Chapter XI: Tricks with Handkerchiefs

We have already discussed a good many tricks in which handkerchiefs are employed in one way or another. The present chapter will be devoted to those feats in which the handkerchief forms the sole or principal object of the illusion. Where practicable, the handkerchief used should always be a borrowed one (so as to exclude the idea of preparation); and in borrowing it will occasionally be necessary to use a little tact in order to make certain of getting the right article for your purpose, without admitting, by asking specially for any particular kind of handkerchief, the limited extent of your powers. Thus, whenever the trick depends upon the substitution of a handkerchief of your own, it is necessary that the borrowed handkerchief should be of a plain white, so as not to have too marked an individuality, and of a small size, so as to be easily palmed or otherwise concealed. These desiderata you may secure, without disclosing that they are desiderata, by asking if a _lady_ will oblige you with a handkerchief, ladies’ handkerchiefs being invariably white, and of small size. If a lace handkerchief (which would be inconveniently distinguishable from your substitute) is offered, you may pretend to fear the risk of injuring the lace, and on that account to prefer a less valuable article. In “knot” tricks, on the contrary, you should, if possible, use a silk handkerchief, which, from its softer nature, will be found more tractable than cambric.

We will begin by describing a couple of little “flourishes,” which may be incidentally introduced in the performance of more ambitious tricks, and which will sometimes be found useful in occupying the attention of the audience for a moment or two while some necessary arrangement is being made behind the scenes for the purpose of the principal illusion. The first we will call--

THE HANDKERCHIEF THAT CANNOT BE TIED IN A KNOT.--The performer, having borrowed a handkerchief, pulls it this way and that, as if to ascertain its fitness for the purpose of the trick. Finally twisting the handkerchief into a sort of loose rope, he throws the two ends one over the other, as in the ordinary mode of tying, and pulls smartly; but instead of a knot appearing, as would naturally be expected, in the middle of the handkerchief, it is pulled out quite straight. “This is a very curious handkerchief,” he remarks; “I can’t make a knot in it.” The process is again and again repeated, but always with the same result.

The secret is as follows:--The performer, before pulling the knot tight, slips his left thumb, as shown in Fig. 107, beneath such portion of the “tie” as is a continuation of the end held in the same hand. The necessary arrangement of the hands and handkerchief, though difficult to explain in writing, will be found quite clear upon a careful examination of the figure.

THE HANDKERCHIEF THAT WILL NOT BURN.--This may be used either separately or in conjunction with the foregoing. The performer, taking the handkerchief, asks if it will burn. The owner naturally answers that she has no doubt it will. “Suppose we try,” says the performer; and taking the handkerchief by two of its corners, he draws it three or four times obliquely upwards across the flame of a lighted candle, without its receiving the slightest injury.

There is really no mystery whatever about this, although, to those who have never tried it, it appears very surprising, and the spectators are generally persuaded that you have somehow substituted another handkerchief, made incombustible by chemical means. The performer has only to take care not to allow the handkerchief to rest motionless while in contact with the flame. In the act of drawing the handkerchief over the candle, the contact of any given part with the flame is so momentary, that it is barely warmed in its passage. You must, however, take care not to attempt this trick with a handkerchief which has been scented, as any remains of spirit about it would cause it to ignite instantly, and place you in a rather awkward position.

Where a substitute handkerchief has to be burnt in the course of a trick, it is by no means a bad plan to exhibit with the substitute (which the audience take to be the original) this phenomenon of supposed incombustibility, and appearing to grow careless from repeated success, at last to allow the handkerchief to catch fire. If you can by such means induce the audience to believe, for the time being, that the burning was an accident, you will the more astonish them by the subsequent restoration.

THE VANISHING KNOTS.--For this trick you must use a silk handkerchief. Twisting it rope-fashion, and grasping it by the middle with both hands, you request one of the spectators to tie the two ends together. He does so, but you tell him that he has not tied them half tight enough, and you yourself pull them still tighter. A second and a third knot are made in the same way, the handkerchief being drawn tighter by yourself after each knot is made. Finally, taking the handkerchief, and covering the knots with the loose part, you hand it to some one to hold. Breathing on it, you request him to shake out the handkerchief, when all the knots are found to have disappeared.

When the performer apparently tightens the knot, he in reality only strains one end of the handkerchief, grasping it above and below the knot. This pulls that end of the handkerchief out of its twisted condition in the knot into a straight line, round which the other end of the handkerchief remains twisted; in other words, converts the knot into a slip-knot. After each successive knot he still straightens this same end of the handkerchief. This end, being thus made straight, would naturally be left longer than the other which is twisted round and round it. This tendency the performer counteracts by drawing it partially back through the slip-knot at each pretended tightening. When he finally covers over the knots, which he does with the left hand, he holds the straightened portion of the handkerchief, immediately behind the knots, between the first finger and thumb of the right hand, and therewith, in the act of covering over the knots, draws this straightened portion completely out of the slip-knot.

Some performers (among whom we may mention Herrmann) make this feat still more effective by borrowing half-a-dozen handkerchiefs, and allowing them all to be tied end to end by the spectators. After each knot the professor pretends to examine it, asking, “What kind of a knot do you call this, sir?” and meanwhile pulls it into the required condition. The joined handkerchiefs are then placed one upon the other on a chair or in a hat, and are immediately afterwards shown to be separate.

The student must be on his guard against one particular kind of knot, which cannot be pulled into the condition above-named. We allude to the very common mode of tying, in which the two ends to be tied are placed side by side, and tied simultaneously in a single knot. The employment of this kind of knot may generally be avoided by holding the two ends to be tied at a tolerably wide angle, so that they cannot very well be drawn parallel. If, however, a spectator appears determined to tie this particular knot, it is better to allow him to do so, and then remark, “As the knots are tied by yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, you can have little doubt that they are all fair. However, for the greater satisfaction of all present, I will ask some gentleman to be good enough to untie one of them, which will give a fair criterion of the time it would take, in a natural way, to get rid of the remainder.” So saying, you hand the knot in question to be untied, and in subsequently giving the ends to be again joined, select a more accommodating person to tie them.

As the tricks which follow mainly depend upon the substitution of a second handkerchief, we shall in the first place describe two or three modes of effecting the necessary exchange, with and without the aid of apparatus.

