THE UNMASKING
OF
ROBERT-HOUDIN
BY
HARRY HOUDINI

NEW YORK
THE PUBLISHERS PRINTING CO.
1908

Copyright, 1906
Copyright, 1907
Copyright, 1908
By HARRY HOUDINI
———
Entered at Stationer’s Hall, London, England
All rights reserved
Composition, Electrotyping and Printing by
The Publishers Printing Company
New York, N.Y., U.S.A.

Dedication

This Book is affectionately dedicated to the memory of
my father,
Rev. M. S. Weiss, Ph.D., LL.D.,
who instilled in me love of study and patience in research

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

THIS book is the natural result of the moulding, dominating influence which the spirit and writings of Robert-Houdin have exerted over my professional career. My interest in conjuring and magic and my enthusiasm for Robert-Houdin came into existence simultaneously. From the moment that I began to study the art, he became my guide and hero. I accepted his writings as my text-book and my gospel. What Blackstone is to the struggling lawyer, Hardee’s “Tactics” to the would-be officer, or Bismarck’s life and writings to the coming statesman, Robert-Houdin’s books were to me.

To my unsophisticated mind, his “Memoirs” gave to the profession a dignity worth attaining at the cost of earnest, life-long effort. When it became necessary for me to take a stage-name, and a fellow-player, possessing a veneer of culture, told me that if I would add the letter “i” to Houdin’s name, it would mean, in the French language, “like Houdin,” I adopted the suggestion with enthusiasm. I asked nothing more of life than to become in my profession “like Robert-Houdin.”

By this time I had re-read his works until I could recite passage after passage from memory. Then, when Fate turned kind and the golden pathway of success led me into broader avenues of work, I determined that my first tour abroad should be dedicated to adding new laurels to the fame of Robert-Houdin. By research and study I would unearth history yet unwritten, and record unsung triumphs of this great inventor and artiste. The pen of his most devoted student and follower would awaken new interest in his history.

Alas for my golden dreams! My investigations brought forth only bitterest disappointment and saddest of disillusionment. Stripped of his self-woven veil of romance, Robert-Houdin stood forth, in the uncompromising light of cold historical facts, a mere pretender, a man who waxed great on the brainwork of others, a mechanician who had boldly filched the inventions of the master craftsmen among his predecessors.

“Memoirs of Robert-Houdin, Ambassador, Author and Conjurer, Written by Himself,” proved to have been the penwork of a brilliant Parisian journalist, employed by Robert-Houdin to write his so-called autobiography. In the course of his “Memoirs,” Robert-Houdin, over his own signature, claimed credit for the invention of many tricks and automata which may be said to have marked the golden age in magic. My investigations disproved each claim in order. He had announced himself as the first magician to appear in regulation evening clothes, discarding flowing sleeves and heavily draped stage apparatus. The credit for this revolution in conjuring belonged to Wiljalba Frikell. Robert-Houdin’s explanation of tricks performed by other magicians and not included in his repertoire, proved so incorrect and inaccurate as to brand him an ignoramus in certain lines of conjuring. Yet to the great charm of his diction and the romantic development of his personal reminiscences later writers have yielded unquestioningly and have built upon the historically weak foundations of his statements all the later so-called histories of magic.

For a time the disappointment killed all creative power. With no laurel wreath to carve, my tools lay idle. The spirit of investigation languished. Then came the reaction. There was work to be done. Those who had wrought honestly deserved the credit that had been taken from them. In justice to the living as well as the dead the history of the magic must be revised. The book, accepted for more than half a century as an authority on our craft, must stand forth for what it is, a clever romance, a well-written volume of fiction.

That is why to-day I offer to the profession of magic, to the world of laymen readers to whom its history has always appealed, and to the literary savants who dip into it as a recreation, the results of my investigations. These, I believe, will show Robert-Houdin’s true place in the history of magic and give to his predecessors, in a profession which in each generation becomes more serious and more dignified, the credit they deserve.

My investigations cover nearly twenty years of a busy professional career. Every hour which I could spare from my professional work was given over to study in libraries, to interviews with retired magicians and collectors, and to browsing in old bookstores and antique shops where rare collections of programs, newspapers, and prints might be found.

In order to conduct my researches intelligently, I was compelled to pick up a smattering of the language of each country in which I played. The average collector or proprietor of an old bookshop is a canny, suspicious individual who must accept you as a friend before he will uncover his choicest treasures.

As authorities, books on magic and kindred arts are practically worthless. The earliest books, like the magician stories written by Sir John Mandeville in 1356, read like prototypes of to-day’s dime novels. They are thrilling tales of travellers who witnessed magical performances, but they are not authentic records of performers and their work.

One of the oldest books in my collection is “Natural and Unnatural Magic” by Gantziony, dated 1489. It is the author’s script, exquisite in its German chirography, artistic in its illuminated illustrations, but worthless as an historical record, though many of the writer’s descriptions and explanations of old-time tricks are most interesting.

Early in the seventeenth century appeared “Hocus Pocus,” the most widely copied book in the literature of magic. The second edition, dated 1635, I have in my library. I have never been able to find a copy of the first edition or to ascertain the date at which it was published.

A few years later, in 1658, came a very important contribution to the history of magic in “Natural Magick in XX. Bookes,” by John Baptist Porta, a Neapolitan. This has been translated into nearly every language. It was the first really important and exhaustive work on the subject, but, unfortunately, it gives the explanation of tricks, rather than an authentic record of their invention.

In 1682, Simon Witgeest of Amsterdam, Holland, wrote an admirable work, whose title reads “Book of Natural Magic.” This work was translated into German, ran through many an edition, and had an enormous sale in both Holland and Germany.

In 1715, John White, an Englishman, published a work entitled “Art’s Treasury and Hocus Pocus; or a Rich Cabinet of Legerdemain Curiosities.” This is fully as reliable a book as the earlier “Hocus Pocus” books, but it is not so generally known.

Richard Neve, who was a popular English conjurer just before the time of Fawkes, published a book on somewhat similar lines in 1715.

Germany contributed the next notable works on magic. First came Johann Samuel Halle’s “Magic or the Magical Power of Nature,” printed in Berlin, in 1784. One of his compatriots, Johann Christian Wiegleb, wrote eighteen books on “The Natural Magic” and while I shall always contend that the German books are the most complete, yet they cannot be accepted as authorities save that, in describing early tricks, they prove the existence of inventions and working methods claimed later as original by men like Robert-Houdin.

English books on magic were not accepted seriously until the early part of the nineteenth century. In Vol. III. of John Beckmann’s “History of Inventions and Discoveries,” published in 1797, will be found a chapter on “Jugglers” which presents interesting matter regarding magicians and mysterious entertainers. I quote from this book in disproving Robert-Houdin’s claims to the invention of automata and second-sight.

About 1840, J. H. Anderson, a popular magician, brought out a series of inexpensive, paper-bound volumes, entitled “A Shilling’s Worth of Magic,” “Parlor Magic,” etc., which are valuable only as giving a glimpse of the tricks contemporary with his personal successes. In 1859 came Robert-Houdin’s “Memoirs,” magic’s classic. Signor Blitz, in 1872, published his reminiscences, “Fifty Years in the Magic Circle,” but here again we have a purely local and personal history, without general value.

Thomas Frost wrote three books relating to the history of magic, commencing about 1870. This list included “Circus Life and Circus Celebrities,” “The Old Showmen and the Old London Fairs,” and “Lives of the Conjurers.” These were the best books of their kind up to the time of their publication, but they are marked by glaring errors, showing that Frost compiled rather than investigated, or, more properly speaking, that his investigations never went much further than Morley’s “Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair.”

Charles Bertram who wrote “Isn’t it Wonderful?” closed the nineteenth-century list of English writers on magic, but his work is marred by mis-statements which even the humblest of magicians could refute, and, like Frost, he drew heavily on writers who preceded him.

