III.
One of the best explanations of the Sphinx is given by Professor Hoffmann in his work on magic. I quote as follows from him:
“For the benefit of those who have never seen this illusion presented upon the stage, we will describe its effect a little more minutely. The Sphinx is always made a separate portion of the entertainment, as it is necessary to lower the curtain for a few moments before and after its appearance, in order to arrange and remove the necessary preparations. The curtain rises, and reveals a round or oval table, supported upon three slender legs, and utterly devoid of drapery. This stands in a curtained recess of ten or twelve feet square, open on the side towards the audience. The performer comes forward bearing a cloth covered box, fifteen to twenty inches square, and places it upon the table already mentioned. He then unlocks the box, the front of which drops down, so as to give a perfect view of the interior, in which is seen a head of Egyptian fashion, and colored in perfect imitation of life. The performer now retires to a position in the very midst of the audience, and raising his wand, says in a tone of command, ‘Sphinx, awake!’ The Sphinx slowly opens its eyes, looking first to the front with a strong {323} gaze; then, as if gradually gaining consciousness, to the one side and the other, the head moving slightly with the eyes. Questions are put by the performer to the head, and are answered by it, the play of the mouth and features being in perfect harmony with the sounds uttered. Finally, in answer to a query of the operator, the Sphinx declaims a neatly turned oracle in verse. This concludes the exhibition, and the performer closes the box. Should the audience call for an encore, the performer addresses them to the following or some similar effect:
“ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad that the Sphinx has afforded you satisfaction, and I should be only too pleased to be able to indulge the desire which you kindly testify of seeing it again. Unfortunately, this is not possible. The charm by which I am enabled, as you have seen, to revivify for a space the ashes of an ancient Egyptian, who lived and died some centuries ago, lasts but for fifteen minutes. That time has now expired, and the head which has astonished you with its mysterious eloquence has again returned to its original dust.’ As he speaks the last words, he again opens the box, and the head is found to have disappeared, leaving in its place a handful of ashes.
FIG. 1. FIG. 2.
“This singular illusion depends upon the well-known principle, common to optics as to mechanics, that the ‘angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence.’ Thus, if a person standing at the point a, in Fig. 1, look into a mirror placed in the position indicated by the line b c, he will see reflected, not himself, but whatever object may be placed at the point d. By an ingenious application of this principle a looking-glass may be used to conceal a given object behind it, while at the same time an image reflected in the glass may be made to represent what would be presumably seen if no glass were there, and thus prevent the presence of the mirror from being suspected. This is the secret of the Sphinx. The table, as already mentioned, has three legs, one in front, and one at each side. Between these legs the spectator sees apparently the curtains at the back of the recess, but really a reflection of the curtains at the sides. The space between the middle leg and that on either side is occupied by pieces of looking-glass (see Fig. 2, which represents a ground plan of the arrangements), extending from a to b, and a to c. The glass extends quite down to the floor, which is covered with cloth of the same material and color as the surrounding curtains. The {324} spectators, therefore, looking towards the table, see above it the curtains at the back, and below it the reflection of the curtains at the sides; which, however, if the relative angles are properly arranged, appears to be simply the continuation or lower portion of the curtains at the back. The illusion is perfect, and the spectator, from the position assigned to him, cannot possibly discover, by the evidence of his senses, that he is looking at any other than an ordinary bare-legged table, with the background visible in the usual way.
“The rest is a very simple matter. The person who is to represent the Sphinx is beforehand placed, duly attired, underneath the table. There is a trap in the table through which he can pass his head at the proper moment. This trap is a round piece of wood, covered to match the surface of the table, and working on a hinge on the side nearest to the audience. It has no spring, but is kept closed by means of a button on the opposite side, and when released hangs down perpendicularly. It must be large enough to allow the passage of the somewhat elaborate headpiece of the Sphinx, and would therefore leave an open space visible round the neck. This difficulty is met by the expedient of having a wooden collar, the upper surface of which is a facsimile in size and pattern of the trap. This collar is fastened round the neck of the representative of the Sphinx. When he lifts his head up through the trap, the collar exactly fills the opening, and thus shows no break in the surface of the table. The box is bottomless, and when brought forward by the performer is empty. A little caution has to be observed in placing it upon the table, for, if the performer were to approach the table from the side, his legs would be reflected in the glass, and would thereby betray the secret. He must therefore make his appearance from some quarter outside of the curtained recess, and advance to a position well in front of, and at some little distance from the table, when, by moving in a straight line from the audience towards the middle leg a, he prevents this inconvenient reflection. The placing the box upon the table, and the unlocking it, allow time for the representative of the Sphinx to get his head into position within it. This done, the box is opened, and the rest depends on the dramatic talent of the performer and his assistant. The performance being concluded, the box is again locked, and the head withdrawn, a handful of ashes being introduced on the trap in its stead.
“The angle at which the two mirrors should be set cannot be determined absolutely, but will vary according to the distance and position of the surrounding drapery.”
