THE KINETOSCOPE: THE ANIMATOGRAPH: THE CINEMATOGRAPH
_The Kinetoscope_
The World’s Fair at Chicago drew huge crowds from all parts of the
world in 1893. The innumerable and varied side-shows evinced keen
rivalry to obtain popular patronage. But there was one building
sheltering a small instrument which made a particularly bold bid for
public favour. It was a novelty, something that the man in the street
had never seen before.
The announcement ran that “Edison’s Kinetoscope, showing photographs in
motion, was to be seen for the first time.” It worked automatically,
and to investigate the new wonder the curiosity-provoked sightseer
dropped a nickel--a coin equal in value to 2½_d._--into the slot,
and applied his eye to the peep-hole, when he was treated to a new
sensation for about 30 seconds. He saw photographic pictures flit
before his gaze in such rapid succession that they appeared to be
imbued with life. Children skipped, the lips of an orator moved in
speaking, and so on. It certainly was a marvellous device, and those
who availed themselves of the opportunity to see it in operation by
means of the nimble nickel, expressed undisguised wonderment; to many
it appeared uncanny.
The Kinetoscope, Fig. 3, was housed in a wooden cabinet with a hinged
door at one side. Within was a wooden frame _A_, which carried a series
of small reels _B_ and _B¹_ arranged in two horizontal rows at either
edge of the frame. At the top of the frame there were two larger
wheels _C_, between which was a magnifying lens _D_. Behind the latter
there was a small electric lamp and reflector _F_. In front of the
magnifying lens there was a disc having a narrow radial slot near its
edge, which constituted the shutter. This was rotated continuously, and
completed one revolution during the passage of each image across the
eye-piece or magnifying lens.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--EDISON’S FIRST KINETOSCOPE.]
The ribbon of pictures, printed as transparencies upon a strip of
celluloid film, somewhat dense so as to bring out the detail, formed an
endless band _E_, 40 feet in length. This was threaded over the various
reels in the manner shown in the illustration, and finally passed over
the first large wheel _C_, thence to the second large wheel _C_, and
back once more on to the reels _B B¹_. Though 40 feet constituted
the average length of film employed, longer ones could be used within
certain limits, by increasing the number of reels on the frame. As
the film passed from one of the large wheels _C_ to the other, it had
to traverse the field of the magnifying lens, and the light, striking
through the transparency, gave the person looking through the eye-piece
a slightly magnified view of the picture.
The cabinet stood on end, so that one had to bend over the instrument
to peer through the small eye-piece. When the coin dropped into the
slot, an electric motor was started, setting the film and shutter
in motion. The film travelled from left to right, while the shutter
rotated in the opposite direction, cutting up the band of pictures
into separate images, so that only one was seen at a time. The band
travelled continuously, and each image was momentarily rendered
visible by the light flashing through the radial slot in the shutter,
the effect being the same as if the electric incandescent lamp were
extinguished and relighted intermittently, at very brief intervals.
[Illustration: EDISON’S FIRST KINETOSCOPE.
This machine, completed about 1890, was very crude. It was known as the
“peep-hole,” because one peered into the cabinet through the eye-piece
at side.]
The shutter had to be revolved at sufficient speed to bring the radial
slot near its edge centrally over an image; in other words, the shutter
had to complete its revolution with sufficient speed to bring the
opening over the picture at the moment the latter on the travelling
celluloid film came into the centre of the field of the lens. When
this operation was carried out with sufficient velocity, the images
were seen in such rapid succession as to convey the idea of continuous
motion, by virtue of the principle of visual persistence.
One point must be borne in mind. The band of pictures travelled
_continuously_. It did not, as in the machine of to-day, make a
momentary pause as it came between the light and the lens. The movement
to-day is intermittent, not continuous, though, curiously enough, all
the early experimenters strove first towards the perfection of the
latter arrangement. Continuous motion of the film has proved to be
impossible, because the shutter must revolve at such a speed that
the illumination is not sufficient to produce a bright impression upon
the screen.
