Chapter III: Introduction: By Dr. Paul Carus (2)

He says: “It happened through a variety of singular accidents that I became intimate with a Sicilian priest, who was a man of very elevated genius and well instructed in both Latin and Greek letters. In the course of conversation one day, we were led to talk about the art of necromancy, _à propos_ of which I said: ‘Throughout my whole life I have had the most intense desire to see or learn something of this art.’ Thereto the priest replied: ‘A stout soul and a steadfast must the man have who sets himself to such an enterprise.’ I answered that of strength and steadfastness of soul I should have enough and to spare, provided I found the opportunity. Then the priest said: ‘If you have the heart to dare it, I will amply satisfy your curiosity.’ Accordingly we agreed upon attempting the adventure.

“The priest one evening made his preparations, and bade me find a comrade, or not more than two. I invited Vincenzio Romoli, a very dear friend of mine, and the priest took with him a native of Pistoja, who also cultivated the black art. We went together to the Colosseum; and there the priest, having arrayed himself in necromancers’ robes, began to describe circles on the earth with the finest ceremonies that can be imagined. I must say that he had made us bring precious perfumes and fire, and also drugs of fetid odor. When the preliminaries were completed, he made the entrance into the circle; and taking us by the hand, introduced us one by one inside of it. Then he assigned our several functions; to the necromancer, his comrade, he gave the pentacle to hold; the other two of us had to look after the fire and the perfumes; and then he began his incantations. This {14} lasted more than an hour and a half, when several legions appeared and the Colosseum was all full of devils. I was occupied with the precious perfumes, and when the priest perceived in what numbers they were present, he turned to me and said: ‘Benvenuto, ask them something.’ I called on them to reunite me with my Sicilian Angelica.”

It seems the spirits did not respond. The magic spells were found inoperative, whereupon the priest dismissed the demons, observing that the presence of a pure boy was requisite to the successful accomplishment of the séance.

Another night Cellini and the sorcerer repaired to the ruins of the Colosseum. The artist was accompanied by a boy of twelve years of age, who was in his employ, and by two friends, Agnolino Gaddi and the before-mentioned Romoli. The necromancer, after describing the usual magic circle and building a fire, “began to utter those awful invocations, calling by name on multitudes of demons who are captains of their legions . . . ; insomuch that in a short space of time the whole Colosseum was full of a hundredfold as many as had appeared upon the first occasion.” At the advice of the wizard, Cellini again asked to be reunited with his mistress. The sorcerer turned to him and said: “Hear you what they have replied; that in the space of one month you will be where she is.” The company within the magic circle were now confronted by a great company of demons. The boy declared that he saw four armed giants of immense stature who were endeavoring to get within the circle. They trembled with fear. The necromancer, to calm the fright of the boy, assured him that what they beheld was but _smoke and shadows_, and that the spirits were under his power. As the smoke died out, the demons faded away, and Cellini and his friends left the place fully satisfied of the reality of the conjurations. As they left the Colosseum, the boy declared that he saw two of the demons leaping and skipping before them, and often upon the roofs of the houses. The priest paid no attention to them, but endeavored to persuade the goldsmith to renew the attempt on some future occasion, in order to discover the secret treasures of the earth. But Cellini did not care to meddle more in the black art. {15}

What are we to believe about this magic invocation? Was Cellini romancing? Though a vainglorious, egotistical man, he was truthful, and his memoirs may be relied on.

John Addington Symonds, one of the translators of Cellini’s autobiography, remarks: “Imagination and the awe-inspiring influences of the place, even if we eliminate a possible magic lantern among the conjurer’s appurtenances, are enough to account for what Cellini saw. He was credulous; he was superstitious.”

Sir David Brewster, who quotes Cellini’s narrative in his _Natural Magic_, explains that the demons seen in the Colosseum “were not produced by any influence upon the imaginations of the spectators, but were actual optical phantasms, or the images of pictures or objects produced by one or more concave mirrors or lenses. A fire is lighted and perfumes and incense are burnt, in order to create a ground for the images, and the beholders are rigidly confined within the pale of the magic circle. The concave mirror and the objects presented to it having been so placed that the persons within the circle could not see the aerial image of the objects by the rays directly reflected from the mirror, the work of deception was ready to begin. The attendance of the magician upon his mirror was by no means necessary. He took his place along with the spectators within the magic circle. The images of the devils were all distinctly formed in the air immediately above the fire, but none of them could be seen by those within the circle.

“The moment, however, the perfumes were thrown into the fire to produce smoke, the first wreath of smoke that rose through the place of one or more of the images would reflect them to the eyes of the spectators, and they would again disappear if the wreath was not followed by another. More and more images would be rendered visible as new wreaths of smoke arose, and the whole group would appear at once when the smoke was uniformly diffused over the place occupied by the images.”

Again, the magician may have been aided by a confederate amid the ruins, who manipulated a magic lantern, or some device of the kind. The magician himself may have been provided with a box fitted up with a concave mirror, the lights and figures of {16} the demons. The assertion of the boy that he saw demons skipping in front of him, etc., would be accounted for by the magic box being carried with them.

Says the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, in speaking of Cellini’s adventure: “The existence of a camera at this latter date (middle of sixteenth century) is a fact, for the instrument is described by Baptista Porta, the Neapolitan philosopher, in the _Magia Naturalis_ (1558). And the doubt how magic lantern effects could have been produced in the fourteenth century, when the lantern itself is alleged to have been invented by Athanasius Kircher in the middle of the seventeenth century, is set at rest by the fact that glass lenses were constructed at the earlier of these dates,—Roger Bacon, in his _Discovery of the Miracles of Art, Nature and Magic_ (about 1260), writing of glass lenses and perspectives so well made as to give good telescopic and microscopic effects, and to be useful to old men and those who have weak eyes.”