So far, in the twentieth century, the most notable contribution to the literature of magic is Henry Ridgely Evans’ “The Old and the New Magic,” but Mr. Evans falls into the error of his predecessors in accepting as authoritative the history of magic and magicians furnished by Robert-Houdin. He has made no effort whatever to verify or refute the statements made by Robert-Houdin, but has merely compiled and re-written them to suit his twentieth-century readers.

The true historian does not compile. He delves for facts and proofs, and having found these he arrays his indisputable facts, his uncontrovertible proofs, to refute the statements of those who have merely compiled. That is what I have done to prove my case against Robert-Houdin. I have not borrowed from the books of other writers on magic. I have gone to the very fountain head of information, records of contemporary literature, newspapers, programmes and advertisements of magicians who preceded Robert-Houdin, sometimes by a century. It would cost fully a million dollars to forge the collection of evidence now in my hands. Men who lived a hundred years before Robert-Houdin was born did not invent posters or write advertisements in order to refute the claims of those who were to follow in the profession of magic. These programmes, advertisements, newspaper notices, and crude cuts trace the true history of magic as no romancer, no historian of a single generation possibly could. They are the ghosts of dead and gone magicians, rising in this century of research and progress to claim the credit due them.

Often when the bookshops and auction sales did not yield fruit worth plucking, I had the good fortune to meet a private collector or a retired performer whose assistance proved invaluable, and the histories of these meetings read almost like romances, so skilfully did the Fates seem to juggle with my efforts to secure credible proof.

To the late Henry Evans Evanion I am indebted for many of the most important additions to my collection of conjuring curios and my library of magic, recognized by fellow-artistes and litterateurs as the most complete in the world.

Evanion was an Englishman, by profession a parlor magician, by choice and habit a collector and savant. He was an entertainer from 1849 to the year of his death. For fifty years he spent every spare hour at the British Museum collecting data bearing on his marvellous collection, and his interest in the history of magic was shared by his excellent wife who conducted a “sweet shop” near one of London’s public schools.

While playing at the London Hippodrome in 1904 I was confined to my room by orders of my physician. During this illness I was interviewed by a reporter who, noticing the clippings and bills with which my room was strewn, made some reference to my collection in the course of his article. The very day on which this interview appeared, I received from Henry Evanion a mere scrawl stating that he, too, collected programmes, bills, etc., in which I might be interested.

I wrote at once asking him to call at one o’clock the next afternoon, but as the hour passed and he did not appear, I decided that, like many others who asked for interviews, he had felt but a passing whim. That afternoon about four o’clock my physician suggested that, as the day was mild, I walk once around the block. As I stepped from the lift, the hotel porter informed me that since one o’clock an old man had been waiting to see me, but so shabby was his appearance, they had not dared send him up to my room. He pointed to a bent figure, clad in rusty raiment. When I approached the old man he rose and informed me that he had brought some clippings, bills, etc., for me to see. I asked him to be as expeditious as possible, for I was too weak to stand long and my head was a-whirl from the effects of la grippe.

With some hesitancy of speech but the loving touch of a collector he opened his parcel.

“I have brought you, sir, only a few of my treasures, sir, but if you will call—”

I heard no more. I remember only raising my hands before my eyes, as if I had been dazzled by a sudden shower of diamonds. In his trembling hands lay priceless treasures for which I had sought in vain—original programmes and bills of Robert-Houdin, Phillippe, Anderson, Breslaw, Pinetti, Katterfelto, Boaz, in fact all the conjuring celebrities of the eighteenth century, together with lithographs long considered unobtainable, and newspapers to be found only in the files of national libraries. I felt as if the King of England stood before me and I must do him homage.

Physician or no physician, I made an engagement with him for the next morning, when I was bundled into a cab and went as fast as the driver could urge his horse to Evanion’s home, a musty room in the basement of No. 12 Methley Street, Kennington Park Road, S.E.

In the presence of his collection I lost all track of time. Occasionally we paused in our work to drink tea which he made for us on his pathetically small stove. The drops of the first tea which we drank together can yet be found on certain papers in my collection. His wife, a most sympathetic soul, did not offer to disturb us, and it was 3:30 the next morning, or very nearly twenty-four hours after my arrival at his home, when my brother, Theodore Weiss (Hardeen), and a thoroughly disgusted physician appeared on the scene and dragged me, an unwilling victim, back to my hotel and medical care.

Such was the beginning of my friendship with Evanion. In time I learned that some of his collection had been left to him by James Savren, an English barber, who was so interested in magic that at frequent intervals he dropped his trade to work without pay for famous magicians, including Döbler, Anderson, Compars Herrmann, De Liska, Wellington Young, Cornillot, and Gyngell. From these men he had secured a marvellous collection, which was the envy of his friendly rival, Evanion. Savren bequeathed his collection to Evanion, and bit by bit I bought it from the latter, now poverty stricken, too old to work and physically failing. These purchases I made at intervals whenever I played in London, and on June 7th, 1905, while playing at Wigan, I received word that Evanion was dying at Lambeth Infirmary.

After the show, I jumped to London, only to find that cancer of the throat made it almost impossible for him to speak intelligibly. I soon discovered, however, that his chief anxiety was for the future of his wife and then for his own decent burial. When these sad offices had been provided for, he became more peaceful, and when I rose to leave him, knowing that we had met probably for the last time, he drew forth his chiefest treasure, a superb book of Robert-Houdin’s programmes, his one legacy, which is now the central jewel in my collection. Evanion died ten days later, June 17th, and within a short time his good wife followed him into the Great Unknown.

Even more dramatic was my meeting with the widow of Frikell, the great German conjurer.

I had heard that Frikell and not Robert-Houdin was the first magician to discard cumbersome, draped stage apparatus, and to don evening clothes, and I was most anxious to verify this rumor, as well as to interview him regarding equally important data bearing on the history of magic. Having heard that he lived in Kötchenbroda, a suburb of Dresden, I wrote to him from Cologne, asking for an interview. I received in reply a curt note: “Herr verreist,” meaning “The master is on tour.” This, I knew, from his age, could not be true, so I took a week off for personal investigation. I arrived at Kötchenbroda on the morning of April 8th, 1903, at 4 o’clock, and was directed to his home, known as “Villa Frikell.” Having found my bearings and studied well the exterior of the house, I returned to the depot to await daylight. At 8:30 I reappeared at his door, and was told by his wife that Herr Frikell had gone away.

I then sought the police department from which I secured the following information: “Dr.” Wiljalba Frikell was indeed the retired magician whom I was so anxious to meet. He was eighty-seven years old, and in 1884 had celebrated his golden anniversary as a conjurer. Living in the same town was an adopted daughter, but she could not or would not assist me. The venerable magician had suffered from domestic disappointments and had made a vow that he would see no one. In fact he was leading a hermit-like life.

Armed with this information, I employed a photographer, giving him instructions to post himself opposite the house and make a snap shot of the magician, should he appear in the doorway. But I had counted without my host. All morning the photographer lounged across the street and all morning I stood bareheaded before the door of Herr Frikell, pleading with his wife who leaned from the window overhead. With that peculiar fervency which comes only when the heart’s desire is at stake, I begged that the past master of magic would lend a helping hand to one ready to sit at his feet and learn. I urged the debt which he owed to the literature of magic and which he could pay by giving me such direct information as I needed for my book.

Frau Frikell heard my pleadings with tears running down her cheeks, and later I learned that Herr Frikell also listened to them, lying grimly on the other side of the shuttered window.

At length, yielding to physical exhaustion, I went away, but I was still undaunted. I continued to bombard Herr Frikell with letters, press clippings regarding my work, etc., and finally in Russia I received a letter from him. I might send him a package containing a certain brand of Russian tea of which he was particularly fond. You may be sure I lost no time in shipping the little gift, and shortly I was rewarded by the letter for which I longed. Having decided that I cared more for him than did some of his relatives, he would receive me when next I played near Kötchenbroda.