TO EXCHANGE A BORROWED HANDKERCHIEF FOR A SUBSTITUTE.--Have the substitute handkerchief tucked under your waistcoat, at the left side, so as to be out of sight, but within easy reach of your hand. Receive the borrowed handkerchief in your right hand, and as you ‘left wheel’ to your table to place it thereon, tuck it under your waistband on the right side, and at the same moment pull out with the other hand the substitute, and throw the latter on the table. The substitute handkerchief (which the audience take to be the real one) being thus left in full view, you may, without exciting any suspicion, retire with the genuine one, and dispose of it as may be necessary for the purpose of your trick.

You may, however, sometimes desire merely to gain possession of a borrowed handkerchief, or to place it within reach of your assistant, without yourself leaving the apartment. In this case the substitute may be placed as before, but on your _right_ side. Receiving the borrowed handkerchief in your right hand, you hold it loosely hanging down between the second and third, or third and fourth fingers. This leaves the thumb and first finger free, and with these you quickly pull down, as you turn to go to your table, the substitute. You thus have both handkerchiefs held openly in the same hand; but both being of like appearance, the audience take them to be one only. Passing behind your table, you let fall the borrowed handkerchief upon the _servante_, and throw the substitute upon the table.

A very audacious and generally successful mode of effecting the change is as follows: Taking the handkerchief, and pressing it into a moderately small compass, the performer says, “Now I am going to make this handkerchief disappear. There are plenty of ways of doing it. I’ll show you one or two. This is Professor De Jones’s method. He just turns round, _so_, to put the handkerchief on the table” (performer turns accordingly), “but meanwhile the handkerchief is gone. Ah, you were too sharp for me! You saw me poke it up my sleeve? Quite right, here it is. I see Professor De Jones’s method wouldn’t have any chance with _you_. This is Professor De Smith’s method.” He turns as before. “The handkerchief is gone again. Not far, though, for here it is” (turning back breast of coat and showing handkerchief). “Professor De Robinson does it like this.” (He turns away for an instant, and tucks handkerchief under waistband.) “Here it is, you see, under the waistcoat.” (Pulls it out again.) “Now, you may very well imagine that, if I had intended to have used any of these methods myself, I shouldn’t have explained them. You will find that my plan is quite a different one. When I want to get rid of a handkerchief, I just take it to the candle, and set it on fire, so” (holds handkerchief over candle, and sets light to it); or, “I place it in such and such a piece of apparatus,” etc., etc.

On the first two occasions of showing where the handkerchief is placed, the performer really does exhibit the genuine article; but at the third pretended feint, though he really does tuck it under his waistband, he pulls out again, not the same handkerchief, but a substitute, placed there beforehand. The action is so natural, and so much in harmony with his previous acts, that not one in a hundred will suspect that he has thereby really changed the handkerchief.

The mode of exchange last described, ingenious as it is, has one serious drawback--viz., that it gives the audience a clue which it is better that they should not have, and suggests suspicions and conjectures which, but for such a clue, they would never have thought of. To an acute mind, even such a slight hint as this will suggest enough to destroy half the effect of any subsequent trick in which a similar process of disappearance or exchange is employed, and even in the case of less intelligent spectators it will tend to diminish the _prestige_ of the performer, by showing by what shallow artifices an illusion may be produced.

There are two or three pieces of apparatus for effecting the exchange of a handkerchief by mechanical means. A very good one is that known as “The Washerwoman’s Bottle,” in conjunction with which we will take the opportunity of describing the very effective trick known as

THE LOCKED AND CORDED BOX.--The “Washerwoman’s Bottle” is a simple and inexpensive piece of apparatus, of frequent use in handkerchief tricks. In appearance it is an ordinary black bottle, save that it has a rather shorter neck and wider mouth than the generality of such vessels. In reality it is made of tin, japanned black, and is divided by a vertical partition, commencing just below the mouth, into two compartments. One of these has a bottom, but the other has none, forming, in fact, a mere passage _through_ the bottle. In the bottomed compartment is placed beforehand a piece of cambric, or dummy handkerchief, also about a glassful of port wine, or some other liquor of similar colour.

The performer borrows a lady’s handkerchief. Pretending that he is obliged to fetch some other article for the purpose of the trick, he says, as if struck by a sudden thought, “But I mustn’t run away with the handkerchief, or you might fancy that I had tampered with it in some way. Where shall I put it? Ah! the very thing. Here’s a bottle belonging to my washerwoman, which she left behind her the last time she came. It’s sure to be clean, for she is a most particular old lady. We often hear of a lady carrying a bottle in her handkerchief, why not a handkerchief in a bottle? First, madam, please see that I have not exchanged the handkerchief. Right, is it? Well, then, here goes for the bottle.” Standing behind his table, in full view of the spectators, he stuffs the borrowed handkerchief into the bottle, ramming it down with his wand. In so doing, he grasps the bottle with his left hand around its base, which he rests on the edge of the table nearest to himself, in such manner that about half the bottom projects over the edge. When he places the handkerchief in the bottle, he places it in the open compartment, and pushes it with his wand right through the bottle into his left hand, if he desires to obtain personal possession of it, or lets it fall on the _servante_, if it is to be carried off by his assistant. We will assume, for our present purpose, that he simply pushes it into his left hand, whence it is easy to get rid of it into the _pochette_ on the same side. He now places the bottle in the centre of the table, but in doing so hears, or pretends to hear, a sound of liquid therein. “I hope the bottle was empty,” he remarks, “I never thought about that.” He shakes the bottle, and the liquid therein is distinctly audible. “Good gracious!” he exclaims, “I’m afraid I have ruined the handkerchief.” He now pours the liquid into a glass, and then, putting his fingers inside the bottle, he pulls out the prepared piece of cambric, which, of course, is wet and stained. Leaving it hanging from the neck of the bottle, he advances to the owner, and expresses his regret at the accident; but the audience, who begin to suspect that the pretended mistake is really a part of the trick, insist that the handkerchief shall be restored in its original condition. The performer feigns embarrassment, but at last says, “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot dispute the justice of your observations. The handkerchief certainly ought to be returned clean as at first, and as my washerwoman has been the cause of the mischief, she is the proper person to repair it. Will you excuse my stopping the entertainment for an hour or two, while I go to fetch her? You object to the delay? Well, then, I will bring her here by spiritualistic means, _à la_ Mrs. Guppy. Pardon me one moment.” He retires, and returns with a square box and the magic pistol. Placing the box on the table, and making a few mysterious passes over it with his wand, he says, in his deepest tones, “Spirit of Mrs. Tubbs, I command you to pass into this box, there to remain until you have repaired the damage which your carelessness has caused.” Then taking the saturated cambric from the bottle, he crams it into the pistol, and, retiring to the farthest portion of the stage, fires at the box. Laying down the pistol, and taking up the box, he advances to the owner of the handkerchief, and, offering her the key, begs her to unlock it. She does so, expecting to find her handkerchief, but finds instead a second box. This, and four or five others in succession, are opened, and in the innermost is found the handkerchief, folded and ironed, as if newly returned from the wash.