Chaucer, in the _House of Fame_, Book III, speaks of “appearances such as the subtil tregetours perform at feasts”—images of hunting, falconry and knights jousting, with the persons and objects instantaneously disappearing.

Later on Nostradamus conjured up a vision of the future king of France in a magic mirror, for the benefit of Marie de Medeci. This illusion was effected by mirrors adroitly concealed amid hanging draperies.

In the sixteenth century conjurers wandered from place to place, exhibiting their tricks at fairs, in barns, and at the castles of noblemen. They were little more than strolling gypsies or vagabonds. Reginald Scott, in his _Discoverie of Witchcraft_ (1584), enumerates some of the stock feats of these mountebanks. The list includes, “swallowing a knife; burning a card and reproducing it from the pocket of a spectator; passing a coin from one pocket to another; converting money into counters, or counters into money; conveying money into the hand of another person; making a coin pass through a table or vanish from a handkerchief; tying a knot and undoing it ‘by the power of words’; taking beads from a string, the ends of which are held fast by another person; making a coin to pass from one box to another; turning wheat into flour ‘by the power of {17} words’; burning a thread and making it whole again; pulling ribbons from the mouth; thrusting a knife into the head of a man; putting a ring through the cheek, and cutting off a person’s head and restoring it to its former position.”

Conjuring with cups and balls belongs to this list.

(From an Old Print, Ellison Collection.)]

The conjurer of the sixteenth century, and even of later date, wore about his waist a sort of bag, called _gibécière_, from its resemblance to a game bag, ostensibly to hold his paraphernalia. While delving into this bag for various articles to be used in his tricks, the magician succeeded in making substitutions and secretly getting possession of eggs, coins, balls, etc. It was a very clumsy device, but indispensable for an open-air {18} performer, who usually stood encircled by the spectators. Finally, the suspicious-looking _gibécière_ was abandoned by all save strolling mountebanks, and a table with a long cloth substituted. This table concealed an assistant, who made the necessary transformations required in the act, by means of traps and other devices. Comus, the elder, in the eighteenth century, abandoned the long table covers and the concealed assistant for the _servante_. But his immediate competitors still adhered to the draped tables, and a whole generation of later conjurers, among whom may be mentioned Comte, Bosco and Phillippe, followed their example. Robert-Houdin struck the keynote of reform in 1844. He sarcastically called the suspiciously draped table a _boite à compère_ (wooden confederate).

Conjurers in the seventeenth century were frequently known as _Hocus Pocus_. These curious words first occur in a pamphlet printed in 1641, in which the author, speaking of the sights of Bartholomew fair, mentions “_Hocus Pocus_, with three yards of tape or ribbon in his hand, showing his art of legerdemain.” The seventeenth century is the age of the strolling mountebank, who performed wherever he could get an audience—in the stable, barnyard, street or fair. From him to the prestidigitateur of the theatre is a long step, but no longer than from the barnstorming actor to the artist of the well-appointed playhouse. There is evolution in everything. It was not until the eighteenth century that conjuring became a legitimate profession. This was largely owing to the fact that men of gentle birth, well versed in the science of the age, took up the magic wand, and gave the art dignity and respectability.

It was not until the eighteenth century that natural magic was shorn of charlatanism, but even then the great Pinetti pretended to the occult in his exhibition of so-called “second sight.” He always avoided the Papal States, taking warning from the fate of Cagliostro. Magic and spiritism were in bad odor in the dominions of the Pope. Towards the middle of the century we hear of Jonas, Carlotti, Katerfelto, Androletti, Philadelphia, Rollin, Comus I and II. Comus II was famous for coining hard words. He advertised in London, “various uncommon experiments with his Enchanted Horologium, Pyxidees Literarum, {19} and many curious operations in Rhabdology, Steganography and Phylacteria, with many wonderful performances on the grand Dodecahedron, also Chartomantic Deceptions and Kharamatic Operations. To conclude with the performance of the Teretopaest Figure and Magical House; the like never seen in this kingdom before; and will astonish every beholder.” These magical experiments were doubtless very simple. What puzzled the spectators must have been the names of the tricks.

Rollin, a Frenchman, after accumulating a fortune, purchased the chateau of Fontenoy-aux-Roses, in the department of the Seine. He was denounced under the Red Terror, and suffered death by the guillotine, in 1793. When the warrant for his execution was read to him, he remarked, with a smile, “That is the first paper I cannot conjure away.”

III.

I now come to the Count Edmond de Grisy, Pinetti’s great rival in the field of conjuring.

The duel for supremacy between these eminent magicians is told in the chapter on Pinetti. The father of De Grisy, the Count de Grisy, was killed at the storming of the Tuilleries, while defending the person of his king, Louis XVI, from the mob. Young De Grisy was in Paris at the time, and, profiting by the disorders in the capital, was enabled to pass the barriers and reach the small family domain in Languedoc. Here he dug up a hundred louis, which his father had concealed for any unforseen accident; to this money he added some jewels left by his mother. With this modest sum, he proceeded to Florence, where he studied medicine, graduating as a physician at the age of twenty-seven. He became a professional magician, and had an adventure at Rome which is well worth relating. He was requested to perform before Pius VII, and ransacked his brains to devise a trick worthy of a Pope. On the day before the mystic séance he happened to be in the shop of a prominent watchmaker, when a lackey came in to ask if His Eminence the Cardinal de ⸺’s watch was repaired. {20}

“It will not be ready until this evening,” answered the watchmaker. “I will do myself the honor of personally carrying it to your master.”