With this interview in prospect, I made the earliest engagement obtainable in Dresden, intending to give every possible moment to my hardly-won acquaintance. But Fate interfered. One business problem after another arose, concerning my forthcoming engagement in England, and I had to postpone my visit to Herr Frikell until the latter part of the week. In the mean time, he had agreed to visit a Dresden photographer, as I wanted an up-to-date photograph of him and he had only pictures taken in his more youthful days. On the day when he came to Dresden for his sitting, he called at the theatre, but the attachés, without informing me, refused to give him the name of the hotel where I was stopping.

After the performance I dropped into the König Kaffe and was much annoyed by the staring and gesticulations of an elderly couple at a distant table. It was Frikell with his wife, but I did not recognize them and, not being certain on his side, he failed to make himself known. That was mid-week, and for Saturday, which fell on October 8th, 1903, I had an engagement to call at the Villa Frikell. On Thursday, the Central Theatre being sold out to Cleo de Merode, who was playing special engagements in Germany with her own company, I made a flying business trip to Berlin, and on my return I passed through Kötchenbroda. As the train pulled into the station I hesitated. Should I drop off and see Herr Frikell, or wait for my appointment on the morrow? Fate turned the wheel by a mere thread and I went on to Dresden. So does she often dash our fondest hopes!

My appointment for Saturday was at 2 P.M., and as my train landed me in Kötchenbroda a trifle too early I walked slowly from the depot to the Villa Frikell, not wishing to disturb my aged host by arriving ahead of time.

I rang the bell. It echoed through the house with peculiar shrillness. The air seemed charged with a quality which I presumed was the intense pleasure of realizing my long cherished hope of meeting the great magician. A lady opened the door and greeted me with the words: “You are being waited for.”

I entered. He was waiting for me indeed, this man who had consented to meet me, after vowing that he would never again look into the face of a stranger. And Fate had forced him to keep that vow. Wiljalba Frikell was dead. The body, clad in the best his wardrobe afforded, all of which had been donned in honor of his expected guest, was not yet cold. Heart failure had come suddenly and unannounced. The day before he had cleaned up his souvenirs in readiness for my coming and arranged a quantity of data for me. On the wall above the silent form were all of his gold medals, photographs taken at various stages of his life, orders presented to him by royalty—all the outward and visible signs of a vigorous, active, and successful life, the life of which he would have told me, had I arrived ahead of Death. And when all these were arranged, he had forgotten his morbid dislike of strangers. The old instincts of hospitality tugged at his heart strings, and his wife said he was almost young and happy once more, when suddenly he grasped at his heart, crying, “My heart! What is the matter with my heart? O——” That was all!

There we stood together, the woman who had loved the dear old wizard for years and the young magician who would have been so willing to love him had he been allowed to know him. His face was still wet from the cologne she had thrown over him in vain hope of reviving the fading soul. On the floor lay the cloths, used so ineffectually to bathe the pulseless face, and now laughing mockingly at one who saw himself defeated after weary months of writing and pleading for the much-desired meeting.

I feel sure that the personal note struck in these reminiscences will be forgiven. In no other way could I prove the authoritativeness of my collection, the thoroughness of my research, and the incontrovertibility of the facts which I desire to set forth in this volume.

THE UNMASKING OF
ROBERT-HOUDIN

———

CHAPTER I
SIGNIFICANT EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF ROBERT-HOUDIN

ROBERT-HOUDIN was born in Blois, France, December 6th, 1805. His real name was Jean-Eugene Robert, and his father was Prosper Robert, a watchmaker in moderate circumstances. His mother’s maiden name was Marie Catherine Guillon. His first wife was Josephe Cecile Eglantine Houdin, whose family name he assumed for business reasons. He was married the second time to Françoise Marguerite Olympe Naconnier. His death, caused by pneumonia, occurred at St. Gervais, France, on June 13th, 1871.

Barring the above facts, which were gleaned from the register of the civil authorities of St. Gervais, all information regarding his life previous to his first public appearance in 1844 must be drawn from his own works, particularly from his autobiography, published in the form of “Memoirs.” Because of his supreme egotism, his obvious desire to make his autobiography picturesque and interesting rather than historically correct, and his utter indifference to dates, exact names of places, theatres, books, etc., it is extremely hard to present logical and consistent statements regarding his life. Such discrepancies arise as the mention of three children in one chapter and four in another, while he does not give the names of either wife, though he admits his obligation to both good women.

According to his autobiography, Jean-Eugene Robert was sent to college at Orleans at the tender age of eleven, and remained there until he was eighteen. He was then placed in a notary’s office to study law, but his mechanical tastes led him back to his father’s trade, watchmaking. While working for his cousin at Blois, he visited a bookshop in search of Berthoud’s “Treatise on Clockmaking,” but by mistake he was given several volumes of an old encyclopædia, one of which contained a dissertation on “Scientific Amusements,” or an exposition of magic. This simple incident, he asserts, changed the entire current of his life. At eighteen, he first turned his attention to magic. At forty, he made his first appearance as an independent magician or public performer.

On page 44 of his “Memoirs,” American edition, Robert-Houdin refers to this book as an encyclopædia, but several times later he calls it “White Magic.” In all probability it was the famous work by Henri Decremps in five volumes, known as “La Magie Banche Dévoilée,” or “White Magic Exposed.” This was written by Decremps to injure Pinetti, and it exposed all the latter’s tricks, including the orange tree, the vaulting trapeze automaton, and in fact the majority of the tricks later claimed by Robert-Houdin as his own inventions.

In 1828, while working for M. Noriet, a watchmaker in Tours, Jean-Eugene Robert was poisoned by improperly prepared food, and in his delirium started for his old home in Blois. He was picked up on the roadside by Torrini, a travelling magician, who nursed him back to health in his portable theatre. Just as young Jean recovered Torrini was injured in an accident, and his erstwhile patient remained to nurse his benefactor and later to help Torrini’s assistant present the programme of magic by which they made their living. His first public appearance as the representative of Torrini was made at Aubusson.

Torrini was an Italian whose real name was Count Edmond de Grisy. He was a contemporary of Pinetti. In all probability, during the long summer of their intimate companionship, Torrini not only initiated his fascinated young guest into his own methods of performingtricks, but also into the secrets of Pinetti’s tricks. In his “Memoirs,” Robert-Houdin makes no secret of the fact that both Comus and Pinetti, together with their tricks, were topics of conversation between himself and Torrini.

When Torrini was able to resume his performances, Jean-Eugene returned to his family in Blois. During the next few years he mixed amateur acting with his daily labor, leaning more and more toward the profession of public entertainer. But his ambitions along this line were nipped in the bud by marriage. Mademoiselle Houdin, whose father was a celebrated watchmaker in Paris, visited old friends in Blois, their native town, and became the fiancée of young Robert. As the new son-in-law was to share the elder Houdin’s business and naturally wished to secure such benefits as might accrue from so celebrated a family of watch and clock makers, he applied to the council of state and secured the right to annex “Houdin” to his name, Jean-Eugene Robert, and thereafter was known only as Robert-Houdin.

His life between 1838 and 1844 was divided between reading every work obtainable on magic, and his duties in his father-in-law’s shop, where he not only made and repaired clocks, but built and repaired automata of various sorts. His family shared with him many financial vicissitudes, and about 1842-43 his first wife died, leaving him with three young children to raise. Earlier in his “Memoirs” he speaks of having four children, so it is more than likely that one died before his wife. He married again soon, and though he gives his second wife great credit as a helpmate he does not state her name.

