Chapter VI: Introduction: By Dr. Paul Carus (5)

In France, at that time, all improvements on a patent fell to the original patentee, and Pepper found himself out-of-court. {95}

The conjurer Robin claims, on very good authority, to have been the original inventor of the ghost illusion. He writes as follows:

“I first had the idea of producing the apparitions in 1845. Meeting innumerable difficulties in carrying out my invention I was obliged to wait until 1847 before reaching a satisfactory result. In that year I was able to exhibit the ‘spectres’ to the public in the theatres of Lyons and Saint Etienne under the name of ‘The living phantasmagoria.’ To my great astonishment I produced little effect. The apparitions still were in want of certain improvements which I have since added. After succeeding in perfecting them I met with great success in exhibiting them in Venice, Rome, Munich, Vienna and Brussels, but as my experiments were very costly I was obliged to lay them aside for some time.”

He further declares that M. Séguin, who had been employed by him to paint phantasmagoric figures, had based his toy, the Polyoscope, upon the principle of his (Robin’s) spectres. Robin was one of the managers who brought out the illusion in Paris, despite the protests of M. Hostein. He opposed Hostein with the patent of the Polyoscope and some of his old theatre posters of the year 1847, advertising the “living phantasmagoria.”

Houdin is rather severe on M. Robin when he classes him among the plagiarists and pirates. But the two conjurers were great rivals. M. Caroly, editor of the _Illusioniste_, in an article on Robin, suggests that perhaps Pepper had seen and examined a Polyoscope, and built upon it the theatrical illusion of the ghost. My personal belief is that Professor Pepper was ignorant of the existence of the toy as well as of Robin’s former exhibitions of phantasmagoria, and independently thought out the ghost illusion. This frequently happens among inventors, as every one knows, who has dealings with the U. S. Patent Office.

In the year 1868, there was exhibited in Paris, at the Ambigu Theatre, the melodrama of “La Czarine,” founded on Robert-Houdin’s story of Kempelen’s Automaton Chess Player. In this play was a remarkable use of the “ghost illusion,” arranged by Houdin, as well as a chess-playing automaton. I quote as {96} follows from Houdin’s _Les Secrets de la prestidigitation et de la magie_, Chapter VI: “My collaborators, Messrs. Adenis and Gastineau, had asked me to arrange a ‘ghost effect’ for the last act. I had recourse to the ‘ghost illusion’, but I presented it in such guise as to give it a completely novel character, as the reader will be enabled to judge from the following description: The scene is laid in Russia, in the reign of Catherine II. In the last act, an individual named Pougatcheff, who, on the strength of a personal likeness to Peter III, attempts to pass himself off as the deceased monarch, is endeavoring to incite the Russian populace to dethrone Catherine. A learned man, M. de Kempelen, who is devoted to the Czarina, succeeds, by the aid of scientific expedients, in neutralizing the villainous designs of the sham prince.

“The scene is a savage glen, behind which is seen a background of rugged rocks. Pougatcheff appears, surrounded by a crowd of noisy adherents. M. de Kempelen comes forward, denounces the impostor, and declares that, to complete his confusion, he will call up the spirit of the genuine Peter III. At his command a sarcophagus appears from the solid rock; it stands upright on end. The lid opens, and exhibits a corpse covered with a winding sheet. The tomb falls to the ground, but the phantom remains erect. The sham Czar, though a good deal frightened, makes a pretence of defying the apparition, which he treats as a mere illusion. But the upper part of the winding sheet falls aside, and reveals the livid and moulding features of the late sovereign. Pougatcheff, thinking that he can hardly be worsted in a fight with a corpse, draws his sword, and with one blow cuts off its head, which falls noisily to the ground; but at the very same moment the living head of Peter III appears on the ghostly shoulders. Pougatcheff, driven to frenzy by these successive apparitions, makes at the figure, seizes it by its garments, and thrusts it violently back into the tomb. But the head remains suspended in space, rolling its eyes in a threatening manner, and appearing to offer defiance to its persecutor. The frenzy of Pougatcheff reaches its culminating point. Grasping his sword with both hands, he tries to cleave in twain the {97} head of his mysterious adversary; but his blade only passes through a shadowy being, who laughs to scorn his impotent rage. Again he raises his sword, but at the same moment the body of Peter III, in full imperial costume, and adorned with all the insignia of his rank, becomes visible beneath the head. The re-animate Czar hurls the impostor violently back, exclaiming, in a voice of thunder. ‘Hold sacrilegious wretch!’ Pougatcheff, terror-stricken, and overwhelmed with confusion, confesses his imposture, and the phantom vanishes.

“The stage arrangements to produce these effects are as follows: An actor, robed in the brilliant costume of Peter III, reclines against the sloped support beneath the stage. His body is covered with a wrapper of black velvet, which is designed to prevent, until the proper moment, any reflection in the glass. His head alone is uncovered, and ready to be reflected in the glass so soon as the rays of the electric light shall be directed upon it.

“The phantom which originally comes out of the sarcophagus is a dummy, whose head is modeled from that of the actor who plays the part of Czar. This head is made readily detachable from the body.

“Everything is placed and arranged in such manner that the dummy image of Peter III shall precisely correspond in position with the person of the actor who plays the part of ghost.

“At the same moment that the head of the former falls to the ground, the electric light is gradually made to shine on the head of the actor who plays the part of Peter III, which being reflected in the glass, appears to shape itself on the body of the dummy ghost. After this latter is hurled to the ground, the veil which hides the body of the actor Czar is quickly and completely drawn away, and the sudden flood of the electric light reflects his whole body where his head alone was previously visible.”