With the reader’s present knowledge, it would be almost superfluous to tell him that the operator avails himself of his momentary absence to damp and fold the handkerchief, and to press it with a cold iron. (If a hot one can be obtained, so much the better, but there is no absolute necessity for it.) Having done this, he places it in the square nest of boxes (_see_ page 197), and closing them returns to the audience. The magic pistol has already been described (page 216). Where an assistant is employed, the performer merely pushes the handkerchief through the bottle on to the _servante_, as already mentioned, and the assistant, passing behind the table on some pretext or other, carries it off, and places it in the nest of boxes, while the audience are occupied by the pretended discovery of wine in the bottle. The trick in this form appears even more surprising, inasmuch as the performer does not leave the stage at all, and the box is brought in and placed on the table by a person who, to all appearance, has never had the handkerchief, even for a moment, in his possession.

In order still further to heighten the effect of the trick, the handkerchief is sometimes caused to reappear in the innermost of a nest of boxes which has throughout the entertainment been hung up in full view of the audience, and the outermost of which is carefully corded and sealed. The performer in this case, after firing at the supposed box (for the audience are, of course, ignorant that there are more than one), directs his assistant to take it down from its elevated position, and to place it on the table. Cutting the cords, and opening the box, he produces from it another, corded like the first. From this second box, he produces another smaller box, of an ornamental character (the square nest of boxes above mentioned). This he hands to the owner of the handkerchief, with a request that she will open it, and the result is as already described.

The trick in this form is one of the very best exhibited on the stage, and yet, as indeed are most of the best feats, it is performed by the simplest possible means. The outer box is an ordinary deal box, _bonâ fide_ sealed and corded, but the second, though equally genuine in appearance, has no bottom, and the cord, though apparently quite complete, does not cross beneath the box, which is, in fact, nothing more than a wooden shell, or cover, with a lid to it. When the performer takes out this second box and places it on the table, he tilts it forward for a moment, and in that moment slips the nest of boxes (which is placed in readiness on the _servante_), underneath it, immediately afterwards raising the lid, and taking out the nest, as if it had all along been contained therein.

It only remains to explain the mode by which the nest of boxes, with the handkerchief therein, is placed upon the _servante_. Some performers employ the rather too transparent expedient of making the assistant bring in, then and there, a small round table, behind which, on a _servante_ of its own, is placed the closed nest of boxes. A better plan, where the size of the nest permits, is to have it placed open, before the performance commences, on the _servante_ of the centre table. It is then an easy matter for the performer or his assistant (as the case may be) to slip in the folded handkerchief, and close the boxes, the remainder of the trick proceeding as already described.

Some performers use for the purpose of this trick a special mechanical table, which, by means of a lifting apparatus, itself introduces the nest of boxes through a trap into the bottomless box, without the necessity of tilting the latter.

THE REVERSIBLE CANISTER.--This is another piece of apparatus more particularly designed for changing a handkerchief, though equally available for many other exchanges. In appearance it is an ordinary cylindrical canister, closed with a cap, and similar in shape to those in which tea is kept, but of smaller size, being only five to six inches in height. In reality, however, that which appears to be the body of the canister is a mere tube, within which slides up and down an inner canister, which is made double-headed, _i.e._, like two shallow canisters placed bottom to bottom. (_See_ Fig. 108.) The pattern of the outer tube is alike at top and bottom, so that whether the combined canister is as shown in the figure, with compartment _a_ uppermost, or turned upside down, with compartment _b_ pushed into view, the appearance to the eye of the spectator is the same. The canister is prepared by placing beforehand in one or other of the compartments, say _b_, a piece of cambric, as much like a lady’s handkerchief as possible. Compartment _a_ is then pushed upwards, as shown in the figure. Borrowing a handkerchief, the performer requests the owner to place it for safe keeping in the canister, which he brings forward for that purpose. As he turns to replace it on the table, he takes advantage of the moment during which his back is towards the spectators to push down _a_ (thus pushing out _b_ at the opposite end of the tube), and at the same time to turn over the canister, which, when placed on the table, will still look as shown in the figure, but will have, in reality, _b_ uppermost. Presently taking out the prepared cambric, which the spectators take to be the handkerchief, he burns or otherwise disposes of it, to be subsequently reproduced by the simple process of again reversing the canister.

This is a simple and inexpensive piece of apparatus, but it will not bear examination, and the process of reversing is a little awkward. For these reasons it is rarely employed by professional performers, who for the same purpose more generally use what is known as

THE BURNING GLOBE.--This is a hollow brass globe of four to six inches in diameter, mounted on a foot of about the same height, and surmounted by a cap or lid, so that it forms, in fact, a spherical canister. A raised band, also of brass, passes horizontally round the globe; and this, which is apparently a mere ornament, is really designed to conceal the fact that the globe is divided into two separate hemispheres, revolving one upon the other. Within this external globe is an inner one, divided into two compartments, each having a separate opening, and so contrived that each of these openings in turn is made to correspond with the opening of the external globe, according as the upper hemisphere of the latter is moved round from right to left, or _vice versâ_. The globe is, like the canister, prepared by placing a substitute handkerchief, or piece of cambric, in one or other of the inner compartments, and then bringing the other compartment into correspondence with the external opening. A borrowed handkerchief being openly placed in the empty compartment, the performer, by merely giving a half turn to the foot of the apparatus, brings the compartment containing the substitute uppermost, the action being so little noticeable that it may be used with impunity before the very eyes of the audience.