By this time he had acquired more than passing fame as a repairer of automata, and in 1844 he mended Vaucanson’s marvellous duck, one of the most remarkable automata ever made. Doubtless other automata found their way to his workshop and aided him in his study of a profession which he still hoped to follow. During these discouraging times he was often assisted financially by one Monsieur G——, who either advanced money on his automata or bought them outright. In the same year, 1844, he retired to a suburb of Paris, and there, he asserts, he built his famous writing and drawing figure.

The next year, 1845, he was assisted by Count de L’Escalopier, a devotee of conjuring and automata, who advanced the money to fit up and furnish a small theatre in the Palais Royal. Robert-Houdin went about the work of decorating and furnishing this theatre with a view to securing the most dramatic and brilliant effects, surrounding his simple tricks with a setting that made them vastly different from the same offerings by his predecessors. He was what is called to-day an original producer of old ideas. On June 25th, 1845, he gave his first private performance before a few friends. On July 3d of the same year his theatre of magic was opened formally to the public. The programme of this performance is shown on page 37.

It will be noted that the famous writing and drawing figure was not then included in Robert-Houdin’s répertoire, nor does it ever appear on any of his programmes. He exhibited it at the quinquennial exhibition in 1844, received a silver medal for it, and very soon sold it to the late P. T. Barnum, who exported it to America.

This question naturally arises: If Robert-Houdin built the original writing and drawing figure, why could he not make a duplicate and include it in his programme? Surely it was one of the most remarkable of the automata which he claims as the creations of his brain and hands.

In 1846 he claims to have invented second sight, and at the opening of the season in 1847 he presented as his own creation the suspension trick. During the interim he played an engagement in Brussels which was a financial failure.

In 1848 the Revolution closed the doors of Parisian theatres, Robert-Houdin’s among the rest, and he returned to clockmaking and automata building, until he received from John Mitchell, who had met with great success in managing Ludwig Döbler and Phillippe, an offer to appear in London at the St. James’s Theatre. This engagement was a brilliant success and for the first time in his career Robert-Houdin reaped big financial returns.

Later Robert-Houdin toured the English provinces under his own management and made return trips to London, but his tour under Mitchell was the most notable engagement of his career.

In 1850, while playing in Paris, he decided to retire, and to turn over his theatre and tricks to one Hamilton. A contemporary clipping, taken from an English newspaper of 1848, goes to prove that Hamilton was an Englishman who entered Robert-Houdin’s employ. Hamilton signed a dual contract, agreeing to produce Robert-Houdin’s tricks as his acknowledged successor and to marry Robert-Houdin’s sister, thus keeping the tricks and the theatre in the family. During the next two years Robert-Houdin spent part of his time instructing his brother-in-law in all the mysteries of his art. In July, 1852, he played a few engagements in Germany, including Berlin and various bathing resorts, and then formally retired to his home at St. Gervais. Here he continued to work along mechanical and electrical lines, and in 1855 he again came into public notice, winning awards at the Exhibition for electrical power as applied to mechanical uses. In 1856, according to his autobiography, he was summoned from his retirement by the Government to make a trip to Algeria and there intimidate revolting Arabs by the exhibition of his sleight-of-hand tricks. These were greatly superior to the work of the Marabouts or Arabian magicians, whose influence was often held responsible for revolts. What Robert-Houdin received for performing this service is not set forth in any of his works. He spent the fall of 1856 in Algeria.

From the date of his return to St. Gervais to the time of his death, June 13th, 1871, Robert-Houdin devoted his energies to improving his inventions and writing his books, though, as stated before, it was generally believed by contemporary magicians that in the latter task he entrusted most of the real work to a Parisian journalist whose name was never known.

He was survived by a wife, a son named Emile, and a step-daughter. Emile Houdin managed his father’s theatre until his death in 1883, when the theatre was sold for 35,000 francs. The historic temple of magic still stands under the title of “Théâtre Robert-Houdin,” under the management of M. Melies, a maker of motion picture films.

During my investigations in Paris, I was shocked to find how little the memory of Robert-Houdin was revered and how little was known of France’s greatest magician. In fact, I was more than once informed that Robert-Houdin was still alive and giving performances at the theatre which bears his name.

Contemporary magicians of Robert-Houdin and men of high repute in other walks of life seem to agree that Robert-Houdin was an entertainer of only average merit. Among the men who advanced this theory were the late Henry Evanion of whose deep interest in magic I wrote in the introduction, Sir William Clayton who was Robert-Houdin’s personal friend in London, Ernest Basch who saw Robert-Houdin in Berlin, and T. Bolin of Moscow, Russia, who bought all his tricks in Paris and there saw Robert-Houdin and studied his work as a conjurer.

Robert-Houdin’s contributions to literature, all of which are eulogistic of his own talents, are as follows:

“Confidence et Révélations,” published in Paris in 1858 and translated into English by Lascelles Wraxall, with an introduction by R. Shelton Mackenzie.

“Les Tricheries des Grecs” (Card-Sharping Exposed), published in Paris in 1861.

“Secrets de la Prestidigitation” (Secrets of Magic), published in Paris in 1868.

“Le Prieuré” (The Priory, being an account of his electrically equipped house), published in Paris in 1867.

“Les Radiations Lumineuses,” published in Blois in 1869.

“Exploration de la Rétinue,” published in Blois, 1869.

“Magic et Physique Amusante” (œuvre posthume), published in Paris in 1877, six years after Robert-Houdin’s death.

In his autobiography, Robert-Houdin makes specific claim to the honor of having invented the following tricks: The Orange Tree, Second Sight, Suspension, The Cabalistic Clock, The Inexhaustible Bottle, The Pastry Cook of the Palais Royal, The Vaulting Trapeze Automaton, and the Writing and Drawing Figure.

His fame, which has been sung by writers of magic without number since his death, rests principally on the invention of second sight, suspension, and the writing and drawing automaton. It is my intention to trace the true history of each of these tricks and of all others to which he laid claim as inventor, and show just how small a proportion of the credit was due to Robert-Houdin and how much he owed to magicians who preceded him and whose brain-work he claimed as his own.

CHAPTER II
THE ORANGE-TREE TRICK

ROBERT-HOUDIN, on page 179 of the American edition of his “Memoirs,” thus describes the orange-tree trick, which he claims as his invention: “The next was a mysterious orange-tree, on which flowers and fruit burst into life at the request of the ladies. As the finale, a handkerchief I borrowed was conveyed into an orange purposely left on the tree. This opened and displayed the handkerchief, which two butterflies took by the corners and unfolded before the spectators.”

On page 245 of the same volume he presents the programme given at the first public performance in the Théâtre Robert-Houdin, stating:

“The performance will be composed of entirely novel Experiments invented by M. Robert-Houdin. Among them being The Orange-Tree, etc.”

Now to retrace our steps in the history of magic as set forth in handbills and advertisements of earlier and contemporaneous newspaper clippings describing their inventions.

Under the title of “The Apple-Tree” this mechanical trick appeared on a Fawkes programme dated 1730. This was 115 years before Robert-Houdin claimed it as his invention. In 1732, just before Pinchbeck’s death, it appeared on a programme used by Christopher Pinchbeck, Sr., and the younger Fawkes. In 1784 it was included in the répertoire of the Italian conjurer, Pinetti, in the guise of “Le Bouquet-philosophique.” In 1822 the same trick, but this time called “An Enchanted Garden,” was featured by M. Cornillot, who appeared in England as the pupil and successor of Pinetti.

The trick was first explained in public print by Henri Decremps in 1784 when his famous exposé of Pinetti was published under the title of “La Magie Blanche Dévoilée,” and in 1786-87 both Halle and Wiegleb exposed the trick completely in their respective works on magic.

That Robert-Houdin was an omnivorous reader is proven by his own writings. That he knew the history and tricks of Pinetti is proven by his own words, for in Chapter VI. of his “Memoirs” he devoted fourteen pages to Pinetti and the latter’s relations with Torrini.