As a clever producer of the living and impalpable spectres, Robin had no equal. I will describe two of his effects. The curtain rose, showing a cemetery with tombstones and cenotaphs. It was midnight. A lover entered and stood weeping over the tomb of his dead fiancée. Suddenly she appeared before him {98} arrayed in a winding sheet which she threw aside, revealing herself in the dress of a bride. He endeavored to embrace her. His arms passed unimpeded through the spectre. Gradually the vision melted away, leaving him grieving and desolate.

The impression produced by this illusion was profound and terrifying. Amid cries of astonishment and fright resounding through the hall, many women fainted or made their escape.

Robin devised another scene which he called “The Demon of Paganini.” An actor made up to resemble the famous violin virtuoso, Paganini, tall, gaunt, with flowing locks, and dressed in shabby black, was seen reclining upon a couch. A devil, habited in green and red, and armed with a violin, made its appearance and clambered upon the sleeper, installing himself comfortably on the violinist’s stomach. Then the demon gave himself up to a violin solo which was not in the least interrupted by the frantic gestures of the nightmare ridden sufferer, whose hands attempted in vain to seize the weird violin and bow. The demon, {99} sometimes sitting, sometimes kneeling on the body of his victim, continued his musical selection.

The Demon of Paganini was mounted on a special support by which he could be elevated and depressed at pleasure. The violinist, who was the real player, stood below the stage, but in the shade, at one side of the electric lamp which illuminated the demon. The sound issued from the opening in front of the glass. The glass used by Robin measured 5 by 4 meters, in a single piece. It was placed with great care, for the least deviation would be followed by a displacement of the image.

EXPLANATION OF ROBIN’S GHOST-ILLUSION.]

It should be remarked that Robin’s auditorium comprised only a sloping parterre surrounded by a range of small boxes. There was no gallery. The spectators, consequently, were not elevated sufficiently to perceive the opening in the stage.

When, in 1866, Robin’s Spectres were taken to a large theatre in Paris, the Châtelet, he was obliged to devise a different arrangement, for the spectators in the galleries above were able {100} to see, at the same time, both the actor and his reflection. Robin had been obliged to place his actor on a lower level because he had no room at the side of his little stage. At the Châtelet, however, space permitted a much more convenient arrangement, for it allowed the actor, who furnished the reflection, to move about freely on a horizontal plane. The glass was placed vertically and formed, on the plane, an angle of about 45° with the longitudinal axis of the theatre. The actor was hidden behind a wing; his reflection appeared in the center of the stage toward the back-drop; visible, nevertheless, to all the spectators. His field of movement, necessarily restricted, was marked out in advance upon the floor.

Robin was able to preserve for a considerable time the secret of the ghost illusion; just enough to pique the curiosity of the public. It was guessed at last that he made use of unsilvered glass. The fact became known and several wags proved the presence of the glass by throwing inoffensive paper balls which struck the obstacle and fell, arrested in their flight. Robin was greatly vexed at these occurrences but the trick was none the less exposed.

III.

Pepper eventually brought out a new illusion called “Metempsychosis,” the joint invention of himself and a Mr. Walker. It is a very startling optical effect, and is thus described by me in my American edition of Stanyon’s _Magic_: “One of the cleverest illusions performed with the aid of mirrors is that known as the ‘Blue Room’, which has been exhibited in this country by Kellar. It was patented in the United States by the inventors. The object of the apparatus is to render an actor, or some inanimate thing, such as a chair, table, suit of armor, etc., visible or invisible at will. ‘It is also designed,’ says the specification in the patent office, ‘to substitute for an object in sight of the audience the image of another similar object hidden from direct vision without the audience being aware that any such substitution has been made.’ For this purpose employ a large mirror—either an ordinary mirror or for some purposes, by preference, a large sheet {101} of plate-glass—which is transparent at one end and more and more densely silvered in passing from this toward the other end. Mount this mirror or plate so that it can, at pleasure, be placed diagonally across the stage or platform. As it advances, the glass obscures the view of the actor or object in front of which it passes, and substitutes the reflection of an object in front of the glass, but suitably concealed from the direct view of the audience.

FIG. 1. APPARATUS.

FIG. 2. ARMOR SCENE.

DIAGRAM OF BLUE ROOM.]

“When the two objects or sets of objects thus successively presented to the view are properly placed and sufficiently alike, the audience will be unaware that any change has been made. In some cases, in place of a single sheet of glass, two or more sheets may be employed.”

By consulting Fig. 1, the reader will understand the construction of the illusion, one of the best in the repertoire of the {102} conjurer. The shaded drawing in the left upper part, represents a portion of the mirror, designed to show its graduated opacity.

“_a_ is a stage. It may be in a lecture-room or theatre. _bb_, the seats for the audience in front of the stage. _cc_ is a small room—eight or ten feet square and eight high will often be sufficiently large; but it may be of any size. It may advantageously be raised and approached by two or three steps from the stage _a_.

“_d_ is a vertical mirror, passing diagonally across the chamber _c_ and dividing it into two parts, which are exact counterparts the one of the other. The mirror _d_ is so mounted that it can be rapidly and noiselessly moved diagonally across the chamber in the path represented by the dotted line _d_^1, and be withdrawn whenever desired. This can conveniently be done by running it in guides and upon rollers to and from a position where it is hidden by a screen, _e_, which limits the view of the audience in this direction.