THE TRANSFORMED HANDKERCHIEF.--This is one of Herrmann’s favourite tricks, and affords a very good example of his style of working. The performer comes forward, requesting the loan of a lady’s handkerchief. While it is being procured, he produces from the hair or whiskers of one of the spectators a lemon, which he carelessly thrusts under somebody’s nose in order to prove its genuineness. (This lemon, which, of course, was palmed, is a prepared one, from which the pulp has been scooped out, and which contains a substitute handkerchief, so cannot be handed for examination.) Turning for an instant towards the stage, he tosses the lemon to his assistant, who catches it, and places it on the table. The momentary turn from the audience enables him to get from under his waistband, and to palm, a little bundle of pieces of cambric, each about four inches square. Taking the borrowed handkerchief, he rolls it into a ball between his hands, and hands it (apparently) to some one to hold, in reality substituting the torn pieces of cambric. He then turns, and takes a few paces towards his table, meanwhile tucking the handkerchief under his waistcoat, and taking therefrom in place of it a strip of cambric, about four or five feet long and four inches wide, rolled up into a small compass. This he palms. Suddenly turning back, he exclaims, “My dear sir, what _are_ you doing with that handkerchief? I never told you to do that!” The innocent holder looks up in astonishment, but the performer continues, “Will you have the kindness to open the handkerchief?” He does so, and finds it in pieces. After a little chaff about making him pay for the damage, the performer says, “Well, I suppose I must show you how to restore it.” Here he again takes the pieces, and folds them together, saying, “See, you must take them as I do, and rub them very gently with the left hand.” Substituting the prepared slip, he hands it to him; but, when he begins to rub, exclaims again, “Dear me, dear me! what are you doing now? I told you the _left_ hand. You are making matters worse than ever.” The handkerchief is now found in a long strip. The performer endeavours to induce the owner to accept it in this shape, which he assures her is the newest style; but she naturally objects, and begs that it may be restored to its original condition. For that purpose, the performer, rolling the slip into a ball, places it in his magic pistol (_see_ page 215), and rams it down with his wand. Appearing to reflect for a moment, he says, “Where shall I fire it? Ah! suppose I aim at that lemon on the table?” “Bang!” goes the pistol, and the performer, taking a knife, cuts the lemon all round (flinging the rind carelessly on the stage), and produces the substitute handkerchief (professedly the original). He comes forward to the audience with it, and, after thanking the owner, makes a gesture of returning it; but, as if struck by a sudden thought, checks himself, and says, “I’m afraid it smells rather strong of the lemon. Will you allow me to scent it for you? I have some capital Eau de Cologne here.” Going back to his table, he places the handkerchief on a plate, and pours scent on it, turning as he does so to the owner, and saying, “Please tell me when you think there is enough.” While his back is turned, the attendant, who has been standing by holding a lighted candle, with a mischievous wink at the company, tilts the candle, and sets the handkerchief on fire. The performer apologizes for his assistant’s stupidity, but appeals to the company to bear witness that it was no fault of his, and bringing forward the plate, with the handkerchief still blazing, offers it to the owner. She, of course, declines to take it, and the performer, remarking, “You don’t like it in this condition; well, then, suppose I put it in paper for you,” places the plate on the floor, telling the assistant to put it on the table, and runs off to get the paper. The attendant tries to lift off the plate, but finds that it burns his fingers. However, after several attempts, getting the plate a little nearer to the table at each, he manages to place it on the table. This little by-play amuses the audience, and gives the performer the few moments which he requires for his preparations behind the scenes. Coming forward with a sheet of clean white paper, he wraps therein the still blazing handkerchief, crushing it together so as to extinguish the flames. He offers the packet so made to the lady, who, believing that it contains nothing but ashes, declines to receive it, when the professor, tearing the paper apart, pulls out the handkerchief perfectly restored, while the burnt fragments have vanished.

The effect last mentioned is produced by the use of a double paper, pasted together round three of its sides, and thus forming a kind of bag in the centre. In this bag the performer, during his momentary absence from the stage, places the genuine handkerchief, folded so as to occupy as little space as possible. The handkerchief, therefore, lies between the two thicknesses of the paper, and when the rolled up packet is torn open from outside, may be removed without disturbing the burnt fragments, which still remain inside the paper.

Where it is necessary, as for the purpose of this trick, to introduce some article into a lemon, the necessary preparation should be made as follows:--A lemon with a thick hard rind should be selected, and a plug-shaped piece, about an inch and a half in diameter, should be scooped with a sharp knife out of one end. The pulp may now be removed, leaving the rind a mere shell, while the piece originally cut out will form a kind of stopper, which may be secured in its place by thrusting a hair-pin or piece of wire through the fruit and plug from side to side, and nipping off the ends flush with the outer surface. When the performer exhibits the lemon, he takes care to have the cut end inwards towards his palm; so that the circular mark is concealed by the fingers, and when he desires to produce the handkerchief he cuts the opposite end.

THE HANDKERCHIEF CUT UP, BURNT, AND FINALLY FOUND IN A CANDLE.--We have already described one or two modes in which a handkerchief, after being apparently cut up, or burnt, may be reproduced in its original condition. This is another and very effective form of the same trick.

Having borrowed a white handkerchief, you exchange it, by one or other of the means already described, for a substitute of similar appearance, and place the latter on the table. You then remember that, as you are about to burn the handkerchief, you will want a candle. You call to your attendant, but he, previously instructed, does not answer, and after a momentary pause you determine to fetch it yourself. You have, however, no sooner left the stage, than you meet the defaulter, and angrily remarking, in a stage whisper, so that the audience may hear, that he is never at hand when you want him, or making some similar observation, you order him to bring a lighted candle. Your absence is only momentary, but it has enabled you to throw him the real handkerchief, which he forthwith rolls up, and places inside a candle made hollow for the purpose; which he then places in a candlestick, lights, and brings on the stage. You have meanwhile taken up the substitute handkerchief, and advanced to the audience, getting ready the while in your palm a small piece of cambric, about six inches in diameter. Taking the handkerchief by the centre, in the same hand, you pull out between the first finger and thumb a portion of the piece of cambric, which is naturally taken to be a part of the handkerchief. Handing to one of the spectators a pair of scissors, you request him to cut off a small portion of the handkerchief. He cuts off a piece of the cambric. Holding this piece in the one hand, and taking the remainder, with the substitute handkerchief hanging down below it, in the other, you offer to teach the company your patent method of mending handkerchiefs, requiring neither thimble, needle, nor thread. Applying the cut edges to the candle, you set them on fire, rubbing them together. Finally, blowing out the flame, and throwing the handkerchief over the hand that holds the pieces, you palm them, and immediately afterwards show the handkerchief (_i.e._, the substitute) completely restored.

