Robertson tells in his memoirs how he came upon the works of Kircher, Schott and many others, who, he believed, practiced magic. He read up on optics and, about 1784, exhibited in Holland, where he was at the time, an improved magic lantern. He was greatly influenced by the results of Musschenbroek and the success of the Shadow Plays at Versailles. Robertson’s characters were ghosts. He commented, “the encouragements that I received made me try to improve my methods.” More and more persons were attracted to Robertson’s shows in Holland and finally even the burgomaster attended.
At Paris Robertson improved his knowledge of the magic lantern. There he met Jacques Alexandre César Charles, who was using a lantern for scientific purposes at his laboratory in the Louvre. Robertson sought a brighter light source for the lantern and persisted in his quest even though Charles was said to have tried to discourage him by pointing out that much money had been spent in vain on that project.
At the time of the Revolution, Robertson laid before the Government a plan which would authorize him to build a huge burning mirror, as Archimedes did, so that he could destroy any attacking English fleet before it could reach the “invasion coast.” No action was taken on the proposal. In our own day the English were ready to burn any Nazi invasion fleet which sailed from France—not by burning glasses but by equally amazing devices.
After the Revolution, during the stormy days of the first French Republic, Robertson held “seances” at the Pavillion de l’Echiquier. A projector mounted on wheels was used. A patent on the device under the name of Fantascope or Phantoscope was obtained on March 29, 1799.
Robertson’s characters or ghosts which would appear to grow and disappear on the screen of smoke were usually such heroes as Voltaire, Rousseau, Marat, and Lavoisier. At the end of each performance, a skeleton would appear and Robertson would remark that this was the fate awaiting each one in the audience. Grim entertainment!
A clever artist, Robertson had a large collection of slides and would call upon his audience—which never quite knew whether to believe that he was in league with the devil and brought the ghosts into appearance or not—to ask for whichever ghost they wished. You can imagine the effect when some Frenchman called for Marat and then, small at first and gradually growing large until life-size and more, a shadowy, recognizable image of Marat would appear.
This “request” part of the program caused Robertson trouble. One night, a member of the audience who had had a few extra sips of wine, or who was terrified beyond the others, called for the return of the ghost of Louis XVI. This was too much. The authorities shut the theatre and refused to grant Robertson permission to continue his “seances.” They did not want even the ghost of Louis returned. Political censorship of screen entertainment had made its first appearance.
Robertson went to Bordeaux to make sure that he, himself, did not prematurely join Louis and his other ghosts.
Later he was able to return to Paris and open another theatre near the Place Vendôme. This was a particularly startling auditorium. He used an abandoned chapel of a Capuchin monastery. Robertson’s light and shadow ghosts came to life among the mortal remains of ancient monks. (The reader may be aware of the ancient Capuchin custom of using bones of deceased members of the order as part of the ornament of their chapels as a constant reminder of death.)
Even though Robertson had admitted that from childhood he had the keenest interest in things marvelous, he tired of his magic. Next we hear of him, he is a pioneer balloonist, credited with the invention of one of the early parachutes! On July 18, 1803, he made a notable ascent in a balloon.