“In consequence of the exact correspondence of the two parts of the chamber _c_, that in front and that behind the mirror, the audience will observe no change in appearance when the mirror is passed across.

“The front of the chamber is partially closed at _cx_ by a shield or short partition-wall, either permanently or whenever required. This is done in order to hide from direct view any object which may be at or about the position _c_^1.

“The illusions may be performed in various ways—as, for example, an object may, in the sight of the audience, be passed from the stage to the position _c_^2, near the rear short wall or counterpart shield _f_, diagonally opposite to and corresponding with the front corner shield _cx_, and there be changed for some other. This is done by providing beforehand a dummy at _c_^1, closely resembling the object at _c_^2. Then when the object is in its place, the mirror is passed across without causing any apparent change. The object, when hidden, is changed for another object externally resembling the first, the mirror is withdrawn, and the audience may then be shown in any convenient way that the object now before them differs from that which their eyesight would lead them to suppose it to be. {103}

“We prefer, in many cases, not to use an ordinary mirror, _d_, but one of graduated opacity. This may be produced by removing the silvering from the glass in lines; or, if the glass be silvered by chemical deposition, causing the silver to be deposited upon it in lines, somewhat as represented in Fig. 1. Near one side of the glass the lines are made fine and open, and progressively in passing toward the other side they become bolder and closer until a completely-silvered surface is reached. Other means for obtaining a graduated opacity and reflecting power may be resorted to.

“By passing such a graduated mirror between the object at _c_^2 and the audience, the object may be made to fade from the sight, or gradually to resolve itself into another form.”

Hopkins in his fine work on _Magic, stage illusions, etc._, to which I contributed the Introduction and other chapters, thus describes one of the many effects which can be produced by the Blue Room apparatus. The curtain rises, showing “the stage set as an artist’s studio. Through the centre of the rear drop scene is seen a small chamber in which is a suit of armor standing upright. The floor of this apartment is raised above the level of the stage and is approached by a short flight of steps. When the curtain is raised a servant makes his appearance and begins to dust and clean the apartments. He finally comes to the suit of armor, taking it apart, cleans and dusts it, and finally reunites it. No sooner is the armor perfectly articulated than the soulless mailed figure deals the servant a blow. The domestic, with a cry of fear, drops his duster, flies down the steps into the large room, the suit of armor pursuing him, wrestling with him, and kicking him all over the stage. When the armor considers that it has punished the servant sufficiently, it returns to its original position in the small chamber, just as the master of the house enters, brought there by the noise and cries of the servant, from whom he demands an explanation of the commotion. Upon being told, he derides the servant’s fear, and, to prove that he was mistaken, takes the suit of armor apart, throwing it piece by piece upon the floor.”

It is needless, perhaps, to explain that the armor which becomes endowed with life has a man inside of it. When the {104} curtain rises a suit of armor is seen in the Blue Room, at H, (Fig. 2). At I is a second suit, concealed behind the proscenium. It is the duplicate of the visible one. When the mirror is shoved diagonally across the room, the armor at H becomes invisible, but the mirror reflects the armor concealed at I, making it appear to the spectators that the suit at H is still in position. An actor dressed in armor now enters behind the mirror, removes the suit of armor at H, and assumes its place. When the mirror is again withdrawn, the armor at H becomes endowed with life. Again the mirror is shoved across the apartment, and the actor replaces the original suit of armor at H. It is this latter suit which the master of the house takes to pieces and casts upon the floor, in order to quiet the fears of the servant. This most ingenious apparatus is capable of many novel effects. Those who have witnessed Professor Kellar’s performance will bear witness to the statement. When the illusion was first produced in England a sketch entitled Curried Prawns was written for it by the famous comic author, Burnand, editor of _Punch_.

An old gentleman, after having partaken freely of a dish of curried prawns, washed down by copious libations of wine, retires to bed, and very naturally “sees things.” Who would not under such circumstances? He has a dreadful nightmare, during which ghosts, goblins, vampires and witches visit him. The effects are produced by the mirror.

IV.

When I was searching among the books of the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, for material concerning Robertson and others, a very remarkable ghost show was all the rage in the Montmartre Quarter of the city, based on the Pepper illusion. I will endeavor to describe it. It was held at the _Cabaret du Néant_, or Tavern of the Dead. “Anything for a new sensation” is the motto of the Boulevardier. Death is no laughing matter, but the gay Parisian is ready to mock even at the Grim Tyrant, hence the vogue of the Tavern of the Dead. I went to this lugubrious cabaret in company with a student of medicine. He seemed to {105} think the whole affair a huge joke, but then he was a hair-brained, thoughtless young fellow.

