IV.
In the year 1843 there was situated in the Rue du Temple, Paris, a little shop, over the door of which was displayed the unpretentious sign, “M. Robert-Houdin, Pendules de Précision.” It was the shop of a watchmaker and constructor of mechanical toys. The proprietor was destined to be the greatest and most original fantaisiste of his time, perhaps of all times, the founder of a new and unique school of conjuring, and the inventor of some marvelous illusions. No one who stopped at the unpretentious place could have prophesied that the keen-eyed little Frenchman, in his long blouse besmeared with oil and iron filings, would become the premier prestidigitateur of France, the inventor of the electrical bell, improver of the electrical clock, author, and ambassador to the Arabs of Algeria. During his spare moments Houdin constructed the ingenious automata that subsequently figured in his famous Soirées Fantastiques. When he went abroad on business or for pleasure he wore the large paletot of the period and practiced juggling with cards and coins in the capacious pockets.
About the time of which I write he invented his “mysterious clock”—a piece of apparatus that kept admirable time, though apparently without works—and he sold one of them to a wealthy nobleman, the Count de l’Escalopier. The Count, who was an ardent lover of the art amusante, or science wedded to recreation, made frequent visits to the shop in the Rue du Temple, and sat for hours on a stool in the dingy workroom watching Houdin at work. A strong friendship grew up between the watchmaker and the scion of the Old Régime. It was not long before Houdin confided the secret of his hopes to the Count—his burning desire to become a great magician.
The nobleman approved the idea, and in order to give the conjurer opportunities for practice, so that he might acquire the confidence which he lacked, constantly invited him to pass the evening at the De l’Escalopier mansion, for the purpose of trying his skill in sleight-of-hand before a congenial and art-loving company. On one occasion, after a dinner given in honor of Monseigneur Affré, Archbishop of Paris, who was killed at the barricades during the Revolution of 1848, Houdin performed his clever trick of the “burnt writing restored.” In the language of Houdin, the effect was as follows: “After having requested the spectators carefully to examine a large envelope sealed on all sides, I handed it to the Archbishop’s Grand Vicar, begging him to keep it in his own possession. Next, handing to the prelate himself a small slip of paper, I requested him to write thereon, secretly, a sentence, or whatever he might choose to think of; the paper was then folded in four, and (apparently) burnt. But scarcely was it consumed and the ashes scattered to the winds, than, handing the envelope to the Archbishop, I requested him to open it. The first envelope being removed a second was found, sealed in like manner; then another, until a dozen envelopes, one inside another, had been opened, the last containing the scrap of paper restored intact. It was passed from hand to hand, and each read as follows:
“‘Though I do not claim to be a prophet I venture to predict, sir, that you will achieve brilliant success in your future career.’”
Houdin preserved this slip of paper as a religious relic for many years, but lost it during his travels in Algeria.
The Count de l’Escalopier, after the incident at the memorable dinner, urged Houdin to start out immediately as a conjurer. One day the watchmaker, after considerable hesitation, confessed his inability to do so on account of poverty.
“Ah,” replied the nobleman, “if that’s all, it is easily remedied. I have at home ten thousand francs or so which I really don’t know what to do with. Accept them, my dear Houdin, and begin your career.”
But Houdin, loath to incur the responsibility of risking a friend’s money in a theatrical speculation, without some guarantee of its being repaid, refused the generous offer. Again and again De l’Escalopier urged him to take it, but without success; finally the nobleman, annoyed at the mechanician’s obstinacy, left the shop in a state of pique. But after a few days he returned, saying, as he entered: “Since you are determined not to accept a favor from me, I have come to ask one of you. Listen! For the last year an escritoire in my sleeping-apartment has been robbed from time to time of large sums of money, notwithstanding the fact that I have adopted all manner of precautions and safeguards, such as changing the locks, having secret fastenings placed on the doors, etc. I have dismissed my servants, one after another, but, alas! have not discovered the culprit. This very morning I have been robbed of a couple of thousand-franc notes. There is a dark cloud of suspicion and evil hanging over my house that nothing will lift till the thief is caught. Can you help me?”
“I am willing to serve you,” said Houdin; “but how?”