MEMOIRS
OF
R O B E R T - H O U D I N
AMBASSADOR, AUTHOR, AND CONJURER.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

EDITED BY
D r. R. S H E L T O N M A C K E N Z I E.
PHILADELPHIA:
GEO. G. EVANS, PUBLISHER,
NO. 439 CHESTNUT STREET.
1859.

———
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
G. G. EVANS,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.
——————
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY RINWALT & CO.,
34 SOUTH THIRD STREET.

EDITOR’S PREFACE.

A MAN may not only “take his own life,” by writing his autobiography, without committing felo de se, but may carry himself into future time by producing a book which the world will not willingly let die. This is what M. Robert-Houdin, the greatest artist in what is called Conjuring, has lately done in the remarkable book Confidences d’un Prestigiteur, a faithful translation of which is here presented to the American reading public. The work has had the greatest success in Europe, from its lively style as well as the various information it contains, historical and philosophical, on the practice and principles of sleight-of-hand, and the other details, mental as well as mechanical, which unite to make perfect the exhibition of White Magic, the antipodes of what our forefathers knew, persecuted, and punished as the Black Art.

Houdin has been considered of such importance and interest in France, that in Didot’s Nouvelle Biographie Générale, now in course of publication at Paris, a whole page is given to him. From this memoir, and from his own account in the pages which follow, we learn that he was born at Blois, on the 6th December, 1805,—that his father, a watchmaker in that city, gave him a good education at the College of Orleans,—that his inclination for escamotage (or juggling) was so decided as to make him averse to pursue his father’s trade,—that he early exhibited great taste for mechanical inventions, which he so successfully cultivated that, at the Paris Exhibition of 1844, he was awarded a medal for the ingenious construction of several automata,—that, having studied the displays of the great masters on the art of juggling, he opened a theatre of his own, in the Palais Royal in Paris, to which his celebrated soirées fantastiques attracted crowds,—that, in 1848, when the Revolution had ruined all theatrical speculations in Paris, he visited London, where his performances at St. James’s Theatre were universally attractive and lucrative,—that he made a tour through Great Britain with equal success, returning to Paris when France had settled down quietly under the rule of a President,—that he subsequently visited many other parts of Europe, every where received with distinction and applause,—that at the Great Parisian Exhibition of 1855, he was awarded the gold medal for his scientific application of electricity to clocks,—that, shortly after, he closed ten years of active public life by relinquishing his theatre to Mr. Hamilton, his brother-in-law, retiring with a well-earned competency to Blois,—and that, in 1857, at the special request of the French Government, which desired to lessen the influence of the Marabouts, whose conjuring tricks, accepted as actual magic by the Arabs, gave them too much influence, he went to Algeria, as a sort of Ambassador, to play off his tricks against theirs, and, by greater marvels than they could shew, destroy the prestige which they had acquired. He so completely succeeded that the Arabs lost all faith in the miracles of the Marabouts, and thus was destroyed an influence very dangerous to the French Government.

In his retirement, to which he has returned, Houdin wrote his Confidences, and is now devoting himself to scientific researches connected with electricity. Before the appearance of his own work, M. Hatin had published, in 1857, Robert-Houdin, sa vie, ses œuvres, son théâtre.

The French and English critics have generally and warmly eulogized M. Houdin’s Confidences, and I am persuaded that, on this side of the Atlantic, it will be considered an instructive as well as an amusing volume.

One error which M. Houdin makes must not be passed over. His account of M. de Kempelen’s celebrated automaton chess-player (afterwards Maëlzel’s) is entirely wrong. This remarkable piece of mechanism was constructed in 1769, and not in 1796; it was the Empress Maria-Theresa of Austria who played with it, and not Catherine II. of Russia; it was in 1783 that it first visited Paris, where it played at the Café de la Régence; it was not taken to London until 1784; and again in 1819; it was brought to America in 1825, by M. Maëlzel, and visited our principal cities, its chief resting-place being Philadelphia; M. Maëlzel’s death was in 1838, on the voyage from Cuba to the United States, and not, as M. Houdin says, on his return to France; and the automaton, so far from being taken back to France, was sold by auction here, finally purchased by the late Dr. J. K. Mitchell, of Philadelphia, reconstructed by him, and finally deposited in the Chinese Museum, (formerly Peale’s,) where it was consumed in the great fire which destroyed the National Theatre, (now the site of the Continental Hotel, corner of Ninth and Chestnut streets,) and extending to the Chinese Museum, burnt it down on July 5th, 1854. An interesting account of the Automaton Chess-Player, written by Professor George Allen, of this city, will be found in “The Book of the First American Chess Congress,” recently published in New York.

M. Houdin is engaged now in writing a volume explaining the manner in which sleight-of-hand and other conjuring tricks and deceptions are performed.

I have added an [Index] to this volume, which I trust will be accepted as useful.

R. Shelton Mackenzie.

Philadelphia, Sept. 26, 1859.

CONTENTS.

THE AUTHOR’S OVERTURE.

Saint Gervais, near Blois,
September, 1858.

EIGHT o’clock has just struck: my wife and children are by my side. I have spent one of those pleasant days which tranquillity, work, and study can alone secure.—With no regret for the past, with no fear for the future, I am—I am not afraid to say it—as happy as man can be.

And yet, at each vibration of this mysterious hour, my pulse starts, my temples throb, and I can scarce breathe, so much do I feel the want of air and motion. I can reply to no questions, so thoroughly am I lost in a strange and delirious reverie.

Shall I confess to you, reader? And why not? for this electrical effect is not of a nature to be easily understood by you.

The reason for my emotion being extreme at this moment is, that, during my professional career, eight o’clock was the moment when I must appear before the public. Then, with my eye eagerly fixed on the hole in the curtain, I surveyed with intense pleasure the crowd that flocked in to see me. Then, as now, my heart beat, for I was proud and happy of such success.

At times, too, a doubt, a feeling of uneasiness, would be mingled with my pleasure. “Heavens!” I would say to myself, in terror, “am I so sure of myself as to deserve such anxiety to see me?”

But, soon reassured by the past, I waited with greater calmness the signal for the curtain to draw up. I then walked on the stage: I was near the foot-lights, before my judges—but no, I err—before my kind spectators, whose applause I was in hopes to gain.

Do you now understand, reader, all the reminiscences this hour evokes in me, and the solemn feeling that continually occurs to me when the clock strikes?

These emotions and souvenirs are not at all painful to me: on the contrary, I summon them up with pleasure. At times I even mentally transport myself to my stage, in order to prolong them. There, as before, I ring the bell, the curtain rises, I see my audience again, and, under the charm of this sweet illusion, I delight in telling them the most interesting episodes of my professional life. I tell them how a man learns his real vocation, how the struggle with difficulties of every nature begins, how, in fact——

But why should I not convert this fiction into a reality? Could I not, each evening when the clock strikes eight, continue my performances under another form? My public shall be the reader, and my stage a book.

This idea pleases me: I accept it with joy, and immediately give way to the sweet illusion. Already I fancy myself in the presence of spectators whose kindness encourages me. I imagine they are waiting for me—they are listening eagerly.

Without further hesitation I begin.

Robert-Houdin.

MEMOIRS
OF
ROBERT-HOUDIN.

CHAPTER I.

My Birth and Parentage—My Home—The Lessons of Colonel Bernard—Paternal Ambition—My first Mechanical Attempts—Had I but a Rat!—A Prisoner’s Industry—The Abbé Larivière—My Word of Honor—Farewell to my darling Tools.

IN conformity with the traditional custom which expects every man who writes his memoirs—or not to use too strong language, his confessions—to display his patent of gentility, I commence by stating to my readers, with a certain degree of pride, that I was born at Blois, the birthplace of Louis XII., surnamed the “Father of his People,” and of Denis Papin, the illustrious inventor of the steam-engine.

So much for my native town. As for my family, it would only appear natural, regard being had to the art to which I devoted my life, that I should display in my family tree the name of Robert le Diable, or of some mediæval sorcerer; but, being the very slave of truth, I will content myself with stating that my father was a watchmaker.

Though he did not rise to the elevation of the Berthouds and the Breguets, my father was reputed to be very skilful in his profession. In fact, I am only displaying our hereditary modesty when I say that my father’s talents were confined to a single art; for, in truth, nature had adapted him for various branches of mechanics, and the activity of his mind led him to try them all with equal ardor. An excellent engraver, a jeweller of the greatest taste, he at the same time could carve the arm or leg for some fractured statuette, restore the enamel on any time-worn porcelain, or even repair musical snuff-boxes, which were very fashionable in those days. The skill he evinced in these varied arts at length procured him a most numerous body of customers; but, unfortunately, he was wont to make any repairs not strictly connected with his own business for the mere pleasure.

In this house, which I may almost term artistic, and in the midst of tools and implements in which I was destined to take so lively an interest, I was born and educated. I possess an excellent memory, still, though my reminiscences date back so far, I cannot remember the day of my birth. I have learned since, however, that it was the 6th of December, 1805. I am inclined to believe that I came into the world with a file or a hammer in my hand, for, from my earliest youth, those implements were my toys and delight: I learned how to use them as other children learn to walk and talk. I need not say that my excellent mother had frequently to wipe away the young mechanic’s tears, when the hammer, badly directed, struck my fingers. As for my father, he laughed at these slight accidents, and said, jokingly, that it was a capital way of driving my profession into me, and that, as I was a wonderful lad, I could not but become an extraordinary workman. I do not pretend that I ever realized the paternal predictions, but it is certain that I have ever felt an irresistible inclination for mechanism.

How often, in my infantile dreams, did a benevolent fairy open before me the door of a mysterious El Dorado, where tools of every description were piled up. The delight which these dreams produced on me, were the same as any other child feels when his fancy summons up before him a fantastic country where the houses are made of chocolate, the stones of sugar candy, and the men of gingerbread. It is difficult to understand this fever for tools; the mechanic, the artist adores them, and would ruin himself to obtain them. Tools, in fact, are to him what a MS. is to the archæologist, a coin to the antiquary, or a pack of cards to a gambler: in a word they are the implements by which a ruling passion is fed.

By the time I was eight years of age I had furnished proofs of my ability, partly through the kindness of an excellent neighbor, and partly through a dangerous illness, when my forced idleness gave me leisure to exercise my natural dexterity. This neighbor, M. Bernard, was a colonel on half-pay. Having been a prisoner for many years, he had learned how to make an infinity of toys, which he taught me as an amusement, and I profited so well by his lessons, that in a very short time I could equal my master. I fancy I can still see and hear this old soldier, when, passing his hand over his heavy grey moustache, he exclaimed with energetic satisfaction, “Why, the young scamp can do anything he likes.” This compliment flattered my childish vanity, and I redoubled my efforts to deserve it.