The mode of procedure so far is pretty well known, and it is highly probable that one or more of the audience will be acquainted with it. Accordingly, you may safely expect to perceive in some quarter or other, knowing glances, or confidential communications as to “how it’s done.” Noticing, or pretending to notice this, you say, “Ah, I see there is a gentleman there who thinks he has found me out. You fancy, no doubt, sir, that I have performed this trick in the old fashion, by cutting a piece of cambric which does not form part of the handkerchief. Why, my dear sir, the trick in that form is as old as--your grandmother. But it is my own fault; I quite forgot to show you that the handkerchief was really cut. It is my rule never to perform the same trick twice over, but I feel so hurt at your unkind suspicion that I must break my rule for once, and this time you shall cut the handkerchief yourself.” You offer him the scissors, and holding up the handkerchief (which the audience naturally believe to be the genuine one) by the middle, you allow him to cut a piece fairly out of it, immediately afterwards spreading it out, and showing that a large hole is made in the centre. Again, you hold the edges to the candle, but this time, as if by accident, you let the flames fairly catch hold of the handkerchief, which you are compelled to drop upon a plate or tray, and to let it burn itself out. For a moment, you feign to be embarrassed, and the audience are half inclined to believe that you have made a mistake, and your trick has failed; but you quickly recover your confidence, and remark, “This is not precisely what I intended, ladies and gentlemen. I am afraid I have made a little mistake, but fortunately it is easily remedied. The fact is, I forgot to pronounce the magic word at the right moment, and the handkerchief has in consequence stopped short at the first stage of transmigration. To make it pass into the second stage, that of renewed existence, I must again employ the agency of fire. See, I place the ashes in my magic pistol, and ram them down with the mystic wand. Now what shall I aim at? Ah! the candle on the table! A capital mark, and as it has been before you throughout the trick, you know that it cannot have undergone any preparation.” (You fire, aiming at the candle.) “Did you see it pass? No. It has done so, nevertheless; but I must have put in a little too much powder, for it has gone right into the candle.” (You bring the candle forward.) “Will some one oblige me by seeing if it is really in the candle.” The candle is broken in half, and the handkerchief is found embedded therein.

The candle used for the purpose of the above trick is sometimes a genuine wax or composite candle, but more often a mere pasteboard tube, previously cut half asunder in the middle (so as to break without difficulty), and then covered with glazed white paper, in imitation of a candle, a genuine candle-end being inserted at the top. If a candle of this latter description is used, the performer must himself break it, as a spectator doing so would at once discover that it was a prepared article.

Before quitting the subject of handkerchiefs burnt and restored, we may mention a little appliance called the “handkerchief table,” which is designed for this purpose. It is precisely the same in make and operation as the table or tripod, described at page 139, for burning and restoring a card, but a little larger. To those acquainted with the card tripod, the use and effect of the handkerchief table will be sufficiently obvious, without any special explanation.

THE SHOWER OF SWEETS.--This is a trick which is sure to be well received by a juvenile audience. The performer comes forward with an ordinary plate or salver, which he hands for examination, and then places on the table. He next borrows a handkerchief. Laying it flat over the plate, he lifts it up by nipping the middle with his finger and thumb, letting the four corners hang down. He then strokes down the handkerchief with the other hand, under the pretence of mesmerising it, when a shower of burnt almonds, chocolate creams, acidulated drops, etc., pours down upon the plate. Again he strokes the handkerchief, and again the shower pours down; and the plate, being by this time full, is handed round to the company to prove that in the quality of the sweets, at any rate, there is “no deception.”

The secret lies in the use of a small bag, of cambric or fine calico, shaped like an inverted letter V. The edges are turned in at the mouth, and through each hem is passed a straight piece of watch-spring or whalebone, one a little longer than the other. The natural tendency of these is to lie side by side, keeping the mouth of the bag closed; but if pressure be simultaneously applied to both ends of the springs, the longer one assumes the shape of a semicircle, thereby opening the bag. Through the opposite end of the bag is passed a pointed wire hook. The bag is beforehand filled with nuts or bonbons, and hung by the hook to the edge of the table on the side away from the spectators. Though the bag is mouth downwards, the action of the spring keeps it closed, and nothing can fall out. When the operator, standing behind the table, draws the handkerchief over the plate, he allows a portion of the hinder edge to hang over the edge of the table nearest to himself. When he picks up the handkerchief, which he does with his finger and thumb, he takes hold, through the handkerchief, of the upper part of the bag. The bag is thus lifted up within the handkerchief, but is concealed by the folds of the latter hanging down around it. The movement of the hand in stroking down the handkerchief presses the springs, and the bag opens, again closing as soon as the pressure is relaxed. When all the contents have fallen, the performer drops the handkerchief, bag and all, on the table, while he advances to the audience with the results of the trick, and, on again picking up the handkerchief, lets fall the empty bag upon the _servante_, or slips it into his pocket.

It will be observed that, in the form of the trick above described, the use of both hands is necessary--one to hold the handkerchief, while the other, stroking it down, presses the springs, and causes the bag to open. There is an improved form of the bag, used, and, we believe, invented by Robert-Houdin, which enables the performer, holding the handkerchief at arm’s length, to perform the trick by mere word of command, without using the left hand at all. The bag is in this case of the form shown in Fig. 109. No springs are used, but the bag, when filled, is closed by folding down the flap, and hooking the little ring over the hook, the bag thereby assuming the appearance shown in Fig. 110. It is picked up within the handkerchief as described in the case of the spring bag; but when it is desired to produce the sweets, a slight inclination of the hook to the left (effected by a barely perceptible movement of the thumb and finger) causes the ring to slip off and the flap to fall down, as in Fig. 109, releasing the whole contents of the bag.