In order to prevent the film slipping in any way while travelling over
the smooth reels by friction, a toothed sprocket was introduced to
ensure the film being fed regularly and steadily before the lens; and
to secure a purchase upon the film the latter was perforated uniformly
along the margin to engage with the sprocket teeth. Edison found, as
a result of his experiments, that four perforations per picture, on
either side of the film, gave the best results, though in his earliest
investigations he confined himself to perforating only one edge in this
manner.
[Illustration: Edison Film made about 1891 for the kinetoscope.
Edison Film made in 1911 for the cinematograph.
TWENTY YEARS’ HISTORY OF MOVING PICTURES IN FILMS.
The only difference between the two films is that the kinetoscope film
had to be made very dense. The size of the picture, 1-inch wide by
¾-inch deep, and perforation gauge, are identical.]
Although many years have passed since the Kinetoscope first startled
the public, the film has undergone but little change. The width
remains the same; the dimensions of the picture are identical; and
the perforation gauge has never been revised in regard to the number
of holes per picture. The only salient difference between two Edison
films, taken at intervals of twenty years, relates to the density of
the picture, which nowadays, being projected upon a screen instead of
being followed through a magnifying glass at short range, is thinner
and lighter.
Brilliant as the Kinetoscope was, it made no great impression upon the
public. It became known as the “peep-hole machine,” and was regarded,
like the telephone in its early days, as a scientific toy. Edison
appears to have failed to grasp its possibilities and the important
part it was destined to play in our complex life, for he did not patent
it in Great Britain.
_The Animatograph_
Among those who saw the instrument at the World’s Fair were two Greek
visitors from London. One was a greengrocer, the other a toy-maker.
With shrewd business instinct they perceived here an opportunity to
make a fortune in England. The Kinetoscope was known only by name in
London, and the search for novelty in regard to new forms of amusement
inevitably brings a rich reward to the ingenious exploiter. The two men
acquired a machine and brought it home with them, their intention being
to make duplicates and instal them in public places, to work upon the
penny-in-the-slot principle.
The two Greeks evidently were not animated by very lofty ideas of
business integrity, for they did not trouble to ascertain if the
Kinetoscope were patented in Great Britain.
Upon arrival in London they sought for a man who could duplicate the
machine they had brought with them; and they approached Mr. Robert
W. Paul, an electrical engineer and scientific instrument maker,
who at that time had his workshops in Hatton Garden. They brought
the Kinetoscope to him. He had never seen it before, and was deeply
interested in its operation. When, however, they suggested that he
should produce copies of it to their order, he declined, for he felt
sure that Edison never would have omitted to secure its protection in
Great Britain. He pointed out to the Greeks that reproduction would
probably be illegal, and that both he and they would expose themselves
to litigation and heavy damages for infringing a patent.
His clients expressed dissatisfaction at this decision and departed
with the instrument. After they had gone, Paul was prompted to make a
search at the Patent Office, and to his intense surprise he found that
Edison had not protected his invention by taking out British patents.
He was thus at liberty to build as many machines as he desired, and
forthwith he set to work, not only for his Greek visitors, but also for
his own market.
The experience with the Kinetoscope in the United States was duplicated
in Great Britain, as, indeed, it was in every other country where it
was placed on exhibition. Several machines were set up at apparently
suitable points, but the public failed to respond. Two factors
contributed to this result. In the first place, the machines were
weighty, and as the electricity for driving the motor and lighting the
incandescent electric lamp was drawn from accumulators, the whole
apparatus was somewhat bulky and awkward to move from place to place.
Besides, it was difficult to secure the necessary films; sufficient
variety could not be supplied for the machines. Only one company was
engaged at the time in their production--the American Kinetoscope
Company--and the only studio in operation was at Orange in New Jersey,
the output of which was relatively small. Under these circumstances
public curiosity could not be sustained.
The difficulty with the film supply presently became still more
acute. The American company learned that the Kinetoscope was being
manufactured in England, and that American films were being used with
English machines. As manufacture could not be prevented, owing to
Great Britain being an open market, and as, consequently, Paul was
perfectly justified in his action, the American company decided on a
novel method of frustrating Mr. Paul’s efforts. Two agents, Maguire
and Baucus, came to London and endeavoured to corner the English
market. They secured the output of Kinetoscope films from America, and
declined to sell them to anyone in Great Britain who did not possess an
American-built machine. The result was that all the purchasers of the
Paul Kinetoscopes found themselves unable to secure further films; even
Paul himself could not obtain supplies.
