentleman that nothing can
escape your second sight.”
“It is number sixty-nine,” the boy answered, immediately.
Noisy and hearty applause rose from every part of the theatre, in which
our opponent joined, for, confessing his defeat, he exclaimed, as he
clapped his hands, “It is astounding--magnificent!”
The way I succeeded in finding out the number of the stall was this: I
knew beforehand that in all theatres where the stalls are divided down
the centre by a passage, the uneven numbers are on the right, and the
even on the left. As at the Vaudeville each row was composed of ten
stalls, it followed that on the right hand the several rows must begin
with one, twenty-one, forty-one, and so on, increasing by twenty each.
Guided by this, I had no difficulty in discovering that my opponent was
seated in number sixty-nine, representing the fifth stall in the fourth
row. I had prolonged the conversation for the double purpose of giving
more brilliancy to my experiment, and gaining time to make my
researches. Thus I applied my process of two simultaneous thoughts, to
which I have already alluded.
As I am now explaining matters, I may as well tell my readers some of
the artifices that added material brilliancy to the second sight. I have
already said this experiment was the result of a material communication
between myself and my son, which no one could detect. Its combinations
enabled us to describe any conceivable object; but, though this was a
splendid result, I saw that I should soon encounter unheard-of
difficulties in executing it.
The experiment of second sight always formed the termination of my
performance. Each evening I saw unbelievers arrive with all sorts of
articles to triumph over a secret which they could not unravel. Before
going to see Robert-Houdin’s son a council was held, in which an object
that must embarrass the father was chosen. Among these were
half-effaced antique medals, minerals, books printed in characters of
every description (living and dead languages), coats-of-arms,
microscopic objects, &c.
But what caused me the greatest difficulty was in finding out the
contents of parcels, often tied with a string, or even sealed up. But I
had managed to contend successfully against all these attempts to
embarrass me. I opened boxes, purses, pocket-books, &c., with great
ease, and unnoticed, while appearing to be engaged on something quite
different. Were a sealed parcel offered me, I cut a small slit in the
paper with the nail of my left thumb, which I always purposely kept very
long and sharp, and thus discovered what it contained. One essential
condition was excellent sight, and that I possessed to perfection. I
owed it originally to my old trade, and practice daily improved it. An
equally indispensable necessity was to know the name of every object
offered me. It was not enough to say, for instance, “It is a coin;” but
my son must give its technical name, its value, the country in which it
was current, and the year in which it was struck. Thus, for instance, if
an English crown were handed me, my son was expected to state that it
was struck in the reign of George IV., and had an intrinsic value of six
francs eighteen centimes.
Aided by an excellent memory, we had managed to classify in our heads
the name and value of all foreign money. We could also describe a
coat-of-arms in heraldic terms. Thus, on the arms of the house of X----
being handed me, my son would reply: “Field gules, with two croziers
argent in pale.” This knowledge was very useful to us in the _salons_ of
the Faubourg Saint Germain, where we were frequently summoned.
I had also learned the characters--though unable to translate a
word--of an infinity of languages, such as Chinese, Russian, Turkish,
Greek, Hebrew, &c. We knew, too, the names of all surgical instruments,
so that a surgical pocket-book, however complicated it might be, could
not embarrass us. Lastly, I had a very sufficient knowledge of
mineralogy, precious stones, antiquities, and curiosities; but I had at
my command every possible resource for acquiring these studies, as one
of my dearest and best friends, Aristide le Carpentier, a learned
antiquary, and uncle of the talented composer of the same name, had, and
still has, a cabinet of antique curiosities, which makes the keepers of
the imperial museums fierce with envy. My son and I spent many long days
in learning here names and dates, of which we afterwards made a learned
display. Le Carpentier taught me many things, and, among others, he
described various signs by which to recognise old coins when the die is
worn off. Thus, a Trajan, a Tiberius, or a Marcus Aurelius became as
familiar to me as a five-franc piece.
Owing to my old trade, I could open a watch with ease, and do it with
one hand, so as to be able to read the maker’s name without the public
suspecting it: then I shut up the watch again and the trick was ready;
my son managed the rest of the business.
But that power of memory which my son possessed in an eminent degree
certainly did us the greatest service. When we went to private houses,
he needed only a very rapid inspection, in order to know all the objects
in a room, as well as the various ornaments worn by the spectators, such
as châtelaines, pins, eye-glasses, fans, brooches, rings, bouquets, &c.
He thus could describe these objects with the greatest ease, when I
pointed them out to him by our secret communication. Here is an
instance:
One evening, at a house in the Chaussée d’Antin, and at the end of a
performance which had been as successful as it was loudly applauded, I
remembered that, while passing through the next room to the one we were
now in, I had begged my son to cast a glance at a library and remember
the titles of some of the books, as well as the order they were arranged
in. No one had noticed this rapid examination.
“To end the second sight experiment, sir,” I said to the master of the
house, “I will prove to you that my son can read through a wall. Will
you lend me a book?”
I was naturally conducted to the library in question, which I pretended
now to see for the first time, and I laid my finger on a book.
“Emile,” I said to my son, “What is the name of this work?”
“It is Buffon,” he replied, quickly.
“And the one by its side?” an incredulous spectator hastened to ask.
“On the right or left?” my son asked.
“On the right,” the speaker said, having a good reason for choosing this
book, for the lettering was very small.
“The Travels of Anacharsis the Younger,” the boy replied. “But,” he
added, “had you asked the name of the book on the left, sir, I should
have said Lamartine’s Poetry. A little to the right of this row, I see
Crébillon’s works; below, two volumes of Fleury’s Memoirs;” and my son
thus named a dozen books before he stopped.
The spectators had not said a word during this description, as they felt
so amazed; but when the experiment had ended, all complimented us by
clapping their hands.