The trick may be still further improved by having two similar bags stitched back to back, each with its own ring and hook. In this case an inclination to the left releases one hook, and an inclination to the right the other. The two bags may be filled with bonbons of different colours or descriptions, or the one may be filled with bonbons and the other with grey peas. In this case you may introduce the trick by some observations upon the singular effects of the human breath, and how greatly such effects vary in different persons. A handkerchief is borrowed, and a lady and gentleman are requested each to hold a plate. The lady is requested to breathe on the handkerchief, and a shower of bonbons falls on her plate. The gentleman breathes in his turn, and retires, amid derisive applause, with a plate of peas.

While upon the subject of the mysterious production of sweets, we may incidentally mention another piece of apparatus designed for this purpose. This is a wand, made to correspond in general appearance with that habitually used by the performer. Internally, it is a hollow tube, with a stiff wire running throughout its whole length. One end of this wire is fixed to a moveable cap, which covers the upper end of the wand, while the other terminates in a sort of little wooden plug, which closes the opening at the other end. A spiral spring within the upper end of the wand tends to force the cap upwards, and so to keep the opposite end closed; but if pressure be applied to the cap, the plug is forced outwards, and the tube thereby opened. _See_ Fig. 111, in which _a_ represents the wand in its normal condition (_i.e._, closed), while _b_ represents it with the cap pressed downwards, and the opposite end consequently open.

To prepare the wand for use, the cap is pressed and the valve opened. The wand is then filled with very minute sweetmeats, of the description known among juveniles as “hundreds and thousands;” after which the pressure on the cap is removed, and the plug allowed to retire into its place. The wand, thus prepared, is at the proper moment brought forward in place of the ordinary wand, which in its present condition it exactly resembles. The performer then declares his intention of passing a shower of sweets into the pocket of a spectator, and, having first shown it empty, touches the inside with the wand, at the same moment pressing the cap, when the sweets within escape into the pocket.

THE FEATHERS FROM AN EMPTY HANDKERCHIEF.--This is a very simple illusion, but has nevertheless been a favourite with many noted _prestidigitateurs_. Its effect is as follows:--The performer comes forward with a large handkerchief, or small shawl, which he shakes about in all directions, to show that it is empty. Throwing it over the left hand, he with the other grasps it by the middle, and removing the hand over which it was thrown, lets it hang perpendicularly down. To all appearance it is still empty; but on being shaken it is seen to contain some solid object. With a twist of the wrist, the performer turns the handkerchief and its contents upwards. The handkerchief naturally falls down over the coat-sleeve, leaving exposed a handsome military plume. The performer grasps, with the left hand, the stem of this plume and the centre of the handkerchief, immediately drawing away the right arm from beneath it. Again the handkerchief on being waved about is seen to contain something, which being held upright, the handkerchief falls down as before, and a second plume is revealed. The operation is again and again repeated with a like result, till fifteen or twenty plumes have been produced; the handkerchief being at any moment handed for examination.

The explanation lies in the fact that the plumes, which may be compressed into a very small compass, are laid beforehand along the arms of the performer, who puts on his coat over them. The stems of the plumes are nearest to the hands. When the handkerchief is thrown over either hand, the other hand catches hold through it of the stem of one of the feathers. This hand now remains stationary, while the other arm is drawn from under the handkerchief. The fact that the plumes come out of the sleeves is thus much less patent than if the opposite hand made the motion and drew the feather out. The plumes on being drawn out expand considerably; so much so, indeed, that it is hard to believe that the quantity with which the stage is strewn could possibly have been concealed about the person of the performer.

Some performers have in addition a bundle of plumes fastened together by a thread, and laid along the inside of the trousers and waistcoat, in such manner that the stems are just within the breast of the latter. After having exhausted his sleeves, the operator, holding the handkerchief (by two of its corners) across his chest, to show that it is quite empty, catches hold, with the second and third fingers, of the stem of the bundle within the waistcoat, and moving the handkerchief with a quick sidelong motion from left to right, or _vice versâ_, draws out the feathers behind it, and immediately breaking the thread, shakes them out in a shower on the stage.

There is another form of the same trick, in which the handkerchief plays only a secondary part, but, from its near relation to that last described, we insert it in this place. It is generally called

THE FLYING PLUME.--For this trick you require two plumes, as nearly as possible alike in appearance. To the stem of each should be attached a loop of string or ribbon, two or three inches in length. You must also have a japanned tin tube, of about twenty inches long, and three in diameter. On either end is fitted a cap, of about two inches in depth. One of these caps is perfectly plain, but within the other is an inner cap, made after the fashion of the middle compartment of the snuff-box vase (_see_ page 217). The relative tightness of the inner and outer caps is such that, if in removing the outer one with the finger and thumb some slight degree of lateral pressure is exerted, it nips the inner cap, which comes off with it; but if the outer cap is removed without pressure, the inner cap remains on the tube, forming a false top to it. Within this inner cap, which is internally about an inch and a half deep, is glued a short end of a third plume, similar in colour and appearance to the two others. The interior of the tube is divided into two parts by a longitudinal division, also of tin, running diagonally nearly from end to end. The tube is thus divided into two wedge-shaped compartments, the cap at one end giving access to the one, and the cap at the other end to the other; each being large enough to contain a plume. (_See_ Fig. 112, representing a section of the entire tube, and Fig. 113, giving a slightly enlarged view of the ends.) The tube is prepared beforehand by filling the compartment which is closed by the double cap with bonbons of various kinds; the other compartment being left empty. One of the plumes is concealed in the left sleeve of the performer, as in the last trick.

These preparations having been duly made beforehand, you come forward with a small shawl, or large handkerchief, the tube, and the second plume. Laying the tube and plume upon the table, you request the audience to satisfy themselves that the shawl contains nothing. You then ask some one to step forward and take care of the shawl, which you meanwhile carelessly throw over your left hand, immediately after taking hold of its centre with your right, as before described, and drawing the left arm away. It is needless to remark, to those who have followed the explanation of the last trick, that the hidden plume is thereby brought under the shawl, though, being held by the loop of ribbon, there is nothing to betray its presence. You hand the shawl in this condition to the person who has volunteered to hold it, requesting him to keep it at arm’s length, still hanging down. Next taking up the tube, you open it at the plain or unprepared end, and holding it mouth downwards, show that it is (apparently) empty; then ostentatiously place the plume therein, and put the cap on.