The Inn of Death was located in the Rue Cujas, near by the Rue Champollion. Over its grim black-painted portal burned an ashy blue and brimstone flame. It seemed like entering a charnel house. My student friend led the way down a gloomy passage into a room hung with funeral cloth. Coffins served as tables, and upon each was placed a lighted taper. From the ceiling hung a grewsome-looking chandelier, known as “Robert Macaire’s chandelier.” It was formed of skulls and bones. In the skulls were placed lights. The waiters of the cabaret were garbed like _croque-morts_ (undertaker’s men). In sepulchral tones one of these gloomy-looking garçons, a trifle more cadaverous than his confrères, sidled up to us like a huge black raven and croaked out, “Name your poison, gentlemen. We have on tap distilled grave-worms, deadly microbes, the bacteria of all diseases under the sun,” etc. Whatever one called for in this undertaking establishment, the result was the same—beer of doubtful quality. After drinking a bock we descended a flight of grimy stairs to another apartment which was hung with black cloth, ornamented with white tears, like the decorations furnished by the _Pompes Funèbres_ (Undertakers’ Trust) of Paris, on state occasions. Here we were solemnly greeted by a couple of quasi Capuchin monks with the words: “_Voilà des Machabées!_” We seated ourselves on a wooden bench and waited for the séance to begin. Among the spectators were several students and their grisettes, a little piou-piou (soldier), and a fat gentleman with a waxed moustache and imperial, who might have been a _chef de cuisine_ in disguise or a member of the _Académie Française_. A curtain at one end of the room was pulled aside, revealing a stage set to represent a mouldy crypt, in the center of which stood upright an empty coffin. A volunteer being called for, my medical friend agreed to stand in the grim box for the dead. One of the monks wrapped about the young man’s body a winding sheet. A strong light was turned on him. Presently a deathly pallor overcame the ruddy hue of health on his cheeks. His face assumed the waxen color of death. His eyes resolved themselves {106} into cavernous sockets; his nose disappeared; and presently his visage was metamorphosed into a grinning skull. The illusion was perfect. During this ghastly transformation the monks intoned: “_Voilà Machabæus!_ He dies! He wastes away! Dust to dust! The eternal worm awaits you all!” A church bell was solemnly tolled and an organ played. The scene would have delighted that stern genius, Hans Holbein, whose Dance of Death has chilled many a human heart. We looked again, and the skeleton in the coffin vanished. “He has risen to Heaven!” cried the Capuchins.

In a little while the figure reappeared. The fleshless skull was merged into the face of my friend. He stepped out of the box, throwing aside the shroud, and greeted me with a merry laugh. Other people volunteered to undergo the death scene. After the exhibition was over one of the Capuchins passed around a skull for penny contributions, and we left the place.

Now for an explanation of the illusion.

A sheet of glass is placed obliquely across the stage in front of the coffin. At the side of this stage, hidden by the proscenium, is another coffin containing a skeleton robed in white. When the electric lights surrounding the first coffin are turned off and the casket containing the skeleton highly illuminated, the spectators see the reflection of the latter in the glass and imagine that it is the coffin in which the volunteer has been placed. To resurrect the man the lights are reversed.

{107}

THE ROMANCE OF AUTOMATA.

“ ‘What!’ I said to myself, ‘can it be possible that the marvelous science which raised Vaucanson’s name so high—the science whose ingenious combinations can animate inert matter, and impart to it a species of existence—is the only one without its archives?’ ”—ROBERT-HOUDIN.

I.

Automata have played an important part in the magic of ancient temples, and in the séances of mediæval sorcerers. Who has not read of the famous “Brazen Head,” constructed by Friar Bacon, and the wonderful machines of Albertus Magnus? Modern conjurers have introduced automata into their entertainments with great effect, as witness Pinetti’s “Wise Little Turk,” Kempelen’s “Chess Player,” Houdin’s “Pastry Cook of the Palais Royal,” Kellar’s “Hindoo Clock,” Maskelyne’s “Psycho,” etc. But these automata have been such in name only, the motive power usually being furnished by the conjurer’s _alter ego_, or concealed assistant.

The so-called automaton Chess Player is enveloped with a halo of romance. It had a remarkable history. It was constructed in the year 1769 by the Baron von Kempelen, a Hungarian nobleman and mechanician, and exhibited by him at the leading courts of Europe. The Empress Maria Theresa of Austria played a game with it. In 1783 it was brought to Paris and shown at the Café de la Regence, the rendezvous of chess lovers and experts, after which it was taken to London. Kempelen died on the 26th of March, 1804, and his son sold the Chess Player to J. N. Maelzel, musician, inventor and mechanician, who was born at Ratisbon, Bavaria, in 1772. His father was a celebrated organ-builder. {108}

Maelzel was the inventor of the Metronome (1815), a piece of mechanism known to all instructors of music: the automaton _Trumpeter_ (1808), and the _Pan-Harmonicum_ (1805). He had a strange career as the exhibitor of the Chess Player. After showing the automaton in various cities of Europe, Maelzel sold it to Napoleon’s step-son, Eugène Beauharnais, the Viceroy of the Kingdom of Italy. But the old love of “adventurous travel with the Turbaned Turk” took possession of him, and he succeeded in buying back the Chess Player from its royal owner. He went to Paris with it in 1817 and 1818, afterwards to London, meeting everywhere with success. In 1826 he brought it to America. The Chess Player excited the greatest interest throughout the United States. Noted chess experts did their best to defeat it, but rarely succeeded.

Now for a description of the automaton.

The audience was introduced into a large room, at one end of which hung crimson curtains. These curtains being drawn aside, Maelzel rolled forward a box on castors. Behind the box or {109} table, which was two feet and a half high, three feet and a half long, and two feet wide, was seated cross-legged, the figure of a Turk. The chair on which the figure was affixed was permanently attached to the box. At the top of the box was a chess-board. The figure had its eyes fixed intently upon this board, its right hand and arm being extended towards the board, its left, which was somewhat raised, holding a long pipe.