The lackey retired.

“That is a handsome watch you have there,” said De Grisy.

“Yes,” replied the jeweler, “it is valued at more than ten thousand francs. It was made by the celebrated Bréguet. Strangely enough, the other day I was offered a similar timepiece, by the same artist, for one thousand francs.”

“Who was he?” asked the Count.

“A young prodigal and gambler, belonging to a noble family, who is now reduced to selling his family jewels.”

Like a flash of lightning, a scheme for working a splendid mystification passed through De Grisy’s mind. He nonchalantly said:

“Where is this young rake to be found?”

“In a gaming house, which he never quits.”

“Well, then, I will buy this masterpiece of Bréguet’s. Have the kindness to purchase it for me, and engrave upon it the Cardinal’s coat-of-arms, so that it will be a replica of His Eminence’s chronometer.”

The jeweler, assured of De Grisy’s discretion and honor, though probably suspecting the use to which the timepiece would be subjected, immediately left his shop, and returned after a little while with the gambler’s watch.

“Here it is,” he cried. “To-night I shall have it ready for you.”

At the appointed hour he brought the two watches for De Grisy’s inspection. They were facsimiles. The conjurer took his purchase, and the next day appeared at the pontifical palace, where a most distinguished audience greeted him. The Pope sat on a raised dais; near him were the cardinals in their brilliant robes of crimson.

After performing a series of magical feats, De Grisy came to his _pièce de résistance_. The difficulty was to obtain the loan of the Cardinal’s watch, and that without asking him directly for it. To succeed the conjurer had recourse to a ruse. At his {21} request several watches were offered to him, but he returned them as not suited to the experiment.

“I desire a timepiece that will be easily identified. I should prefer one of rather large size,” said De Grisy.

“Cardinal,” said His Holiness, “oblige me by lending your watch to M. de Grisy.”

With great reluctance the Cardinal de ⸺ handed his precious chronometer to the conjurer. It seems he set great value on its exaggerated size, alleging, with considerable show of reason, that the works acted better in a large case.

In order to prove the solidity and excellence of the chronometer, De Grisy let it fall to the ground. A cry of alarm arose on all sides. The Cardinal, pale with rage, bounded from his chair, exclaiming: “This is a sorry jest, sir!”

“Do not be alarmed, monsignor,” said De Grisy, “the watch will escape scathless from its many trials.” He handed the broken timepiece to the Cardinal. “Do you recognize this as your watch?”

The prelate gazed anxiously at the coat-of-arms engraved inside of the case, and replied, with a profound sigh:

“Yes, that is my watch.”

“You are certain of it?”

“Quite certain! But I seriously doubt your power to restore it.”

“We shall see!” said the conjurer.

De Grisy’s assistant now brought in a brass mortar and pestle. The watch was cast into the mortar and pounded to atoms. Some magic powder was poured into the receptacle and a torch applied. There was a detonation, followed by a cloud of smoke. The spectators were invited to examine the ingot of gold—all that remained of the precious chronometer. Pius VII peered curiously into the mortar. De Grisy, seizing the opportunity, adroitly popped the duplicate timepiece into a pocket of the Pope’s robe. At the proper moment he pretended to pass the ingot into the pontiff’s pocket, which resulted in the discovery of the Cardinal’s watch, made whole again. This clever trick created a great sensation in Rome, and drew crowds to De Grisy’s performances. Poor De Grisy seemed doomed to {22} misfortune. His young son was killed accidentally by a spectator, during an exhibition of the pistol trick at Strasburg. A real bullet got mixed up with the false bullets, and was loaded into the weapon. De Grisy was tried and convicted of “homicide through imprudence,” and sentenced to six months’ imprisonment, during which time his wife died. On his release, he assumed the name of Torrini, which was that of his brother-in-law and faithful assistant. He retired to the provinces of France, and never appeared again in the large cities. He died a brokenhearted man at Lyons.

Torrini was a skillful performer with cards, as Robert-Houdin testifies. He invented a trick which he called “The Blind Man’s Game of Piquet.” While blindfolded he would play piquet and defeat adepts at the game. This trick was one of the features of his entertainments, and always gained him great applause. The secret consisted in substituting a prepared pack for the ordinary pack used. After the spectator had shuffled the cards and handed them to Torrini to cut, the conjurer would rest his hand momentarily upon the pack, while he made some observation to his opponent. Then it was that the substitution was artfully effected by means of a “magic box,” which the prestidigitateur had concealed in the sleeve of his coat. Pressure upon the table caused a spring in the box to shoot out a prepared pack of cards, while a pair of pincers at the same time seized the recently shuffled pack and drew it up into the hidden receptacle. This ingenious piece of apparatus Torrini had obtained from a gambler named Zilbermann.

While attempting to cheat an opponent, the apparatus had hung fire, and Zilbermann was detected _in flagrante delicto_. A duel was the result, and Zilbermann was mortally wounded. He sent for Torrini, whose conjuring abilities he greatly admired, and presented him with the box. Soon afterwards he died.

Torrini never used the apparatus except in his conjuring performances. He was a man of honor and not a _chevalier d’industrie_.

{23}

THE CHEVALIER PINETTI.

“The Age of Romance has not ceased; it never ceases; it does not, if we will think of it, so much as very sensibly decline.”—CARLYLE: The _Diamond Necklace_.

I.

Paris! Time—the latter half of the eighteenth century!

