The court took their places behind the empress, unanimously predicting the defeat of the automaton. The chest and the Turk’s body were then examined, and when all were perfectly convinced they contained nothing but the clockwork I have already mentioned, the game began. It proceeded for some time in perfect silence, but Catherine’s frowning brow speedily revealed that the automaton was not very gallant towards her, and fully deserved the reputation it had gained. The skillful Mussulman captured a bishop and a knight, and the game was turning much to the disadvantage of the lady, when the Turk, suddenly forgetting his dignified gravity, gave a violent blow on his cushion, and pushed back a piece his adversary had just moved.
Catherine II. had attempted to cheat; perhaps to try the skill of the automaton, or for some other reason. At any rate the haughty empress, unwilling to confess her weakness, replaced the piece on the same square, and regarded the automaton with an air of imperious authority. The result was most unexpected—the Turk upset all the pieces with a blow of his hand, and immediately the clock work, which had been heard during the whole game, stopped. It seemed as if the machinery had got out of repair. Pale and trembling, M. de Kempelen, recognising in this Worousky’s impetuous temper, awaited the issue of this conflict between the insurgent and his sovereign.
“Ah, ah! my good automaton! your manners, are rather rough,” the empress said, good humoredly, not sorry to see a game she had small chance of winning end thus. “Oh! you are a famous player, I grant; but you were afraid of losing the game, and so prudently upset the pieces. Well, I am now quite convinced of your skill and your violent character.”
M. de Kempelen began to breathe again, and regaining courage, tried to remove the unfavorable impression which the little respect shown by the automaton must have produced. Hence he said, humbly,
“Will your majesty allow me to offer an explanation of what has just happened?”
“By no means, M. de Kempelen,” Catherine said, heartily—“by no means; on the contrary, I find it most amusing, and your automaton pleases me so much that I wish to purchase it. I shall thus always have near me a player, somewhat quick perhaps, but yet able to hold his own. You can leave it here to-night, and come to-morrow morning to arrange the price.”
There is strong reason to believe that Catherine wished to commit an indiscretion when she evinced a desire that the figure should remain at the palace till the next morning. Fortunately, the skillful mechanician managed to baffle her feminine curiosity by carrying Worousky off in the big chest. The automaton remained in the library, but the player was no longer there.
The next day Catherine renewed her proposition to purchase the chess-player, but Kempelen made her understand that, as the figure could not perform without him, he could not possibly sell it. The empress allowed the justice of these arguments; and, while complimenting the mechanician on his invention, made him a handsome present.
Three months after the automaton was in England, under the management of Mr. Anthon, to whom Kempelen had sold it. I know not if Worousky was still attached to it, but I fancy so, owing to the immense success the chess-player met with. Mr. Anthon visited the whole of Europe, always meeting with the same success; but, at his death, the celebrated automaton was purchased by Maëlzel, who embarked with it for New York. It was then, probably, Worousky took leave of his hospitable Turk, for the automaton was not nearly so successful in America. After exhibiting his mechanical trumpeter and chess-player for some time, Maëlzel set out again for France, but died on the passage of an attack of indigestion. His heirs sold his apparatus, and thus Cronier obtained his precious relic.
My fortunate star again furnished me with an excellent occasion for continuing my studies. A Prussian of the name of Koppen exhibited at Paris, about the year 1829, an instrument known as the Componium. It was a perfect mechanical orchestra, playing operatic overtures with remarkable precision and effect, and it owed its name to the circumstance that, by means of truly marvellous arrangements, this instrument improvised charming variations without ever repeating itself. It was asserted to be as difficult to hear the same variation twice, as to find two similar quaternes drawn in succession at a lottery.