The Americans regarded the outlook with complete self-satisfaction.
They believed that the English market was within their grasp. But they
reckoned without their host. Paul was determined not to be vanquished
so easily, especially as he had sold Kinetoscopes to customers in
all parts of the world, and had a steady stream of buyers flocking
to his workshops from points as remote as Tokio, South America, and
New Zealand. Many of these early purchasers of the British-built
Kinetoscopes have since become famous in the world of cinematography
either as producers or manufacturers, notably Monsieur Charles Pathé,
the founder of the celebrated French cinematograph film manufacturing
establishment, who was one of Paul’s first customers.
Now although Paul had manufactured several Kinetoscopes, he realised
the disadvantages of the instrument. Only one person at a time could
see the picture in animation. What was required in order to popularise
moving pictures was to devise a way to enable several hundreds, or even
thousands, of people to witness the same subject simultaneously.
Paul’s first idea was to convert the ordinary Kinetoscope into a
projecting apparatus. While he was quietly considering the feasibility
of this scheme he was introduced to another inventor Mr. Birt Acres,
at that time in the employment of a firm engaged in the manufacture of
dry plates and bromide papers. Acres had conceived a mechanical means
of printing on bromide paper from glass negatives a number of copies
of a subject at a very rapid rate, and had committed to paper his
crude suggestion. He submitted his drawing to Paul. The negative was
to be set in a frame, beneath which the bromide paper travelled over
rollers in a continuous length. The coil of paper was to move a certain
distance--the length of the negative, in fact--and then to pause; when
a flat pad, carried at the end of a lever beneath the paper, was to
rise up and press the latter flatly and tightly against the negative.
When the exposure had been made the clamping device, as it was called,
fell back, and permitted the paper to travel another short distance to
bring a fresh unexposed surface beneath the negative, when the same
cycle of operations was repeated.
[Illustration: PAUL’S CAMERA SHOWING MECHANISM FOR MOVING THE FILM
INTERMITTENTLY PAST THE LENS. THE FILM WAS CARRIED IN DETACHABLE DARK
BOXES.
THE FIRST KINETOSCOPE FILM MADE IN ENGLAND.
The manufacture of films was commenced in England by Robert Paul to
thwart the American attempt to corner the British market.]
When Acres brought his sketch to Paul, the latter was wrestling with
the problem of photographing objects in motion. It was imperative
to perfect a camera in order to defeat the machinations of the
Americans bent upon the capture of the English film market. In this
task, however, the most satisfactory means of securing intermittent
motion was the stumbling block. He thought for a time that Acres’s
ingenious method of printing bromide prints might offer a clue. Being a
mechanical engineer, Paul recognised the inefficiency of Acres’s ideas
as far as its application to cinematography was concerned, because
the clamping device was not actuated by a positive drive. But the rough
drawing which Acres had made of his bromide printing process set Paul
thinking, and gave birth in the end to an entirely different project.
[Illustration: THE “BLACK MARIA,” THE FIRST EDISON STUDIO FOR MAKING
KINETOSCOPE FILMS.
It was a rambling building of cheap construction mounted centrally upon
a pivot. It revolved upon a circular track to face the sun.
_See page 105._
]
His efforts were accelerated by the tactics of Maguire and Baucus,
and it was not long before he produced a camera working with an
intermittent motion. With this camera some excellent films were
obtained, and in the first instance these were employed with the
Kinetoscope. The purchasers of the Paul machines consequently
experienced no difficulty whatever in getting all the films they
wanted, and the American product was ignored. It was not comparable
with the English films in excellence or variety, and Maguire and Baucus
retired from the scene completely discomfited. The attempt to obtain
possession of the English market was a dismal failure owing to the
unexpected enterprise of Robert Paul.