Louis XVI is on the throne of France, relieving the ennui of court etiquette by working at locksmithing. His beautiful consort, Marie Antoinette, amuses herself playing at dairy-farming, _à̱ la_ Watteau, in the gardens of the little Trianon. Dr. Guillotin, as yet, has not even dreamed of that terrible machine of wood and steel to be called by his name. Danton, Marat and Robespierre—the “bloody triumvirate”—are unknown to fame.

It is the age of powder and patches, enormous hoop-skirts, embroidered coats, lace ruffles, cocked hats, silk stockings and swords. Gentlemen meet and exchange snuff boxes; fight duels at times, despite the royal edict; indulge in grandiose gallantries. Noblemen in their coaches-and-four, on their way to Versailles (which to them is heaven on earth), drive recklessly through the narrow streets of the capital, splashing the pedestrians with mud from the kennels, and knocking down citizens with impunity. The aristocracy live to be amused.

_Vive la bagatelle!_ is the watchword of the gentle born, and when the Chevalier Pinetti, knight of the German Order of Merit of St. Philippe, comes to town, there is a grand rush for seats at the theatre to see him perform. The Chevalier is the greatest conjurer of the age, also a learned student of physics and member of various scientific bodies in France, England and Germany. {24}

I have in my possession an old print, picked up in Paris, a portrait of the Chevalier. This picture is an allegorical affair. Two winged cupids are depicted placing the bust of Pinetti in the Temple of Arts. Strewn about the place are various instruments used in physics and mathematics. The motto appended to this curious print is as follows: _Des genies placent le buste de M. le Professeur Pinetti dans le temple des arts, au milieu des instruments de physique et de mathematique_. {25}

At Versailles the Chevalier is received with acclaim. His “shirt trick” produces a great sensation. Imagine whisking the shirt off a gentleman’s back without disturbing the rest of his clothing. But of that, anon! The “second-sight” of the Chevalier’s spouse savors of the supernatural; and his “ring and fish” feat is just too wonderful for anything. In short, the conjurer is voted to be very amusing; therefore, he should be patronized.

Pinetti was the prince of prestidigitateurs of the eighteenth century. His life reads like a romance. After a brilliant, pyrotechnic career, he faded out into darkness. I have gathered my facts concerning him from old French and German brochures. Little or nothing is known about his ancestry, his youth and early experiences.

He may have purposely guarded the secret of his origin, being inordinately boastful. He thoroughly understood how to avail himself of all the arts of the toilet to appear much younger than, according to his contemporaries, he must have been in reality.

It is believed that he first saw the light of day in 1750, in Orbitello, a small fortified town of about three thousand inhabitants, lying in the foothills of what was then the Grand Duchy of Tuscany.

He is first heard of while traveling through the provinces of Germany, in 1783. In 1784 he appeared in Paris, where he gave a series of performances, and exhibited several times before the court of Louis XVI with distinguished success. At this time the public showed a marked predilection for all kinds of mystical and inexplicable exhibitions, which had been awakened by the performances of various adventurers, like Cagliostro, St. Germain and Mesmer. Pinetti thoroughly understood how to make the most of this bent of the public mind, and succeeded in setting Paris in ecstasy, as well as becoming himself a model for all contemporary and succeeding necromancers, for a long time. Though without fine or regular features, his physiognomy possessed much distinction; while his manners were excellent. It is probable, however, that the latter were acquired rather than innate; for extremely bad taste is betrayed by his frequently wearing on the stage the uniform of a general, decorated with {26} numerous orders. This is an oddity with a fatal suggestion of charlatanism. He was given to vaunting, and was in no wise careful to adhere to the truth in communications regarding his magical art. A vicious trait of his character was his readiness to adopt the most contemptible measures to free himself of the rivalry of another; and this unworthy characteristic undoubtedly led to his ultimate downfall.

II.

Pinetti’s repertory was very extended. However interesting it might be to pass in review the whole series of his feats, I must here limit myself to a few, which appear typical of him and of his public.

There was first the wonderful automaton known as “The Grand Sultan,” also called “The clever little Turk,” which was about forty centimeters in height, and which struck a bell with a hammer, or nodded and shook his head, in answer to questions propounded. “The golden head and the rings” was as follows: In a glass, the bottom of which was covered with coins, a previously shown, massive head was placed. A cover was then placed on the glass. The head answered yes or no to inquiries, or counted numbers by leaping in the glass. In a second glass borrowed rings were laid, which moved in unison with the head, as though by sympathy. The “Clever Swan” was put into a vessel of water, and varied its course according to the will of the onlooker. Moreover, when a spectator had drawn a card from a pack of inscribed cards, it spelled the word written thereon, by moving toward the appropriate letters, which were printed on strips of cardboard hung about the vessel.

A kind of sympathetic action is shown in the following experiment. A lighted lamp was deposited on a table. As soon as a spectator, stationed at a considerable distance, blew through a reed, the lamp was immediately extinguished. Another: a live dove was fastened, by means of two ribbons about its neck, to two opposite columns. On the instant when a picture of the dove, or even the shadow of the suspended bird, was pierced by a sword, the dove itself was beheaded, although it had not been disturbed, and the severed and still bleeding head, and the rest {27} of the body, fell separately to the ground. This experiment, called “Theophrastus Paracelsus,” recalls an old superstition, namely, that evil can be wrought upon a person by injury to a picture of him, accompanied by a spoken incantation. It is the so-called “Picture charm.”

