Mr. Houdin was the first person to introduce the famous “Suspension in the Air” trick, centuries ago made so famous by the Fakir of Oolu, performed by the Hindoos. The lady selected for the trick is generally slight in figure. Previous to coming on the stage she binds close to her body a framework specially made to fit her. This frame consists of an iron bar, with front and back plate fitting on the hip by means of straps fastened round the body. The iron bar reaches as far as the armpit, where it is joined to another bar reaching from the armpit to the elbow by a movable circular plate indented in three places. At the end of the arm bar and immediately below the elbow is a pin of iron, which is made to fit into the hollow iron bar upon which the exhibitor rests the lady. At the top of the body bar is a spring stop, made to glide into the indentations of the movable circular hinge, and thus keep the whole framework in the position it is placed. The annexed illustration will more clearly show this single piece of machinery.
A is the iron bar, and B the hip plate. D is a spring stop fitting into the teeth of the joint F. F is the arm bar, and G is the pin fitting into the hollow tube H, which is fixed into a socket in the platform. The frame is fastened to the body by means of the leather straps K. When the body is raised to the position of L, the spring stop D slips into the middle indentation, and thus keeps the frame and the lady borne upon the frame in that position. When the body is raised to a horizontal position, M, the spring stop catches in the first indentation, and keeps the body perfectly straight. In commencing the trick the performer rests the figure upon two poles and then knocks one away. This is done to make the audience believe that the two poles are similar. I need scarcely say that the putting of the lady into a mesmeric trance is only a piece of acting; it, however, adds very much to the effect of the trick, as the reader no doubt has thought up till now. It will be remembered, notably in the case of the Fakir of Oolu, that sometimes when the trick was performed both poles were taken away. What, then, you will ask, becomes of all my machinery? The two poles were seemingly taken away. The poles used consisted of brass bars. The limelight beamed upon the figure of the sleeping lady, while the rest of the stage was comparatively dark. Thus, when the conjuror apparently took away the only support the figure had, the audience did not and could not perceive that he really took away the brass case of the second pole, leaving another, the actual pole on which the framework was fixed, and which was of the same color as the drapery of the stage. It was for the purpose of deceiving the eyes of the audience that the pole was encased in a brass shell in the first instance. He refixed the case before the stage was relit, and the lady woke up from her sham mesmeric trance.
CHAPTER III.
Theodin.
Contemporary with Houdin were Theodin, Robin, Professor Anderson, and a whole host of minor stars, at whom I shall just take a passing glance, and then I will enter at once into the subject of modern automata, second sight or clairvoyance, optical illusions, and the other branches of the art of magic and conjuring. The principal production of Mons. Theodin was the rope acrobat, which I have fully explained in a preceding chapter. Mons. Robin also exhibited a very ingenious and interesting piece of automata, well known as the Magic Windmill. Upon a table a large-sized windmill was placed. The exhibitor tapped at the door, when the miller’s head was seen at the window for a moment, as if he desired to know who was knocking, and then a few seconds after the door opened, and the miller appeared in full person, candle in hand and pipe in mouth.
Mons. Robin desired the miller to kindly grind a small sack of corn which he gave him; the miller nodded assent, took the corn and entered the mill, the door closing upon him. Shortly afterward the sails of the mill went gaily round, and after a brief interval the miller opened his door and handed Mons. Robin the sack back, with the ground bran and corn mixed. This he was desired to separate, when he again entered the mill, and after a brief interval returned with the task duly performed. The door of the mill being closed, and the miller supposed to have retired to bed after his labors, Mons. Robin selected five cards, or, rather, made his audience believe they selected them; he tore them up, and loaded a pistol with the pieces. He then fired at the windmill, when lo! presto! one of the torn cards was perceived upon each sail of the mill, and one upon the door! But this was not all. The firing of the pistol set the mill on fire, and the blaze was seen emerging from the top. I need scarcely say that Mons. Robin’s Windmill was highly successful. The whole of the effects obtained by this clever conjuror from this one piece of automata was caused by precisely the same means as those of the magic Harlequin and the Cook of the Palais Royal. The same system of levers, valves, and pulleys was employed, and the whole was worked by a person off the stage.
The only automaton of Professor Anderson was, compared with that of his predecessors, extremely weak, and scarcely deserving of notice. It consisted of an old man, who nodded, shook his head, and raised his arm to ring a bell. The reader of these articles will know exactly how this was done. The head was worked beneath the stage; one string causing the head to nod, another to turn from side to side, and a third raising its arm and letting its hand fall upon a bell. By these three simple movements it answered various questions put to it.
Before proceeding further, I may as well state that I have necessarily passed by a large number of automata which were exhibited by numerous other professors of the “black art” whom I have not even named. This was absolutely unavoidable, inasmuch as the space and time that would be required to give a full history of automatic conjuring is not at my disposal. But I have endeavored to give the principal wonders of mechanical art as applied to conjuring, those which I have omitted to mention being weak imitations of the great masterpieces, and therefore of no note. But, following up the sequence of events in the history of conjuring, I must make mention of Colonel Stodare’s Living Head, especially as this will open up quite a new subject. Stodare placed upon a table, supported by legs, and beneath which the audience apparently saw the back of the stage, an empty box with folding doors in front. Having closed the doors of the box for a few minutes, he reopened them, when a living head, dressed to represent the head of a sphinx, was seen within the box. To all appearance there could not possibly be any connection of that head with a body. There was the head in a box of such a size as only to be capable of admitting a head. The audience saw that the body could not be placed beneath the table, for they perceived the curtains at the back of the stage, between the legs, while the table itself was at some distance from the curtains at the back, and the space between could plainly be seen. The audience, however, could not see through the legs of the table, but what they saw was a reflection of the sides of the stage, which were made to correspond exactly with the back. This was effected by means of two plate-glass mirrors fixed so as to closely fit into the space between the three legs facing the audience. The floor was covered with green baize, which was reflected in the glasses, and seemed to be a continuation of the floor. The living body belonging to the animate head was in reality beneath the table, concealed from view by the mirrors. The annexed illustration will show the position of the body during the performance.