Paul had already attempted to apply the principle governing the
operation of the Kinetoscope to the projection of a picture upon the
screen. He had contrived a special lantern through which the film was
run continuously, the revolution of the shutter serving to cut out
each picture on the film, and throw it individually upon the sheet,
thereby bringing it into a stationary position for a minute fraction
of a second. But the projecting efforts were somewhat disheartening.
The illusory effect was produced; but the picture was so faint as to
render the result of no commercial value. The conditions attending the
watching of the pictures at a range of about six or eight inches, as
in the Kinetoscope, and at one of ten times as many feet, when thrown
upon a whitened wall or screen, were vastly different. The shutter had
to revolve at such a rapid rate to prevent blurring that a sufficient
volume of light could not be passed through each picture in the short
interval the shutter was open--less than 1/1,000th of a second--so the
resultant image was faint and ill-defined.
It was evident that the film would have to be brought momentarily, by
some means or other, into a fixed position behind the lens, so as
to enable sufficient light to pass through to the screen, to yield
a picture comparing with that of a slide projected from a magic
lantern; and, further, that the picture would have to be moved during
its eclipse by the shutter, in order to allow the next image to be
brought into place. In other words, instead of the film moving forwards
continuously, it would have to advance with a jerky or intermittent
motion while the shutter was passing across the lens, and cutting off
the light from the screen.
Paul concentrated his energies upon this problem. It was by no means
a simple undertaking, for there were no previous efforts in the same
direction to assist him. The great point was how to bring successive
pictures into position before the lens. He thought out a clamping
device, which is known as the “gate,” and which he attached behind the
lens. This gate was formed of two parts, one fixed and the other having
a swinging or opening movement. The fixed part was pierced with an
aperture which could be reduced by a sliding diaphragm. The aperture
of the second part was of the same shape and dimensions as the picture
on the film. The film was wound on a spool, and from this it passed
through the gate and thence over a sprocket, the teeth of which engaged
with the perforations in the edge of the celluloid band.
The sprocket had to move intermittently, in such a way that a length
of film corresponding to the depth of a picture was drawn through the
gate at each movement, while the shutter momentarily cut off the light,
otherwise there would have been a confusion of two consecutive pictures
projected at the same time. How this movement was evolved is described
in Chapter VII. It seems a simple task, but it proved exasperatingly
difficult to secure accuracy, smoothness of motion, and the steadiness
of the picture when thrown on the screen.
About three o’clock one morning, in the early months of 1895, the
quietness of Hatton Garden was disturbed by loud and prolonged
shouts. The police rushed hurriedly to the building whence the cries
proceeded, and found Paul and his colleagues in their workshop, giving
vent to whole-hearted exuberance of triumph. They had just succeeded
in throwing the first perfect animated pictures upon a screen. To
compensate the police for their fruitless investigation, the film,
which was 40 feet in length and produced a picture 7 feet square, was
run through the special lantern for their edification. They regarded
the strange spectacle as ample compensation, and had the satisfaction
of being the first members of the public to see moving pictures thrown
upon the screen.
In February, 1896, the first public demonstration with this projection
apparatus, described as the “Theatrograph,” was given at the Finsbury
Technical College, and it caused a thrill of excitement and interest. A
few days later, on February 28th, 1896, the apparatus was shown in the
library of the Royal Institution. Again it stirred enthusiasm, and Mr.
Robert Paul was congratulated warmly upon the success of his work by
many of the leading British scientists of the day. This was the first
demonstration of animated photography before a scientific institution
in Great Britain. The films displayed were those which had been taken
by the patient experimenter and his collaborators for the Kinetoscope,
and included, among other things, a “Shoeblack at work in a London
street,” and of “A Rough Sea at Dover.”
The fact that the display was given before one of the foremost
scientific bodies in the world stamped it as being a development of
signal importance. The interest it created was universal. Among those
who saw the demonstration was Lady Harris, the wife of the famous
impresario, Sir Augustus Harris, who evinced the keenest enthusiasm in
the apparatus, and who plied the experimenter with searching questions
as to how the apparent animation was obtained.