Fettering and binding experiments were shown, but of a simpler nature than modern ones. To each leg of the magician was fastened a ring, and through each ring an iron chain was passed, its ends locked on a pillar. “The Prisoner” seemed aided by some external power to release himself, for in a very short time he was free from his bonds. More difficult was another experiment, wherein a chain was fastened by a strip of cloth directly about the leg, and secured to the pillar; but here also, a half minute sufficed the “Galley Slave” to free himself of the shackles. The most pleasing was the following trick: Pinetti allowed both thumbs to be tied together with a cord, and his hands, so bound, to be covered with a hat; hardly was this done than he stretched out his right hand, seized a flask of wine and drank to the health of the person who had tied him, and tossed the emptied glass to the ceiling, whence it fell as a ball of finely-cut paper. At the same instant, he allowed the hat to fall, and displayed his hands, still as closely bound as at the beginning of the experiment.[6] Also, the well-known trick, in which several borrowed rings are passed over two ribbon bands, the ends of which are knotted together and held by some of the spectators; nevertheless the rings can be drawn off without severing the ribbons. This was hardly new, but merely a variation of a trick described in 1690, in a work by Ozanam, in his _Récréations Mathematiques_, and exhibited by the jugglers of that time under the name of “My Grandmother’s Rose Wreath.” They made use of small balls, strung on two cords, from which they were withdrawn, notwithstanding that the cords were held by strangers. To-day this trick is explained in most books of games and amusements, which fact does not hinder the public from being quite as much astounded when the feat is performed _à̱ la_ Pinetti, with rings or a watch, accompanied by clever patter. {28}

[6] There is nothing new under the sun. A Japanese
conjurer, named Ten-Ichi, at the present writing, is
creating a sensation in our vaudeville theatres with this
same thumb-tying trick.

Pinetti’s magical bouquet was a very pretty trick. In a vase were placed the dry, leafless stems of a bunch of flowers, tied together. At the magician’s command, leaves, flowers and fruit appeared, transforming the bouquet into a thing of beauty; but all its splendor disappeared again at the command of the performer. His feat of the “recovered ring” was as follows: A ring was borrowed from a lady and fired from a pistol into a casket, which had been previously shown empty and devoid of preparation. When the casket was opened, after the shot was fired, a dove was seen within, holding in its bill the ring. But, in addition, the pretty bird knew precisely the possessor of the ring, for it shook its head in rotation at each lady to whom the trinket did not belong. When the owner appeared, the dove {29} voluntarily presented the ring to her in its beak. In Naples, where Pinetti’s theatre was situated directly on the sea shore, he varied the trick by firing the pistol loaded with the ring out of the window. On opening the casket a large fish was seen, bearing the ring in its mouth.

Another clever experiment was the mechanical bird, which, when set upon a flask, fluttered its wings and whistled any favorite melody called for by the audience, also blowing out a lighted candle and immediately relighting it. It would accomplish these feats just as well when removed from the flask to a table, or when held in the performer’s hand upon any part of the stage. The sounds were produced by a “confederate who imitated song birds after Rossignol’s method, by aid of the inner skin of an onion in the mouth, and speaking trumpets directed the sounds to whatever position was occupied by the bird.” Though the two last described feats were the most celebrated of Pinetti’s masterpieces, the most remarkable, without doubt, was the one he called “The stolen shirt.” In spite of its somewhat unseemly appearance, it was shown before the king and his family, and consisted of this: A gentleman from the audience, not in league with the performer, came upon the stage and, at Pinetti’s request, unfastened the buttons of his shirt at the neck and cuffs, and Pinetti, with only a few movements of his hand drew the shirt from his body, though the gentleman had not removed a single article of his clothing.

Pinetti eventually revealed the process by which this surprising result was obtained. He was moved to do so, because all those who saw the trick performed in the Theatre des Menus-Plaisirs held the conviction that the other party to it was in collusion with him. The public was not to be blamed for this erroneous conclusion, for not only at that time, but much later, many of the astonishing feats of the magician were effected through the complicity of assistants seated among the audience. Such confederates were called by the French, _Compères_ and _Commères_, which translated into the vulgar vernacular, stand for “pals,” “cronies.” These gentlemen brought articles, of which the magician possessed duplicates, and loaned them—apparently as unrelated spectators—when such articles were asked for in {30} the course of the experiments. Robert-Houdin ended this régime of confederacy. When he asked for the loan of an article, he genuinely borrowed it, and exchanged it for a substitute by sleight of hand. This is the modern method. The following is Pinetti’s explanation of the shirt trick: “The means of performing this trick are the following—only observing that the clothes of the person whose shirt is to be pulled off be wide and easy: Begin by making him pull off his stock and unbuttonning his {31} shirt at the neck and sleeves, afterwards tie a little string in the buttonhole of the left sleeve; then, passing your hand behind his back, pull the shirt out of his breeches and slip it over his head; then, pulling it out before in the same manner, you will leave it on his stomach; after that, go to the right hand and pull the sleeve down, so as to have it all out of the arm; the shirt being then all of a heap, as well in the right sleeve as before the stomach, you are to make use of this little string fastened to the buttonhole of the left sleeve to get back the sleeve that must have slipt up, and to pull the whole shirt out that way. To hide your way of operating from the person whom you unshift, and from the assembly, you may cover his head with a lady’s cloak, holding a corner of it in your teeth. In order to be more at your ease, you may mount on a chair and do the whole operation under the cloak.”

III.

