I am aware that on this part of the subject conjecture has been busy, and different plans have been devised for the maintenance of the intercourse alluded to. The task has been imposed on the exhibiter of the machine, he being the only person on whom it could devolve with even a shadow of probability; and to effect his purpose it has been suggested that he might touch certain springs, or pull “a wire not much thicker than a hair,” or be furnished with a powerful magnet. But such conjectures are unworthy of serious refutation; for besides the uncertainty and constant liability to interruption of such modes of communication, they are actually at variance with the uniform conduct of the exhibiter. Whoever has witnessed the exhibition will have seen that the exhibiter is not confined to a particular spot in the room, but, on the contrary, that he is frequently, during the progress of the game, at a distance from the chest, far beyond the sphere of influence of any of these proposed modes; and if, at such times, the Automaton can move a single joint, it is proof decisive that its action springs from another source.
Having now shewn how difficult, and perhaps impossible, it would be to execute the movements of the Chess Player by mechanism, and maintain, at the same time, a communication with the agent, who would be required to give life, as it were, and intelligence to the operations, it becomes necessary to inquire whether the prevailing opinion, which attributes these movements to machinery, be, or be not, established in fact; for, if this opinion should be found, on examination, to originate merely in the artful management and display of some parts of the apparatus, and to rest on no solid basis, there would be no longer any embarrassment in appreciating the real value of the Chess Player, nor in apportioning a proper station for it, considered as a work of art.
At the commencement of the exhibition the spectators are gratuitously made acquainted with the interior of the chest, which is divided into two unequal compartments, and occupied by pieces of machinery, so arranged, as apparently to render the concealment of any human being impossible. When the movements of the Automaton begin, the beholders, in the first moments of surprise, and in the absence of any ostensible living cause, very naturally refer the effect to the mechanism, which has been exhibited; and with likelihood enough, for the movements immediately follow the familiar action and well known sound of winding up clockwork, and are moreover very skillfully accompanied by the grating noise of moving wheels. But, these indications excepted, where is the evidence that the machinery moves, or that the slightest influence is exerted by it on the arm of the Automaton? The whole is excluded from view, and a moment’s reflection will convince any one that no stress can be laid on the winding up, nor on the accompanying sounds, which are imitable in various ways.
If, however, no proof can be given of the actual movement of the machinery, the following considerations will tend to shew that it remains quiescent, and is probably not formed for motion.
An artist, whose talents had enabled him to contrive machinery capable of executing the varied and extensive movements displayed by the Automaton, would surely be desirous of laying open to view as much of the mechanism of his contrivance, while in actual motion, as he could do, consistently with the reservation of his secret; if for no other reason, at least to convince the lookers-on that deception formed no part of his plan. Now it cannot be reasonably urged, in vindication of the inventer’s forbearance, in the instance of the Chess Player, that even a glance at any part of the machinery in motion would betray the secret; for a question will immediately arise, Why then is the machinery at rest so freely exposed? On that score no apprehension seems to be entertained; the chest is ostentatiously opened, and the semblance, at least, of wheels, and pullies, and levers, is submitted to inspection without reserve: but when their reality should appear, and their connection with the Automaton be made manifest, the doors are carefully closed, and the spectators are required to pay large drafts on their credulity, without any means of further examination. The glaring contradiction between eager display on the one hand, and studied concealment on the other, can only be reconciled by considering the exhibition of the mechanism as a mere stratagem, calculated to distract the attention, and mislead the judgment, of the spectators.
The truth of this opinion receives additional support from the regular and undeviating mode of disclosing the interior of the chest. If the mechanism were the real object in view, the whole being quiescent, it would be matter of indifference which part was first laid open; and accident alone, unless powerful reasons operated against it, would lead occasionally to some variation. But no variation has ever been observed to take place. One uniform order, or routine, is strictly adhered to, and this circumstance alone is sufficient to awaken suspicion, for it shews plainly that more is intended by the disclosure than is permitted to meet the eye.
It has already been suggested, that little stress could be laid on the winding up: indeed the simple act of turning round a key or winder can offer no argument in proof of the efficiency of the machinery, unless at the same time it could be shewn that the key, in turning, either acted upon a spring, or pulled up a weight, for the purpose of giving motion to the machinery in question. But unluckily for the Chess Player, the phenomena afford positive proof that the axis turned by the key is quite free, and unconnected, either with a spring, or a weight, or any system of machinery.
In all machines requiring to be wound up, two consequences are inseparable from their construction: the first is, that, in winding up the machinery, the key is limited in the number of its revolutions; and the second is, that some relative proportion must be constantly maintained betwixt the winding up and the work performed, in order to enable the machine to continue its movements. Now these results are not observable in the Chess Player; for the Automaton will sometimes execute sixty-three moves with only one winding up; at other times the exhibiter has been observed to repeat the winding up after seven moves, and even three moves; and once, probably from inadvertence, without the intervention of a single move; whilst, in every instance and the circumstance, though trifling, calls for particular attention, (for, in these matters, be it remembered, “trifles light as air, are confirmations strong,”) the key appeared to perform the same number of revolutions; evincing thereby, that the revolving axis was unconnected with machinery, except, perhaps, a ratchet-wheel and click, or some similar apparatus, to enable it to produce the necessary sounds, consequently that the key, like that of a child’s watch, might be turned, whenever the purposes of the exhibition seemed to require it.
I shall now pass on to the third division, and point out a method by which any person, well skilled in the game, and not exceeding the ordinary bulk or stature, may secretly animate the Automaton, and successfully imitate the movements of Mr. De Kempelen’s Chess Player.