Next morning Paul received an urgent invitation from Sir Augustus
Harris to join him at breakfast. The latter had heard from Lady Harris
all about the remarkable exhibition at the Royal Institution, and, with
a showman’s keen instinct, desired to glean further details without
delay. He said that he had heard in Paris of a French invention
similar to Paul’s. This took the English experimenter by surprise, for
he had been labouring in absolute ignorance that other men were at work
in the same field. However, the impresario was on business bent. He saw
the possibilities of the Theatrograph as a form of amusement, and Paul
was asked if he were willing to permit its being exploited at Olympia,
which Harris had acquired.
“Well, I don’t know,” rejoined the experimenter. “I have no idea of its
value from the public point of view.” He thought that the indifference
of the British public to the Kinetoscope did not augur well for the new
development.
“Now look here,” continued Sir Augustus Harris. “It won’t draw the
public for more than a month. They soon get tired of these novelties.
Are you prepared to come in on sharing terms, say, 50 per cent. of the
receipts? Do you agree?”
Paul was somewhat doubtful of the results, but he acquiesced, and
the agreement was drawn up there and then. The sequel showed how
ill-founded his apprehensions had been. The Theatrograph caught the
popular fancy, and proved the most powerful amusement-magnet at
Olympia. It was the first picture palace in the world, that is to
say, the first establishment devoted exclusively to the projection of
moving pictures as a complete entertainment. From it the whole modern
development of cinematography may be said to have sprung.
Indeed, it is difficult to realise the effect produced upon the world
at large, through the skill and industry of Robert W. Paul. So far
as Great Britain is concerned, he certainly fathered the enterprise
of animated photography, as is evidenced by the fact that in British
cinematographic circles he is known popularly as “Daddy Paul.” The
lapse of time has not effected any essential change in the construction
of the apparatus. The camera and projector as used to-day are
fundamentally the same as those Paul first employed. Modifications
have been made in details of the mechanism, but they are of slight
importance. When the outcry against the danger of the cinematograph was
raised in the early days of the industry, as a result of the fire at
the Charity Bazaar in Paris, it was found that Paul had realised the
danger and had endeavoured to guard against it, though his idea, being
somewhat premature, was disregarded at the time.
The success of the “Theatrograph” at Olympia caused a wholesale demand
for the new marvel. People wanted to attach the device to existing
magic lanterns, so that animated pictures could be produced upon the
screen whenever desired. Paul still cherished such little faith in
his invention that he sold the projector attachment for the small sum
of £5 ($25), and it could be fixed to any lantern. He was inundated
with orders from all parts of the world. Many enthusiasts acquired a
complete projecting outfit, the price of which at that time was about
£80 ($400). The capacity of the workshop in Hatton Garden proved quite
inadequate to the demand. The men worked night and day turning out the
projecting apparatus, and the sale aggregated several hundreds sterling
per week during the years 1896 and 1897. Provincial showmen lost no
time in acquiring the novelty, or arranged with the inventor to provide
such an item in their programmes. Within a short time twenty machines
were being operated under Paul’s personal direction in the provinces.
London was by no means backward in following up the development.
The first to introduce moving pictures to a metropolitan vaudeville
audience was Mr. Moul, the energetic manager of the Alhambra Theatre.
Like Sir Augustus Harris, however, he regarded it merely as a
nine-days’ wonder, and did not think that the sensation it had created
could be sustained for more than a week or so, which shows how even
the most astute showman may sometimes err in gauging the public taste,
and also parenthetically the professional estimation of the idea. An
arrangement was made whereby Paul undertook to give a display with
the “Animatograph”--this name had been substituted for the original
“Theatrograph”--at the Alhambra Theatre, for a fortnight from March
25th, 1896. According to the terms of the contract, if the display
proved popular, it was to be prolonged upon the same terms until moving
pictures fell from public favour. That engagement of fourteen days
grew into one of four years! For over 1,000 nights Paul personally
superintended his moving pictures at the Alhambra; and then retired
only because of pressure of work in other directions. Of course,
other music halls in the metropolis acquired the apparatus. Operators
were scarce, and they could not be trained rapidly enough to meet the
demand. As a rule, men manipulating the limelight in the theatres
were found to be the most suitable for the purpose, and they readily
accepted an opportunity to earn £4 ($20) per week for a few minutes’
work every day. Times have changed since then, and to-day operators can
be secured for about half that sum as weekly wage.