With my illness my pleasures ended; I was sent to school, and from that time I had few opportunities for indulging in my favorite tasks. Still, on my holidays, I used to return to my father’s workshop with delight, and, yet, I must have been a great torment to that excellent parent. Owing to my want of skill, I now and then broke some tool, and although I might try to conceal it, the blame was generally laid on me, and, as a punishment, I was forbidden to enter the workshop. But it was of no use attempting to keep me from my hobby; the prohibition had to be continually renewed. Hence it was thought advisable to attack the evil at the root, and I must be sent away from home.

Although my father liked his trade, experience had taught him that a watchmaker rarely makes a fortune in a country town; in his paternal ambition he, therefore, dreamed a more brilliant destiny for me, and he formed the determination of giving me a liberal education, for which I shall always feel grateful to him. He sent me to college at Orleans. I was then eleven years of age.

Let who will sing the praises of school life; for my own part I can safely state, that, though I was not averse from study, the happiest day I spent in our monastic seminary was that on which I left it for good. However, once entered, I accepted my lot with resignation, and became in a short time a perfect schoolboy. In my play hours my time was well employed, for I spent the greater portion of it in making pieces of mechanism. Thus I made snares, gins, and mouse-traps, their excellent arrangement, and perhaps the dainty bait as well, producing me a great number of prisoners.

I had built for them a charming open cage, in which I had fixed up a miniature gymnastic machinery. My prisoners, while taking their ease, set in motion a variety of machines, which caused a most agreeable surprise. One of my inventions more especially attracted the admiration of my comrades; it was a method of raising water by means of a pump made almost entirely of quills. A mouse, harnessed like a horse, was intended to set this Lilliputian machine in motion by the muscular strength of its legs; but, unfortunately, my docile animal, though perfectly willing, could not overcome the resistance of the cog-wheels, and I was forced, to my great regret, to lend it a hand.

“Ah! if I only had a rat!” I said to myself, in my disappointment, “how famously it would work!” A rat! But how to get one? That appeared to me an insurmountable difficulty, but, after all, it was not so. One day, having been caught in the act of breaking bounds by a monitor, I was awarded twelve hours’ imprisonment. This punishment, which I suffered for the first time, produced a violent effect on me: but in the midst of the sorrowful reflections inspired by the solitude, an idea dissipated my melancholy thoughts by offering a famous suggestion.

I knew that at nightfall the rats used to come from an adjacent church into the cell where I was confined, to regale on the bread-crumbs left by prisoners. It was a capital opportunity to obtain one of the animals I required; and as I would not let it slip, I straight-way set about inventing a rat-trap. My only materials were a pitcher holding water, and, consequently, my ideas were confined exclusively to this. I, therefore, made the following arrangement.

I began by emptying my pitcher; then, after putting in a piece of bread, I laid it down so that the orifice was on a level with the ground. My object was to attract the victim by this dainty into the trap. A brick which I dug up would serve to close the opening, but as it was impossible for me in the darkness to notice the exact moment for cutting off the prisoner’s retreat, I laid near the bread a piece of paper which would rustle as the rat passed over it.

As soon as night set in, I crouched close to my pitcher, and, holding the brick in my hand, I awaited with feverish anxiety the arrival of my guests. The pleasure I anticipated from the capture must have been excessive to overcome my timidity when I heard the first leaps of my savage visitors. I confess that the antics they performed round my legs occasioned me great nervousness, for I knew not how far the voracity of these intrepid rodents might extend; still, I kept my ground, not making the slightest movement, through fear of compromising the success of my scheme, and was prepared to offer the assailants a vigorous resistance in case of an attack.

More than an hour passed in vain expectation, and I was beginning to despair of the success of my trap, when I fancied I heard the slight sound I hoped for as a signal. I laid the brick on the mouth of the pitcher directly, and raised it up; the shrill cries inside convinced me of my success, and I began a pæan of triumph, both to celebrate my victory and to frighten away my prisoner’s comrades. The porter, when he came to release me, helped me to master my rat by fastening a piece of twine to one of his hind legs, and burdened with my precious booty, I proceeded to the dormitory, where masters and pupils had been asleep for a long time. I was glad enough to sleep too, but a difficulty presented itself—how should I bestow my prisoner?

At length a bright idea occurred to me, fully worthy of a schoolboy: it was to thrust the rat headforemost into one of my shoes. After fastening the twine to the leg of my bed, I pushed the shoe into one of my stockings, and placed the whole in the leg of my trousers. This being accomplished, I believed I could go to bed without the slightest cause for apprehension. The next morning, at five exactly, the inspector took a turn through the dormitory to arouse the sleepers.

“Dress yourself directly,” he said, in that amiable voice peculiar to gentlemen who have risen too soon.

I proceeded to obey but I was fated to dire disgrace: the rat I had packed away so carefully, not finding its quarters airy enough, had thought proper to gnaw through my shoe, my stocking, and my trouser, and was taking the air through this improvised window. Fortunately, it had not cut through the retaining string, so the rest was a trifle.

But the inspector did not regard matters in the same light as I did. The capture of a rat and the injury to my clothes were considered further aggravations of my previous offence, and he sent in a lengthy report to the head-master. I was obliged to appear before the latter dressed in the clothes that bore the proof of my offence, and, by an unlucky coincidence, shoe, stocking and trouser were all injured on the same leg. The Abbé Larivière (our head-master) managed the college with truly paternal care; ever just, and prone by nature to forgiveness, he was adored by his pupils, and to be out of favor with him was regarded as the severest punishment.

“Well, Robert,” he said to me, looking kindly over the spectacles which bridged the end of his nose, “I understand you have been guilty of grave faults. Come, tell me the whole truth.”

I possessed at that time a quality which, I trust, I have not lost since, and that is extreme frankness. I gave the Abbé a full account of my misdeeds, and my sincerity gained me pardon. The head-master, after a vain attempt to repress it, burst into a loud fit of laughter, on hearing the catastrophe of my adventures. Still, he ended his gentle lecture in the following words:

“I will not scold you any more, Robert. I believe in your repentance: twelve hours’ confinement are sufficient punishment, and I grant you your release. I will do more: though you are very young, I will treat you as a man—of honor, though—you understand me? You will pledge me your word not only that you will not commit your old faults again, but, as your passion for mechanics makes you often neglect your lessons, you must promise to give up your tools, and devote yourself henceforth to study.”

“Oh yes, sir, I give you my word,” I exclaimed, moved to tears by such unexpected indulgence; “and I can assure you, you will never repent having put faith in my promise.”

I made up my mind to keep my pledge, although I was fully aware of all the difficulties, which were so many stumbling-blocks in that path of virtue I wished to follow. Much trouble, I had too, at first, in withstanding the jests and sarcasms of the idler of my comrades, who, in order to hide their own bad conduct, strove to make all weak characters their accomplices. Still, I broke with them all. Sharpest pang of all, though, was the sacrifice I made in burning my vessels—that is, in putting aside my cages and their contents; I even forgot my tools, and thus, free from all external distraction, I devoted myself entirely to my Greek and Latin studies.

The praise I received from the Abbé Larivière, who prided himself in having noticed in me the stuff for an excellent scholar, rewarded me for this sublime effort, and I may say I became, thenceforth, one of the most studious and attentive lads in the college. At times, I certainly regretted my tools and my darling machinery, but recollecting my promise to the head-master, I held firm against all temptation. All I allowed myself was to set down by stealth on paper a few ideas that occurred to me, though I did not know whether I should ever have a chance to put them in practice.

At length the moment arrived for my leaving college; my studies were completed—I was eighteen years of age.

CHAPTER II.

A Country Idler—Dr. Carlosbach, Conjurer and Professor of Mystification—The Sand-bag and the Stirrup Trick—I turn Lawyer’s Clerk, and the Minutes appear to me very long—A small Automaton—A respectful Protest—I mount a Step in the Office—A Machine of Porter’s Power—The Acrobatic Canaries—Monsieur Roger’s Remonstrances—My Father decides that I shall follow my bent.

IN the story I have just narrated, only simple events were noticeable—hardly worthy, perhaps, of a man who has often passed for a sorcerer—but grant me a few pages’ patience, reader, as an introduction to my artistic life, and what you seek in my book will be displayed before your eager gaze. You will know how a magician is produced, and you will learn that the tree whence my magic staff was cut was only that of persevering labor, often bedewed by the sweat of my brow: soon, too, when you come to witness my labors and my anxious hours of expectation, you will be able to appreciate the cost of a reputation in my mysterious art.

On leaving college, I at first enjoyed all the liberty I had been deprived of for so many years. The power of going right or left, of speaking or remaining silent, as I listed, of getting up sooner or later, according to my fancy, was an earthly paradise for a collegian. I enjoyed this ineffable pleasure to the fullest extent: thus, in the morning—although habit made me wake at five—when the clock announced that once so dreaded hour, I burst into a loud laugh, and offered ferocious challenges to any number of invisible superintendents; then, satisfied by this slight retrospective vengeance, I went to sleep again till breakfast. After that meal I went out to indulge in a pleasant lounge about the streets; and I preferred walking in the public promenades, for thus I had better chances of finding something to attract my attention. In a word, not an event happened which I did not know, and I was the real amateur “penny-a-liner” of my native town.

Many of these incidents afforded very slight interest; one day, however, I witnessed a scene which produced a lasting effect upon me. One after-dinner, while walking along the side of the Loire, engaged with the thoughts suggested by the falling autumn leaves, I was aroused from my reverie by the sound of a trumpet, evidently blown by a practised performer. It may be easily supposed that I was not the last to obey this startling summons, and a few other idlers also formed a circle round the performer.

He was a tall fellow with a quick eye, a sunburnt face, long and crispy hair, and he stemmed his fist in his side, while he held his head impudently high. His costume, though rather “loud,” was still cleanly, and announced a man who probably had “some hay in his boots,” to use a favorite phrase of gentlemen in the same profession. He wore a maroon-colored frock-coat, trimmed with large silver frogs, while round his neck was a black silk cravat, the two ends being passed through a jewelled ring, which a millionaire would not have disdained—had it not unfortunately been paste. He wore no waistcoat, but his shirt was remarkably white, and on it glistened a heavy mosaic chain, with a collection of appendages, whose metallic sound loudly announced his every movement.

I had ample time to make these observations, for as the audience collected but slowly, the stranger continued his trumpet overture for a quarter of an hour; at length, when an average crowd had assembled, the trumpet made way for the human voice. The artist laid the instrument on the ground, and walked round majestically to form a ring; then, stopping, he passed his hand through his hair, and began his address. Being little used to this charlatanism in the streets, I regarded the man with confiding admiration and determined not to lose a word of his address.

“Gentlemen,” he commenced, in a firm and sonorous voice, “pray hear me. I am not what I seem to be; I may say more, I am what I do not seem to be. Yes, gentlemen, yes—confess it—you take me for one of those scurvy beggars who want to draw a few halfpence from your generosity. Well, you may undeceive yourselves. Though you see me on this spot to-day, I tell you that I have only come here for the relief of suffering humanity in general, then for your welfare in particular, as well as for your amusement.”