Now to prove that the tree tricks offered by Fawkes, Pinchbeck, Pinetti, Cornillot, and Robert-Houdin were practically one and the same, and to tell something of the history of the four magicians who featured the trick before Robert-Houdin had been heard of:

Unquestionably, the real inventor of the mysterious tree was Christopher Pinchbeck, who was England’s leading mechanical genius at the close of the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth. He was a man of high repute, whose history is not that of the charlatan, compiled largely from tradition, but it can be corroborated by court records, biographical works, and encyclopædias, as well as by contemporaneous newspaper clippings.

According to Vol. XLV. of the “Dictionary of National Biography,” edited by Sidney Lee and published in 1896 by Smith, Elder & Co., 15 Waterloo Place, London: “Christopher Pinchbeck was born about 1670, possibly in Clerkenwell, London. He was a clockmaker and inventor of the copper and zinc alloy called after his name. He invented and made the famous astronomico-musical clock. In Appleby’s Weekly Journal of July 8th, 1721, it was announced that ‘Christopher Pinchbeck, inventor and maker of the astronomico-musical clock, is removed, from St. George’s Court (now Albion Place) to the sign of the “Astronomico-Musical Clock” in Fleet Street, near the Leg Tavern. He maketh and selleth watches of all sorts and clocks as well for the exact indication of the time only as astronomical, for showing the various motions and phenomena of planets and fixed stars.’ Mention is also made of musical automata in imitation of singing birds and barrel organs for churches, as among Pinchbeck’s manufactures.

“Pinchbeck was in the habit of exhibiting collections of his automata at fairs, sometimes in conjunction with a juggler named Fawkes, and he entitled his stall ‘The Temple of the Muses,’ ‘Grand Theatre of the Muses,’ or ‘Multum in Parvo.’ The Daily Journal of August 27th, 1729, announced that the Prince and Princess of Wales went to the Bartholomew Fair to see his exhibition, and there were brief advertisements in The Daily Post of June 12th, 1729, and the Daily Journal of August 22d and 23d, 1729. There is still a large broadside in the British Museum (1850 c. 10-17) headed ‘Multum in Parvo,’ relating to Pinchbeck’s exhibition, with a blank left for place and date, evidently intended for use as a poster. He died November 18th, 1732; was buried November 21st, in St. Denison’s Church, Fleet Street.

“In a copy of the Gentlemen’s Magazine, printed 1732, page 1083, there is an engraved portrait by I. Faber, after a painting by Isaac Wood, a reproduction of which appears in ‘Britten’s Clock and Watch Maker,’ page 122. His will, dated November 10th, 1732, was proved in London on November 18th.”

During one of his engagements at the Bartholomew Fair, Pinchbeck probably met Fawkes, the cleverest sleight-of-hand performer that magic has ever known, and the two joined forces. Pinchbeck made all the automata and apparatus thereafter used by Fawkes, and, in Fawkes, he had a master-producer of his tricks. Christopher Pinchbeck never appeared on the program used by Fawkes, save as the maker of the automata or apparatus, but directly after the death of the elder Fawkes, and a few months before his own, the elder Pinchbeck appeared with the son of his deceased partner, and was advertised as doing “the Dexterity of Hand” performance. This indicates that he was inducting young Fawkes into all the mysteries of the profession at which the two elder men, as friends and business partners, had done so well.

Christopher Pinchbeck was survived by two sons, Edward and Christopher, Jr. Edward, the elder, succeeded to his father’s shop and regular business. He was born about 1703, and was well along in years when he entered into his patrimony, which he advertised in The Daily Post of November 27th, 1732, as follows: “The toys made of the late Mr. Pinchbeck’s curious metal are now sold only by his son and sole executor, Mr. Edward Pinchbeck.”

This announcement settles forever the oft-disputed question as to whether the alloy of copper and zinc which bears the name of Pinchbeck was invented by Christopher Pinchbeck, Sr., or by his son Christopher, Jr.

All newspaper and magazine descriptions of the automata invented by the elder Pinchbeck indicate that his hand was as cunning as his brain was inventive, for they showed the most delicate mechanism, and included entire landscapes with figures of rare grace in motion.

“Christopher, the second son of Christopher Pinchbeck the elder,” continues the biographical sketch, “was born about 1710 and possessed great mechanical ingenuity. While the elder son, Edward, was made executor and continued his father’s trade in a quiet, conservative fashion, the younger son struck out along new lines and became even more famous as an inventor than his brilliant father had been.

“He was a member and at one time president of the Smeatonian Society, the precursor of the Institution of Civil Engineers. In 1762 he devised a self-acting pneumatic brake for preventing accidents to the men employed in working wheel-cranes. In The Gentlemen’s Magazine for June, 1765, page 296, it is recorded that Messrs. Pinchbeck and Norton had made a complicated astronomical clock for the Queen’s house, some of the calculations of the wheel having been made by James Ferguson, the astronomer. There is no proof that Pinchbeck and Norton were ever in partnership, and there are now two clocks answering to the description at Buckingham Palace, one by Pinchbeck, with four dials and of a very complicated construction, and another by Norton.

“Pinchbeck took out three patents: the first (No. 892), granted 1768, was for an improved candlestick with a spring socket for holding the candle firmly, and an arrangement whereby the candle always occupied an upright position, however the candlestick might be held. In 1768 (patent No. 899) he patented his nocturnal remembrancer, a series of tablets with notches, to serve as guides for writing in the dark. His snuffers (No. 1119) patented 1776, continued to be made in Birmingham until the last forty years or so, when snuffers began to go out of use. In 1774 he presented to the Society of Arts a model of a plough for mending roads. Pinchbeck’s name first appears in the London directory in 1778, when it replaced that of Richard Pinchbeck, toyman, of whom nothing is recorded.

“Christopher Pinchbeck, Jr., was held in considerable esteem by George III., and he figures in Wilkes’ London Museum (ii-33) in 1770 in the list of the party who called themselves the King’s friends. He died March 17th, 1783, aged 73, and was buried in St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. His will, which was very curious, is printed in full in The Horological Journal of November, 1895. One of his daughters married William Hebb, who was described as ‘son-in-law and successor of the late Mr. Pinchbeck at his shop in Cockspur Street’ (imprinted on Pinchbeck’s portrait), whose son Christopher Henry Hebb (1772-1861) practised as a surgeon in Worcester. There is in existence a portrait of Christopher Pinchbeck the younger, by Cunningham, engraved by W. Humphrey.”

The mezzotints of the Pinchbecks, father and son, herewith reproduced, are extremely rare, and when I unearthed them in Berlin I felt myself singularly favored in securing two such treasures of great value to the history of magic. S. Wohl, the antiquarian and dealer from whom they were purchased, acquired them during a tour of old book and print shops in England, and thought them portraits of one and the same person; but by studying the names of the artists and the engravers on the two pictures, it will be seen that they set forth the features of father and son, as indicated by the biographical notes quoted above.

Of the early history of Fawkes, whose brilliant stage performance lent to the Pinchbeck automata a new lustre, little is known. It is practically impossible to trace his family history. His Christian name was never used on his billing nor published in papers or magazines, and after repeated failures I was about to give up the task of discovering it, when in 1904, aided by R. Bennett, the clerk of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields Parish Church, Trafalgar Square, London, England, I came upon the record of his burial. This record, which I found after many days’ search among musty, faded parchments, showed that his Christian name was Isaac, and that he died May 25th or 29th, 1731, and was buried in St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields Parish Church.

The records further show that he was buried in the church vault, the coffin being carried by six men. Prayers were said in the church, candles were used, and the great bell was tolled. As the fees amounted to £6 12s., a goodly sum for those days, all signs indicate that the funeral was on a scale more costly and impressive than the ordinary.