The above method is generally employed in working the Sphinx illusion, but it differs in one respect from that used by Colonel Stodare. In the Colonel’s presentation of the trick, the box was not bottomless. It had a trap in it corresponding with a similar trap in the top of the table. Stodare carried the mystic chest to the “run down” after the lid was closed, and then, by his ventriloquial power, caused a muffled voice to issue from the receptacle, presumably that of the Sphinx. Thus the spectators were led to believe that the head was still in the {325} box, and that the table had nothing whatever to do with the trick. On opening the chest great was the surprise of everyone to behold the head completely vanished, the heap of ashes having taken its place. This was a very clever bit of mise en scène, and showed what an artist Stodare was.
And now for a word or two concerning the career of the clever producer of the Sphinx. Colonel Stodare never smelt powder nor directed the manœuvres of a regiment of red coats. His title was self-assumed, to bedazzle the English public. He never wielded any weapon save a wooden wand tipped with ivory. But he did that to perfection. His real name was Alfred Inglis. Little or nothing is known of his early life and education. His first appearance was at the Egyptian Hall, London, on Easter Monday, April 17, 1865, when he introduced, for the first time in England, those celebrated illusions of Hindostan, the “Mango Tree” and the “Indian Basket.” It was on the occasion of his two-hundredth consecutive representation at the aforesaid hall that Stodare introduced the “Sphinx” trick, which at once attracted crowds. On Tuesday evening, November 21, 1865, he had the honor to appear before Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, on the occasion of the birthday of H. R. H. the Princess Royal, afterwards the Empress Frederick of Germany. Stodare died of consumption in 1866. He wrote two small treatises on magic: The Art of Magic (1865) and Stodare’s Fly-notes (1866).
IV.
The inventor of the Sphinx, Mr. Tobin, sold the secret to M. Talrich, of Paris, the proprietor of a wax-works exhibition on the Boulevard de la Madeline. Talrich called his collection of figures the Musée Français. Impressed with the success of Madame Tussaud’s “Chamber of Horrors,” in connection with her wax-works exhibition in London, Talrich transformed the “Talking Head” into the “Decapitated Speaker.” His presentation of the illusion was calculated to strike terror in the mind of the observer. Underneath his museum was a damp and mouldy cellar, which he fitted up for the exhibition. The visitor was conducted down a stairway, dimly lighted by a couple of antique {326} lamps suspended from the vaulted roof. When he reached the bottom he was suddenly confronted with a group of wax figures representing a scene under the Inquisition. Every detail of a torture chamber was given, such as is described by Victor Hugo in his Notre Dame de Paris. The cowled emissaries of the Holy Office were depicted in the act of putting a wretched victim to the torture. The light from a flambeau, held by one of the figures, illumined the ghastly scene. In this uncertain light everything was horribly majestic. Pushing onward and turning to the right, “the spectator passed through a dimly-lighted corridor, and found himself in front of a balustrade, breast-high, which extended across the entrance of a narrow recess. In the middle of this gloomy cellar, the floor of which was carpeted with musty straw, was seen a table, on which rested a human head, leaning slightly to one side and apparently asleep. On being addressed by the exhibitor the head raised itself, opened its eyes, and related its own history, including the details of its decapitation, after which it replied, in various languages, to questions put by those present.”
One day a party of young students, out for a lark, began shooting bread pellets at the head, in order to test whether it had entirely lost all sensation. The Decapitated One, in his wrath, abused them soundly, in language that savored more of modern Paris than the days of the Inquisition. This affair got noised abroad, and gay young boulevardiers made up regular parties to go and shoot pellets at the head; this amusement they called “pop-gun practice.” Some of these pellets, not so well “bred” (pardon the pun) as others, struck certain portions of the table which were apparently open, but from which they rebounded, clearly indicating that the supposed vacant space was really a sheet of looking-glass. M. Talrich then put a close-meshed wire grating between the spectators and their victim, but alas! the secret of the Inquisition was disclosed, and the palmy days of the Musée Francais were over. Says Houdin: “The cause of M. Talrich’s failure was the same that brought disaster to the Brothers Davenport. Too great confidence in the Parisian public led both parties to offer what, after all, were but ingenious conjuring tricks as supernatural phenomena.” {327}
V.
A few years ago, the eminent English novelist, H. Rider-Haggard, evolved from his elastic imagination a weird and wonderful romance of Darkest Africa, called “She, who must be obeyed.” It was redolent of magic and mystery. The beautiful sorceress, “She,” a damsel of Greek descent, had lived for centuries in the heart of Africa, ruling over generations of black subjects with an iron despotism, and subduing them by her necromantic power. She was worshiped as a goddess. Her immortality upon earth was due to the rejuvenating effects of the mystic fire of Kor, into which she plunged and renewed her youth at certain periods. Balling in love with a young English explorer, who had succeeded in penetrating into her realm, the Rosicrucian spell was broken, and the beautiful “She” shriveled up and expired in agony while attempting to bathe in the flames of Kor. The scene, as depicted by the novelist, is very awe-inspiring. The book had a great vogue in its day, and was dramatized with fine effect.