Pinetti’s explanation of the shirt trick was contained in a work entitled _Amusements Physiques, Paris, 1784_. An edition in English of this book was published in London in the same year. It was called: “Amusements in physics, and various entertaining experiments, invented and executed at Paris and the various courts of Europe by the Chevalier M. Jean-Joseph Pinetti Willedale de Merci, Knight of the German Order of Merit of St. Philip, professor of mathematics and natural philosophy, pensioned by the Court of Prussia, patronized by all the Royal Family of France, aggregate of the Royal Academy of Sciences and Belle-Lettres of Bordeaux, etc.” As an exposé of conjuring feats in general this work was an imposition on the public. It was intended to mislead the reader. In spite of the high-sounding title of the work, it contained nothing outside of the solution of the “stolen shirt” mystery. There was no explanation of any trick upon which Pinetti set value, but merely experiments already published in preceding books on the juggler’s art, and which belonged to a long-past time, consisting mostly of chemical experiments and childish diversions. {32}

This unworthy publication, and Pinetti’s custom of speaking of himself as endowed with preternatural powers, aroused an adversary in the person of M. Henri Decremps, of the Museum of Paris, an accomplished and enthusiastic lover of the art of magic. From him appeared a book entitled, _La Magie blanche dévoilée_, Paris, 1784, addressed, as he declares in the preface, not to the great public, since “the world loves to be deceived, and would rather believe the fairy tales of the imposter than the unvarnished truth of his opponent,” but to the real lovers of an entertaining art. As this work set forth the real explanation of Pinetti’s wonders, one may imagine what reception it met with from him and his admiring public. Characteristic of Pinetti is the manner in which he sought revenge on Decremps. In one of his performances he deplored the fact that an ignorant imposter, solely with the intent of injuring him (Pinetti), sought to reveal mysteries which his intelligence was insufficient to grasp. All knew to whom he referred, who had the slightest knowledge of Decremps. And what now ensued? Hardly had Pinetti finished speaking, when a shabbily-dressed and unprepossessing individual arose, assailed Pinetti with abuse and bade him take care, he would be fully exposed. The audience, indignant at the disturbance of an amusing performance, jeered the man from whom it proceeded, and made preparation to expel the poor devil. Here intervened, however, the “good” Pinetti. In conciliatory, kindly fashion, he accompanied his assailant to the door, ostentatiously presenting him also with several louis d’or as indemnification for the harshness shown him.

_L’Art de faire les Portraits à la Silhouette en Miniature à la manière angloise, à l’aide de la Chambre obscure._

Chap. VIII, pag. 55.

H. DECREMPS, Né à Beduer en Querci, le 15. Avril. 1746.

Il a su démasquer, dans ses heureux Écrits, Du grand art de jongler les trop nombreux Apôtres. Il eut des envieux, mais encor plus d’amis, Et mérita d’avoir & les uns & les autres.

_Par M. Sal_ * * *.

M. DECREMPS]

Needless to explain, the expelled intruder was not the author of the book in question, but genuinely a “poor devil” who played his part in the comedy, for a money consideration. However, Decremps was an able man, who could act with as much shrewdness as energy. In 1785 he followed his first book with a second, explaining Pinetti’s newest tricks, the self-playing organ, artificial snakes and birds, chess-playing automatons, ascending balloons in human shape, perpetual motion, learned animals, automatic flute playing, etc. The handling of the topic is much more thorough than in the first volume, and the matter interestingly set forth. It is in the form of letters of travel; the author {34} in company with a Mr. Hill, an Englishman, traverses distant lands, where remarkable and astonishing things are met with, and the causes and construction which bring about their wonderful results, are ascertained and explained.

They reach the Cape of Good Hope, where, amid a savage population, with many arts of refined civilization, they encounter a wizard, who, in a bombastic declaration, extols his own wonder-working powers. In the course of the narrative these feats are described and their operation explained. The behavior of the wizard is amusingly depicted. How strenuously he denies the truth of the solution of his wonders found by the strangers; how he endeavors, by means of every artifice, to hoodwink the public; how he first strives, through cunning and bribery, then through abuse and injury, to rid himself of his dangerous adversaries—in all this is Pinetti’s character so intimately pictured that we cannot err in supposing this entire portion of the book directed solely against him. And what name does he give the wizard? He calls him “Pilferer.” Decidedly, Decremps could be severe.

These books were translated into English in 1785, and published as a single volume, under the title of _The Conjurer Unmasked_, etc.

Pinetti, who was an original genius, sought to overcome the effects of Decremps’ revelations in other ways besides chicanery. He invented new illusions, performed his old tricks with greater dash and brilliancy, and added new appointments to his _mise en scène_, to dazzle and overcome the spectators. His patter was unceasing and convincing. But now was heard the distant thunder of the approaching social upheaval—the French Revolution. The political horizon was full of black clouds. The people of Paris began to desert the theatres for clubs and cafés, there to enter upon political discussions. Pinetti, seeing the audiences of his Temple of Magic dwindling away, packed up his apparatus and went to England, which is the immediate aim of all fugitives from France.

During his stay in London he made the following announcement in the newspapers: “The Chevalier Pinetti and his consort will exhibit most wonderful, stupendous and absolutely {35} inimitable, mechanical, physical and philosophical pieces, which his recent deep scrutiny in these sciences, and assiduous exertion, have enabled him to invent and construct; among which Chevalier Pinetti will have the special honor and satisfaction of exhibiting various experiments, of new discovery, no less curious than seemingly incredulous, particularly that of Mme. Pinetti being seated in one of the front boxes with a handkerchief over her eyes and guessing at everything imagined and proposed to her by any person in the company.” Here we have the first mention of the “Second-Sight” trick, which Robert-Houdin re-invented sixty-one years later, and which Robert Heller, not many years ago, by using electricity combined with verbal signals, made into such an astonishing feat of magic. The teachings of Mesmer and the so-called sorcery of Cagliostro, evidently suggested the idea of this pretended clairvoyance to Pinetti. Truly was the Chevalier an original and creative genius. His repertoire consisted almost entirely of his own inventions, and eclipsed those of contemporary conjurers. His rope-tying experiments were the prototypes for the cabinet evolutions of modern mediums.