Four doors, two in front, and two in the rear of the box, were opened, and a lighted candle thrust into the cavities. Nothing was to be seen except cog wheels, levers, and intricate machinery. A long drawer, which contained the chessmen and a cushion, was pulled out. Two doors in the Turk’s body were thrown open, and the candle held inside, to satisfy the spectators that nothing but machinery was contained therein.

Maelzel wound up the automaton with a large key, took away the pipe, and placed the cushion under the arm of the figure. Curious to relate the automaton played with its left hand. In Von Kempelen’s day, the person selected to play with the figure, sat at the same chess-board with it, but Maelzel altered this. A rope separated the machine from the audience, and the player sat at a small table, provided with a chess-board, some ten or twelve feet away from the Turk.

The automaton invariably chose the white chess-men, and made the first move, its fingers opening as the hand was extended towards the board, and the piece picked up and removed to its proper square.

When his antagonist had made his move, the automaton paused and appeared to study the game, before proceeding further. It nodded its head to indicate check to the king. If a false move was made by its opponent, it rapped on the table, and replaced the piece, claiming the move for itself. Maelzel, acting for the human player, repeated his move on the chess-board of the Turk, and when the latter moved, made the corresponding move on the board of the challenger. The whirring of machinery was heard during the progress of the game, but this was simply a blind. It subserved two purposes: _first_, to induce the spectators to believe that the automaton was really operated by ingenious mechanism, {110} _second_, to disguise the noise made by the concealed confederate as he shifted himself from one compartment to the other, as the various doors were opened and shut in succession. No machine could possibly be constructed to imitate the human mind when engaged in playing chess, or any other mental operation where the indeterminate enters and which requires knowledge and reflection. But the majority of people who saw the automaton did not realize this fact, and pronounced it a _pure machine_.

Signor Blitz, the conjurer, who was intimate with Maelzel, having frequently given entertainments in conjunction with him, was possessed of the secret of the Turk. In his memoirs, he says: “The Chess Player was ingeniously constructed—a perfect counterpart of a magician’s trick-table with a variety of partitions and doors, which, while they removed every possible appearance of deception, only produced greater mystery, and provided more security to the invisible player. The drawers and closets were so arranged as to enable him to change his position according to circumstances: at one moment he would be in this compartment; the next in that; then in the body of the Turk.”

He says this concealed assistant was named Schlumberger.

This explanation is verified by Professor Allen,[20] who was very intimate with Maelzel.

[20] Fiske’s _Book of the First American Chess Congress_,
New York, 1859. Pp. 420–484.

William Schlumberger was a native of Alsace, a remarkable chess expert and linguist. Maelzel picked him up in the Café de la Regence, Paris, where he eked out a meagre living as a teacher of chess.

Occasionally, Schlumberger would over-indulge in wine, and as a result would be beaten, while acting as the motive power of the Turk. “On one occasion,” says Professor Allen, “just as Maelzel was bringing the Turk out from behind the curtain, a strange noise was heard to proceed from his interior organization, something between a rattle, a cough, and a sneeze. Maelzel pushed back his ally in evident alarm, but presently brought him forward again, and went on with the exhibition as if nothing had happened.” {111}

Schlumberger not only acted as confederate, but served his employer as secretary and clerk.

Edgar Allen Poe, who wrote an exposé of the automaton when it visited Richmond, remarked: “There is a man, Schlumberger, who attends him (Maelzel) wherever he goes, but who has no ostensible occupation other than that of assisting in packing and unpacking of the automaton. Whether he professes to play chess or not, we are not informed. It is quite certain, however, that he is never to be seen during the exhibition of the Chess Player, although frequently visible just before and after the exhibition. Moreover, some years ago Maelzel visited Richmond with his automaton. Schlumberger was suddenly taken ill, and during his illness there was no exhibition of the Chess Player. These facts are well known to many of our citizens. The reason assigned for the suspension of the Chess Player’s performances was _not_ the illness of _Schlumberger_. The inferences from all this we leave, without further comment, to the reader.”

Edgar Allen Poe, the apostle of mystery, certainly hit the nail on the head here, and solved the problem of the automaton.

The Chess Player had the honor of defeating Napoleon the Great—“the Victor in a hundred battles.” This was in the year 1809, when Maelzel, by virtue of his office as Mechanician to the Court of Austria, was occupying some portion of the Palace of Schönbrunn, “when Napoleon chose to make the same building his headquarters during the Wagram campaign.” A man by the name of Allgaier was the concealed assistant on this occasion. Napoleon was better versed in the art of manœuvring human kings, queens, prelates and pawns on the great chess-boards of diplomacy and battle than moving ivory chessmen on a painted table-top.

Maelzel, in addition to the Chess Player, exhibited his own inventions, which were really automatons, also the famous panorama, “The Burning of Moscow.” After a splendid tour throughout the States, he went to Havana, Cuba, where poor Schlumberger died of yellow fever. On the return trip Maelzel himself died, and was buried at sea. This was in 1838.

The famous Turk, with other of Maelzel’s effects, was sold {112} at public auction in Philadelphia. The automaton was bought by Dr. J. K. Mitchell, reconstructed, and privately exhibited by him for the amusement of his friends. Finally it was deposited in the Chinese Museum, where it remained for fourteen years, with the dust accumulating upon it. Here the Chess Player rested from his labors, a superannuated, broken down pensioner, dreaming, if automatons can dream, of his past adventures, until the year 1854. On July 5 of that year a great fire destroyed the Museum, and the Turbaned Turk was burnt to ashes. Better such a fate than rotting to pieces in the cellar of some old warehouse, forgotten and abandoned.