Fawkes was worth at his death £10,000, which was considered an enormous sum in those days. Every penny of this he made performing at the fairs.

The earliest announcements of Fawkes’ performance in my collection are dated 1702 and include advertisements headed “Fawkes and Powel,” “Fawkes and Phillips,” and “Fawkes and Pinchbeck.” Powel was the famous puppet man, Phillips a famous posture master (known to-day as contortionist), and Pinchbeck was the greatest of mechanicians. Fawkes seems to have possessed a singular gift for picking out desirable partners.

From this mass of evidence I am producing various clippings. By a peculiar coincidence one of these I believe offers the most authentic and earliest record of “two a night” performances in England.

In my collection are a number of other clippings from the press of the same year, in April and May, 1728, but none of them says “twice a night,” therefore I judge that the custom of giving two performances in a night was tried previously to April, 1728, and then abandoned, or after the first of May.

In the London Post of February 7th, 1724, Fawkes announced an exhibition “in the Long Room over the piazza at the Opera House in the Haymarket.” At this time he also advertised the fact that he was about to retire and was exposing all his tricks. The clipping of that date from my collection has the following foot-note: “Likewise he designs to follow this business no longer than this season; so he promises to learn any lady or gentleman his fancies in dexterity of hand for their own diversion.”

When Fawkes was not in partnership with some puppet showman, he always advertised his own puppets as “A court of the richest and largest figures ever shown in England, being as big as men and women!” His admission charges varied, but 12 pence seemed his favorite figure. About six years before his death he had his own theatre in James Street, near the Haymarket, in which he exhibited for months at a time before and after fairs.

I reproduce a clipping from my collection showing Fawkes’ last program. Here it will be seen that his first trick was causing a tree to grow up in a flower-pot on the table, and bear fruit in a minute’s time. In The Gentlemen’s Magazine, that oft-quoted and most reliable periodical, of February 15th, 1731, readers were informed that the Algerian Ambassadors witnessed Fawkes’ performance.

At their request he showed them “a prospect of Algiers, and raised up an apple-tree which bore ripe fruit in less than a minute’s time, which several of the company tasted of.”

Fawkes, too, had a son, and thus the partnership and the friendship which had existed between the elder Fawkes and the elder Pinchbeck were carried on by the second generation. All of the marvellous apparatus made by Pinchbeck the elder, for Fawkes, may have been bequeathed by the latter to his son, but, in 1732, Pinchbeck the elder and Fawkes the younger were in a booth together, and Pinchbeck was advertised as doing “the dexterity of hand” performances. After Christopher Pinchbeck, Sr., died, young Fawkes started out on his own account. In 1746, according to an advertisement in my collection, a Fawkes and a Pinchbeck were together again, so the son of Pinchbeck must have joined the younger Fawkes for exhibition purposes. The accompanying clippings from contemporary publications trace the history of young Fawkes, and prove that the tree which bore fruit in a minute’s time was still on his programme.

For many years it was supposed that only one portrait of Fawkes was in existence, but it now seems that three were made. I publish them all, something which no one has ever before been able to do. One was taken from a Setchels fan published about 1728, although some authorities say 1721. It appeared in Hone’s “Every-Day Book,” page 1226. Another, I believe, was engraved by Sutton Nicols, as Hone mentions it in his description of Fawkes. In the fan engraving, it will be noticed that there appears a man wearing a star on his left breast. It is said that this is Sir Robert Walpole, who was Prime Minister while Fawkes was at the height of his success, and who was one of the conjurer’s great admirers. Hogarth also placed Fawkes in one of his engravings as the frontispiece of a most diverting brochure on “Taste,” in which he belittles Burlington Gate. This makes the third portrait from my collection herewith reproduced.

According to an article contributed by Mons. E. Raynaly in the Illusionniste of June, 1903, the orange tree next appeared in the répertoire of a remarkable peasant conjurer, whose billing Mons. Raynaly found among “Affiches de Paris.” This performer was billed as the Peasant of North Holland, and gave hourly performances at the yearly fairs at Saint-Germain.

It is more than possible that he purchased this trick from Fawkes or Pinchbeck, having seen it at the Bartholomew Fair in England.

He featured the orange tree as follows: “He has a Philosophical Flower Pot, in which he causes to grow on a table in the presence of the spectators trees which flower, and then the flowers fall, and fruit appears absolutely ripe and ready to be eaten.”

His posters are dated 1746-47 and 1751.

The next programme on which the mysterious tree appears is a Pinetti handbill, dated in London, 1784, when the following announcement was made:

“Signore Pinetti will afterwards present the assembly with a Tree called Le Bouquet-philosophique composed of small branches of an orange-tree, the leaves appearing green and natural. He will put it under a bottle, and at some distance, by throwing some drops of water of his own composition, the leaves will begin to change and the bouquet will produce natural flowers and various fruits.”

Pinetti is one of the most fascinating and picturesque figures in the history of magic. His full name was Joseph Pinetti de Willedal, and, like Pinchbeck and Fawkes, he was a man of parts and readily made friends with the nobility. In fact, there is some question as to whether he did not come of a noble family.

He was born in 1750 in Orbitelle, a fortified town once claimed by Tuscany. What can be gleaned regarding his early history goes to prove that his family connections were excellent and his education of the best. One of his portraits, reproduced herewith, shows a half-crown of laurel decorating the frame, and on one side of the bust is a globe, while in the rear of the picture is a stack of books. This would establish his claim that he was once a professor of physics and geography. In fact, the legend beneath the portrait, being translated from the French, runs:

“I. I. Pinetti Willedal de Merci, Professor and Demonstrator of Physics, Chevalier of the Order of St. Philipe, Geographical Engineer, Financial Counselor of H.R.H. Prince of Linbourg Holstein, Born in Orbitelle in 1750.”

As it has so often happened in the history of savants and students, there ran in Pinetti’s blood a love of the mysterious with that peculiar strain of charalatanism which went to make up the clever performer in old-time magic. Evidently he resigned his duties as a professor for the more picturesque life of the travelling magician, and he is first heard from in this capacity in the French provinces in 1783. His fame quickly carried him to Paris, where in 1784 he appeared before the court of Louis XVI. His arrival was most opportune, for just then all Paris and, for that matter, all Europe had been aroused to a new interest in magic by the brilliant Cagliostro.

From Paris he went to London, playing at the Haymarket and creating a sensation equal to that which he made in France. Later he toured Germany, playing in Berlin and Hamburg. Next he went back to his native land, Italy, but later returned to Germany for a second engagement. In 1789 he appeared in Russia and never left that country. There he married a Russian girl, daughter of a carriage manufacturer. They had two children. Pinetti would have left enormous wealth, but in his later years he became interested in ballooning, the sensation of the hour, and spent his entire fortune on balloon experiments. He died in Bartichoff, Volhinie, aged fifty years.

Pinetti was a man of rare inventive genius and almost reconstructed the art of conjuring, so numerous were his inventions. For half a century after his death his successors drew upon Pinetti’s inventions and répertoire for their programmes. Naturally such ability aroused bitter jealousies, especially as Pinetti made no attempt to conciliate his contemporaries, either magicians or writers on magic. He issued one book, whose title-page reads:

“Amusements Physiques et Differentes Expériences Divertissements, Composées et Executées, tant à Paris que dans les diverses Courts de l’Europe. Par M. Joseph Pinetti de Willedal, Romain, Chevalier de l’Ordre Mérite de Saint-Phillipe, Professeur de Mathématiques et de Physiques, Protégé par toute la Maison Royale de France, Pensionnaire de la Cour de Prusse, etc., 1785.”