At one time in the early days Paul had no less than eight theatres in
London demanding his personal attendance, involving a nightly journey
of twenty miles. It is significant of the tremendous enthusiasm that
was aroused by the moving pictures that the managers of the various
halls had to arrange their programmes to suit the convenience of the
operator, so that there might be no interference with his carefully
prepared time-table of his evening’s movements from one place to
another.
The exigencies of the manufacture of apparatus and films became at
last of such a character that Paul found the strain of operating to be
intolerable, so he retired from active work in the projecting world.
His film manufacturing business attained considerable proportions,
and this was continued until the latter part of 1908, when he
abandoned all active participation in the industry he had initiated,
to devote himself to his work on precision instruments for electrical
measurements. His association with cinematography to-day is very
slight, being confined mostly to collaboration with eminent physicists
and scientists in illustrating scientific subjects by the aid of motion
photography.
_The Cinematograph._
While Robert W. Paul was busy in his laboratory, problems identical
with his own were engaging the attention of French experimenters,
and notably of Messrs. Lumière and Sons, of Paris and Lyons, a firm
famous in the manufacture of photographic apparatus, dry plates, and
paper, whose efforts to solve the problem of natural colour photography
are well known to the world. Their attention, like Paul’s, was
first directed to this new field by the Kinetoscope, which made its
appearance in France about 1893. Messrs. Lumière instantly realised its
drawbacks and limitations, the greatest of which, from their point of
view, was the fact that the long ribbon of instantaneous pictures was
visible to one person only. Then again they considered the number of
pictures shown per second--thirty--to be too high.
They sought to devise an apparatus operating with an intermittent
action, whereby a short length of film corresponding to the depth of a
picture was jerked into position behind the lens while the light was
eclipsed by the shutter, and afterwards to project the same pictures by
a similar mechanism.
With the Kinetoscope as a basis they set to work, and, by means of a
reciprocating motion given to a hook frame under the movement of a
triangular piece of mechanism, they succeeded in stopping and starting
the film alternately with such a degree of nicety that the successive
sections of film were brought into position before the lens without
damaging the guiding perforating holes or films. This constituted the
salient feature of the Lumière device and the fundamental principle of
the patent.
The Lumière camera was distinctly ingenious, simple and positive in its
action, as well as being light and compact. The mechanism whereby the
film was jerked down sufficiently after each exposure to bring another
section of sensitised surface before the lens, may be likened to two
projecting fingers which engaged with a hole on either side of the
film. These two pins, or hooks, by the revolving action of a triangular
eccentric, were brought forward towards the film and engaged with the
perforations. When the shutter swung across the lens, thus cutting off
the light, this pair of fingers dropped down, smartly jerking the film
with them. The latter was then gripped and held firmly in position
during the next exposure, when the two fingers withdrew from the
perforations, rose sharply upwards, and clutched the film once more by
the next pair of perforations.
While the Lumière experimenters adopted the width of film used in
the Kinetoscope and secured pictures of the same dimensions, yet
they made an important deviation from Edison’s idea. Instead of
making four perforations per picture on either side of the film at
regular intervals, they made just one round hole on each side of the
image. These perforations were placed 20 millimetres--approximately
4/5 inch--apart. The reason for this deviation from the Edison method
was that they had refrained from the use of toothed sprockets such as
Edison and Paul had adopted, and which had to mesh with the film so
as to feed it regularly and steadily forward before the lens in both
the camera and the projector. From the mechanical point of view theirs
was a preferable method, inasmuch as the comparative closeness of the
perforations in the Edison gauge somewhat weakens the strength of the
film, and can easily result in tearing.
There is every reason to believe that Messrs. Lumière were in
ignorance of the efforts of Paul, in just the same way as the British
investigator was oblivious of the work of the Frenchmen. In France the
Kinetoscope failed, as it did in England and the United States. From
the French point of view a unique opportunity existed to establish a
new industry; accordingly they manufactured several films upon their
principle.