Here the orator, whose accent plainly showed that he came from the banks of the Garonne, passed his hand once more through his hair, raised his head, sucked his lips, and, assuming an air of majestic dignity, continued:

“I will tell you presently who I am, and you will be able to estimate me at my true value; in the mean while allow me to offer you a slight specimen of my skill.”

The artist, having then formed the circle afresh, placed before him a small table, on which he arranged three tin goblets, so well polished that they might have been taken for silver; after which he fastened round his waist a red cotton velvet bag, into which he thrust his hands for some minutes—doubtlessly to prepare the tricks he intended to display—and the performance commenced.

During a long series of tricks, the nutmegs, at first invisible, appeared at the finger ends of the conjuror; then, they passed through the cups, under the table, into a spectator’s pockets, and finally emerged, to the general delight, from the nose of a young looker-on. The latter took the matter quite seriously, and half killed himself with sneezing, to see whether a few more spice balls might not be left in his brain. The address with which these tricks were done, and the apparent simplicity of the operator in the execution of these ingenious artifices, produced the most perfect illusion—at least, as far as I was concerned.

It was the first time I had ever witnessed such a sight: I was stupefied, astounded! The man who could perform such marvels at his will seemed to me a superhuman being; hence I saw him put aside his cups with considerable regret. The audience seemed equally charmed; the artist perceived it, and took advantage of it, by making a sign that he had a few more words to say. Then, resting his hand on the table, he proceeded:

“Ladies and gentlemen! I was very pleased to notice the kind attention you devoted to my tricks, and I thank you for it” (here the conjuror bowed to the ground); “and, as I am anxious to prove that you have not to deal with an ungrateful person, I will attempt to repay in full the satisfaction you have made me feel. Deign to listen to me for a moment.

“I promised to tell you what I am; I will now satisfy you.” (Sudden change of countenance, and evidence of great self-esteem.) “You behold in me the celebrated Dr. Carlosbach: the composition of my name reveals to you my Anglo-Francisco-Germanic origin. To praise myself would be like painting the lily; I will, therefore, content myself with saying that I possess an enormous talent, and that my astounding reputation can only be equalled by my modesty. Elected, by acclamation, member of the most illustrious learned societies through the whole world, I incline before their judgment, which proclaims the superiority of my skill in the grand art of curing the human race.”

This address, as strange as it was emphatic, was delivered with imperturbable assurance; still I fancied I noticed a twitching of the lips, that revealed the grand doctor’s ill-restrained desire to laugh. For all that, I listened attentively to his discourse.

“But, gentlemen,” he added, “I have said sufficient of myself; it is time to speak of my works. Learn then, that I am the inventor of the Vermifuge Balsam, whose sovereign efficaciousness is indisputable. Yes, gentlemen, the worm, that enemy of the human race—the worm, the destroyer of everything existing—the worm, that obstinate preyer on the living and the dead, is at length conquered by my science; a drop, an atom of this precious liquor is sufficient to expel this fearful parasite for ever.

“And, gentlemen, such is the virtue of my marvellous balsam, that it not only delivers man from this frightful calamity during life, but his body has nothing to fear after death. Taking my balsam is a mode of embalming one’s body prior to death; man is thus rendered immortal. Ah! gentlemen, were you but acquainted with all the virtues of my sublime discovery, you would rush upon me and tear it from me; but, as that would be illegal, I check myself in time.”

The orator, in fact, stopped, and dried his brow with one hand, while with the other he motioned to the crowd that he had not yet ended his discourse. A great number of the audience were already striving to approach the learned doctor; Carlosbach, however, did not appear to notice it, and, reassuming his dramatic posture, he continued as follows:

“But, you will ask me, what can be the price of such a treasure? can we be rich enough to purchase it? The moment has now arrived, gentlemen, to make you understand the full extent of my disinterestedness. This balsam, in the discovery of which I have worn away my days—this balsam, which sovereigns have purchased at the price of their crown—this balsam, in short, which is beyond all price—well, I make you a present of it!”

At these unexpected words, the crowd, panting with emotion, lifted up its eager arms, and implored the generosity of the doctor. But, what shameful deception! Carlosbach—the celebrated Dr. Carlosbach—this benefactor of humanity, suddenly altered his tone, and burst into an Homeric shout of laughter. The arms fell down spontaneously; the audience looked vacantly into each other’s faces. At length one laughed. The contagion spread, and soon everybody was following the conjurer’s example. He was the first to stop, and demanded silence:

“Gentlemen!” he then said, in a perfectly respectful tone, “do not be angry with me for the little trick I have played you; I wished thus to put you on your guard against those charlatans who daily deceive you, just as I have done myself. I am no doctor, but simply a conjurer, professor of mystification, and author of a book, in which you will find, in addition to the discourse I have just delivered, the description of a great number of conjuring tricks. Would you like to learn the art of amusing yourself in society? For sixpence you may satisfy your curiosity.”

The conjurer produced from a box an enormous packet of books; then, going round the crowd, he soon disposed of his wares, thanks to the interest his talent had excited. The exhibition was over, and I returned home with my head full of a world of unknown sensations.

It will be readily supposed that I purchased one of these precious volumes. I hastened to examine it; but the false doctor continued his system of mystification in it, and despite all my good will, I could not understand one of the tricks he pretended to explain. However, I had the famous speech I have just quoted, as some sort of consolation.

I made up my mind to lay the book aside and think no more of it; but the marvels it announced returned to my mind every moment. “O Carlosbach!” I said in my modest ambition, “if I possessed your talent, how happy I should feel!” and, filled with this idea, I decided on taking lessons of the learned professor. Unfortunately, this determination was arrived at too late. When I proceeded to his lodgings, I learned that the conjuror had resorted to his own tricks, and had left his inn the previous evening, forgetting to pay the princely score he had run up. The innkeeper gave me the account of this last mystification on the part of the professor.

Carlosbach had arrived at his house with two trunks of unequal size and very heavy; on the larger of them was painted “Conjuring Apparatus,” on the other, “Clothing.” The conjuror, who stated that he had received various invitations to perform at the adjacent châteaux, had set off the evening before to fulfil one of these engagements. He had only taken with him one of his trunks, that containing the apparatus; and it was supposed he had left the other in his room as a security for the bill he had run up. The next day the host, surprised at finding his lodger still absent, thought it advisable to place his traps in some safe place. He, therefore, went into his bedroom; but the two trunks had disappeared, and in their place was an enormous bag filled with sand, on which was written:

The Mystifying Bag.
The Stirrup Trick.

I continued for some time longer to enjoy the contemplative life I had been pursuing; but at last satiety assailed me, and I was quite surprised one day at finding myself wearied of this life of idleness. My father, like a man who could read the human heart, had awaited this moment to talk seriously with me; he, therefore, took me aside one morning, and said, without further preface, in a kindly voice:

“My good boy, you have now quitted college with a sound education, and I have allowed you to enjoy fully the liberty for which you seemed to aspire. But you must see this is not sufficient for a livelihood; you must now enter on the world resolutely, and apply your parts to the profession you wish to embrace. That profession it is now time to choose; you have doubtlessly some inclination, some bias, and you must let me know it; speak, then, and you will find me inclined to second your views.”

Although my father had frequently expressed his fears lest I should follow his trade, I thought, after these remarks, he had changed his mind, and I joyfully said:

“Of course I have an inclination, and you cannot be ignorant of it, for it is of very old standing. You know I never wished to be other than—“

My father guessed my thoughts, and would not allow me to finish.

“I see,” he objected, “that you did not understand me, and I must explain my meaning more clearly. My desire is for you to choose a profession more lucrative than my own. Consider, it would be unreasonable to bury the ten years’ schooling for which I made such heavy sacrifices in my shop; remember, too, that, after thirty-five years’ hard work, I have been hardly able to save sufficient provision for my old age. Then, pray, change your resolution, and give up your mania for making a ‘parcel of filings.’”

My father, in this, merely followed the idea of many parents, who can only see the disagreeable side of their own trade. To this prejudice, I must allow, he added the praiseworthy ambition of the head of a family desirous that his son should rise a step higher on the social ladder than himself.

As I was utterly ignorant of all other professions or trades save that of a mechanician, I was unable to appreciate them, or consequently select one; hence I remained dumb. In vain did my father try to draw an answer from me by explaining the advantages I should derive from being a surgeon or chemist, a barrister or a solicitor. I could only repeat that I placed implicit confidence in his wisdom and experience. This self-denial and passive obedience appeared to touch him; I noticed it, and wishing to make a final attack on his determination, I said to him:

“Before making up my mind to any decided choice of profession, allow me to offer one observation. Are you sure that it is your trade which is impossible of extension, or is it owing to the smallness of the town in which you have carried it on? Let me follow my own bent, I beseech you, and when I have become a good workman by your instruction, I will go to Paris and make a fortune there; I feel quite convinced I can do so.”

Fearing lest he might give way, my father tried to cut the conversation short by evading a reply to my objection.

“As you leave it to me,” he said, “I advise you to become a solicitor; with your natural parts, aided by application and good conduct, I am certain you will make your way famously.”

Two days later I was installed in one of the best offices at Blois, and, owing to my caligraphy, I was employed as a copying clerk, and in engrossing from morning till night, though rarely understanding what I was writing. My readers can readily guess that this mechanical work could not long satisfy the turn of my mind; pens, ink, and paper were most unsuitable articles to carry out the inventive ideas which continually occurred to me. Fortunately, at that period, steel pens were unknown; hence I had a resource in making my pens, to which I devoted the best part of my time. This simple fact will suffice to give an idea of the deep spleen which weighed upon me like a coating of lead, and I should have certainly fallen ill, had I not found more attractive employment.

Among the mechanical curiosities entrusted to my father for repair, I had noticed a snuff-box, on the top of which a small piece of mechanism attracted my entire attention. The top of the box represented a landscape. On pressing a spring, a hare made its appearance, and went towards a tuft of grass, which it began to crop; soon after a sportsman emerged from a thicket accompanied by a pointer. The miniature Nimrod stopped at the sight of the game, shouldered his gun and fired; a noise indicative of the explosion of a fire-arm was heard, and the hare, apparently wounded, disappeared in the thicket, pursued by the dog.

This pretty piece of mechanism excited my desires in an eminent degree, but I could not hope to possess it, as the owner, in addition to the value he attached to it, had no reason to dispose of it, and, besides, my pecuniary means were insufficient. As I could not make the article my own, I determined, at least, to keep it in remembrance, and drew a careful plan of it without my father’s knowledge. This only more inflamed my desires, and I began to ask myself whether I could not make an exact copy of it.

Seeing no extreme difficulty in this, I rose at daybreak each morning, and, going down to my father’s workshop, I worked till the hour when he used to begin work. Then I rearranged the tools exactly as I had found them, locked up my work carefully, and proceeded to my office. The joy I experienced in finding my mechanism act was only equalled by the pleasure I felt in presenting it to my father, as an indirect and respectful protest against the determination he had formed as to my choice of a trade. I had some difficulty in persuading him that I had not been assisted by any one in my work, but when at last I removed his doubts, he could not refrain from complimenting me.