IV.

Late in the year 1769, Pinetti appeared in Hamburg and exhibited with great success in the “Drillhause,” where Degabriel and Philadelphia had played previously. From there he went to the principal cities of Germany and arrived at Berlin, where, in the then “Doebbelin’schen Theatre,” in the Behrenstrasse, he produced his “Amusements Physiques,” and soon became the avowed idol of the public.

In August, 1796, he appeared in Hamburg, at the French Theatre, on the Drehbahn, where his receipts were considerable. Such was not the case, however, in Altona, whose inhabitants were distinguished by lack of interest in any manifestation of his art. He gave there three exhibitions, which terminated with two empty houses. In Bremen, whither he next turned, the public was even more indifferent than in Altona, so that he abandoned the intention of performing there, returned to Berlin and there remained for some time. {36}

Pinetti derived large profits from his entertainments. His entrance fee was by no means low. In Hamburg and Berlin, for instance, the price of the best places was a thaler—equivalent at present values to about ten marks, $2.50. Pinetti saw carefully to the comfort and pleasure of his patrons, and heightened the effect of his skill by every available means. The eye was gratified by the splendor of the scenic accessories. In the middle of the stage, upon a superb carpet, stood two massive tables, which served in performance of the experiments. They were covered with scarlet cloths, bordered with broad stripes of dark velvet, richly embroidered in gold and silver. Further in the background stood a larger and a smaller table, with the same decorations, and with relatively slender and elaborately carved legs. Close to the rear of the stage, with a cover extending to the carpet, was a very long table which was set forth with magnificent candelabra and brilliant apparatus. The above-mentioned tables were not moved from their places. In the middle of the stage, hung from the ceiling an immense chandelier of crystal, with countless candles. The artist made his entrance and exit through silken hangings.

As in Paris, so also in Berlin, Pinetti found an adversary, in the person of Kosmann, professor of physics, who in daily and periodical publications sought to explain Pinetti’s experiments. These elucidations were collected, bound together and published in Berlin in the year 1797. The English translation of the title is as follows: _Chevalier Pinetti’s Recreations in Physics, or Explanation of His Tricks_. As with Decremps, so fared it with Kosmann. His explanations did not meet with public accord, and the contemporary press denominated the two authors “who sought to belittle Pinetti’s skill,” as mere apprentices compared with the latter, and their expositions “shallow and unsatisfactory.” Naturally! The laity invariably form a false conception of the nature of the art of magic. They suppose the most complicated mechanism in the apparatus which the artist uses, and overestimate the manual skill of the performer; and when their ability is insufficient to explain matters after their own fashion, they prefer to endow the performer with preternatural power rather than accept the “shallow” elucidations of {37} “ignorant” expounders. They do not realize that every trick is only what the artist is able to make it, and that the simplest illusion may take an imposing aspect through the accessories thrown about it and the manner in which it is presented.

Whatever opinion the laity might have of these works, their value was in no wise lessened for the instructed. Robert-Houdin, an incontestable connoisseur, as well as a “classical” witness, calls the work of M. Decremps, _White Magic Unveiled_—the first edition of which could not have been unknown to the Berlin professor—“an excellent work.”

V.

At the beginning of the carnival of 1798, Pinetti appeared in Naples, and saw the whole city crowding to his performances.

Among the constant visitors to his theatre (on the strand) was numbered a young French nobleman, Count de Grisy, who had settled in Naples as a physician, and was a welcome guest in the most distinguished circles of the town. A passionate lover of the art of magic, he succeeded in finding the key to a large portion of Pinetti’s experiments, and amused himself in the closest circles of his intimates, by repeating them. His ability became generally known, and gained for him a kind of celebrity; he was invited to perform in the most aristocratic salons, but through modesty seldom accepted.

Finally his fame came to the ears of Pinetti, who was so much the more chagrined because of the fact that people of fashion, who had at first thronged his theatre, now were deserting him. Nevertheless, he listened with apparent pleasure to the reports given him of De Grisy’s skill, and sought to gain the acquaintance of the young physician. He frankly proffered his friendship, initiated De Grisy into his mysteries, and showed him the arrangement of his stage. The familiarity which Pinetti openly and intentionally displayed towards him might have displeased the young man under other circumstances, but his passion for magic and the persuasive eloquence which Pinetti employed to arouse his ambition, made him blind to conduct, which, {38} in the mind of one more versed in men, might have awakened suspicion.

So Pinetti succeeded, finally, in overcoming De Grisy’s timidity in regard to a public appearance. He repeated the most flattering assurances of the latter’s skill, and urged him to give a performance for the benefit of the poor of Naples. He would, declared Pinetti, attract a more distinguished audience than he himself could hope to do; and so, De Grisy, who had already earned the gratitude of the poor, would become their greatest benefactor in all the city. Pinetti would himself make all previous arrangements most carefully, and would, moreover, hold himself in readiness, behind the scenes, to come to the young performer’s assistance, if required. De Grisy at last gave reluctant consent. Fortune seemed to favor him, moreover, for the King signified his intention to attend in company with his entire court.