The work, however, was not a clear and lucid explanation of his methods and tricks. In fact some of his contemporaries claimed that he deliberately misrepresented his methods of performing tricks. Among these writers was Henri Decremps, a brilliant professor of mathematics and physics in Paris, who proceeded to expose all of Pinetti’s tricks in the book referred to in the preceding chapter, “La Magie Blanche Dévoilée.” This work was in five volumes and was so popular in its day that it was translated into nearly every modern language. The following explanation of the trick is taken from page 56 of the English translation, entitled “The Conjurer Unmasked":

“The branches of the tree may be made of tin or paper, so as to be hollow from one end to the other in order that the air which enters at the bottom may find its exit at the top of the branch. These branches are so adjusted that at intervals there appear twigs made from brass wire, but the whole so decorated with leaves made from parchment that the ensemble closely resembles nature.

“The end of each branch is dilated to contain small pieces of gummed silk or very fine gold-beater’s skin, which are to catch the figures of the flowers and fruit when the latter expand by the air driven through the branches to which they were fastened by a silk thread.

“The tree or nosegay is then placed on a table, through which runs a glass tube to supply air from beneath the stage, where a confederate works this end of the trick, and causes the tree to ‘grow’ at the prearranged signal.”

Later it was described as being accomplished entirely by springs, and real oranges were first stuck on the tree by means of pegs or pins, and the leaves were so secured around them that at first appearance they could not be seen. Then a piston was used to spread all the leaves, another that forced the blossom up through the hollow branches, etc.

Pinetti’s personality was almost as extraordinary as his talents. A handsome man who knew how to carry himself, acquiring the graces and the dress of the nobility, he became rather haughty, if not arrogant, in his bearing. He so antagonized his contemporaries in the fields of magic and literature that he was advertised as much by his bitter enemies as by his loving friends. Many of his methods of attracting attention to himself were singularly like those employed by modern press agents of theatrical stars. He never trusted to his performances in theatres and drawing-rooms to advertise his abilities, but demonstrated his art wherever he appeared, from barber-shops to cafés.

Perhaps the best pen pictures of Pinetti and his methods are furnished by E. G. Robertson in his “Memoirs.” Robertson was a contemporary of Pinetti, and, like him, a pioneer in ballooning. His “Memoirs,” written in the French language, were published in 1831. The following extracts from this interesting book tell much of Pinetti’s life in Russia and of his professional history as tradition and actual acquaintance had presented it to M. Robertson:

“Pinetti had travelled a great deal and for a long time had enjoyed a great European reputation. He had done everything to attain it. There was never a man that carried further the art of the ‘charlatisme.’ When he arrived in a town where he intended to give a show, he took good care to prepare his public by speeches, which would keep it in suspense. In St. Petersburg great and incredible examples of mystification and of prestidigitation were told about him.

“One day he went to a barber-shop to get shaved, sat down in the chair, had the towel tied around his neck, and laid his head back ready for the lather. The barber left him in this position to get hot water, and when he returned, guided by force of habit, he applied the lather where the chin should be, but he found feet, arms, hands, and body in a coat, but no head! Such lamentations! No more head! What could it mean? He opened the door, and, frightened to death, ran away. Pinetti then went to the window and called the barber back. He had put his head in his coat in such a clever way, covering it with his handkerchief, that the surprise and the fright of the barber were quite natural. Of course this barber did not fail to spread over the whole town that he had shaved a man who could take his head off and on to his wish.

“Pinetti met in a summer-garden a young Russian who sold small cakes. He bought a few cakes, bit into them, and complained of finding a hard substance. The youth protested, but Pinetti opened the cake before him and found inside a gold piece. The magician pocketed the gold piece, bought another cake, then a third cake, and in each case found a new gold piece inside. He tried to buy the rest of the cakes. The passers-by had in the mean time come round the seller, and everybody wanted to buy as well. The market seemed to be all right, a ducat for a kopeck! Twelve francs for a cent! The young man refused to sell any more, hurried away, and when alone opened the cakes that were left. He found only the substances of which the cakes were made—nothing else. He had two left, so he hurried back to offer these to Pinetti. Pinetti bought them from him, opened them and showed in each one the gold piece, which the young man could not find in the two dozen cakes which he had spoilt. The poor boy bit his lips and looked at Pinetti with wondering, frightened eyes. This little adventure was advertised here, there, and everywhere, and was told in the clubs and in the society gatherings, and very soon the name of Pinetti gave the key to the enigma, and Pinetti was in demand by everybody.

“When Pinetti came on the stage, he had the knack of attracting members of the nobility around his table, by letting them learn some small secrets. This would render them confederates in working his tricks. He would appear in rich suits, embroidered in gold, which he changed three and four times in the evening. He would not hesitate to deck himself in a quantity of foreign decorations. In Berlin it was told how Pinetti would go through the streets, in a carriage drawn by four white horses. He was clad in fine embroidery and decorated with medals of all nations. Several times it happened that, as he passed by, the soldiers would call arms and salute, taking him for a prince. One day the King of Prussia rode out in his modest carriage drawn by two horses. Ahead of him drove the supposed prince. When the King witnessed the mistake made by his soldiers, he made inquiries as to the rank of this man to whom his men were paying such honor, then gave the Cavalier Pinetti twenty-four hours to get beyond Prussia’s borders.”

Whatever may be said of Pinetti’s charlatanism, it must be admitted that he gave to the art of conjuring a great impetus which was felt for several generations. It is not remarkable, therefore, that when the French magician Cornillot appeared in London in 1822 he announced himself as the pupil and successor of Pinetti. This was when Robert-Houdin was seventeen years of age, twenty-three years before he made his professional début, and on Cornillot’s programme we find another version of the now famous and almost familiar tree trick. As will be seen from the accompanying reproduction of a Cornillot handbill, the tree now appears as “An Enchanted Garden,” and, if the wording of the bill is to be believed, Cornillot had improved the trick and was using more than one tree or plant.

Cornillot remained in England for some time and is classed among the conjurers of good repute. Another bill in my collection shows that he played at the Theatre of Variety, Catherine Street, Strand, in October, 1823. He was then assisted by several singers and dancers, including the famous Misses Hamilton and Howe, pupils of M. Corri. In his company was also an Anglo-Chinese juggler, who, in addition to feats of juggling, “swallows an egg, a sword, and a stone, a la Ramo Samee.”

To sum up the evidence against Robert-Houdin in this particular trick: Four magicians of high repute gave public performances before Robert-Houdin knew and operated the orange-tree trick. Three eminent writers exposed it clearly and accurately. Robert-Houdin, as an indefatigable student of the history of magic, must have known of the trick and its modus operandum. He may have purchased it from Cornillot, or as a clever mechanician he had only to reproduce the trick invented by his predecessors, train his confederate in its operation—and—by his cleverly written autobiography—attempt to establish his claim to its invention.

CHAPTER III
THE WRITING AND DRAWING FIGURE

IN his “Memoirs” Robert-Houdin eulogizes the various automata which he claims to have invented. The picturesque fashion in which he describes the tremendous effort put forth ere success crowned his labors would render his arguments most convincing—if stern historical facts did not contradict his every statement.

One of the most extraordinary mechanical figures which he exploits as his invention was the writing and drawing figure, which he exhibited at the Quinquennial Exhibition in 1844, but never used in his public performances, though he asserts that he planned to exhibit it between performances at his own theatre. This automaton, he says, laid the foundation of his financial success and opened the way to realizing his dream of appearing as a magician.

On page 196 of his “Memoirs,” American edition, he starts his romantic description of its conception and manufacture. According to this he had just planned what promised to be the most brilliant of his mechanical inventions when financial difficulties intervened. He was obliged to raise two thousand francs to meet a pressing debt. He applied to the ever-convenient Monsieur G——, who had bought automata from him before. He described the writing and drawing figure minutely to his patron, who immediately agreed to advance two thousand five hundred francs, and if the figure was completed in eighteen months, two thousand five hundred francs more were to be paid for it, making five thousand francs in all. If the figure was never completed, then Monsieur G—— was to reimburse himself for the amount advanced by selecting automatic toys from Robert-Houdin’s regular stock.