The original bands of pictures were 17 metres--nearly 56 feet--in
length. Unfortunately for the Lumière firm, the Kinetoscope had, thanks
to Paul, been purchased more generally than was at first thought
possible; while Paul had marketed in England a considerable number
of films carrying the Edison standard perforation. The result was
that they could not dispose of their films to people who were already
possessed of the moving picture machine, and who demanded films of
the Edison gauge. Messrs. Lumière ultimately abandoned the single
perforation on either side of the picture in favour of that which had
come into vogue through the Kinetoscope and the work of Paul.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.--THE EARLY LUMIÈRE PROJECTING SYSTEM SHOWING
WATER CONDENSER B.]
The early Lumière projector was very interesting. Realising the high
inflammability of the celluloid film, and the intense heat produced
by the focussing of the electric arc light through the condenser upon
the film, the experimenters sought to remove the danger of fire by
counteracting the heat production of the rays of light. A spherical
bottle, filled with water, was placed between the electric arc and
the lens to act as condenser, Fig. 4. The bottle _B_ was encased in a
metal cylinder _E_, fixed to the front of the lantern _A_ by four rods,
each terminating in a screw _V_. The metal cylinder _E_ was continued
forwards in the form of a tube _F_, the end of which was fitted with
a hinged shutter _G_ carrying a small piece of ground glass _H_. When
the film was set in motion this hinged shutter was lifted and laid back
upon the top of the tube to which it was attached.
The spherical bottle, which was filled with distilled water to which
a few drops of acetic acid were added, acted in exactly the same way
as the glass condenser of to-day. But it possessed this advantage. The
luminous rays were concentrated, and there was no loss of luminous
light; only the heat rays were absorbed almost entirely by the water.
Another beneficial result was that the light thrown through the
picture, and thence on to the screen, was whiter, because the condenser
glass is greenish, and imparts that tint to the light passing through
it.
In the course of about 30 or 40 minutes the water under the action of
the heat rays commenced to boil, but no inconvenience resulted. A piece
of coke _D_, attached to a short length of wire _C_, was suspended
in the decanter and placed just below the surface of the water, thus
causing it to boil with complete evenness; there was no spurting of the
contents, and no bubbling to interfere with the light. If the sphere
of water were removed or broken during the operation of the lantern,
as the condensation of the light rays immediately ceased there was no
danger of the film being set alight. It may be pointed out, in passing,
that Edison introduced a bulb of alum water between the electric lamp
and the film as a heat absorbent in his Kinetoscope.
Although highly efficient, this expedient possessed certain drawbacks,
and consequently in the course of time it was superseded by the
glass condenser. Mechanical ingenuity succeeded in devising a means
of minimising the danger of combustion or provided some method of
smothering it in its incipient stage.
Although the Lumière invention proved a great success in France, and
was the first commercial apparatus produced in that country, it did
not get a foothold in Great Britain, owing to the contemporaneous work
of Paul. The Lumière apparatus was a well-built mechanism, typical of
French workmanship, but if anything rather too light for general wear
and tear. It was introduced to the English public by Professor Treuwé,
the famous French conjurer, at the Regent Street Polytechnic in 1896,
but failed to provoke a sensation, because Paul’s “Theatrograph” had
already been seen at Olympia and held first place in public esteem. On
the other hand, it created widespread interest in the United States,
where, at the time of its arrival, projection upon the screen was
unknown. Paul’s machine had not penetrated to North America, because
the British market demanded his whole attention. It is a curious irony
of fate that, although animated photography was first made possible
in America by the ingenuity of an American inventor, and the only
films then available were the product of the Edison “Black Maria” at
Orange, yet it was a French apparatus which laid the foundations of the
cinematograph industry in the United States. The product of Messrs.
Lumière was introduced mainly through the enterprise of one man, Mr.
Richard G. Hollaman, the energetic president of the Eden Musée Company.