August 20, 1798, this extraordinary exhibition took place. The house was packed. The royal family received the young French emigrant with tokens of favor and sympathy. De Grisy, confident of success, was in the happiest mood, but in his very first experiment a bitter disillusion awaited him. A secret confederate, posted by Pinetti, had loaned a ring to carry out the already-described trick, “The Recovered Ring,” which was properly found in the mouth of the great fish. Conscious of the success of this loudly-applauded feat, De Grisy bowed his thanks, when an angry remonstrance was heard from the person who had loaned the ring. This man declared that in lieu of his costly gold ring, set with diamonds, there had been returned to him a trumpery imitation set with ordinary glass stones. A long and painful discussion ensued, and De Grisy owed it only to his tact that he finally extricated himself from the affair. He was not clear himself as to whether the ring had somehow been changed, or whether the assistant played a role from some secret motive.

He proceeded to the performance of his next experiment with less concern, in that no secret confederate was needed. He approached the King’s box and asked him to do him the honor of drawing a card from a pack he tendered. The King complied with much graciousness; but scarcely had he looked at it than {39} he flung it to the ground with every mark of his displeasure. De Grisy, confounded, picked up the card, and read on it a scandalous insult to the king, in Pinetti’s handwriting! An attempt to explain and clear himself was checked by an imperative gesture from the King. The betrayed man, who now understood the situation, distracted with rage, rushed behind the scenes with the intent to kill his deceitful friend. Like a maniac he traversed every portion of the house, but the Chevalier Pinetti had disappeared, as though the earth had swallowed him! Wherever De Grisy now showed himself, he was received with jeers, hisses and insults from his audience, until he fell senseless and was borne by servants to his house. After his rival’s removal, Pinetti appeared as though by chance; whereupon several persons in the secret called on him to continue the performance, to which he courteously acceded, and gained enthusiastic plaudits.

During a violent fever which ensued, De Grisy constantly called in his delirium for revenge on Pinetti; but the latter quitted Naples soon after the occurrence. Poor De Grisy was socially and professionally tabooed by the aristocracy of Naples. Pinetti’s revenge seemed complete.

Though De Grisy thoroughly comprehended the contemptible ruse of his opponent, he was long in uncertainty how to punish him. His first impulse was to challenge the magician to fight a duel, but that idea he rejected. Pinetti was not worthy of such an honor. For the purpose of completing his restoration to health, De Grisy passed some time in the quiet of the country, and here the thought occurred to him to fight his betrayer with his own weapons, and, in this contest, to either conquer or wholly abandon all ideas of revenge. He set himself for half a year to the most assiduous study, in order to attain perfection in the art of magic, not merely equal to Pinetti’s, but superior to it. He improved on many of his rival’s experiments, invented new ones, and expended his entire fortune in providing apparatus and decorations which should cast into the shade Pinetti’s superb appointments.

And now issued De Grisy forth to a duel, bloodless, it is true, but none the less a struggle to the death. {40}

He learned that Pinetti had, in the meantime, visited the principal cities of central Italy, and had just left Lucca with the view of visiting Bologna next; later Modena, Parma, Piacenza, etc. Without loss of time, De Grisy took his way to Modena, in order to forestall his rival there, and debar him from any further performances. The latter had already caused the announcement of his forthcoming entertainments to be spread over the city, and the Modena journals had widely advertised the speedy coming of the wonder worker, when suddenly the exhibitions of the “Count de Grisy, the French escamoteur,” were announced. The people crowded the house from top to bottom. De Grisy’s success was unparalleled. Then, as the date for Pinetti’s appearance drew near, he left the town and went to Parma. Pinetti had no faith in De Grisy’s success, and installed himself in the same theatre which the latter had lately quitted, in reliance on his own celebrity. But here began that humiliating experience which was henceforth to be his lot. The town was sated with this species of entertainment, and the Chevalier’s house was empty. Still, accustomed to take the highest place, he would not yield to a “novice.” Accordingly, he directed his steps to Parma immediately, and established himself in a theatre just opposite to De Grisy’s. In vain! He had the mortification of seeing his house deserted, while his rival’s was constantly filled. Nevertheless, Pinetti would not yield, but wheresoever De Grisy went he followed.

Thus were visited, one after another, Piacenza, Cremona, Mantua, Vicenza, Padua, and Venice, whose walls witnessed the embittered strife of the two rivals, until Pinetti, whose most zealous supporters were turning recreant, could blind himself no longer to the fact that he had lost the game which he and De Grisy had been playing. He closed his theatre and betook himself to Russia.

For a short time it seemed as though Fortune would indemnify him for his ill luck. But, after having for so long showered her favors on him, it now appeared that she had finally and definitely turned her back upon him. Long and severe illness exhausted not only his vigor, but the slender means he had saved from shipwreck. Pinetti fell into the most abject want. A {41} nobleman in the village of Bartitschoff in Volhynien took him in from pity. And thus, at the turn of the century, ended the life of this richly gifted artist, who was so wanting in nobility of spirit.

The extraordinary story of Pinetti’s downfall was told to Robert-Houdin by De Grisy himself, and is given at length in Houdin’s memoirs. Pinetti had married a Russian girl, the daughter of a carriage-maker. By her he had two children. He was hardly fifty when he died. Etienne-Gaspard Robertson when traveling in Russia met the widow Pinetti at Bialistock. She showed him her husband’s cabinet of physics and endeavored to sell it to him, but he did not purchase it. However, he bought a medallion, set with diamonds, and a ring which the Czar had presented to Pinetti. Says Robertson, in his memoirs: “Pinetti had the audacity to ask the Russian Emperor to stand god-father for his children at the baptismal font, and the Emperor actually consented.”

To me this seems nothing wonderful.

Why should not the greatest conjurer of the age ask a favor of the greatest autocrat? Both were sovereigns in their particular domain.

{42}

CAGLIOSTRO—A STUDY IN CHARLATANISM.

“Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur.”—_Latin Proverb._