“It is a pity,” he said, thoughtfully, “that you cannot profit by your turn for mechanism; but,” he added, suddenly, as if seeking to dispel an idea that troubled him, “you had better take no pride in your skill, for it may injure your prospects.”

For more than a year I performed the duties of amateur—that is, unpaid clerk—and I was then offered a situation by a country solicitor as second clerk, with a small salary. I accepted this unexpected promotion very readily; but, once installed in my new duties, I found that my employer had deceived me as to their range. The situation I occupied was that of office-boy, having to run on errands, for the first and only clerk could more than attend to the business. I certainly earned some money: it was the first I had gained by my own labor, and this consideration gilded the pill, which was rather bitter to my pride. Besides, M. Roger (such was my new master’s name) was certainly the best fellow in the world. His manner, full of kindness and sympathy, had attracted me the first time I saw him, and I may add that his behavior towards me was most agreeable during the time I remained in his office.

This gentleman, the personification of probity, possessed the confidence of the Duc d’Avaray, whose estate he managed, and being full of zeal for his noble client’s business, he devoted more attention to it than to his office. At Avaray legal business was very scarce, and we had hardly enough to fill up our time. For my own part, I had many leisure hours, which my kind master enabled me to employ by placing his library at my service. I had the good fortune to find in it Linnæus’s Treaty on Botany, and I learned the rudiments of that science.

The study of botany required time, and I could only devote to it the hours prior to the office opening. Unfortunately, I had become a tremendous sleeper—I hardly know how—and I could not manage to get up before eight o’clock. I resolved to conquer this obstinate somnolency, and I invented a waking apparatus, which, from its originality, deserves honorable mention here.

The room I occupied formed a portion of the Château d’Avaray, and was situated over an archway, closed by a heavy gate. Having noticed that the porter opened this gate, which led into the gardens, every morning, the idea occurred to me of profiting by this circumstance to institute an energetic alarum. This is how I managed it. When I went to bed, I fastened to one of my legs the end of a cord, which, passing through my half-opened window, was attached to the upper part of the iron gate. When the porter pushed the gate open, he dragged me, when least expecting it, to the middle of my bedroom. Thus violently roused from sleep, I tried to hold on by the bed-clothes; but the more I resisted, the more did the pitiless porter push on his side, and I at length woke up to hear him always abusing the hinges, which he determined to oil before the day was out. Then, I unloosed my leg, and, with my Linnæus in my hand, I went to interrogate Nature on her admirable secrets, the study of which caused me to spend many pleasant hours.

As much to please my father as to scrupulously fulfil my duties in my new office, I had promised to pay no more attention to mechanical inventions—for I feared their irresistible attraction—and I had religiously kept my word. There was, then, every reason to believe that I should pass through all my grades creditably, and some day, in my turn, become Maître Robert, solicitor, in some country town. But Providence, in her decrees, had traced out a very different route for me, and my stern resolutions were routed by a temptation too powerful for my courage. In our office there was, strangely enough, a magnificent aviary filled with canaries, whose song and plumage were intended to dispel the impatience of a client forced by some accident to wait. This cage being considered a portion of the office furniture, I was bound, as errand-boy, to keep it in a proper state of cleanliness, and provide the food of the denizens. This was the branch of my duties I performed with the greatest zeal: in fact, I bestowed so much care on the comfort and amusement of the birds, that they soon absorbed nearly all my time.

I began by setting up in this cage a number of mechanical tricks I had invented at college under similar circumstances. I gradually added fresh ones, and ended by making the cage a work of art and curiosity, affording considerable attraction to our visitors. At one spot was a perch, near which the sugar and the seed-glass displayed their attractions; but no sooner had the innocent canary placed its foot on the fatal perch, than a circular cage encompassed it, and it was kept a prisoner until another bird, perching on an adjoining piece of wood, set loose a spring, which delivered the captive. At another place were baths and pumps; further on was a small trough, so arranged, that the nearer the bird seemed to draw to it the further off it really was. Lastly, each denizen of the cage was obliged to earn its food by drawing forward with its beak small pasteboards carts.

The pleasure I felt in carrying out these small schemes soon made me forget I was in a lawyer’s office for any other purpose than to be at the beck and call of canaries. The chief clerk drew my attention to it, and added some just remonstrances; but I had always a protest ready, and continued making daily improvements in the aviary. At length, matters reached such a point, that the supreme authority, that is to say my master in person, felt it his duty to interfere.

“Robert,” he said to me, assuming an earnest tone, which he rarely employed towards his clerks, “when you came into my office you were aware it was to devote yourself exclusively to business, and not to satisfy your own thirst for pleasure; warnings have been given you to return your duty, and you have paid no attention to them; I am, therefore, obliged to tell you that you must either decide on giving up your mechanical fancies, or I must send you home to your father.”

And the worthy Monsieur Roger stopped, as if to draw breath after the reproaches he had given me, I am sure much against his will. After a moment’s silence, he reassumed his paternal tone, and said to me:

“And now, my friend, will you let me give you a piece of advice? I have studied you, and feel convinced you will never be more than a very ordinary clerk, and, consequently, a still more ordinary notary, while you might become an excellent mechanician. It would be, then, wiser for you to give up a profession in which you have such slight prospect of success, and follow that for which you evince such remarkable aptitude.”

The kindly tone M. Roger assumed induced me to open my heart to him. I told him of my father’s determination to keep me from his own trade, and described to him all the vexation I had felt from it.

“Your father fancied he was acting for the best,” he replied to me, “by putting you in a profession more lucrative than his own; he thought he should only have a simple boyish fancy to overcome, but I am persuaded it is an irresistible vocation, against which you should no longer struggle. I will see your parents to-morrow, and I have no doubt I shall induce them to change their opinion about your future prospects in life.”

Since I quitted my father’s house he had sold his business, and had retired to a small property he had near Blois. My master went to see him as he had promised me; a long conversation ensued, and after numerous objections on both sides, the lawyer’s eloquence vanquished my father’s scruples, and he at length yielded.

“Well,” he said, “as he absolutely desires it, let him follow my trade. And, as I cannot instruct him myself, my nephew, who is a pupil of mine, will act towards my son as I did towards him.”

This news overwhelmed me with joy: it seemed as if I were entering on a new life, and the fortnight I had yet to spend at Avaray seemed to me terribly long. At length I set out for Blois, and the day after my arrival found me seated before a vice, file in hand, and receiving my first lessons in watchmaking from my relative.

CHAPTER III.

My Cousin Robert—The most important Event in my Life—How a Man becomes a Sorcerer—My first Sleight-of-Hand Feat—An utter Failure—Practising the Eye and the Hand—Curious Experiment in Prestidigitation—Monsieur Noriet—An Action more ingenious than delicate—I am Poisoned—Influence of Delirium.

BEFORE speaking of my labors in the watchmaker’s shop, I must introduce my readers to my new master. And, in the first place, to set myself right, I will say that my cousin Robert, as I used to call him, has been since my first connexion with him, one of my best and dearest friends. It would be difficult, in fact, to imagine a more happy character, a heart more affectionate and devoted.

With a rare intelligence, my cousin combined other equally valuable qualities. He possessed a graceful address, which, without flattery, I may say is peculiar to our family, and he was justly considered the first watchmaker in Blois, a town which has long excelled in the horologic art.

My cousin began by teaching me how to “make filings,” as my father called it, but I required no apprenticeship to learn the use of tools, and hence the outset was not so painful as it is usually to novices. From the beginning of my apprenticeship I was enabled to undertake small jobs, which gained me my master’s praise. Yet I would not have it supposed I was a model pupil, for I had still rife in me that spirit of investigation which drew down upon me several reprimands from my cousin, and I could not endure to confine my imagination to the ideas of another person. I was continually inventing or improving.

My whole life through, this passion—or, if you will, mania—has held sway over me. I never could fix my thoughts on any task without trying to introduce some improvement, or strike out a novel idea. But this temperament—eventually so favorable—was at this period very prejudicial to my progress. Before following my own inspirations and yielding to my fancies, I ought to have learned the secrets of my art, and, in fact, dispelled all ideas which were only adapted to make me diverge from the true principles of clockmaking.

Such was the sense of the paternal observations made now and then by my cousin, and I was obliged to recognize their justice. Then I would go to work again with redoubled zeal, though groaning inwardly at the bonds that fettered my genius. In order to aid my progress and afford me relaxation, my master recommended me to study some treatises on mechanics in general, and on clockmaking in particular. As this suited my taste exactly, I gladly assented, and I was devoting myself passionately to this attractive study, when a circumstance, apparently most simple, suddenly decided my future life, by revealing to me a vocation whose mysterious resources must open a vast field for my inventive and fanciful ideas.

One evening I went into a bookseller’s shop to buy Berthoud’s “Treatise on Clockmaking,” which I knew he had. The tradesman being engaged at the moment on matters more important, took down two volumes from the shelves and handed them to me without ceremony. On returning home, I sat down to peruse my treatise conscientiously, but judge of my surprise when I read on the back of one the volumes “Scientific Amusements.” Astonished at finding such a title on a professional work, I opened it impatiently, and, on running through the table of contents, my surprise was doubled on reading these strange phrases:

The way of performing tricks with the cards—How to guess a person’s thoughts—To cut off a pigeon’s head, to restore it to life, &c., &c.

The bookseller had made a mistake. In his haste, he had given me two volumes of the Encyclopædia instead of Berthoud. Fascinated, however, by the announcement of such marvels, I devoured the mysterious pages, and the further my reading advanced, the more I saw laid bare before me the secrets of an art for which I was unconsciously predestined.

I fear I shall be accused of exaggeration, or at least not be understood by many of my readers, when I say that this discovery caused me the greatest joy I had ever experienced. At this moment a secret presentiment warned me that success, perhaps glory, would one day accrue to me in the apparent realization of the marvellous and impossible, and fortunately these presentiments did not err.

The resemblance between two books, and the hurry of a bookseller, were the common-place causes of the most important event in my life.

It may be urged that different circumstances might have suggested this profession to me at a later date. It is probable; but then I should have had no time for it. Would any workman, artisan, or tradesman give up a certainty, however slight it may be, to yield to a passion which would be surely regarded as a mania? Hence my irresistible penchant for the mysterious could only be followed at this precise period of my life.

How often since have I blessed this providential error, without which I should have probably vegetated as a country watchmaker! My life would have been spent in gentle monotony; I should have been spared many sufferings, emotions, and shocks; but, on the other hand, what lively sensations, what profound delight would have been sacrificed!

I was eagerly devouring every line of the magic book which described the astounding tricks; my head was a-glow, and I at times gave way to thoughts which plunged me in ecstasy. Still the hours slipped away, and while my mind was indulging in fanciful dreams, I did not notice that my candle had burned down in the socket. How can I describe my disappointment when it suddenly went out? It was the last candle I possessed; hence I was forced to quit the sublime realms of magic all for want of a halfpenny taper. At this instant I would have given my whole fortune, were it only for a street lamp.