After liquidating his debt, Robert-Houdin retired to Belleville, a suburb of Paris, where for eighteen months he worked upon the figure, seeing his family only twice a week, and living in the most frugal fashion.

He employed a wood-carver to make the head, but the result was so unsatisfactory that in the end he was obliged, not only to make all the complicated machinery which operated the figure, but to carve the head itself, which, he adds, in some miraculous fashion, resembled himself. This resemblance, however, cannot be traced in existing cuts of the figure.

The chapter devoted to this particular automaton is so diverting that I quote literally from its pages, thus giving my readers an opportunity to take the true measure of the writer and the literary style of his “Memoirs.” Here is his description of his moment of triumph:

“I had only to press a spring in order to enjoy the long-waited-for result. My heart beat violently, and though I was alone I trembled at the mere thought of this imposing trial. I had just laid the first sheet of paper before my writer and asked him this question: ‘Who is the author of your being?’ I pressed the spring, and the clockwork started—began acting. I dared hardly breathe through fear of disturbing the operations. The automaton bowed to me, and I could not refrain from smiling on it as on my own son. But when I saw the eyes fix an attentive glance on the paper—when the arm, a few seconds before numb and lifeless, began to move and trace my signature in a firm hand—the tears started in my eyes and I fervently thanked Heaven for granting me success. And it was not alone the satisfaction I experienced as an inventor, but the certainty I had of being able to restore some degree of comfort to my family, that caused my deep feeling of gratitude.

“After making my Sosia repeat my signature a thousand times, I gave it this question: ‘What o’clock is it?’ The automaton, acting in obedience to the clock, wrote, ‘It is two in the morning.’ This was a timely warning. I profited by it and went straight to bed.”

Robert-Houdin injects a little humor into this chapter, for he relates that as Molière and J. J. Rousseau consulted their servants, he decided to do likewise; so early the next morning he invited his portress and her husband, Auguste, a stone-mason, to be present at the first performance of the figure. The mason’s wife chose the question, “What is the emblem of fidelity?” The automaton replied by drawing a pretty little greyhound, lying on a cushion. The stone-mason wished to see the works, saying: “I understand about that sort of thing, for I have always greased the vane on the church steeple, and have even taken it down twice.”

When the work was completed, according to page 208 of the American edition of his “Memoirs,” he returned to Paris, collected the remaining two thousand five hundred francs due him from Monsieur G——, to whom he delivered the figure, and two thousand francs more on an automatic nightingale made for a rich merchant of St. Petersburg. Incidentally he mentions that during his absence his business had prospered, but he fails to state who managed it for him, and here is where I believe credit should be given Opre, the Dutch inventor, who was unquestionably Robert-Houdin’s assistant for years.

In 1844 he claims to have borrowed the writing and drawing figure from the obliging Monsieur G—— to exhibit it at the Quinquennial Exposition, where it attracted the attention of Louis Philippe and his court, thus insuring its exhibitor the silver medal.

At this point Robert-Houdin deliberately drops the writing and drawing figure, leaving his readers to believe that it was returned to its rightful owner, Monsieur G——, but, unfortunately for his claims, another historian steps in here to cast reflections on Monsieur G—— ‘s ownership of the figure. This writer is the world’s greatest showman, the late P. T. Barnum, who purchased the figure at this same exposition of 1844, paying for it a goodly sum, and this incident is one of the significant omissions of the Robert-Houdin “Memoirs.” Either Robert-Houdin sold the figure to Mr. Barnum for Monsieur G——, or such a person as Monsieur G—— never existed, for in his own book Mr. Barnum writes:

“When I was abroad in 1844 I went to Paris expressly to attend the ‘Quinquennial Exposition’—an exhibition then held every five years. I met and became well acquainted with a celebrated conjurer, as he called himself, Robert-Houdin, but who was not only a prestidigitateur and legerdemain performer, but a mechanic of absolute genius. I bought at the exposition the best automaton he exhibited and for which he obtained a gold medal. I paid a round price for this most ingenious little figure, which was an automaton writer and artist. It sat on a small table, pencil in hand; and, if asked, for instance, for an emblem of ‘fidelity,’ it would instantly draw the picture of a handsome dog; if love was wanted, a cupid was exquisitely pencilled. The automaton would also answer many questions in writing. I took this curiosity to London, where it was exhibited for some time at the Royal Adelaide Gallery, and then I sent it across the Atlantic to my American Museum, where it attracted great attention from the people and the press. During my visit, Houdin was giving evening legerdemain performances, and by his pressing invitation I frequently was present. He took great pains, too, to introduce me to other inventors and exhibitors of moving figures, which I liberally purchased, making them prominent features in the attractions of the American Museum.”

Barnum then continued to describe Robert-Houdin’s greatness and his cleverness in the use of electricity. The showman was always a welcome guest at the magician’s house, and he relates how, at luncheon time, Robert-Houdin would touch a knob and through the floor would rise a table, laden with inviting viands. These details in the Barnum book make it all the more inexplicable that Robert-Houdin should omit all mention of the great showman’s name in his “Memoirs.”

Just at this time the amusement-seeking public seemed greatly interested in automata, so it was only natural that Barnum, great showman that he was, should scour Europe for mechanical figures. Soon after he purchased the writing and drawing figure claimed by Robert-Houdin, he brought to America a talking figure invented by Professor Faber of Vienna, to which he refers most entertainingly in his address to the public dated 1873:

“The Museum department contains 100,000 curiosities, including Professor Faber’s wonderful talking machine, costing me $20,000 for its use for six months; also the National Portrait Gallery of one hundred life-size paintings, including all the Presidents of the United States, etc.; John Rogers’ groups of historic statuary; almost an endless variety of curiosities, including numberless automaton musicians, mechanicians, and moving scenes, etc., etc., made in Paris and Geneva.”

It can be imagined how wonderful this talking machine must have been when Barnum gave it special emphasis, selecting it from the hundreds of curios he had on exhibition. As this talking machine is probably forgotten, I will reproduce the bill used at the time of its appearance in London, England.

When Barnum was in London in 1844, with Gen. Tom Thumb, who was then performing at the Egyptian Hall, he first saw the automatic talking machine and engaged it to strengthen his show. Thirty years later Prof. Faber’s nephew was the lecturer who explained to the American public the automaton’s mechanism and also the performer who manipulated the machine.

Barnum always speaks of the talking automaton as being a life-size figure, but the pictures used for advertising purposes show that it was only a head.

The fate of both the talking automaton and the writing and drawing figure is shrouded in mystery. If they were in the Barnum Museum when the latter was swept by fire in 1865, they were destroyed. If they had been taken back to Europe, they may now be lying in some cellar or loft, moth-eaten and dust-covered, ignominious end for such ingenious brain-work and handicraft.

So much for the claims of Robert-Houdin. Now to disprove them.

The earliest record of a writing figure I have found is in the “Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures, and Mines,” compiled by Andrew Ure, M.D., and published in New York in 1842 by Le Roy Sunderland, 126 Fulton Street. On page 83, under the heading of “Automaton,” is this statement:

“Frederick Von Knauss completed a writing machine at Vienna in the year 1760. It is now in the model cabinet of the Polytechnic Institute, and consists of a globe two feet in diameter, containing the mechanism, upon which sits a figure seven inches high and writes, upon a sheet of paper fixed to a frame, whatever has been placed beforehand upon a regulating cylinder. At the end of each line it raises and moves its hand sideways, in order to begin a new line.”

This does not answer the description of the figure which Robert-Houdin claims, but it is interesting as showing that mechanical genius ran along such lines almost a hundred years before Robert-Houdin claims to have invented the famous automaton.