In returning to your table you take the opportunity to reverse the tube, and to lay it down in such a manner that the opposite end (_i.e._, that with the false top) may be turned towards the audience. Some performers do this by letting the tube fall, as if by accident, but this is, in our opinion, a clumsy and inartistic proceeding. By gesticulating a little with the tube, in announcing what you are about to do, so that the audience may, little by little, become less certain as to which end you have just opened, and by carelessly transferring the tube from the one hand to the other just as you lay it on the table, you may make the change with scarcely a chance of detection, even by the keenest observer. You then say, “I shall now, ladies and gentlemen, make the plume which you have just seen me place in this tube travel into the shawl which that gentleman is holding, while the tube will be completely filled with objects of interest for the juvenile spectators.” Here you may possibly hear, or if not, you pretend to hear, a murmur to the effect that the feather has already left the tube. “Pardon me,” you say, “the plume has not yet left the tube, neither will it do so until I give the command,” and so saying, you take off the cap, leaving on the false top. The audience see the little bit of feather within, which they naturally take to be the end of the genuine plume. Again you replace the cap; and after going through some appropriate magical ceremony, again remove it, but this time carrying off the false top with it. (It should have been mentioned that the tube is japanned in such manner that the eye cannot detect any difference whether the false top is on or off.) Placing the cap, with the false top within it, on the table, you come forward and pour the sweets from the tube, while the shawl is on examination found to contain the plume.

Some performers, for the purpose of this trick, use a tube with a false top, as above described, but open from end to end, without the diagonal partition above mentioned. Before placing the plume in the tube, which they do standing behind the table, they secretly remove the cap at the lower end, and allow the plume to fall through on the _servante_, where it remains. In this case, there is no production of sweets, but the plume having been produced from the shawl, the performer removes both caps, and hands the empty tube for examination.

THE MAGIC LAUNDRY.--There is very little brilliancy, either of invention or of manipulation, in this trick, but it is nevertheless generally very well received.

The performer requests the loan of half-a-dozen handkerchiefs, taking care to accept white handkerchiefs only. These he collects in a wooden box, having somewhat the appearance of a good-sized tea caddy. Having got the required number, he places the box upon his table, and invites the attention of the audience to an ordinary tin or wooden pail. This he fills with water, and placing it in front of the stage, takes the handkerchiefs out of the box, and drops them in, stirring them about with his wand; and making as much fun as he can by his pretended anxiety that they shall be thoroughly washed. Having kept this up as long as the audience appear to be amused thereby, he wrings out the handkerchiefs one by one, and throws them into a little shallow metal tub or pan (japanned, and about four inches in depth), which his assistant at this moment brings forward for that purpose, together with a cover after the manner of a saucepan-lid, and a pistol, both of which he places carelessly on the table. Having placed the handkerchiefs in this little tub, the performer announces that having washed them, he will now proceed to dry them, for which purpose he pours over them a little spirits of wine, to which he sets fire. After letting them blaze for a moment or two he claps on the cover. “Your handkerchiefs are now dried, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “but I have still to fold and iron them. It does not take very long, as you will see.” Taking up the pistol, he fires at the tub, and immediately removing the cover, comes forward to the audience, and requests them to identify their handkerchiefs, which are seen neatly folded, and apparently just washed and ironed, within it.

The intelligent reader will have already guessed that the trick depends upon a substitution of handkerchiefs. The box in which the genuine handkerchiefs are received has within it a moveable flap, between which and the back of the box the substitutes are placed. When the required number has been collected, this flap is let fall, releasing the substitute handkerchiefs, and at the same time covering the genuine ones. The substitutes having been dropped into the pail of water, the assistant carries off the box, and behind the scenes damps and folds the borrowed handkerchiefs, pressing them flat with a hot iron, if available; if not, with a cold one. The tub or pan which is used for the conclusion of the trick has an inner lining of such a size as to fit tightly within it, but about an inch less in depth. The lid again fits within this after the manner of a saucepan lid, but not quite so tightly as the lining itself fits within the outer pan. The folded handkerchiefs are placed within this lining, and the lid placed on, or rather in it--the two together as brought forward having the appearance of a lid only. When the performer claps the lid on the pan, the lining is thereby introduced, but when he again removes it, the lining is left in, exposing the folded handkerchiefs, while the substitutes remain concealed between the true and false bottoms of the pan.

The performer, of necessity, accepts white handkerchiefs only, as a coloured one would betray the secret, from the absence of its “double” among the substitutes. Some performers, in order to obviate the suspicion which might be suggested by an evident preference of white handkerchiefs, arrange that a coloured one, of which they possess a duplicate, shall be offered by a confederate among the audience. This certainly heightens the effect of the trick, as it seems to negative the idea of substitution, and though in general we deprecate, as belonging to a low class of art, the employment of confederates, this is just the case in which the use of such an expedient may for once be deemed admissible.

THE EGG AND THE HANDKERCHIEF.--For this capital feat, which is generally identified with the name of Colonel Stodare, the following are the requirements:--A glass goblet, two small handkerchiefs (generally of plain crimson silk, and about sixteen inches square), a larger silk handkerchief--to which is attached, by a silk thread of about four inches in length, a blown egg-shell--and a hollow metal egg made of zinc, enamelled white, with an oval opening on one side of it measuring about an inch and a half by one inch, or a little more.