I was not exactly in the dark: a dim ray entered my window from a neighboring lamp: but, though I made every effort to read by it, I could not decipher a single word, was obliged to retire to bed willy-nilly.

In vain I tried to sleep: the febrile excitement produced by the book prevented either sleep or rest. I went continually over the passages which had most struck me, and the interest they inspired only the more excited me. Finding it impossible to remain in bed, I repeatedly returned to the window, and while casting envious glances on the lamp, I had made up my mind to go down into the street and read by its light, when another idea occurred to me. In my impatience to realize it I did not wait to dress, but, confining my attire to what was strictly necessary, if I may so call a pair of slippers and my drawers, I took my hat in one hand, a pair of pincers in the other, and went down into the street.

Once there, I proceeded straight to the lamp; for I must confess, that in my anxiety to profit at once by the sleight-of-hand tricks I had been studying, I intended to conjure away the oil-lamp provided by the authorities for the safety of the town. The part the hat and pincers were to play in the operation were simple enough: the latter would wrench open the little box containing the end of the cord by which the lamp was raised, and the former would act as a dark lantern, and hide the rays of light which might betray my theft.[A]

All prospered famously; and I was about to retire in triumph, when a miserable incident threatened to rob me of the profits of my trick. At the moment of my success a baker’s man overthrew my plans by emerging from the door of his shop. I concealed myself in a doorway, and, while striving to hide the light, I waited perfectly motionless till the unlucky baker retired. But judge of my grief and terror when I saw him lean against the door and calmly smoke his pipe!

My position was growing intolerable; the cold and the fear of detection made my teeth chatter, and to increase my despair, I soon felt the lining of my hat catch fire. There was no time for hesitation: I crushed my failure of a lantern in my hands, and thus put out the fire; but it was a dreadful sacrifice. My poor hat, the one I wore on Sundays, was smoked, stained with oil, and shapeless. And while I was enduring all these torments, my tyrant continued to smoke with an air of calmness and comfort which drove me nearly mad.

It was quite plain I could not stay here till day-light; but how to escape from this critical situation? To ask the baker to keep my secret would be running a risk; while, to return home straight would betray me, for I must pass in front of him, and he would be sure to recognise me. The only chance left was to go down a side street and make a détour to reach the house. This I decided on, even at the risk of any one meeting me in my bathing attire. Without delay I took hat and lamp under my arm, for I was forced to remove the proofs of my crime, and I started off like an arrow. In my trouble, I fancied the baker was after me. I even thought I heard his foot-fall behind me, and in my anxiety to escape I doubled my speed; first I turned to the right, then to the left, and went through such a number of streets, that it took me a quarter of an hour to regain my room, in a state of perfect collapse, yet glad to have escaped so cheaply.

It is a painful confession for a man destined eventually to fill a certain part in the annals of conjuring to make, that my trial-piece turned out so lamentably. In fact, to use a theatrical phrase, it was an utter fiasco.

Still, I was not at all discouraged; the next day I regained all my equanimity on finding my precious treatise on “White Magic” before me, and I began studying the interesting secrets it contained with great ardor.

Within a week I knew them all by heart.

From theory I resolved to proceed to practice; but, just as was the case with Carlosbach’s book, I suddenly met with an obstacle. The author, I will grant, was more conscientious than the Bordelais mystifier: he gave a very plain explanation of his tricks; still, he committed the error of supposing his readers possessed of the necessary skill to perform them. Now, I was entirely deficient in this skill, and though most desirous of acquiring it, I found nothing in the book to indicate the means. I was in the position of a man who attempts to copy a picture without possessing the slightest notion of drawing and painting.

In the absence of a professor to instruct me, I was compelled to create the principles of the science I wished to study. In the first place, I recognised the fundamental principle of sleight-of-hand, that the organs performing the principal part are the sight and touch. I saw that, in order to attain any degree of perfection, the professor must develop these organs to their fullest extent—for, in his exhibitions, he must be able to see everything that takes place around him at half a glance, and execute his deceptions with unfailing dexterity.

I had been often struck by the ease with which pianists can read and perform at sight the most difficult pieces. I saw that, by practice, it would be possible to create a certainty of perception and facility of touch, rendering it easy for the artist to attend to several things simultaneously, while his hands were busy employed with some complicated task. This faculty I wished to acquire and apply to sleight-of-hand; still, as music could not afford me the necessary elements, I had recourse to the juggler’s art, in which I hoped to meet with an analogous result.

It is well known that the trick with the balls wonderfully improves the touch, but does it not improve the vision at the same time? In fact, when a juggler throws into the air four balls crossing each other in various directions, he requires an extraordinary power of sight to follow the direction his hands have given to each of the balls. At this period a corn-cutter resided at Blois, who possessed the double talent of juggling and extracting corns with a skill worthy of the lightness of his hands. Still, with both these qualities, he was not rich, and being aware of that fact, I hoped to obtain lessons from him at a price suited to my modest finances. In fact, for ten francs he agreed to initiate me in the juggling art.

I practised with so much zeal, and progressed so rapidly, that in less than a month I had nothing more to learn; at least, I knew as much as my master, with the exception of corn-cutting, the monopoly in which I left him. I was able to juggle with four balls at once. But this did not satisfy my ambition; so I placed a book before me, and, while the balls were in the air, I accustomed myself to read without any hesitation.

This will probably seem to my readers very extraordinary; but I shall surprise them still more, when I say that I have just amused myself by repeating this curious experiment. Though thirty years have elapsed since the time of which I am writing, and though I scarcely once touched the balls during that period, I can still manage to read with ease while keeping three balls up.

The practice of this trick gave my fingers a remarkable degree of delicacy and certainty, while my eye was at the same time acquiring a promptitude of perception that was quite marvellous. Presently I shall have to speak of the service this rendered me in my experiment of second sight. After having thus made my hands supple and docile, I went on straight to sleight-of-hand, and I more especially devoted myself to the manipulation of cards and palmistry.

This operation requires a great deal of practice; for, while the hand is held apparently open, balls, corks, lumps of sugar, coins, &c., must be held unseen, the fingers remaining perfectly free and limber.

Owing to the little time at my disposal, the difficulties connected with these new experiments would have been insurmountable, had I not found a mode of practising without neglecting my business. It was the fashion in those days to wear coats with large pockets on the hips, called à la propriétaire, so whenever my hands were not otherwise engaged they slipped naturally into my pockets, and set to work with cards, coins, or one of the objects I have mentioned. It will be easily understood how much time I gained by this. Thus, for instance, when out on errands my hands could be at work on both sides; at dinner, I often ate my soup with one hand while I was learning to sauter la coupe with the other—in short, the slightest moment of relaxation was devoted to my favorite pursuit. As no one suspected that my paletôt was in some degree a study, this manner of keeping my hands in my pockets began to be regarded as a bad habit I had acquired; but after a few jests on the subject I was left in peace.

Though my passion for sleight-of-hand was so intense, I had, however, sufficient command over myself not to displease my master, who never noticed that my thoughts were away from my work, and constantly praised me for my regularity and application.

At length my apprenticeship was over, and my cousin, one fine day, stated I was a journeyman and able to earn wages. I heard this with double pleasure, for I found in it not only greater liberty, but also a chance of improving my finances. Nor was I long ere I profited by my advancement; a situation was offered me by a watchmaker at Tours, and I proceeded to that town at once.

My new master was that M. Noriet, who afterwards gained some distinction as a sculptor. His imagination, already fall of his future works, disdained the ordinary labor of watch repairing, and he gladly left to his workmen what he called, ironically, the “shoe-black” part of the trade. It was for this purpose I joined him, and I received, in addition to board and lodging, 35 fr. a month. Little enough, I grant; but it was an enormous sum in my eyes, for, since leaving the lawyer’s, at Avaray, my income had been reduced to a minimum.

When I say I earned 35 fr., it is merely to mention a round sum; in reality I never received it net. Madame Noriet, in her quality of an excellent manager, was perfectly conversant with all matters relative to discount and exchanges; and thus, she had found a way of lessening my wages in a manner as ingenious as it was improper. She used to pay me in crowns of six francs, and as at that time six-franc pieces were only worth 5 fr. 80 c., the lady gained 24 sous every month, which I carried to my “profit and loss” account.

Although my time was fully occupied here, I managed to continue my pocket practice; and I daily noticed with joy the progress I was making. I had learned how to make any object I held in my hand disappear with the greatest ease; and as for the practice of card tricks, they were only child’s play to me, and I could produce some delightful illusions.

I confess to feeling a degree of pride in my humble power of amusing my friends, and I neglected no occasion of displaying it. On Sunday, for instance, after the invariable game of loto, which was played in this patriarchal family, I gave a small performance of sleight-of-hand, which enlivened the melancholy victims of this most monotonous of all games. I was honored with the name of an “agreeable droll,” and this compliment delighted me.

My regular habits, my perseverance, and perhaps a certain degree of gaiety I possessed at the time, had gained me the friendship and sympathy of both my master and mistress. At last I became an indispensable member of the family, and shared in all their amusements. Among these were frequent excursions in the country. On one of these, on the 25th of July, 1828, (I shall never forget that memorable date, as it was all but registered on my tombstone,) we went to a fair at an adjacent village. Before leaving Tours, we had promised to be home to dinner at five; but, finding ourselves much amused, we did not keep military time, nor find our way home till eight.

After enduring the scolding of the cook, whose dinner had got cold, we sat down and ate like people whose appetite has been whetted by a long walk in the open air, and eight or ten hours’ fasting.

Whatever Jeannette might say, everything she sent up was found excellent, except a certain ragoût, which everybody declared detestable, and hardly touched. I, however, devoured my share of the dish, without troubling myself the least in the world about its quality. In spite of the jests aroused by my avidity, I asked for a second relay, and would certainly have eaten the whole dish, had not my mistress, with due regard for my health, prevented it.

This precaution saved my life. In fact, dinner was hardly over and the game of loto begun, when I felt most uncomfortable. I went to my room, where atrocious pains seized upon me, and a doctor was sent for. After a careful investigation, the doctor discovered that a powerful layer of verdigris had formed in the stewpan in which the ragoût had been cooked and said I was poisoned.

The consequences of this poisoning were most terrible to me: for some time my life was despaired of, but eventually the sufferings seemed to be modified by the gentle care bestowed on me, and I was granted some slight relief. Strangely enough, it was not till this second phase of my illness, when the doctor declared me out of danger, that I was haunted by a certainty of speedy death, to which was joined an immoderate desire to end my days in the bosom of my family. This idea—a species of monomania—incessantly assailed me, and I soon had no other thought than that of escaping to Blois. As I could not hope to obtain the doctor’s permission to set out, when his most urgent advice was to take care of myself, I determined to take leave.