Mr. Hollaman saw the Kinetoscope at the Chicago World’s Fair in
the summer of 1893, but as it was crude and did not arouse great
enthusiasm, he took no especial interest in it. In the following year,
however, he acquired an improved Kinetoscope from Berlin, which had
been made by the celebrated electrical engineering firm, Siemens and
Halske. This machine was circular in shape, and showed the pictures
in movement in much the same way as Edison’s contrivance. Two of the
machines were installed in the Eden Musée and remained there for six
months. At the end of that time they were abandoned for the reason that
no new films could be obtained.
In the spring of 1896 an exhibition was given in a shop in Park Row,
New York City. In this instance the pictures were thrown upon the
screen. The machine had been devised and built by an experimenter named
Latham, but it was exceedingly faulty. The pictures shown depicted two
prize fighters, but the images vibrated so violently on the screen,
and were so scratched and imperfect, that the eyes of spectators were
subjected to a fearful strain, and the apparatus was commercially
valueless. Mr. Hollaman sought out the inventor with a view to the
perfection of the device for his theatre, but learned that lack of
capital prevented Latham from perfecting his apparatus.
A little later the president of the Eden Musée received a communication
from a firm named Raff and Gammon. They offered him the State rights
for a moving picture machine which had been designed by Edison, and of
which they were empowered to dispose on his behalf. They invited Mr.
Hollaman to a demonstration at Koster and Bial’s theatre, where they
threw a picture upon the screen which measured about 10 feet in width
by 6 feet in depth. Mr. Hollaman has told me that he recalled very
vividly two of the films he saw there. One depicted “Mammy washing her
child,” while the other was “The Gardener playing the Hose.” Both these
films were made by Lumière and Sons at Lyons.
In the autumn of 1896 the Lumière apparatus appeared in the United
States. It was introduced by Mr. Hurd, acting as agent for the
French manufacturers, and this was the first practical cinematograph
apparatus to be seen in North America. A demonstration was given, and
Mr. Hollaman, realising the tremendous strides it represented in the
projection of moving pictures, made a contract for its installation
at the Eden Musée. The picture thrown on the screen by this projector
measured 22 by 16 feet. From the day the “Cinematographe” was first
shown to the public in the Eden Musée in 1896, it has constituted a
permanent feature of the place. In fact, Mr. Hollaman has been the
pioneer of all developments in the field of cinematography in North
America. The French machines had been in use for some time, when
Lumière’s agent, who had let them out on lease, suddenly called in all
the projectors and retired from active operations in the United States.
Another machine had to be secured for the Eden Musée, and for three
months a Joli instrument was used, followed by an American apparatus
operated by its maker, Eberhard Schneider.
Another change was made in September, 1897, when Mr. Charles Urban,
now identified with Kinemacolor, but at that time acting as salesman
for Maguire and Baucus, who had endeavoured in vain to oust Paul in
London and who had retired from the scene after meeting with failure,
approached the Eden Musée with a new projector, which was installed.
Some time later Urban introduced a new machine which he had made
himself, and as it possessed several improvements it was adopted. This
was the first “Bioscope,” as it was called, that was ever shown to the
public.
Shortly afterwards Maguire and Baucus, in company with Urban, left
the United States for London, to establish an English cinematograph
firm under the name of the Warwick Trading Company. In 1900 Mr.
Hollaman secured the services of Frank Cannock, an expert operator and
mechanician, for his cinematograph department, which had now become of
paramount importance; and since that date the latter has manufactured
all the machines required by the Eden Musée.
I have given a brief outline of the most interesting chapter in the
story of cinematography, the epoch in which experimenters in different
countries were struggling to perfect the same idea, independently of
one another, and by different methods. Several other investigators
were engaged in the quest, but their work was not of such importance
as that of Edison, Paul, or Lumière. The first evolved the crude idea,
and the latter two, in their respective countries, produced successful
apparatuses entirely different from one another. The work of Robert
Paul should command the greatest appreciation; for the Bioscope, which
amuses the multitude from morning to night every day between the two
Poles, is fundamentally the same as that which he introduced to the
theatrical world for the first time on March 25th, 1896.