Robert-Houdin, in his autobiography, tells a most romantic story about the Chess Player, the accuracy of which has been seriously doubted. He also makes several errors concerning its career and that of Maelzel. R. Shelton Mackenzie, who translated Houdin’s life (1859), calls attention to these mistakes, in his preface to that work. “This remarkable piece of mechanism was constructed in 1769, and not in 1796; it was the Empress Maria-Theresa of Austria who played with it, and not Catherine II of Russia. M. Maelzel’s death was in 1838, on the voyage from Cuba to the United States, and not, as M. Houdin says, on his return to France; and the automaton, so far from being taken back to France, was sold at auction here [Philadelphia], where it was consumed in the great fire of July 5, 1854.”

I believe that the true history of the Chess Player is related by Prof. George Allen, of the University of Pennsylvania, in Fiske’s _Book of the first American Chess Congress_, N. Y., 1859, pp. 420–484.

II.

Now for Houdin’s entertaining story of the Chess Player. In the year 1796, a revolt broke out in a half-Russian, half-Polish regiment stationed at Riga, capital of Livonia, Russia. At the head of the rebels was an officer named Worousky, a man of talent and energy. He was of short stature, but well built. The revolutionists were defeated in a pitched battle and put to flight {113} by the Russians. Worousky had both thighs shattered by a cannon ball and fell on the battle field. However, he escaped from the general massacre of his comrades by casting himself into a ditch near a hedge, not far from the house of a doctor named Osloff. At nightfall he dragged himself with great difficulty to the house, and was taken in by the benevolent physician, who promised to conceal him. Osloff eventually had to amputate both of Worousky’s legs, close to the body. The operation was successful. During this time, the famous Baron von Kempelen came to Russia, and paid Dr. Osloff a visit. He also took compassion upon the crippled Polish officer. It seems that Worousky was a master of the game of chess, and repeatedly defeated Osloff and Kempelen. Kempelen then conceived the idea of the automaton chess player, as a means of assisting Worousky to escape from Russia, and immediately set about building it. It was completed in June, 1796. In order to avert suspicion Osloff and Kempelen determined to play at several of the smaller towns and cities before reaching the frontier.

The first performance was given at Toula. Says Houdin: “I possess a copy of the original bill, which was given me by M. Hessler, nephew of Dr. Osloff, who also supplied me with all these details. Worousky won every game he played at Toula, and the papers were full of praises of the automaton. Assured of success by the brilliancy of their début, M. de Kempelen and his companion proceeded towards the frontier.”

Worousky was concealed from sight, while traveling, in the enormous chest which held the Chess Player. Air holes were made in the sides of the chest to enable him to breathe. They arrived without adventure at Vitebsk, on the road to the Prussian frontier, when a letter came summoning them to the imperial palace at St. Petersburg. The Empress Catherine II, having heard of the automaton’s wonderful talent, desired to play a game with it. They dared not refuse this demand. Worousky, who had a price set on his head, was the coolest of the three, and seemed delighted at the idea of playing with the Empress. After fifteen days travel they reached St. Petersburg. Kempelen had the automaton carried to the palace in the same chest in which {114} it traveled, thereby secretly conveying Worousky thither. The Chess Player was set up in the library, and at the appointed hour Catherine II, followed by a numerous suite, entered and took her place at the chess-board. The members of the Court took their places behind the Empress. Kempelen never allowed anyone to pass behind the automaton, and would not consent to begin the game till all the spectators were in front of the board.

“The chest and the Turk’s body were then examined, and when all were perfectly convinced they contained nothing but clockwork, the game began. It proceeded for some time in perfect silence, but Catherine’s frowning brow speedily revealed that the automaton was not very gallant towards her, and fully deserved the reputation it had gained. The skillful Mussulman captured a bishop and a knight, and the game was turning much to the disadvantage of the lady, when the Turk, suddenly forgetting his dignified gravity, gave a violent blow on his cushion, and pushed back a piece his adversary had just moved.

“Catherine II had attempted to cheat; perhaps to try the skill of the automaton, or for some other reason. At any rate the haughty empress, unwilling to confess her weakness, replaced the piece on the same square, and regarded the automaton with an air of imperious authority. The result was most unexpected—the Turk upset all the pieces with a blow of his hand, and immediately the clock work, which had been heard during the whole game, stopped. It seemed as if the machinery had got out of repair. Pale and trembling, M. de Kempelen, recognizing in this Worousky’s impetuous temper, awaited the issue of this conflict between the insurgent and his sovereign.

“ ‘Ah, ah! my good automaton! your manners are rather rough,’ the Empress said, good humoredly, not sorry to see a game she had small chance of winning end thus. ‘Oh! you are a famous player, I grant; but you were afraid of losing the game, and so prudently upset the pieces. Well, I am now quite convinced of your skill and your violent character.’

“M. de Kempelen began to breathe again, and regaining courage, tried to remove the unfavorable impression which the little {115} respect shown by the automaton must have produced. Hence he said, humbly:

“ ‘Will your majesty allow me to offer an explanation of what has just happened?’

“ ‘By no means, M. de Kempelen,’ Catherine said, heartily,—‘by no means; on the contrary, I find it most amusing, and your automaton pleases me so much that I wish to purchase it. I shall thus always have near me a player, somewhat quick perhaps, but yet able to hold his own. You can leave it here tonight, and come tomorrow morning to arrange the price.’