At six o’clock one morning, taking advantage of a moment when I was left to myself, I hastily dressed, went down stairs, and found a stage-coach just starting for Blois. I entered the rotonde, in which I happened to be the only passenger, and the coach, lightly laden as it was, soon set off at full gallop.

The journey was a horrible martyrdom to me. I was devoured by a burning fever, and my head seemed to be burst asunder by every jolt of the vehicle. In my frenzy I tried to escape my agony, and yet it was continually increasing. Unable to endure longer, I opened the door of the compartment, and leaped, at an imminent risk of my life, on to the high road, where I fell in a state of insensibility.

I cannot say what happened to me after my fainting fit; I can only remember long days of vague and painful existence, that appeared of eternal duration: I was in a raging fever; my dreams were frightful, and I suffered from the most dreadful hallucinations. One of them was incessantly recurring—it seemed as if my head opened like a snuff-box; a doctor, with turned-up cuffs, and armed with an enormous pair of iron pincers, drew from my brain roasted chesnuts, which immediately burst like bombs, and scattered myriads of scintillations before my eyes.

This phantasmagoria gradually faded away, and the illness at length succumbed; but my reason was so shaken that it did not avail me. I was reduced to a mechanical existence. If I noticed anything, it seemed veiled in a thick mist, and I could not perform any process of reasoning. It is true that all I did notice only served to increase the confusion of my ideas. I felt as if being shaken in a carriage, and, yet, I was in a capital bed, and the room was exquisitely clean. How could I help fancying I was still dreaming?

At length, a spark of intelligence was aroused in me, and the first startling impression was produced by the sight of a man standing at my bedside. His features were quite strange to me. Stooping over, he affectionately urged me to swallow a draught. I obeyed; and he then begged me to keep silent, and remain as calm as I possibly could.

Unfortunately, my present state of weakness rendered it but too easy to follow this prescription. Still, I tried to guess who this man could be, and consulted my memory. It was quite useless: I could remember nothing since the moment when, yielding to frenzy, I had thrown myself out of the diligence.

CHAPTER IV.

I return to Life—A strange Doctor—Torrini and Antonio: a Conjurer and a Fanatic for Music—A Murderer’s Confession—A perambulating House—The Fair at Angers—A portable Theatre—I witness for the first Time a Conjuring Performance—The blind Man’s Game at Piquet—A Dangerous Rival—Signor Castelli eats a Man alive.

I AM by no means a fatalist; and yet I cannot refrain from remarking here that many events in human life seem to encourage the views of fatalists.

Suppose, dear reader, that, on leaving Blois to proceed to Tours, destiny had opened before me one of the fairest pages of my life, I should certainly have been delighted at such a glorious future, but in my heart I should have been inclined to doubt its realization. In fact, I set out as a simple workman, with the intention of making a tour of France. This journey would have occupied much time, as I intended to remain a year or two in every city I visited, and France is large! Then, when I considered myself skilful enough, I would return home and set up as a watchmaker.

But fate decided otherwise, and I must be drawn back to my real “groove” when I tried to escape from it. The means employed were a poisoning, which turned me mad, and hurled me lifeless on the high road. But I was going to recall my reminiscences after my fortunate catastrophe, and I will take up the story from the point where I left off.

What had happened since my fainting fit; where was I; why did this man treat me so kindly? I longed for a solution of these problems, and I should certainly have cross-questioned my host, had it not been for the earnest advice he had just given me. As thought, however, was not forbidden, I tried to form a satisfactory conclusion from surrounding objects.

The room I was in might be three yards long by two broad. The walls were made of polished oak; on either side was a small window with muslin curtains; while four walnut chairs, shelves serving as tables, and my excellent bed, composed the furniture of this moving room, which bore a close resemblance to the cabin of a steamboat.

There must also be two other compartments, for, to my left, I saw my doctor frequently disappear behind two red damask curtains, where I heard him moving about, while to my right I heard, through a thin partition, a voice encouraging the horses. This circumstance made me conclude I was in a carriage, and that the latter voice belonged to the driver.

I already knew that hero’s name, as I had often heard the person I presumed to be his master use it. It was Antonio: and he was, at any rate, a splendid musician, for he was continually singing pieces from Italian operas, which he broke off to swear harmlessly at his steeds. As for the master, he was a man of about fifty, above the average height, and his face, though sad and serious, displayed a degree of kindness which prepossessed me. His long black hair fell on his shoulders in natural curls, and he was dressed in a blouse and trousers of unbleached cloth, with a yellow silk pocket-handkerchief as cravat. But nothing in all this served to tell me what he was, and my surprise was increased by finding him constantly at my side, and nursing me like the fondest of mothers.

A day had elapsed since his recommendation to keep silent; I had gained a little strength, and fancied myself strong enough to talk; I was, therefore, going to begin, when my host, guessing my intention, prevented me.

“I can imagine,” he said, “your impatience to know where you are and whom with; nor, will I conceal from you that I am equally curious to learn the circumstances that led to our meeting. Still, in regard for your health, the responsibility of which I have assumed, I must ask you to be patient for one night more; to-morrow, I believe, we shall be able to talk as long as you like, without any risk.”

As I had no serious objection to raise, and as I had been wont for some time to obey all my strange doctor ordered, I yielded. The certainty of soon holding the key to the enigma secured me a peaceful sleep, whose good effects I noticed on waking. Thus, when the doctor came to feel my pulse, he was surprised at the progress I had made in a few hours, and, without awaiting my questions, he said, as if replying to the mute inquiry my eyes made:

“Yes, I will satisfy your just curiosity; I owe you an explanation, and you shall not wait any longer. My name is Torrini, and I am a conjurer by profession. You are in my house—that is, in the carriage I usually employ as my domicile. You will be surprised, I dare say, to learn that the bedroom you now occupy can be lengthened into a theatre, and in that room behind the red curtains is the stage on which my apparatus is arranged.”

At the word “conjurer” I could not repress a start of satisfaction, which my sorcerer probably did not notice, ignorant as he was that he had before him one of the most fervent adepts of his profession.

“As for yourself,” he went on, “I need not ask you any questions: your name, trade, as well as the cause of your illness, are known to me, for I consulted your livret, and some letters I found on you, in my desire to benefit you. I must now tell you, though, all that has happened since you lost consciousness. After giving some representations at Orleans, I was proceeding to Angers, where the fair will shortly begin, when, at some distance from Amboise, I found you lying insensible, with your face to the ground. Fortunately for you, I was then taking my morning walk by the horses’ side, and this circumstance saved you from being run over. By Antonio’s help I carried you to my bed, and my knowledge of medicine restored you to life. But, my poor fellow! the fever caused you to make the most terrible outbreaks; you threatened me continually, and I had the greatest difficulty in mastering you. At Tours I would have gladly stopped to call in a doctor, for your situation was critical, and I had not practiced for many years:—but my hours were counted: I must arrive in time at Angers, where I wish to choose a good spot for my exhibition, and I had a strange fancy I should save your life, which has proved true.”

Not knowing how to thank this excellent Torrini, I offered him my hand, which he pressed firmly: but—must I confess it—I was checked in the effusion of my gratitude by a thought which I deeply regretted later.

“To what motive,” I asked myself, “can I attribute this sudden affection?” This feeling, however sincere it might be, must have some cause, and in my ingratitude I sought whether my benefactor did not conceal some interested design behind his apparent generosity. Torrini, as if he had guessed my thoughts, continued, in a kindly tone:

“You expect a fuller explanation? Well, however painful it may be to me, I will give it. It is this—

“You are surprised that a mountebank, a man belonging to a class not generally erring on the side of sensibility, should have evinced such compassion for your sufferings, but your surprise will cease, my boy, on learning that this compassion is produced by the sweet illusion of paternal love.”

Here Torrini stopped an instant, tried to recover himself, and then proceeded:

“I had a son, a beloved son; he was my hope, my life, my happiness; but a dread fatality robbed me of him: he died, and, terrible to say, he was assassinated, and his murderer stands before you!”

At this unexpected confession I could not repress a start of horror; the cold drops beaded on my face.

“Yes, yes, his murderer!” Torrini went on, his voice growing gradually firmer, “and, yet, the law could not punish me; it left me life. In vain I accused myself before my judges; they treated me as a maniac, and my crime was regarded as accidental homicide. But what do I care, after all, for their judgment? Whether through carelessness, or imprudence as they say, my poor Giovanni is not the less lost to me, and I shall reproach myself with his death my life long.”

Torrini’s voice was drowned by his sobs. He remained for some time with his hands before his eyes; then, making an effort, he continued, in a calmer tone:

“To spare you emotions that might prove dangerous in your present state, I will abridge the narrative of the misfortunes to which this event was only a terrible prelude. What I have said will suffice to explain the natural cause of my sympathy towards you. When I first saw you, I was struck by the likeness you bore in age and height to my unhappy boy. I even fancied I could trace a certain resemblance in your face, and yielding to this illusion, I decided on keeping you near me, and nursing you as if you were my own child. You can now form an idea of the agony I endured during the week when I was compelled to despair of your restoration to life. But Providence, taking pity on us both, has saved you. You are now quite convalescent, and in a few days, I trust, will be perfectly recovered. Such, my boy, is the secret of the affection I displayed towards you.”

Deeply moved by the father’s misfortunes, and touched by the tender care he had bestowed on me, I could only express my gratitude in half-broken phrases, for I was almost stifled by emotion. Torrini, also feeling the necessity of shortening this painful interview, went out, promising to return soon.

No sooner was I alone than a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. This mysterious and tragical event, the thought of which seemed to overthrow Torrini’s reason; this crime of which he accused himself so persistently; this verdict whose justice he disputed, perplexed me in the highest degree, and gave me a great desire to obtain more complete details about this domestic drama. Then, I asked myself how a man possessing so agreeable a countenance, who did not lack either judgment or talent, and who joined to a solid education a readiness of conversation and distinguished manners, could have thus sunk to the lowest stage of his profession.

While absorbed in these thoughts, the vehicle stopped: we had arrived at Angers. Torrini left us, in order to obtain the mayor’s leave to perform, and so soon as he had succeeded, he prepared to occupy the spot allotted to him. As I have already stated, the room I occupied was to be transformed into a theatre; hence I was carried to an adjacent inn, and placed in a capital arm chair close to an open window. The weather was glorious; the sun’s beneficent rays seemed to impart fresh life to me, and I began to lose that egotistic indifference which a lengthened illness usually produces.

I could see Antonio and his master, with their sleeves tucked up, working at the theatre. In a few hours our residence was completely transformed; the moving house had become a charming room. The arrangement of this singular vehicle is so stamped on my memory, that I can still supply an exact description of it, and I will fill up the details I have already given of it.

The bed on which I had lain was drawn up through a trap in the ceiling where it occupied a very small space. If clothes or linen were required, an adjoining trap was opened, and by means of a ring, a chest of drawers was produced, as if by magic. A similar process revealed a small chimney, which, by a peculiar arrangement, expelled the smoke below the hearth. Lastly, the larder, cooking-range, and other accessories of the household, were ready to hand, and could be easily restored to their respective places. This strange furniture occupied all the space between the wheels, so that the room, though amply furnished, was not crowded.