The performer comes forward, having in his right hand the goblet and one of the red silk handkerchiefs. The larger silk handkerchief is thrown with apparent carelessness over the other hand, and upon it rests the blown egg, so placed that the thread may be out of sight, while beneath the egg, concealed in a fold of the handkerchief, lies the second red handkerchief, rolled up into as small a compass as possible. The metal egg is, meanwhile, placed in the left-hand secret pocket of the performer, who introduces the trick as follows: “I have here, ladies and gentlemen, a drinking-glass, a couple of silk handkerchiefs, and an egg, all, as you will perceive, of the most ordinary description.” He passes quickly in front of the audience, as though tendering the articles for examination (taking care, however, to keep his right arm advanced towards the spectators, so that the glass and small silk handkerchief may bear the brunt of inspection), and finally places the glass and small handkerchief on a table or chair in full view. “Pray observe,” he continues, “that not one of the articles is removed from your sight, even for one moment. Now, please follow me closely. I will place the egg in the glass, and cover it over with this handkerchief.” This he does by one movement, for as the egg is already lying on the handkerchief, a mere turn of the wrist places the egg in the glass, and at the same time lets fall the handkerchief over it; and at the same time the smaller handkerchief, which was concealed in the larger, is released, and falls into the glass with the egg. “You have all seen me place the egg in the glass” (at the same time shaking the glass, to show by the sound that the egg is still there), “which I will not again touch. I shall now take this small handkerchief” (the one which has remained on the table), “and standing as far as possible away, I shall command the handkerchief to dissolve and pass into the glass, and the egg which is now in the glass to come into my hands.” So saying, he holds up the handkerchief, in such manner as to show indirectly that he has nothing else in his hands. Taking a few steps, as though merely to get further from the glass, and holding the handkerchief hanging down between the finger and thumb of the right hand, he drops the other hand to his side, and secretly takes from his pocket the hollow egg, which he palms, keeping the opening outwards. He then, standing with his left side towards the spectators, joins his open hands, as in Fig. 114, the handkerchief hanging down between them. Requesting the audience to watch him narrowly, that they may be quite sure that there is no deception, he begins to wave his joined hands slowly up and down, the second and third fingers of the right hand (which, it will be remembered, is away from the audience) meanwhile gradually working the handkerchief into the hollow of the egg. He every now and then pauses to show that the handkerchief is gradually diminishing, and at last when it is wholly worked into the egg, opens his hands, and shows the egg lying in his palm, taking care, of course, that the opening is undermost. To all appearance, the handkerchief has changed into an egg. “Here is the egg,” he remarks; “let us see if the handkerchief also has obeyed my bidding.” So saying, he lays the egg, still with the opening downwards, upon the table, and taking hold with the finger and thumb of the handkerchief which covers the glass, lifts it daintily up, carrying with it, concealed in its folds, the egg-shell attached thereto, and leaving the duplicate red handkerchief lying in the glass.

It may sometimes, though not very often, occur that one or other of the spectators, suspecting some peculiarity about the egg, may ask to be permitted to examine it. This, of course, you cannot permit, while to refuse would destroy half the prestige of the illusion. Fortunately, there is a way out of the difficulty which absolutely enhances the effect of the trick. “You would like to see the egg,” you reply; “by all means. It is a special feature of my entertainment that all articles used therein will bear the strictest examination. Here is the egg.” During these few words, you have taken up the sham egg with the fingers of your right hand, taking care, of course, to keep the opening away from the audience, and have thence apparently transferred it to your left, with which hand you offer it to the too curious spectator. It is hardly necessary to remark, that in the apparent transfer of the egg to the left hand, you have really palmed it in your right; and as you extend the left hand to the spectator, you quietly drop it from the right into the _pochette_ on that side. The inquirer holds out his hand to receive it. “Pray examine it closely,” you say, opening your empty hand over his own. “What! you have not got it? Ah, that is _your_ fault; you were not quick enough. I always find that this experiment makes the egg excessively volatile.” This unexpected _dénouement_ never fails to raise a laugh against the individual who has sought to embarrass you, while the impromptu disappearance of the egg will be regarded by many as the most marvellous portion of the trick. The same expedient will be equally available to prevent the examination, at an awkward moment, of other small articles.

There is another method, in which the trick is performed with handkerchiefs borrowed from the audience. In this case, _two_ metal eggs, like that above described, are used, the blown egg being dispensed with. The performer commences the trick by borrowing two handkerchiefs, a lady’s handkerchief, and a larger one, preferably of silk. These he places on his table, secretly exchanging the smaller one for a substitute of his own, and retires for a moment to fetch a glass. He takes advantage of his momentary absence to insert the handkerchief of which he has gained possession into one of the hollow eggs, and returns with this egg lying (the opening downwards) on his left palm, the other hand holding the glass, while the second hollow egg is concealed in his left _pochette_. Coming forward to the audience, he picks up, in passing, the larger handkerchief from the table, and handing the glass, as forming the principal portion of the apparatus, for examination, throws the handkerchief over the hand which holds the egg, showing by its outline beneath the silk that it has not been removed, and meanwhile drawing out with the finger and thumb of the concealed hand the handkerchief hidden therein; which is thus ready to be placed in the glass along with the egg, under cover of the larger handkerchief. The rest of the trick proceeds as already described, save that in this instance, the egg not being attached to the outer handkerchief, it is necessary to clip it with the fingers through the handkerchief when the latter is removed. To do this easily and effectually, it is well, in placing the egg in the glass, to place it with the opening upwards, the edges of the opening giving a readier hold than the unbroken surface of the opposite side.

THE HAND BOX, FOR VANISHING A HANDKERCHIEF.--While discussing the subject of handkerchief tricks, we must not omit to mention the “hand box,” a clever little contrivance for causing the disappearance of a handkerchief. It consists of a little tin box, of the size and shape of the heel of a gentleman’s boot, closed on all sides, save that which answers to the front portion of the heel, which is left open. (_See_ Fig. 115.) To one of its sides is riveted or soldered a steel spring, about an inch in length. The free end of this spring forms with the side of the box a sort of clip, by means of which the box can be attached (as shown in the Figure) to the fleshy part of the hand, the opening being towards the fingers. Being within the hand, it is of course unseen by the audience. The manner of its use is much the same as that of the hollow egg described in the last trick, save that the hand box is never exhibited. As soon as the handkerchief is fairly worked in, the left hand is closed, as if containing it; the effect being to the audience as if the handkerchief was merely rolled up and placed in the left hand. On opening the hand, the handkerchief is found to have disappeared, the performer having meanwhile plenty of opportunity to drop the concealed handkerchief, box and all, into the _pochette_ on his right-hand side.

The hand box may be made available in a variety of ways, as follows: The performer having borrowed a handkerchief, secretly changes it for a substitute, which he leaves in full view on the table. Having made what disposition he pleases of the original, he returns, meanwhile placing the hand box in position, and causing by its means the disappearance of the substitute, orders the borrowed article to be found in such place as he may think proper.