“There is strong reason to believe that Catherine wished to commit an indiscretion when she evinced a desire that the figure should remain at the palace till next morning. Fortunately, the skillful mechanician managed to baffle her feminine curiosity by carrying Worousky off in the big chest. The automaton remained in the library, but the player was no longer there.

“The next day Catherine renewed her proposition to purchase the Chess Player, but Kempelen made her understand that, as the figure could not perform without him, he could not possibly sell it. The empress allowed the justice of these arguments; and, while complimenting the mechanician on his invention, made him a handsome present.

“Three months after the automaton was in England, under the management of Mr. Anthon, to whom Kempelen had sold it. I know not if Worousky was still attached to it, but I fancy so, owing to the immense success the Chess Player met with. Mr. Anthon visited the whole of Europe, always meeting with the same success; but, at his death, the celebrated automaton was purchased by Maelzel, who embarked with it for New York. It was then, probably, Worousky took leave of his hospitable Turk, for the automaton was not nearly so successful in America. After exhibiting his mechanical trumpeter and Chess Player for some time, Maelzel set out again for France, but died on the passage, of an attack of indigestion. His heirs sold his apparatus, and thus Cronier obtained his precious relic.” The Chess Player caused the greatest amount of discussion in its time. At the solicitation of a leading theatrical manager of Paris, Houdin {116} arranged the trick for a melodrama, in which Catherine II of Russia was one of the characters.

III.

I now come to the celebrated inventions of Maskelyne which were exhibited at Egyptian Hall, London. First on the list comes the automaton whist player, “Psycho,” which far exceeds the Chess Player of Von Kempelen in ingenious construction. Its secret has never been divulged.

Says the _Encyclopedia Britannica_: “In 1875 Maskelyne and Cooke produced at the Egyptian Hall, in London, an automaton whist player, ‘Psycho,’ which from the manner in which it is placed upon the stage, appears to be perfectly isolated from any {117} mechanical communication from without . . . The arm has all the complicated movements necessary for chess or draught playing; and ‘Psycho’ calculates any sum up to a total of 99,000,000. . . . ‘Psycho’, an Oriental figure, sitting cross-legged on a box, is supported by a single large cylinder of clear glass, which as originally exhibited, stood upon the carpet of the stage, but was afterwards set loose upon a small stool, having solid wood feet; moreover, this automaton may be placed in almost any number of different ways. . . . It may be mentioned that in the same year in which ‘Psycho’ appeared, the joint inventors patented a method of controlling the speed of clockwork mechanism by compressed air or gas stored in the pedestal of an automaton, this compressed air acting upon a piston in a cylinder and also upon a rotating fan when a valve is opened by ‘an electrical or other connection worked by the foot of the performer or an assistant.’ But it is not known whether the principle obscurely described in the specification was applicable in any way to the invisible agency employed in ‘Psycho,’ or whether it had reference to some other invention which has never been realized.”

A very clever exposé of “Psycho” was published in an English newspaper, November, 1877. That it is the correct one, I am by no means certain. But an ingenious mechanic by carrying out its provisions would be enabled to construct an excellent imitation of the Maskelyne so-called automaton.

“In Figs. _1a_ and _1b_ (elevation and plan), the wheels E and M have each a train of clockwork (left out for the sake of clearness), which would cause them to spin round if unchecked. M, however, has two pins, _p p_, which catch on a projection on the lever, N. E is a crown-wheel escapement—like that in a bottle roasting-jack—which turns A alternately to the left and right, thus causing the hand to traverse the thirteen cards. A little higher up on A will be seen a quadrant, B (see plan), near the edge of which are set thirteen little pins. The end of the lever, N, drops between any two of them, thus causing the hand to stop at any desired card. The lever being pivoted at _c_, it is obvious that by depressing the end, N, B will be set at liberty, {118} and the hand will move along the cards; by slightly raising it this motion will be arrested; by raising it still more the pin, _p_, is released, and M commences to revolve, and by again depressing N this wheel will, in its turn, be stopped. Near the bottom of the apparatus is a bellows, O, which contains a spring tending to keep the lever, N, with which it is connected by a rod, X, in the position shown. This is connected with the tubular support, which may be connected by a tube through the leg of the stool, and another tube beneath the stage, with an assistant behind the scenes. By compressing or exhausting air through this tube it is obvious that the lever, N, will be raised or depressed, and the clockwork set going accordingly. _a_ is a crank-pin set in M, and connected with the head by catgut, T, and with the thumb by S. At R and R are two pulleys connected by gut. Thus if the {119} hand moves round, the head appears to follow its motions, and when raised by pulling S, the head rises also by means of T. Further explanation seems almost unnecessary; _l_ is a stop to prevent the elbow moving too far, and _b b_ spiral springs, to keep the thumb open and the head forward respectively. When N is raised, M pulls T and S, the latter closing the thumb, and then raising the arm by pulley H. If the lever is allowed to drop, _p_ will catch and keep the arm up. On again raising N, the arm will descend.