But I was most surprised to see the vehicle, which was scarcely six yards long, suddenly grow twice that length. This was most ingeniously contrived: the body was double and could be pulled out like a telescope. This prolongation, supported by trestles, was quite as secure as the rest of the edifice. The partition, dividing the rooms off, had been removed, so that they now formed but a single apartment. The public entered on this side, and a staircase led to the door, before which an elegant marquee formed a vestibule, where the tickets were issued. Lastly, a scaffolding was erected over the front, which represented a stuccoed house.

The sight of this machine excited my imagination, and I built castles in the air which I was never to inhabit. I, too, would have a similar vehicle, though rather smaller, as my exhibition would be different.

Here I must make room for a parenthesis, to supply an explanation I think necessary. I have spoken so much of sleight-of-hand, that it might be supposed I had quite given up all thoughts about mechanism. On the contrary I still passionately loved that science; but I had modified its application, since the love of the marvellous had inflamed my imagination. I proposed to call to my aid automata, which I would eventually build; then, I would traverse the whole of Europe, perhaps the world, gaining an ample amount of honor, pleasure and profit.

While engaged with these pleasant dreams I regained my health and strength, and hoped that Torrini would soon allow me to be present at one of his performances. In fact, he soon offered me an agreeable surprise, for, one evening, he led me to his theatre, and installed me on the first row of seats, grandly denominated “the stalls.” Judging by my own enthusiasm, I expected the theatre would be thronged so soon as the doors opened, but to my great surprise and regret, the room was not more than half full.

The hour fixed for commencing at length arrived; the bell rang thrice, the curtains were drawn back, and an exquisite little stage was visible. The most striking thing was the entire absence of all that apparatus by which many performers compensate for their lack of skill, while by a graceful innovation, a few candles artistically arranged, were substituted for that dazzling glare which, at the period of which I write, was the indispensable ornament of all performances of “amusing science.”

Torrini appeared, walked towards the public with great ease of manner, made a deep bow, then demanded the indulgence of the spectators, and ended by paying a compliment to the ladies. This slight address, though uttered in a cold and melancholy tone, received a few encouraging bravos from the audience.

The performance commenced in the most perfect silence; everybody seemed inclined to devote all attention to it. I could hardly breathe, in my desire not to lose a single word or gesture.

I will not describe the several tricks I saw; they all possessed extraordinary interest for me; but Torrini appeared to excel in card tricks. He possessed two most precious qualities in the exercise of this art: these were extreme skill and an incredible boldness of execution. To these he added a most aristocratic way of touching the cards; his white and carefully-tended hands seemed hardly to rest on them, and his tricks were so artistically performed, that the audience involuntarily bestowed a sympathising confidence upon him. Sure of the effect he would produce, he performed the most difficult “passes,” with a coolness no one could expect him to possess; and this produced the most successful results. To close the performances, Torrini requested the audience to choose some one to play a game of piquet with him, and a gentleman immediately stepped on the stage.

“Pardon me, sir,” said Torrini, “but it is indispensable, for the success of the experiment, that I should know your name and profession.”

“Nothing easier, sir. My name is Joseph Lenoir, at your service; and my profession is that of a dancing-master.”

Any other than Torrini would have made some jest on the name and profession of this rival of Vestris; but he did nothing of the sort. He had only asked this question to gain time, for he never indulged in any mystification; so he merely added:

“I thank you, sir, for your kindness; and now we know who we are, we can place confidence in each other. You have come to play a game of piquet with me; but do you understand the game thoroughly?”

“I flatter myself I do, sir.”

“Ah! ah!” Torrini said with a laugh. “Pray do not flatter yourself till we have played our game. Still, not to lower your self-esteem, I will allow you to be an excellent player; but that will not prevent you losing the game, although the chances are all in your favor. Listen to me carefully; the trick I am going to perform, and which is called the ‘blind man’s game of piquet,’ requires that I should be blinded, so have the goodness to bandage my eyes carefully.”

M. Lenoir, who, I may mention, wore spectacles, was very distrustful, hence he took extraordinary precautions to accomplish his task. First, he covered the patient’s eyes with tow, over which he fastened three thick bandages; and, as if this fourfold covering were not enough to blind his opponent, he fastened an enormous shawl round his head. I know not how Torrini kept from suffocation beneath these heavy bandages; for my part, the perspiration ran down my face at seeing him so muffled up. Not knowing all the resources this skilful performer had at command, I was rather fearful as to the result of the experiment, and my alarm reached its climax when I heard him address his opponent as follows:

“Monsieur Lenoir, have the kindness to sit down opposite me at this table. I have still a small service to ask you before we begin our game. You have quite deprived me of my sight, but that is not enough. You have now to bind my hands, so that I may be quite incapable.”

M. Lenoir raised his spectacles and looked at Torrini, as if stupefied; but the latter, quietly placing his arms on the table, and crossing his thumbs, said, “Now, sir, fasten them securely.”

The dancing-master took the piece of whipcord and performed his task as conscientiously as he had done the first part.

“Am I now blinded, and deprived of the use of my hands?” Torrini asked his vis-à-vis.

“I am certain of it,” Joseph Lenoir replied.

“Well, then, to begin our game. But tell me first in what suit you would like to be repiqued?”

“In clubs.”

“Very good; now deal the cards by twos or threes, as you please. When they are dealt out, I will leave you to select the hand you think will enable you best to prevent a repique.”

All the time these explanations and preparations lasted, the audience remained motionless and silent, not knowing whether a mystification or a real trick were intended. Now, on seeing the dancing-master shuffle the cards, there could be no further doubt; hence all rose to command a view of the stage, and a great number of spectators even surrounded the table. I had also drawn near, and, to my great delight, secured a front place.

Profound silence in the room.

“The cards are shuffled, please to cut!” the dancing-master said, in an ironical tone, as if secure of victory.

“Willingly,” Torrini replied. And though hampered in his movements, he soon satisfied his opponent.

The cards having been dealt, M. Lenoir decided on keeping those before him.

“Very good!” said Torrini. “You wished, I think, to be repiqued in clubs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now follow my play. I throw out the sevens of spades, hearts, and diamonds, and my two eights; the cards I take in give me a quint in clubs, fourteen in queens, and fourteen in kings, with which I repique you. Pray count and verify, sir.”

Torrini spoke the truth. Hearty shouts of applause greeted his success, while jokes were cut at the expense of the poor dancing-master, who hurried from the stage in a state of pitiable confusion.

The performance over, I expressed to Torrini the pleasure his tricks caused me, and paid him some sincere compliments on the skill he had evinced during the whole evening, and especially in his last trick.

“These compliments are the more flattering,” he replied, with a smile, “as I know now they are paid me, if not by a fellow-artist, at least by an amateur, who, I am certain, already possesses some degree of skill in the profession.”

I know not which of us, Torrini or myself, was the more charmed by the compliments we exchanged; at any rate, I felt most sensibly the favorable opinion he had formed of my talents. One thing, however, perplexed me: I had never said a word to Torrini about my sleight-of-hand fancies: how could he have found them out?

He read my thoughts, and added:

“You are surprised at my detecting your secret? and you would like to know how I did so. I am happy to tell you. My room is small; hence it is easy for me, when on the stage, to look at every face, and judge the various impressions I produce on the spectators. I observed you particularly, and while watching the direction of your eyes, I could judge what was passing in your mind. Thus when I indulged in some amusing paradox, to draw public attention away from the side where the trick was to be performed, you alone escaped the snare, and kept your eyes fixed on the right spot. As for my piquet trick, though I could not observe you while I was performing it, I have reasons to be assured that you did not know it.”

“You have guessed perfectly right, my dear magician, and I cannot deny that in my leisure hours I have amused myself with some of these tricks, for which I always felt great inclination.”

“Inclination! Allow me to say that is not the proper word in your case, my dear lad; yours is a true passion. I base my opinion on the following observations. This evening, from the moment of the curtain rising, your searching eye, your agitated face and half-parted lips, denoted the state of excitement you were in. You looked like a gourmet just sitting down to a well-covered board, or a miser gloating over his treasure. Do you think that with these signs I need be a sorcerer to discover the sway conjuring exercises over your mind?”

I was about to reply, when Torrini drew out his watch, and said to me, “Come, young gentleman, it is growing late; it is high time for a convalescent to seek his rest. We will continue our conversation at a better time.”

With these words my doctor led me to my room, and, after counting my pulse, which appeared to satisfy him, retired. In spite of the pleasure I felt in talking, I was not ill-pleased to find myself alone, for I had a thousand souvenirs to evoke. I wished to summon up again the experiments that had struck me most, but it was all in vain. One thought mastered all the rest, and produced a strange sinking in my heart. I tried, without success, to explain the motives why the public neglected Torrini’s interesting performances.

This motive Antonio explained to me afterwards, and it is too curious to be passed by in silence. Besides, I have here an opportunity to introduce my readers to a very remarkable specimen of the great family of mountebanks.

I have said that we reached Angers at fair time; and among the numerous providers of amusement who solicited the presence and money of the Angevins, was another conjurer, known as Castelli.

He was no more an Italian than was Torrini. I shall presently give Torrini’s real name, and the reasons that caused him to change it for the one we know him by; as for the other conjurer, he was a Norman by birth, and only assumed the name of Castelli in conformity with the custom of most conjurers of the day, who thought an Italian name more attractive.

Castelli was far from possessing Torrini’s marvellous address, and his performances offered no special interest as far as sleight-of-hand was concerned; but he thought with Figaro that “skill was better than learning,” and he proved it by his repeated successes. In truth, this man was the incarnation of charlatanism, and he spared nothing to pique public curiosity. Each day some new prodigy was announced on his enormous posters. It was in reality only a deception, very often a mystification for the audience; but his treasury was always filled to repletion—hence, the trick was good. If the public felt wroth at being duped, Castelli knew the art of escaping from the dilemma and drawing the laughers on his side; he boldly made some jest in bad Italian, at which the pit could not help laughing, and was thus disarmed.

Besides, it must be remembered that, at this period, conjuring was not so respectable as it is now; people went to an exhibition of that sort to laugh at the conjurer’s victims, even if themselves exposed to his attacks. My readers ought to have seen the mystifier par excellence, the celebrated physico-ventriloquist of the age, Comte, to form an idea of the cool way in which the public was then treated. This performer, though so graceful and gallant towards ladies, was merciless to men. According to his notions, the cavaliers (as they were then called) were predestined to supply amusement for the fair sex—— But I must not poach on the biography of the “natural philosopher to the king,” which will hereafter find a place in my volume.

The same day on which I had witnessed Torrini’s performance, Castelli’s bills contained an astounding statement, well adapted, I grant, to tempt public curiosity. The professor pledged himself to eat a man alive, and if he did not succeed to the satisfaction of his audience, he would hand over all the receipts to the mayor for distribution among the poor. This seductive appeal had drawn the whole town; crowds collected round the show, and persons who arrived too late were glad to pay double entrance money. But the new trick played by the conjurer was quite worthy of all that had preceded it.

Castelli, after performing several tricks of second-rate interest, at length arrived at the one which caused even the calmest spectator to throb with impatience.

“Gentlemen,” he then said, addressing the audience, “we will now proceed to the last trick. I promised to eat a man alive for my supper, and I will keep my word. Will the courageous spectator who wishes to serve as a repast to me (Castelli pronounced this word with the expression of a perfect cannibal) take the trouble to mount on the stage?”

Two victims immediately presented themselves. By accident they offered a perfect contrast, and Castelli, who understood the art of producing an effect, skilfully profited by it. He placed them side by side, with their faces turned to the audience, then after surveying one of them, a tall, bilious-looking fellow, from head to foot, he said to him, with affected politeness,

“I do not wish to insult you, sir, but I am sorry to tell you that, as regards my food, I am quite of M. le Curé’s opinion—you understand me?”

The tall, thin man appeared for a moment as if trying to guess a riddle, and ended by scratching his ear—a gesture which, among all nations, civilized or barbarous, signifies, “I do not understand.”

“I will explain, then,” Castelli continued. “You know that M. le Curé does not like bones; at least, so they say at forfeits, and I assure you I share the Curé’s antipathy in this respect. You can retire, then; I will not detain you.” And Castelli began bowing to his visitor, who hastened back to his seat.

“Now, then, for us two,” the conjurer said, turning to the one who remained. He was a tall, chubby fellow, with rosy cheeks, who seemed purposely made for the repast of an epicurean cannibal.

“Well, my stout friend, so you consent to be eaten alive?”

“Yes, sir, I am quite willing, and came here for that purpose.”

“Ah! ah! that is capital!” (Here Castelli licked his lips like a gourmet, whose mouth waters at the sight of a dainty dish.) “As I have a powerful appetite, we will begin directly.”

At this moment a gigantic cruet-stand was brought in. The stout youth regarded it with surprise, as if trying to discover the use of this strange utensil.

“Don’t mind it, pray!” said Castelli. “I am very fond of hot dishes, so allow me to pepper and salt you in my usual fashion.”

And he began covering the unhappy man with a white powder, which, adhering to his hair, face, and clothes, soon gave him an extraordinary appearance. The stout youth, who at the beginning had tried to rival the conjurer’s gaiety, did not laugh now, and seemed earnestly to desire the end of the jest.

“Now, then!” Castelli added, rolling his eyes about ferociously, “kneel down, and hold your hands over your head. Very good, my friend: it really looks as if you had never followed any other trade than being eaten alive. Now, then, say your prayers, and I will begin. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” the stout lad muttered, turning quite yellow with emotion, “I am ready.”

Castelli then took the end of the patient’s thumb in his mouth, and bit it so hard that the latter, as if working by a spring, jumped up, shouting energetically,

“Confound it, sir, take care; you hurt me!”

“What! I hurt you?” Castelli said, with perfect calmness. “What will you say, then, when I reach your head? It was really absurd of you to cry out like a baby at the first mouthful. Come, be reasonable: let me go on. I am frightfully hungry, and long for my supper.”

And Castelli, thrusting him by the shoulders, tried to make him take his first position. But the young man resisted with all his strength, as he cried, in a voice palsied with fear, “I won’t have it: I tell you I won’t have it. You hurt me too much!” At length, by a supreme effort, he escaped from his tormentor’s hands. During this time the audience, foreseeing the result of this amusing scene, had been shouting with laughter, and Castelli found some difficulty in gaining a hearing.

“Gentlemen!” he said, assuming a tone of the deepest disappointment, “you see me both surprised and vexed at the flight of that gentleman, who had not the courage to allow himself to be eaten. Now, I expect some one to take his place; for, far from shunning the performance of my promise, I feel so comfortable, that I pledge myself, after eating the first spectator who offers, to eat the second, and so on. Indeed, to prove myself worthy your applause, I promise to eat the whole roomful.”

This jest was greeted by another hearty laugh, but the farce was played out. No one came forward to be eaten, and the crowd went home to digest the trick played on them all.

If such manœuvres could succeed, few spectators were left for Torrini. As he desired to maintain a certain dignity, he never announced tricks he did not perform, and, even if trying to render the titles attractive, he always adhered to the strictest truth.

CHAPTER V.

Antonio’s Confessions—How to gain Public Applause—The Count de ——, Mountebank—I repair an Automaton—A Mechanician’s Shop on Wheels—Nomadic Life—Happy Existence—Torrini’s Lessons—His Opinions about Sleight-of-Hand—A Fashionable Greek, Victim of his own Swindling—The Conjurer Comus—A Duel at Piquet—Torrini proclaimed Conqueror—Revelations—New Catastrophe—Poor Torrini!

THE day after the performances, Antonio came as usual to inquire after my health. I have already said this young man possessed a charming character: ever gay, ever singing, his fund of good humor was inexhaustible, and frequently produced a degree of gaiety in our house, which otherwise would have been very gloomy. On opening my door, he stopped the operatic air he had been humming from the bottom of the stairs.

“Well, my little signor,” he said, in French, picturesquely intermingled with Italian, “how is the health this morning?”

“Famous, Antonio—famous, thank you!”

“Oh yes! famous, Antonio, famous!” and the Italian sought to repeat the intonation of my voice. “I believe you, my dear patient, but that will not prevent you taking this draught the doctor, my master, has sent you.”

“I am willing; but, indeed, this medicine is becoming unnecessary, for I now feel that I shall soon be restored to health, and then I shall only have to thank you and your master for your attention to me, and pay him the expenses caused by my illness.”

“What are you talking about?” Antonio said. “Do you think of leaving us? Oh, I hope not.”

“You are right, Antonio; I am not thinking of it to-day, but I must consider of it so soon as I am in a condition to leave. You must see, my friend, that, in spite of all the pain our separation will cause me, I must make up my mind to it before long, for I am anxious to return to Blois and reassure my family, who must feel most uncomfortable about me.”

“Your family cannot be uncomfortable, as, in order to calm your father, you wrote to him that your illness, having had no dangerous results, you had proceeded to Angers to look for work.”

“It is true, but——“

“But, but,” Antonio interrupted me, “you have no good reason to offer. I repeat, you cannot quit us. Besides,” he added, lowering his voice, “if I told you something, I am sure you would be of my opinion.”

Antonio stopped, appeared to struggle for a moment against the desire he felt to confide in me, then, making up his mind, said, resolutely, “Ah, bah! as it is necessary, I cannot hesitate. You were talking just now about paying my master. Do you know that he is, I fancy, in your debt?”

“I do not understand you.”

“Well, listen to me, my dear friend,” Antonio said, with a mysterious air; “I will explain myself. You are not ignorant that our poor Torrini is afflicted by a very grave malady that touches him here (and Antonio laid his hand on his forehead); now, since you have been with us, and he fancies he can trace some resemblance to his son, my master is gradually losing his sorrow, and even indulges in gaiety now and then. Yesterday, for instance, during his performance, you saw him make his audience laugh twice or thrice, which has not occurred for a long time.

“Ah, my dear sir,” Antonio continued, growing more and more communicative, “if you had seen him before that fatal event, when he performed in the first theatres of Italy. What enthusiasm! what spirit! Who could have foretold at that period that Count de”—here Antonio checked himself—“that the celebrated Torrini would ever be reduced to play in a barn as the rival of the lowest mountebanks—he, the inimitable sorcerer, the honored artist, everywhere known as the handsome, the elegant Torrini! However, it was only just; for he eclipsed the richest professors by his luxury and distinguished manners, and never did a performer more fully deserve legitimate applause for his talent and address.

“However, I must confess,” Antonio added, carried away by his confessions, “that this applause was sometimes my handiwork. Doubtlessly the public appreciates talent with intelligence, but it often requires to be guided in the outburst of its admiration. I took charge of this duty, and without saying a word to my master, I prepared him several ovations which extended and prolonged his success. How many times boquets, thrown at the right moment, excited the applause of the entire audience? how many times murmurs of approval, skilfully introduced, aroused the enthusiasm of the theatre? What successes, my dear fellow—what successes we had, though, in those days. I cannot give you a better idea of them than by saying that, at times, my master could hardly manage to spend all the money his representations produced.”

“It is a pity, that your master,” I said to Antonio, “did not place less trust in the future, and save a portion of that fortune which he would gladly have to-day.”

“We have often made that reflection,” he replied, “but it only increased our regret. And how could we suppose then that Fortune would turn her back on us so suddenly? Besides, my master thought luxury necessary to acquire that prestige which he liked to possess, and considered justly that his prodigality added to the popularity his talent had procured him.”

This confidential talk would probably have lasted longer, had not Torrini called Antonio, who suddenly quitted me.

One incident struck me in this conversation: it was when Antonio recalled his master’s name. This remark only increased my desire to know Torrini’s history. But I had no time to lose, as the last performance was announced for the following day, and I was resolved to return home.

I therefore armed myself with courage to overcome the repugnance which, according to Antonio, his master felt about speaking of the past, and after we had breakfasted together, I broke the ice, in the hope I should lead him to tell me all I so much wanted to know.

“You are going to Angoulême to-morrow,” I said to him, “and I regret I cannot accompany you: we must separate, however much it may cost me, after the service you have rendered me, and the care you have devoted to me.”

I then begged him to let my family know the expenses my illness had entailed, and I ended by assuring him of my deep gratitude. I expected to hear Torrini oppose my departure: but it was not so.

“However much you may press me,” he replied, with the greatest calmness, “I will take nothing from you. How can I ask payment for what has caused me so much happiness? Never talk about that. You wish to leave me,” he added, with that affectionate smile peculiar to him, “and I say you will not leave me.”

I was going to reply.

“I say you will not leave me,” he repeated, quickly, “because you have no reason to do so, and because, presently you will have a thousand to remain some time longer with me. In the first place, you require great care to recover your health and root out the remains of an illness which might otherwise return. Besides, I will add, I was awaiting your convalescence to ask a service from you which you cannot refuse; I want you to repair an automaton I bought from a Dutch mechanician, of the name of Opré, and I am sure you will do it admirably.”

To these excellent reasons Torrini, who doubtlessly feared some hesitation on my part, joined the most attractive promises.

“To lighten your labors,” he said, “we will have long talks about conjuring. I will explain to you the game of piquet, that delighted you so much, and after, when that subject is exhausted, I will tell you the most important events of my life. You will learn from my story what a man is capable of suffering short of death, and the lessons you may draw from a life now almost ended may serve, perchance, to guide you in a career which has hardly yet commenced. Lastly,” he said, offering me his hand, “your presence, I trust, will help to dispel those gloomy thoughts which have robbed me so long of my energy.”