“In addition to the above contrivance, we have in Figs. 2 and 3 another and simpler arrangement, in which only one train of clockwork is used. On the same axle as H is fixed a lever and weight, W, to balance the arm. A vertical rod, X, having a projection, Z, slides up and down in guides, Y Y, and carries the catgut, S and T. The quadrant, B, has cogs cut, between which Z slides and stops the motion of A, which is moved, as before, by clockwork. The lower part of X is connected directly with O. When X is slightly raised, as shown, A is free to move, but on exhausting the air and drawing X down, Z enters the cogs and stops the hand over a card; continuing to exhaust, the thumb closes and the card is lifted up.” The details of the clockwork the originator of this solution omits to give. He says there should be a fan on each train to regulate the speed. The figure should be so placed that an assistant can see the cards in the semi-circular rack Fig. 4.

One of Maskelyne’s best mechanical tricks is the “Spirit Music-Box,” for an exposé of which I am indebted to my friend Mr. Henry V. A. Parsell, of New York City, a lover of the art of magic. The construction of this novel piece of apparatus will afford a clue to many alleged mediumistic performances. Professor Parsons, of New Haven, Conn., is the owner of the box, reproduced in the illustration. Says Mr. Parsell:

“A sheet of plate glass is exhibited freely to the audience and proved to contain no electric wires or mechanism. This glass plate is then suspended horizontally in the center of the stage by four cords hooked to its corners. An ordinary looking music-box is then brought in by the assistant. It is opened, so that {120} the audience can see the usual mechanism within. The music-box is now placed on the glass plate and the performer comes down among the spectators. Notwithstanding the isolation of the box the command of the performer suffices to cause it to play, or cease, in obedience to his will. It matters not in what part of the room the conjurer goes—his word is enough to make silence or harmony issue from the box, always beginning where it left off and never skipping a note. The simple cause of this marvelous effect lies in the mechanism of the box and in its mode of suspension.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

THE SPIRIT MUSIC BOX.]

“A small music box of this kind is shown in Fig. 5. The box is seen with its mechanism removed and resting upon it. In addition to the usual cylinder, comb and wheel-work, there is a device for starting and stopping the box when it is tilted slightly endwise. This consists of a light shaft delicately pivoted and carrying at one end a lead weight (seen just in front of the cylinder), and at the other end an arm of light wire whose far end is bent down so as to engage the fly of the wheel-work. In Fig. 5 the mechanism is tilted so that the wire arm is raised; the fly is now free to revolve and the box plays.

“A front view of the mechanism is shown in Fig. 6. Here the arm is down, arresting the motion of the fly and producing {121} silence. When the box is resting on the glass plate an assistant behind the scenes causes the plate to tilt slightly up or down by raising or lowering the cords which support one end. The mechanism of the box is so delicately adjusted that an imperceptible motion of the plate is sufficient to control its playing.”

IV.

John Nevil Maskelyne, a descendant of Nevil Maskelyne, the eminent astronomer and physicist, was born in Cheltenham, England, and like Houdin was apprenticed to a watchmaker. At an early age, he manifested a wonderful aptitude for mechanics. He employed most of his spare time while working at the trade of horology in devising and building optical and mechanical apparatus for show purposes. In this respect his career exactly parallels that of Robert-Houdin. He was likewise interested in sleight of hand tricks, but never carried the art to perfection like the French magician. Later in life he abandoned legerdemain entirely and devoted himself exclusively to the construction of mechanical illusions. In this line, he has no equal. Most of the really clever and original illusions brought out within the past twenty years have emanated from his fertile brain. Houdin, Maskelyne, and Buatier de Kolta are the three great inventors of magic tricks and illusions. One day the Davenport Brothers came to Cheltenham and gave an exhibition of their alleged mediumistic powers at the town hall. Young Maskelyne was selected as one of a committee to tie the Brothers and examine their mystic cabinet. The falling of a piece of drugget, used to exclude light from one of the windows of the hall, enabled Maskelyne to see Ira Davenport eject some of the musical instruments from the cabinet, and re-secure himself with the ropes. Delighted at discovering the trick, the young watchmaker soon devised an imitation of the Davenport exhibition. Aided by a Mr. Cooke, afterwards his partner in the show business, he gave an exposé of the Davenport business, first at Cheltenham, and afterwards throughout England. Subsequently he located at St. James Hall, and afterwards at Egyptian Hall, London. Mr. {122} Maskelyne was called as an expert witness in the trial of the impostor, Dr. Henry Slade, and performed in the witness-box all of the medium’s “slate tests,” to the great astonishment of the Court. As a consequence of these revelations, Dr. Slade was sentenced to three months in jail, but he escaped imprisonment owing to legal technicalities interposed by his attorneys, and fled to the Continent. Mr. Maskelyne has written a clever exposé of gambling devices, entitled, _Sharps and Flats_, and various magazine articles on conjuring.

In the year 1904, he and Mr. Cooke moved their show to St. George’s Hall, having outgrown the old quarters at Egyptian Hall. Since that time Mr. Cooke died at an advanced age. Associated with Mr. Maskelyne and his son is David Devant, a good sleight of hand performer.

{123}

ROBERT-HOUDIN—CONJURER, AUTHOR AND AMBASSADOR.

“Robert-Houdin was a man of remarkable ingenuity and insight. His autobiography is throughout interesting and psychologically valuable, and his conjuring precepts abound in points of importance to the psychologist.”—JOSEPH JASTROW: “_Fact and Fable in Psychology_.”

“To Robert-Houdin I feel I owe a double debt; first, for the great satisfaction I have had in such slight skill as I have acquired in his art, and, secondly, for such an insight into its underlying principles as to keep me clear of all danger from evanescent delusions which follow one another in fashion.”—BRANDER MATTHEWS: “_Books that have helped me_.”

I.